Three new everyday dresses. One new good winter dress. A coat. Stockings, underwear. A good winter hat, and an everyday one. The shops in Washington were well stocked; shopping was easy. Miss Young smiled. “Having fun, dear?” she asked.
“No.”
She squeezed my arm and bought me hair ribbons. I frowned over them. “Who will tie my ribbons when I'm at school?”
Miss Young looked thoughtful. “There must be a matron, someone in charge of the washing-up and things. Or you could ask one of the older girls to help you.” I shuddered. “Tell you what,” Miss Young said. “I believe you're old enough to manage your own hair ribbons. This afternoon I'll teach you how.”
A warm flannel nightgown that touched the floor. A dressing gown to match. New slippers. Towels. “Why towels?” I said.
“The school says it provides bed and table linens and a pair of blankets,” Miss Young said, “but it doesn't say anything about towels.”
“Don't we have towels at home I could bring?”
“Of course we do, Ethel, but wouldn't it be nice to start school with new ones? Your bedspread from home, now, that you should take with you.”
“I will not!” I said. We had brought my bedspread from Sagamore to put on my bed at the White House. I was not moving it to school. “I'm keeping that at home,” I said.
“But you'll want to make your room seem homelike.” “I will not,” I said again, more loudly. “It won't be home.”
Overshoes. Gloves. A new hairbrush. Miss Young's list was endless. She moved briskly from store to store. Shopkeepers piled packages into our carriage. “One last stop,” she said, smiling at me. She took me into a bookstore. It smelled like new books, fresh and crisp.
“Schoolbooks.” I sighed. “Do you have a list?” I hadn't even asked what subjects I'd be studying.
“Oh, no,” she said. “They'll give you those at the school. Pick out something you'll enjoy, dear. You'll want something exciting to read during your free time.”
“Really?” I said. Despite myself, I began to smile. I loved books. “Do you think they'll really let us have free time?”
Miss Young laughed. “It's a school, Ethel, not a prison. Of course they'll let you have free time! Now pick out a book!”
I grinned. “Oh, thank you!”
I took so much time browsing through the shelves that the storekeeper came to help me. “Here, miss,” he said encouragingly, “lots of young ladies like Little Lord Fauntleroy.”
I giggled. “Father won't let us read that,” I said.
The storekeeper looked affronted. “It's a very wholesome sort of book.”
“Father said if any child of his ever acted like the namby-pamby fool in that book, he would throw it out into the woods to die.” Father didn't mean that, of course, but he really had forbidden the book, and I wasn't about to make it my one treat for school.
The storekeeper blinked. “Louisa May Alcott?” he suggested.
“Oh, Mother doesn't allow us to read anything by her.” Mother hated Louisa May Alcott. I think Father secretly disagreed.
Suddenly I saw the perfect book: Nicholas Nickleby. I loved Charles Dickens. His books were full of excitement and adventure, and best of all, they were hundreds of pages long. I could read them for hours and hours and hours. Miss Young paid for the book, the clerk wrapped it in paper, and I carried it out under my arm. “Feel better, dear?” Miss Young asked.
I leaned against her. “Yes. Thank you.”
On Monday school began. Archie left first. I thought Kermit envied him; I knew I did. Archie went to a regular public school right down the street, and he really did ride Algonquin to get there. One of the doormen jogged beside him to make sure he did all right and to bring Algonquin home. After Archie had left, Mother took Kermit in the carriage. Miss Young was busy with Quentin, so I walked around the gardens and said good-bye to my favorite animals.
When Mother came back she said Kermit was going to be fine. “His school is very pleasant,” she said. “I'm sure yours will be too.” For a special treat she let me take my luncheon with her and Father. The secretary of the navy; Father's personal secretary, Mr. Loeb; and some other men were there too. Father always had lots of people to luncheon. They talked about trusts and monopolies and Panama and other things I didn't understand, so I didn't pay much attention. I ate my lunch politely and was careful not to cry. When Father got up—all the other men jumped up too—he kissed me gently on the cheek and whispered, “Do your best, Ethie. I'll see you on Friday.”
