The End of Innocence by Allegra Jordan Page B

do not have the same calendar, and my other classes have already started, but this one doesn’t start until Monday, and given her work for you, I’ve made an exception. I hear she’s a good writer.
    To be clear, this is a senior-level course, meets on Mondays and Tuesdays, and demands a copious amount of creative writing. She needs to be prepared to work.
    Last item: class meets in Harvard Yard. I would not expect any trouble for her in such a small class. I know these boys and they seem to be of the good sort.
    Sessions start at three o’clock this Monday, punct.
    Yours as ever,
    C. T. Copeland
    A class with Copeland! The note took her breath away. What a gift! She stood up hastily to hug her father, her papers falling at her feet. “Thank you!”
    â€œYou must promise to learn all you can in order to revise my manuscript over the Christmas break.” He smiled.
    â€œOf course,” she said elatedly as she reached down to gather the pages. She was delighted. Her heart felt light again. Tut-tut, Mr. Brandl—my father has given me Copeland! We’ll see who leaves Harvard as the better writer.
    At that moment Patrick, a servant with thick, curly white hair, came to the door, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Mrs. Brooks’s lawyer is going to be meeting you in twenty minutes and she’s sent me down to say you are needing to be getting ready now. I’m to drive the missus to Radcliffe in a half hour.”
    â€œPatrick, do you like this lawyer better than the last one?” Brooks asked.
    â€œI’ll give him the toss if he canna help Mrs. Brooks. She’s a good woman.”
    Her father rolled his eyes. “Excuse me, Helen. Must get dressed to attend to your mother’s business. City Hall is not budging on this one and thus we must talk to the lawyers today and every day, it seems. Patrick, after you return we’ll need to visit the Adamses in Quincy. We won’t make the funeral, but we should at least make an appearance at their house.”
    â€œHelen,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “One more thing.” His eyes avoided hers as he took out a small black velvet box, put it on her reading table, and turned to go. She opened it to find a ring with a pearl, small and barely pink, set in a delicate lattice of gold.
    â€œOh, thank you,” she said, surprised. She took it out and slipped it on her finger. It was beautiful.
    â€œIt is not to be confused with the pearl of great price,” he said, walking to the door. “That is you. I’ve paid dearly for you, and you have turned out marvelously, even if you indulge in romantic poetry. I will miss you around here, my dear.” He left abruptly, before she could say anything else.
    She flushed at the high praise.

Chapter Four
Radcliffe College
    Cambridge, Massachusetts
    Sunday, August 30, 1914
    The distance from Lexington to Boston and Cambridge was not far—the British had jogged it quickly in 1776. What was different was the frantic pace of the latter places. Fumes from cars, smokestacks, and animals in the street markets poured into the Brooks family car when Patrick, her driver, stopped suddenly for a bewildering assortment of carts and children in the teeming, narrow streets.
    When Helen had inquired about how anyone, especially students, could think in such an environment, her father answered that they didn’t, they just parroted what they read on the opinion page of the New York newspaper. Helen hoped it meant that they were too busy to comment on her mother’s activities and would focus on important things, such as stopping the kaiser in Europe. Or, failing that, the weather.
    And there was reason to hope on this front. Professor Copeland had mentioned nothing of her mother’s behavior in his letter to her father.
    But what had begun as divine elation at the new challenge of being in Copeland’s class slowly transformed into fear as they neared the