The Hawthorne School: A Novel

CHAPTER

1

THE HAWTHORNE SCHOOL stands rooted on its hill, surrounded by woods and fields. A breeze rustles its coat of wet and trembling vines so that it seems to breathe in and out like a living being. Its black window panes glint at the tiny boy, and he pulls on the arm of his young mother. She pulls back, not letting him go, although he twists his little hand in hers, trying to get free, trying to run from her and toward the enchantment.

It’s a magical castle! cries Henry. "I want to go to the magical castle!"

Once a convent, The Hawthorne School reaches its gothic peaks toward heaven while small pale faces carved into the moldings gape in mute astonishment at the two people below.

The air is heavy with the scent of wood fires and damp earth. Green maple leaves shake with each breeze. The sun sends spears through the clouds, and the vines and trees sparkle.

Claudia’s car is parked down the hill, beyond the open wrought-iron gate, at the side of the road. She considers picking Henry up and going back, but she doesn’t know why. She intended to come here for help. She needs to find a school that will understand her boy. She walks forward with Henry, hand in hand, toward the main entrance of the school.

This is the moment when The Hawthorne School inhales new life.

CHAPTER

2

CLAUDIA LET HENRY guide her toward The Hawthorne School, her eyes not on him, but on the second-story cloister walk and the arches over the heavy wooden doors. This school had the look of an old European convent plunked here, incongruously, in the American Midwest.

Claudia, an artistic soul, was deeply affected by beauty of all kinds, and she fell under the spell of the school at first sight. She was well and truly charmed, like a character in a fairy tale entering the grounds of an enchanted palace.

The medieval-style door to the main entrance was made of planks of oak studded with large black nails. She stopped there, looking for a posted sign of some kind instructing her to ring or push an intercom button, but there was nothing.

With a sensation of passing through a portal into another dimension, Claudia pushed open the heavy door and stepped through with her child.

Inside, it was cool and slightly humid. As Claudia’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, she saw that she and Henry were in a long, wide, darkly paneled hallway with rooms on either side all the way down. She could see a steep stone staircase leading up on her left, and another one to the right, far down at the end of the hall. An enormous wrought-iron chandelier hung over their heads, lit with electric bulbs in the shape of candle flames.

Immediately, a figure came toward them as if she’d been expecting them. She was dressed in sandals and a flowing maxi dress, with a soft shawl draped over her narrow shoulders. She moved with the easy grace of a twenty-year-old, but her face was much older. Her hair was in a loose, gray chignon, and her pale eyes sparkled blue behind round spectacles.

Welcome! she said, extending her hand to Claudia and reaching her other hand to gently grasp Claudia’s arm above the elbow. A warm, almost possessive touch. Claudia’s shoulders relaxed. She’d been half fearing getting in trouble for trespassing, feeling that she had no right to come onto this property with her son, but now this woman who looked like a grandmother in a children’s book was smiling at her and Henry, greeting them as if they already belonged.

I am the director of The Hawthorne School. My name is Zelma Huxley. And you are …?

Claudia Vera.

Claudia thought Zelma must be what she would consider well beyond retirement age. Eighty, at least?

And this is my son, Henry. He’s four. Say hello, Henry.

Claudia saw Zelma’s fleeting reaction, the same reaction all strangers had when they first looked at Henry. His black hair and blue eyes caught people’s attention, and just as they were about to say something positive about his appearance, Henry would ruin it by doing or saying something obnoxious.

Henry, of course, did not say hello. He never did when she asked him to. He never did anything she asked him to do. That was the problem. One of the problems. Instead, he asked the director, Does a giant live here? Are you a witch? Or are you the giant’s wife?

Zelma fixed Henry with her pale gaze and a faint smile. She searched his face, as if trying to place him, as if she had met him before. After the briefest pause, she said, Hello, Henry. I am Mrs. Huxley.

Henry, clearly awed—probably still under the impression that he was speaking to a giant’s wife—replied, Hello. He continued looking at Zelma, who reached out her hand to him. Claudia winced, knowing that he would refuse to take it.

