Chapter 4

Her classmates were already there, seated. She was the last one in. The normal gossipy chatter was more intense today, as the students discussed Ms. Traynor's illness, and who might be walking through the door any minute as her replacement.

Ilsa found her desk, and, after a quick glance at Melanie, busied herself with the work from the previous class she had missed. Her focus was on the textbook when the substitute walked in, but she knew it because the class quieted, as twenty-seven pairs of female eyes surveyed and assessed the new female who would be replacing their beloved Ursula Traynor.

She stayed on the page, wanting to finish the chapter before things got started with the new lady. She would have plenty of time to look at her and check her out. All comparisons would be made by the standard Ms. Traynor had made, and Ilsa doubted that she could measure up completely. Give her a chance, she told herself, lifting her eyes from the book and craning her neck around the girl in front of her to see the woman.

Her entire body tensed when the new teacher looked up from the grade book, tapped her pencil, smiled, and said, "Hello, girls. I'm Marsha Crow."

It couldn't be. It absolutely could not be. It must not be, and then, Ilsa's thunderstruck mind bellowed, "how on earth can it possibly be?"

But it was. It was the woman from the park, who had watched her and Melanie make love in the car.

Ilsa felt a deep shiver go through her, and she thought she might vomit. She pulled her head back behind the girl in front of her, and kept her head down, casting her eyes up from within the canopy of her silky brown hair.

She turned and looked at Melanie, who was looking at the teacher without any reaction. Look at me, Mel! She sent a silent, telepathic scream to her lover. But Melanie just looked at the teacher, wrote her name down in her journal, and looked back up. Then she remembered: Melanie had never really gotten a good look at the woman's face, as she had. Melanie wouldn't recognize her.

Oh dear God, Ilsa thought, how can this be happening?

She peeked again, to make sure her eyes and her mind were not playing tricks on her. If it wasn't her, it was certainly a close relative. Like a twin sister maybe.

She tried to calm her panicked mind, certain that the pounding of her heart was audible to everyone. The lady in the park had been wearing sunglasses, she told herself. Maybe it's not her. The short, wavy blonde hair was the same though, and Ilsa had seen her smile through the van window. She was ninety percent sure it was her. Now, Ilsa wondered, how good was Marsha Crow's visual recall?

"Ladies, I am very sorry to hear about Ms. Traynor's illness. Though I want to get to know you all and I'm looking forward to being your instructor, I hope my stay is short, and that she is back with you soon."

Melanie finally glanced at Ilsa, but Ilsa missed it, focusing, from her hair-cloaked cavern, on Marsha Crow.

"Let's get started," Miss Crow went on. "Please raise your hand and say 'here' when I call your name. I have to start to put faces with names right away, so make sure I can see your pretty faces, ok?"

Several girls giggled, but not Ilsa. The moment of truth was coming.

She started calling the names, and each girl responded as instructed. Melanie was early in the list, and the woman seemed to linger on Melanie's face, though Melanie obviously had no clue. With a tiny frown, Marsha Crow looked again to her gradebook and back at Melanie after she had answered.

Ilsa felt queasy again.

Finally, her name was called. "Ilsa Petersson?"

Delaying it would do no good. She raised her hand, tilted her head out behind Gloria's head, and forced a smile. "Here, Ma'am."

Marsha Crow looked up from the book, and directly at her. The look was unmistakeable. The woman recognized her. The tiniest smile, the same one Ilsa had seen through the van window, appeared on her face. "Have we met before, dear?"

The words turned her insides to ice.

She laughed nervously. "I... I don't know" she managed a shrug through the shivers that were now taking over her body.

She held Isla's gaze for another agonizing second, then dropped her eyes back to the book and called out, "Renee Ponce?"

Ilsa realized she had been holding her breath, and just as the new teacher turned her attention to the next student, she let it out. She looked over at Melanie, and finally, their glances connected. Melanie gave her a quizzical look, as if to say, "where do you know her from?"

Ilsa mouthed the words, "the park," but Melanie only frowned in confusion.

After the roll call, Marsha Crow picked up their current area of study where Ursula Traynor had left off. Words and phrases about political violence in South America drifted past Ilsa's ears, but her mind was replaying fragments of that day in the park, over and over, as if in some music video. She was also contemplating what was going to happen next. The woman knew. She knew.

When class broke, Ilsa gathered her things and made a beeline for the door.

"Miss Petersson," Marsha Crow's voice called as she passed the teacher's desk.

Ilsa dodged a couple of exiting classmates and stepped to the desk. The woman wasn't looking at her, but instead held out an envelope. "For you," was all she said.

Ilsa took the envelope and, out of habit, said "Thank you, Ma'am."

Shaking, Ilsa headed for the rest room, found an empty stall, and locked it behind her. She sat on the toilet and opened the envelope. With a deep breath, she read the hastily written words:

Ilsa - I noticed by your schedule that you have your free period next after our class. You will meet with me in my office. I am using Ms. Traynor's quarters, right behind Miss. Franklin's.

Mrs. Crow.

The school was an old one, and had been a boarding school since it's inception in the late 1800's. Each faculty member had a cottage to live in, nearby the dormitories. Ilsa made her way out of the main school building and down the leafy path to the dorms, and found the small cottage easily, having remembered a visit or two to Mrs. Traynor to drop off an assignment.

She knocked and waited, head down, terrified at what the teacher was going to say to her. Oh, cursed is this new desire of mine to be seen by strangers with Melanie, she thought. As exciting as it is, it obviously had its pitfalls. The old phrase, "careful what you wish for" drifted by her, like a piece of flotsam from a sinking ship. Then, a voice from within called out, "Come in."

Ilsa stepped in and heard Marsha Crow tell her to step into the office. A small den was what it was, fashioned for each instructor to conduct their business off hours, grade papers, and counsel students. Ms. Crow was seated at the desk. She did not invite Ilsa to sit. Being a girl of good upbringing, she remained standing.