I was glad Father had not forgotten I was leaving. Miss Young hugged me too, and Quentin let me kiss him, and then Mother and I climbed into the carriage and the coachman started the horses.
Four days before, the White House had seemed like a place where strangers lived. Now, as I drove away from it, it felt like home—or at least the closest thing to home nearby.
We drove through the city for what felt like forever, yet the ride took less time than I wanted it to. My heart was beating fast.
“What if I'm not smart enough?” I asked.
Mother patted me. “You are.”
“How do you know? I've never studied with anyone but Sister.”
She patted me again. “I know you,” she said. “You'll do fine.”
“What if I don't?” I asked. “Can I come home then?”
Mother stopped patting me and looked firm. “You may not,” she said. “We expect you to do your best, Ethel, and if you do that, you cannot fail.”
I nodded. I wouldn't fail. I wouldn't disappoint them.
The carriage entered a wood. The horses trotted over a stone bridge, their hooves making hollow noises. “There, Ethel,” Mother said. “That's it. The big white building.”
I gulped. The National Cathedral School went up and up and was square and wide. The copper roof sat on the stone bottom like a giant pointed hat. I supposed the White House was bigger, but it had Father in it, and Mother, and it seemed lower to the ground and more friendly. This building was not friendly at all.
“Isn't it lovely?” Mother said. “You'll enjoy being back here near the park. Away from crowds. Almost like Sagamore.”
It wasn't at all like Sagamore.
“Miss Young can still teach me,” I whispered.
“Ethel,” Mother said firmly, “you must be brave. Think of your father, now.”
Father hated cowards.
“Yes, ma'am,” I whispered. We alighted from the carriage. I squared my shoulders and walked up the steps toward the huge wooden door.
There were girls everywhere, or so it seemed. Two carriages pulled in behind ours and had to wait while a porter helped our coachman unload my trunk. I heard squeals of laughter. In the entranceway two girls as big as Sister hugged each other with enthusiasm.
“Ahem.” A woman pointedly cleared her throat. The two girls jumped to attention and bobbed their heads at her. “Good afternoon, Miss Bangs,” they chorused. She nodded to them, then turned her attention to Mother and me.
“Miss Bangs,” Mother said smoothly, “I am Edith Roosevelt. This is my daughter, Ethel. Ethel, meet Miss Bangs, one of the principals of your new school.”
Miss Bangs shook Mother's hand. She smiled at me. Her smile looked as stony as the building.
I bobbed my head at her in imitation of the older girls. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Bangs,” I said.
“I am pleased to meet you, Ethel,” Miss Bangs said. “We've heard so much about you. I'm glad you will be joining our school.”
Miss Bangs took us on a tour. She showed Mother the classrooms, the parlor, the dining hall, even the bathrooms and laundry. Everything was nearly new and very clean, with a plainness that made me long for the ornate, gloomy old White House. Miss Bangs spoke to Mother as we walked. “There are nearly fifty girls enrolled in the school this year,” she said. “Two-thirds of them are boarders. We graduated two girls last spring.” Miss Bangs looked down at me. “You'll be one of the younger students, but there are a f
ew others your age.” She looked back at Mother. “And your older girl?” she asked expectantly.
Mother hesitated. “Alice is staying with family in Connecticut right now,” she said.
“She's not coming,” I said. “She says she won't.” I sounded petulant even to myself. I was sorry for it.
Miss Bangs pursed her lips. “We would welcome her later, of course,” she said.
“Of course,” Mother said.
We climbed one flight of stairs, then another. “We're very pleased with our dormitory situation,” Miss Bangs said. “Ethel, here is your room.”
It was bare and clean with a polished wood floor. The iron bed had been made up with white sheets and the promised pair of blankets, and there were an empty closet, a desk, a plain bookshelf, and a small shining porcelain washstand. A high window let in plenty of light but no warmth; the furniture was stiff and functional and the room felt cold.
Mother looked around. “Very neat,” she said slowly.
