They love their teacher and their classmates and all their little projects.
They love going to school almost as much as they love spending time at the stables.”
6 Nancy Atherton
“I know,” I acknowledged gloomily.
“Then why are you constantly looking for excuses to keep them at home?” Emma demanded. “I could understand it if you’d packed the twins off to boarding school, but you haven’t. They attend afternoon sessions for a few hours a day, five days a week, and they’re as happy as I’ve ever seen them. Why can’t you be happy for them?”
“Will and Rob may be happy with the school,” I replied bleakly, “but evidently the school isn’t happy with them.”
Emma squinted at me uncomprehendingly.
“The telephone call was from Miss Archer,” I explained. “She wants me and Bill to meet with her at the school tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. Why would she summon us to her office on a Wednesday morning if everything’s hunky-dory?”
“To tell you how wonderful your sons are?” Emma ventured.
“How well liked they are? What a credit they are to the school?”
“She could have done that on parents’ day,” I said.
“Maybe she doesn’t want to make the other parents jealous,”
Emma suggested.
“Maybe she can’t handle Will and Rob,” I countered. “You know how energetic they are, Emma. They’ve probably broken every rule in the book out of sheer exuberance.” I hunched forward and chewed a thumbnail anxiously. “Miss Archer probably wants to lecture us on the boys’ home life because she thinks we’ve spawned a pair of unteachable delinquents.”
“Your sons are neither unteachable nor delinquent,” Emma said.
“Rob and Will may be high-spirited, but they’re perfectly well behaved. Heaven knows you’ve worked hard enough to teach them good manners.”
I snorted derisively. “Have you forgotten the incident at the village shop? When the boys read those racy tabloid headlines out loud to the visiting bishop? I thought the poor man would never stop blushing.”
“Will and Rob were barely four years old at the time,” Emma reminded me. “The bishop was impressed by their reading skills.”
Aunt Dimity: Vampire Hunter
7
“I’ll bet he’s still blushing,” I muttered.
“In any case,” Emma continued, disregarding my comment, “I doubt that they leave tabloids lying around at Morningside for the children to read.”
“All right,” I conceded, “but maybe the boys have been using the naughty language they learned when we were in Colorado last summer. Bill and I talked to them about it, but they could have slipped up.” I buried my face in my hands. “Miss Archer probably thinks Bill and I swear our heads off at home.”
“Which you don’t,” said Emma. “You set a good example for the twins. They learned the naughty language by accident, and if they slip up once in a while, I’m sure their teacher can handle it without going to the headmistress.” She reached over to pull my hands away from my face and peered at me encouragingly. “You’ll see, Lori. Everything will be fi ne.”
“Will it?” I asked hopelessly.
“Of course it will,” Emma soothed. “I’m sure Miss Archer simply wants to give you a personal update on the boys’ progress, or ask you to volunteer for a committee, or explain how badly her school needs private donations. She’s just doing her job, Lori, and her job does not involve getting hysterical over a few swear words any more than it involves drinking her students’ blood.”
I wanted Emma to be right. I wanted to believe that Miss Archer had called me and Bill in for a routine meeting about committees and donations, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that had fi lled me ever since I’d spoken with her on the telephone.
“You didn’t take the call,” I said, shuddering. “You didn’t hear Miss Archer’s voice. She sounded . . . terrifying.”
“Terrifying?” Emma studied me in mystified silence for a moment, then sat back, nodded, and said knowingly, “Oh. I get it.”
I regarded her warily. “What do you get?”
“I get why you’re afraid of Miss Archer,” said Emma.
“I’m not afraid of Miss Archer,” I lied.
8 Nancy Atherton
“Yes, you are,” said Emma. “You’re so afraid of her that you’d rather yank the boys out of school than go to a meeting with her.
And I know why.” A smug grin spread over my best friend’s face.
“It’s because of your mother.”
“What about my mother?” I asked, taken aback.