But Henry solemnly shook Zelma’s hand and continued to stare at her, fascinated.

Signaling the first room on the right, Zelma said, Come into my office, please.

She led them into a high-ceilinged room that was bright, despite its rich dark paneling, because of the sunlight streaming in through a row of casement windows with diamond panes. Facing the windows was the director’s mahogany desk. In the center of the room was a large mahogany table.

Zelma said, Let me offer you both a glass of juice. I was just going to have one myself. Claudia thought this woman was eccentric, but adorably so, offering not water, but juice. Zelma poured a liquid of a rich green color into two small glasses. It looked like a beverage in a health food store. Claudia thought Henry would never accept it, but he did touch it to his lips, and then drank it all straight down. Claudia tasted it and found that it was sweet and delicious.

"It is good, isn’t it, dear heart?" said Zelma, the skin around her mouth and eyes crinkling with pleasure.

Claudia thought she was too old to be called dear heart, but she liked it. She liked this twinkly little lady. There was somehow something captivating about her.

Zelma took a stack of paper and square crayons from built-in shelves and set them out for Henry. To Claudia’s surprise, Henry set to work right away, glancing up from time to time at the director.

Claudia noticed a framed poster enumerating the The Hawthorne School Ideals:

Be cooperative.

Be loyal.

Be just.

Be self-controlled.

Be humble.

Be steady.

So, said Zelma to Claudia, you are interested in our school for your son?

Claudia blushed. Of course, she’d love to be able to send Henry to a school like this. What parent wouldn’t? But she didn’t dream she could afford it, a school as beautiful, as grand as this one. What would the tuition be? She couldn’t even guess. She was barely able to pay the rate at Happy Start Preschool, and it was known to be the cheapest. She felt guilty about wasting this nice woman’s time, but she also wanted to know: What was Henry not getting? What privileges did other children have, what enrichment and opportunities, only because their parents were wealthy?

Yes, said Claudia. I am interested. First, may I ask what the tuition is?

Zelma, relaxed and friendly, smiled. We’ll come to that. But first, would you tell me a little about yourselves? How did you find us, to begin with? A referral perhaps?

Claudia thought, You couldn’t actually call it a referral.

Miss Patty at Happy Start Preschool had only mentioned The Hawthorne School sarcastically. The parent–teacher conference had not gone well. In fact, it had been a disaster. Your son, accused Miss Patty, is not like any child I’ve ever taught before, and I’ve been teaching preschool for thirty years.

Claudia knew Henry could be frustrating to deal with. But could he really be so different from other children? This seasoned teacher should know. Claudia had never had much experience with children before she’d had Henry, and he’d been challenging for her from the beginning.

He spends more time in time-out than he does participating with us. He refuses to cooperate in any way at any time. As if naming the worst offense of all, she added, He does not know how to cut with scissors!

Miss Patty had looked with false pity at Claudia, who was biting her lower lip and tucking her hair behind her ears. I’m sure it’s hard, being a single mother. You don’t have time to work with him at home, do you?

Claudia had had no idea she was supposed to be teaching Henry how to use scissors at home. Were other parents doing crafts with their kids after school? She’d felt humiliated.

He can’t even identify the letters in his own first name! Academically, he’s very far behind his age group. But the biggest concern is his behavior, Miss Patty had continued.

Claudia had tried to advocate for Henry. Do you think he could have a different learning style?

Miss Patty—whom Henry insisted on calling Miss Potty—curled her lips in disdain. "A different learning style? Henry Vera has no learning style. He refuses to learn anything. He’s too busy knocking down other children’s blocks, drowning out instruction time by singing at the top of his lungs, and trying to climb out the window during circle time."

Unfortunately, Claudia was not surprised. Henry had already boasted to her that he had taken Miss Patty’s special teacher markers and thrown them over the fence at recess. When Claudia had asked him why, he’d only laughed. And then she chased me. But she couldn’t catch me! Henry jumped up and down with pleasure at the memory. She huffed and she puffed, and her eyes got real big.

