Page 22 of The Heiress
Iwas in fix-it mode. I had to change my tune, and I had only a few days to sort it. School finished at lunch time on Thursday, allowing boarders time to fly or bus home or be picked up for Thanksgiving break. I was doing none of those things but I needed to put a sneaky plan in place.
I was going to book myself into La Maison for the weekend and luxuriate in perfect solitude. Much preferable to making small talk with a family of strangers. I would order room service, indulge in beauty treatments and binge watch a few television shows. Dad would think I was at Bianca Holbrun’s house, so my issue was convincing Mrs. Pritchard that I had a place to stay, while at the same time making sure Bianca knew nothing about it.
I wasn’t sure how I would do it, but getting onto Mrs. Pritchard’s good side seemed to be the best idea. I thanked Bianca for the ride and strode into Whitney Hall with a smile on my face. I needed to get rid of my stony exterior and morph into a sweet, charming girl—that’s right, the girl I used to be.
Making my way through the halls, the smell from the common kitchen indicated the pies had been baked. The room went deathly quiet as I opened the door, my smile vanishing in a flash. A quick scout of the room showed that all of the Whitney Hall girls were present—except me. That meant one group had two members instead of three, and it happened to be Beth’s team. I’d let everyone down.
“Okay!” To my relief, Mrs. Pritchard clapped her hands and called out, “You’ve got less than five minutes to decorate. Get a move on!”
All girls put their heads down, returning to their tasks and ignoring me.
I sidled up to Mrs. Pritchard, whispering in her ear. “Sorry I couldn’t make it, I had to go to Main Street. Do you need any help?” Mrs. Pritchard’s face didn’t soften so I added a desperate, “Please? I could be a completely impartial judge because I haven’t seen the pies.” Though right at that moment I could see that Beth and Sasha were piping a row of whipped cream blobs around the outside of their pie. “I love pumpkin pie,” I added with a cheesy grin.
Mrs. Pritchard seemed to forgive me in an instant, especially when I produced the bag of pens from my blazer pocket and offered them as prizes. It was like fate had made me buy a dozen. Mrs. Pritchard’s smile radiated the warmth from the freshly baked pies. “That’s so thoughtful, Elisha,” she said, and announced to the girls that I would help her with the judging.
I followed Mrs. Pritchard’s lead, arranging plates and forks onto the table, hoping to impress. I had eaten at some mighty fine restaurants so I knew a good pumpkin pie when I tasted it.
I gave high praise to all the pies, citing the texture, sweetness and aroma as if I was a professional food critic. I scored Beth’s team with a faultless ten out of ten. Mrs. Pritchard had preferred Jennifer’s team, but when we combined our scores, Beth’s team won. I had much pleasure in presenting her with first choice of the pens, along with Mrs. Pritchard’s printed certificate.
“Thanks for the pen,” Mya said as she caught me up on the way to the cafeteria for dinner. “It’s really cool.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, a little surprised that the array of gel ink pens I’d grabbed could provide such joy.
“Yes, thank you, Elisha,” Beth shuffled up beside us, her voice shy, “that was really nice.”
“Well, sorry I wasn’t there to help bake, but I’m pretty sure you did better without me,” I said, “I’m afraid I’m not much of a cook. In fact, I’m terrible. I once heated a pizza in the oven and burned it.” I wasn’t sure why I’d admitted that, but it was true. I’d had no idea about setting the correct temperature.While I had an interest in food, it was all about eating it. I never spent time in the kitchen—well, I had never needed to. We had staff to do that, or we ate out or ordered in. Maybe that was one of the life skills Mom and Dad so desperately thought I needed.
Beth laughed as if it was actually funny. “Once I cooked an apple pie at home and I set the timer for thirty minutes, or I thought I did,” she said, all traces of timidness gone. “Turns out I set it for three hours and I kept wondering why it was taking so long. When I finally decided to check it, it was a very dark shade of brown.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “Now I don’t feel quite so bad,” I said, flashing her a genuine smile as I grasped the opportunity to make amends. “Oh, you live on an apple farm, don’t you?”
“An apple orchard,” she corrected. “Van der Wal Orchards.”
“Oh...and how are the apples?”
Beth’s brow creased. “How are the apples?” she repeated with suspicion, making me presume that no one had ever asked such a question. “Uh, the season is basically finished.”
“Oh.”
“Yes,” Beth said, pausing nervously. “Apple picking finishes in October, but there may be a few Golden Delicious still available.”
I nodded. “Oh, I didn’t know that. Ah, I guess you’re looking forward to Thanksgiving?”
Beth’s lips pressed together firmly. “Yes, of course,” she said with a degree of hesitancy, as if she was unsure of my motive. “I guess you are too.”
“For sure,” I said with fake exuberance. Being alone was not my ideal way to spend Thanksgiving but at least it would be in a five star hotel. I had already made a booking online with my credit card.
“What time are you leaving?” Beth asked.
“Leaving?”
“On Thursday? Are your parents coming to get you?”
“Ah, no,” I said, realizing I hadn’t figured that part of the plan yet. “How about you? Are your parents coming?”
“No, I take the bus.“
“How long is the trip?” I asked.