I had peeked into some of the other girls’ rooms as we'd walked past. They had warm rugs, bright spreads, and tasseled curtains. We could hear girls nailing pictures to their walls.
I had only my clothes and my new towels and a copy of Nicholas Nickleby. I hadn't even brought my own pillow, and the bed didn't have one. I hadn't thought about pillows. I hadn't thought how empty my room would be.
Miss Bangs said she would expect me in the assembly room at three o'clock. She shook hands with Mother and left us alone.
Mother patted my shoulder. “Not very cozy, is it?” she said. “I'm sorry, but never mind. It's only for this week. I'll ask Miss Young to look for a nice rug for you, and we'll get you some curtains. We'll make it better.”
I wished I had a roommate. I wished Sister were there.
Mother sat down on the bed and drew me to her. “Don't look so woebegone. It's a fine school. The girls seem friendly. You'll be happy here. I'm sorry about the room. I didn't think. You know”—she smothered a little laugh into my hair—“the problem with the Executive Mansion is that it has too much decoration.”
“The White House,” I whispered.
“Yes.” She stood up and smoothed her skirt. “I need to go now. Hang up your dresses and set everything out just as you like it. I'll send a carriage for you the instant classes are over on Friday afternoon. I promise.”
Mother always kept her promises.
She kissed me and went out, softly closing the door of my room. I imagined her graciously sweeping down the flights of stairs, out to the waiting carriage. I imagined the coachman helping her inside, tipping his hat to her, closing the door. I imagined the carriage pulling away, the horses clip-clopping over the stone bridge.
I would not cry. I would not. I thought of Father, how he had always wished he were strong enough to go to school when he was a boy. I thought of Ted gritting his teeth and setting off for Groton without even Mother to go with him. I thought of Kermit's calm face that morning as the carriage took him away.
I could be as brave as any boy, as strong as any of my brothers. I opened my trunk and began to unpack.
We assembled at three o'clock. The hall clock began to chime and I scrambled down the steps with the other girls and tried to act as if I belonged. I found a seat near some girls who looked almost as young as me. One of them smiled at me. I smiled back. There seemed to be dozens of students, but we only half filled the large assembly room.
My new shoes hurt and my stocking had bunched under one heel. I squirmed to set it straight. One of the teachers tapped me on the shoulder as she marched past me down the aisle. “Sit up,” she commanded. Someone giggled.
The teacher who had tapped me was Miss Whiton, the other principal. The first thing she told us, after her name, was that she had a bachelor's degree from Smith College, one of the places Miss Young had told me about. I'd never known a woman who'd gone to college before. Mother hadn't, nor Aunt Bamie, nor Miss Young. It didn't make me like Miss Whiton any better.
Miss Bangs and Miss Whiton introduced the rest of the teachers: Miss Marshall, who taught the primary class; Miss Greaves, who ran the library; and Miss Stapleton, who taught physical education. I looked at Miss Stapleton with some interest. She spoke of the school's new tennis courts, and I grinned. I hadn't known we'd be allowed to play outside, and I adored tennis. We played it on the lawn at Sagamore.
Father loved tennis too, but he wasn't very good at it. He liked to think he was, though. He said he was going to have a tennis court put in on the lawn of the White House.
While I was thinking about Father and tennis, Miss Whiton kept on introducing teachers. The French and German teachers spoke with accents. I didn't know a word in either language. Father did; he spoke both fluently. He could speak Italian, too. He'd lived in Dresden for a winter when he was small. Sometimes when he and Aunt Bamie or Aunt Corinne didn't want my brothers and cousins and me to understand what they were saying, they spoke in German or French.
Suddenly all the girls were on their feet, singing a song I didn't know. I jumped up and pretended to mouth the words. The teachers paraded out of the room. We hurried out behind them.
“Where are we going?” I asked the girl beside me.
She gave me a strange look. “Weren't you listening?”
“No.”
“We can play outside until it's time for dinner.”
“What are we going to play?”
“I'm riding my bicycle. I don't know what you're going to do.”