"If it’s a different learning style you’re after, you could always try The Hawthorne School!" Miss Patty snorted, as if the very idea was beyond ridiculous.

"Where is The Hawthorne School?" Claudia had asked. It seemed to her she’d heard of it before, but she couldn’t remember where.

Way out beyond the edge of town, on Route 171. They say it’s based on the Scandinavian nature schools. Unconventional. It’s an old convent, I think, that was built in the 1920s on several acres of land, lots of trees. People say the kids are outside all day in all kinds of weather, and the teaching methods are … unorthodox. Not that I know anything about it. Just what people say. Miss Patty had suddenly looked alarmed. "I’m not seriously suggesting you take Henry there! It was just a little joke. We can work with your son. But we will need your help to make him understand that we expect him to behave. He seems to think he can do whatever he wants whenever he wants to, and that has to stop."

Miss Patty looked kindly then at Claudia, who was beginning to feel hopeless. I can see that you would do anything to help your son. Of course you want to do what’s best for him. And you’re a fighter; he’s lucky to have you in his corner.

Claudia knew what Miss Patty meant by the word fighter. She’d been fighting with this woman about Henry for three months, ever since she’d enrolled him here. Not aggressively, but nonetheless insistently. She’d countered all the negatives with positives. The whole time, Miss Patty had only pointed out his faults and complained about how difficult he was. Claudia admitted he was a handful, but she also knew he had his strengths. He was bright and funny and loving too. Didn’t that count for anything? Miss Patty dismissed these qualities, leaving Claudia feeling childish.

Miss Patty had paused. Let’s try this. We’ll make a reward system with stickers and a chart to help Henry with his behavior, and I’ll give you your own copy so you can use it at home with him. Consistency between home and school is key. Have a serious talk with him. Let him know your expectations for his school behavior. I also suggest you work with Henry on letter recognition and on cutting with scissors.

Claudia, who had tried everything to rein in Henry’s behavior, including stickers and charts, felt discouraged. At home, he screamed like a toddler when he didn’t get his way; he seemed to take joy in frustrating her: pulling food out of the pantry and throwing it all over the floor and, most recently, stripping off all his clothes, charging out the door, and streaking down the street as she ran after him, praying he wouldn’t run across the road. She’d tried being more strict; she’d tried choosing her battles; she’d tried crying in frustration and begging him to be good. She was at a loss when it came to raising this boy, and she was very afraid that she was failing him.

Claudia had never planned to be a mother; she’d never seriously thought about what type of mother she’d be until she saw the positive pregnancy test.

She had only been twenty at the time, and she’d feared that she wouldn’t be equal to the task. This wasn’t the way she’d thought her life would go. She had seen herself finishing fine arts school and then becoming a graphic artist. She’d expected that someday, after establishing herself in her career, she’d get married. She hadn’t made up her mind about whether having children would be part of the picture. And then, suddenly, life had taken her by the shoulders and turned her from one path and set her on another. There hadn’t been a question in her mind about keeping the baby. From the minute she knew he was there, he became her focus. She would just have to figure everything out, that was all. Devin, the baby’s father, had his faults, and she had never thought of him as marriage material, but now they would both have to see things differently.

Devin, however, had had the freedom to take off, and he did.

But at the time, she’d had her mother to help her. Her mom had done a good job herself as a single mother, and Claudia told herself that she could do it too. She and her mom grew closer through their shared responsibility of raising Henry. As she struggled through those early years, her admiration of her own mother grew. She’d never known before how hard it was to be a mom. And when her mother became ill, and Claudia took on her mother’s care as well as Henry’s, instead of pursuing her own ambitious goals, she’d just congratulated herself on each day of survival. She thought—she hoped—she was doing okay.

But here was Miss Patty letting her know she was doing a very bad job indeed.

That evening, after the conference, she’d searched the internet to find out about the school Miss Patty had so sneeringly mentioned.

Strangely, she had not been able to find any website for it—not even a listing for its address. Then she’d texted Maggie, her new friend in an apartment down the hall.

Claudia: Got a minute?

Maggie: Come on down!

CHAPTER

3

CLAUDIA HAD MET Maggie soon after she’d moved into their apartment building.

As she and Henry had walked from the residents’ parking lot one day, a voice called out, Oh hey! Are you new?

Claudia turned to see long, golden, glowing sunlit hair above wide, bright eyes, a woman about ten years older than her who looked like a glamorous celebrity from another world. With car keys in her left hand and extending her right, she was hurrying over to Claudia.

Hi. I’m Maggie Timmerberg. I live here with my daughter. I just saw you with your little boy and thought I’d say hi.

Hi. I’m Claudia Vera. Claudia moved her hand reflexively to her hair, which was probably a mess. She always took more care with Henry’s grooming than her own now. Whenever she saw another woman who had salon hair, she felt self-conscious. And this is Henry. Henry ran behind her and clutched at her jeans.

Maggie leaned sideways and peered around Claudia, and Henry peeked up at the stranger and screamed. Maggie’s first glance at Henry lasted a little too long for his comfort—and for Claudia’s. She felt judged. But Maggie put her at ease.

Aw. Someone’s a little shy, she said indulgently. Henry screamed again. Claudia didn’t know what to do. Any attempt to pull him away from her calves would only make him worse, so she ignored him, hoping that not feeding into the behavior might help.

I have a little girl just about your size, said Maggie.

Henry went silent as he poked his head out of hiding to see a miniature Maggie who came forward and said maturely, Hi, Henry. My name is Violet.

She was a bright-eyed, friendly, and contented child. The kind of child that always made Claudia question her own skill as a mother. Were kids like this temperamentally different from her own son? Maybe, as people said, girls were just easier than boys. Or did Maggie’s mother just do a better job than Claudia?

Maggie said, I’ve been waiting for a chance to introduce ourselves.

Claudia said, You’re the first neighbor we’ve met. We just moved here from New Jersey.

Well, welcome to the neighborhood! I’m in apartment eight. Actually, I’ve noticed you. Don’t think I’m a nosy neighbor or anything. It’s just that I work from home—at my computer—and it’s right by the window that overlooks the parking lot, that’s all.

Claudia wasn’t especially good at small talk, but she tried to keep the conversation going. She needed to make some friends.

Right. How nice, to work from home. Oh, and I’m in apartment thirteen.

I know, said Maggie with a wink. Nosy neighbor! Where do you work?

At the chiropractic clinic. I’m a licensed massage therapist.

Well, that’s interesting.

Was it? Or was Maggie just being polite, also trying to keep the conversation going?

How did you decide to become a massage therapist?

I kind of fell into it, actually. I’d been going to a fine arts school, and I had to change gears when I got pregnant. All of a sudden I had to get practical. I love working with my hands, and I liked the idea of making people feel better, so … I don’t know—it just sort of came to me, you know? And I really enjoy the work.

"So you have a calling! said Maggie. I wish I did. I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up! Did you have to go to school a long time to get your license? Was it hard?"

Maggie listened intently, her luminous eyes fixed on Claudia.

It was a yearlong program. And yeah, it was intense. There was a lot of anatomy involved. But I liked it.

Maggie asked a lot of questions, simple ones, and she was equally willing to share her own personal details with Claudia.

"Oh, so you were a good student. I never was. I remember hearing my mom tell someone I wasn’t ‘the smartest crayon in the box.’ I was just a kid, and I was so confused, trying to figure out which crayon is the smartest one in the box. Which I guess just proved her point."

Here Maggie laughed good-naturedly at herself. Well, great! Hey, I should have you and Henry and your partner over some time for dinner or something.

That’s so nice of you. Henry and I are alone.

Well, hey. We have so much in common already! Violet and I are alone too. It’s really hard to be doing everything all by yourself and have no one to count on, isn’t it? I’m really glad you’re here, Claudia.