I watched in envy as nearly all the girls my age rushed off in a pack to the bicycle shed. The school was surrounded by open land and there was plenty of room.
I went up to Miss Bangs, who was surveying the scene. “I didn't know we could bring bicycles,” I said. “Are there any extras?”
“Didn't you read your handbook?” Miss Bangs asked.
I shook my head. I'd thrown it in the garbage bin.
“We don't supply bicycles,” she said. “Bring your own next week. I understand you won't be boarding with us on the weekends.” She sounded as though she disapproved.
“No, ma'am.”
“Do you play tennis, Ethel?”
“I didn't bring my racquet.”
“The school keeps a supply of tennis racquets,” she said. “We have a wide variety of equipment designed for exercise. Regular physical activity promotes health, you know. We find it an important component of the well-being of our girls.”
She talked to me as though she were still talking to Mother. I stared at her.
Miss Bangs sighed. “Go run, Ethel,” she said. “If you don't know what to do with yourself, run around the yard.”
So I ran, even though my shoes hurt my feet. I'd made it halfway around the lawn when one of the girls caught up to me. I started to smile at her, but she said, “Chatting up Miss Bangs already, are we? I suppose you think you're too important for the rest of us.”
At dinnertime we descended to the dining room on the lower floor. Wide windows looked out onto a lawn dotted with young trees. The room was elegant, the tables set with white cloths and silver. Along one end was a dais where the principals sat at their own table. We were made to march past it in two lines before we sat down.
Tables were assigned; Miss Mallett, the science teacher, presided at mine. There were eight other girls, and they all looked older than me and more prepared. I felt like the only new girl.
I reached for my napkin. “Not yet,” Miss Mallett murmured. I snatched my hand back. We bowed our heads while, at the podium, the religion teacher read a Bible verse and said grace. When she said “Amen” we were allowed to move.
The food smelled good, and I was hungry. I put my napkin on my lap, picked my fork up carefully, and began to eat.
Miss Mallett started the conversation the way Mother might when she had a table full of strangers at a dinner. “Harriet, here,” she said, indicating a willowy dark-haired girl beside her, “will be a member of our second graduating class this spring. She int
ends to earn a classical diploma.”
We all looked at Harriet, who looked back proudly. I didn't know what a classical diploma was. Probably something that got you into Mount Holyoke, Wellesley, Smith, or Vassar.
“And little Ethel,” said Miss Mallett, “is President Roosevelt's daughter.”
Heads swiveled in my direction. Eyes opened wide. Harriet snorted. “You're the president's daughter?” she said. “But you're nothing but a child! Everyone said you were sophisticated!”
“Harriet,” Miss Mallett warned. “But they did,” Harriet said, “and she can't be out of the primary class.” “That's the other one, Harriet—the older one,” a different girl said. “This isn't the girl from the newspapers.”
“Yes, I am,” I said. I wasn't happy about being in the newspapers, but I was determined to be honest. Father valued honesty. “It was me they put in about the rabbits.”
This caused a gale of laughter that I didn't understand. Even Miss Mallett smiled.
“I certainly wasn't asking about your rabbits,” said Harriet with a sniff. “We've read all about the fashionable Miss Roosevelt, who goes to parties and dances and does nothing but have fun.” Harriet, the classical scholar, sounded envious.
“That's Sister,” I said. Oh, how I wished she were there! Sister wouldn't let them laugh at me. Sister would know what to say. I twisted my napkin in my lap.
“Your sister—yes. What's her name?”
“Alice. But we call her Sister. She's seventeen.”
“And she's your half sister, correct? Didn't I read something about that?” Harriet's eyes glittered. They made me squirm.
“She's my sister,” I said. “That's all.”
Miss Mallett changed the subject. The girls began to talk of the National Zoo being established at Rock Creek Park. The school was planning an excursion there the following Saturday.
“Father loves the National Zoo,” I said. “He thinks that the more regular people get to see wild animals, the more they'll understand why we need to preserve open land out west. But I won't be able to go on the school trip. I go home Friday afternoon.” I smiled at Miss Mallett.