Maggie proved to be an interested and reliable friend from the start. When Claudia told her about the miserable parent–teacher conference and Miss Patty’s offhand remark about The Hawthorne School, Maggie laughed.

"You know that’s where Violet goes, right?"

"That’s where I’ve heard the name before. The wonderful private school Violet goes to."

Maggie was always singing the praises of Violet’s progressive school where she was getting the most amazing education. Claudia was sure it would be out of her price range. Maggie and Violet seemed to be taken care of financially somehow. Claudia perceived there were no money troubles for them. That was not the case for Claudia and Henry.

"Ugh. I hope I don’t sound like I’m bragging about Violet’s school. I hate bragging. But it’s been a real game changer for us. I can just see Henry at The Hawthorne School. If you ask me, it’s just what Henry needs. He would be so enriched there. Seeing Claudia’s hesitation, Maggie pushed. You at least have to go for a tour."

I don’t really have the money for a private school, Claudia admitted, feeling her disadvantage, Henry’s disadvantage. She looked at Violet, who was playing sweetly with Henry. Violet was a lucky girl who went to a school where children flourished.

It can’t hurt to go and look. Ask about financial aid. I know they work with some parents. I bet they’ll work with you, Claudia. Let me tell you a little secret. Maggie leaned in. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but they’re giving me a really good deal on Violet’s tuition. I’ve even heard that they waive some students’ tuition completely in exchange for volunteer hours from parents. Not for everyone, of course. But it’s been known to happen. They have alumni and community support, so they can help a lot of kids out. Just go talk to them. What have you got to lose?

CHAPTER

4

CLAUDIA HAD DRIVEN out of town on Route 171 until she came to the wrought-iron gates and the words engraved in the tall stone wall: The Hawthorne School. The grandeur of the place had intimidated her, but it hadn’t intimidated Henry. She’d allowed him to pull her along and had brought him into the Main Hall.

Now she said to Zelma, I have Henry enrolled at Happy Start right now, but I’m not sure it’s the best fit. Claudia felt like a hypocrite saying this, as if she had a choice in the matter. It wasn’t as if The Hawthorne School was a real possibility, but she wanted to keep pretending. She liked sitting here with the director and acting as if she were in a position to school-shop, to find the best fit for her son. She enjoyed being in this room, in this building. She felt calm. She didn’t usually feel calm.

And my neighbor, Maggie Timmerberg, has her daughter Violet enrolled here too. Maybe that would help.

Meanwhile, Henry was neither singing loudly nor trying to climb out the window. Claudia could tell he liked being in this place, too, and was continuing to fill sheets of paper with color.

Zelma was looking at Henry thoughtfully.

A very good child, she murmured, as if for Claudia’s ears only, though of course Henry heard her and sat a little straighter in his chair. He puts me in mind of another little boy, one I knew long ago.

Claudia confessed, Henry doesn’t know his letters. Not even the letters in his first name. He can’t cut with scissors, and he won’t try. And his teachers put him in time-out every day.

There, she’d said it. The director might as well know the worst before they went any farther. And Claudia also had the secret hope that this kind-looking woman would give her a different perspective, perhaps would tell her that he didn’t need to know the letters in his own name yet, that there was still plenty of time, that Henry was fine, and that she was fine too.

Henry glanced up at her and returned to his coloring with a frown.

Zelma said, "You’re a very wise mother, to be so aware, so in tune with your son. Your little boy is so lucky! Do you know, most parents have no idea what their children need in a school environment? I see what the problem is."

You do? Claudia opened like a flower in the sunlight of Zelma’s wisdom. She hadn’t felt so open since her mother had passed away.

"Yes! And I get the feeling that you ignore your own awareness sometimes. You don’t see what is right in front of you. Zelma smiled, as if to say she meant no offense. You need to get him out of that one-size-fits-all factory. He shouldn’t be there. He is a very special child. That was exactly what Claudia’s mother used to say: that Henry was special—remarkable, in fact. I think you know that Henry needs something more too, or you wouldn’t be here today." She stopped to observe Henry, who was pretending