School of Fear (19 page)

“Okay, now out with it. Who is Abernathy?”

“I have long tried to get Madame to accept the Abernathy situation, but she wouldn’t have any of it. If I’m being brutally
honest, Madame isn’t terribly good at admitting her shortcomings. She prefers to feign ignorance of any inadequacies. Why,
she often pretended she had forgotten who the boy was, which I clearly knew to be false. Occasionally she would even mumble
his name in her sleep, sometimes apologizing, other times angry —”

“Please, Schmidty, I’m really trying to be patient, but who is Abernathy?” Garrison interrupted with mounting frustration
at Schmidty’s verbose tale.

“He is her greatest weakness, and as any good fortune cookie can tell you, we are only as strong as our weakest part.”

“Please Schmidty, for the last time, who is he?”

“Her one failure …”

“What does that mean? Tell me who he is in plain thirteen-year-old English.”

“Abernathy is the one student she couldn’t help throughout the years. So many have come and gone, I’ve lost track. All have
gone on to lovely lives, except for Abernathy. She never could help him, and oddly the more she tried, the worse he became.”

“Schmidty, are you really telling me that Mrs. Wellington, the crazy lady in the wig who has been teaching me how to wave
with Vaseline all over my mouth, has actually helped people with their
fears
?” Garrison said with profound shock.

“Oh, yes. Madame is a brilliant teacher.”

“And when you say ‘students’ you mean actual human beings, not the cats?”

“Oh, no. I am referring to children, human children. Madame has treated so many; you should see the load of holiday cards
she receives every year.”

“I don’t even know what to say.”

“The failure of Abernathy has tortured her, almost destroyed her many times. And when I say failure I mean catastrophic, dismal,
utterly horrendous, tortuous failure.”

Garrison sat shell-shocked, unsure what to think of the information he had just been given. Something wasn’t right. Maybe
Schmidty was older and a bit more senile than he seemed. Garrison stared as the old man attempted to reposition his comb-over
without the aid of a comb. It was no simple task, as the man usually spent twenty minutes with a vat of hairspray to get it
in place. Just as Garrison was preparing to bring Madeleine down to redo Schmidty’s hair, a roar cut through the house. This
wasn’t a roar like that of a lion; it was a great deal closer to that of a diesel engine, only categorically human.

The disturbing roar roused the curiosity of all who heard it. Madeleine, dressed in her pink dressing gown with a built-in
veil, immediately ran downstairs, worried that Munchauser and Schmidty had finally come to blows. In defense of Schmidty,
Madeleine was prepared to unleash a hailstorm of repellent. In the kitchen, Theo and Macaroni both froze mid-chew. Normally,
Theo would have bolted immediately, but he simply didn’t think he could handle any more drama, so he continued eating, albeit
with an ear out for other suspicious sounds. While Theo wasn’t absolutely certain, he thought Macaroni was chewing lighter
in an effort to help them monitor what was happening in the house. Just as Theo shoved an exceptionally large piece of bread
into his mouth, he heard Schmidty’s sweet voice crack in agony. Macaroni took off first, with Theo fast behind him.

Theo’s mouth became dry with fear as he followed Macaroni toward the polo field. The bread in his mouth was dense and now
seemingly impossible to swallow. Without doubling back to the kitchen for a glass of milk, Theo had no other choice but to
spit the large and half-chewed wad of bread on the floor before entering the field.

Madeleine, Munchauser, and Schmidty were standing in a line, staring ominously at the floor while Lulu and Garrison stood
off in a corner whispering.

“What’s all the ruckus?” Theo said as he pushed his face between Schmidty and Munchauser to see what was happening. It was
a sight Theo would always remember. More disconcerting than anything he had ever experienced before, even his grandmother’s
passing. There in front of him was Mrs. Wellington’s ashen face and pale blue lips. Her eyes were closed and her wig was crooked,
partially exposing her scaly bald head.

“Welly’s dead,” Munchauser announced coldly.

T
heo couldn’t speak. No words could express the finality he was battling. It was all-encompassing and brain jumbling. His teacher
— whom he had never really liked in the first place — was dead. And she would never again be alive. Mrs. Wellington would
never know who the next president would be, what movies would capture the country’s heart, or what advancements would be made
in the science of hair rejuvenation. When these events happened, Theo would remember that Mrs. Wellington, odd as she had
been, was not around to share in the experience. Then a visual of her lifeless corpse would flash through his brain.

Theo didn’t remember how he got from the polo field to his bed, but he did. All he knew was that when he woke up, both Macaroni
and Madeleine were lying sullen-faced next to him. Lulu was curled up in a tight ball on the floor of the boys’ room with
one hand over her left eye. Theo wasn’t sure where Garrison was, and he was far too stunned to use his vocal cords yet.

As Theo ran through yet more changes the world would encounter without Mrs. Wellington, he began to think of all he had lost.
Theo would never know her favorite book, her best friend, or the name of Mrs. Wellington’s mother. Did she have any children?
Grandchildren? Great-grandchildren? Great-great-grandchildren? How had she come to run, albeit ineptly, this school on the
hill? Sure, he could ask Schmidty, but it wouldn’t be the same. He wouldn’t hear it from Mrs. Wellington. Sad and stunned
into silence, Theo felt ill at ease over everything except his desire to go home.

Garrison chose to stay with Schmidty as he lovingly painted Mrs. Wellington’s fingernails, applied makeup, and brushed her
wig. He just didn’t feel right leaving the old man alone with Munchauser. Mrs. Wellington’s dead body didn’t freak Garrison
out as much as the strange smirk on Munchauser’s face did.

“I bet you ten bucks she prefers red for her funeral,” Munchauser said as Schmidty applied a thick layer of pink lipstick.

“I hardly think this is the time for bets,” Schmidty seethed, “not to mention, how would we settle a bet about what she prefers
when she’s dead … ,” he choked out.

“I didn’t think about that,” Munchauser said while pacing in front of the dead body. “Of course, we will be able to settle
another bet.”

“Don’t you even care that Madame is dead? She’s gone! Left us forever!”

“Of course I care, old man. But I’m a businessman, and as such I must put my feelings on the back burner until everything
is settled, which includes the reading of the will and our friendly wager about who she leaves more to.”

“I never took that bet, you creep.”

“Well, you didn’t specifically not take it, so it counts in my book. Now Welly left her last will and testament in the safe,
so let’s wrap this up and get down to business.”

“When you say
this
do you mean Madame? Do you expect me to wrap her in newspaper and toss her out with the old flowers?” Schmidty roared.

“No, of course not. We’ll leave her on the field until you can dig a grave. And don’t worry, I’ll turn up the AC.”

Garrison watched the two men, both buzzing with emotions, and wondered where this situation left him and the others.

“Here’s a blanket,” Munchauser said as he grabbed a pink cashmere throw from a bin on the side of the field. “Cover her up,
and let’s get down to it.”

“Your compassion is overwhelming,” Schmidty fumed as he covered up his Madame.

Schmidty then laid his head across Mrs. Wellington’s chest and closed his eyes. His left hand fumbled until it found one of
Mrs. Wellington’s hands and squeezed it tightly. Even with his eyes closed the emotion was so unbearably raw that Garrison
looked away.

“I shall be with you again soon, Madame,” Schmidty said in a soft, almost childlike voice.

The sentiment of Schmidty’s goodbye irritated Munchauser, as if it was interrupting his plans.

“Will you save it for the funeral? I’ve got a lot to do around here. You have no idea the kinds of plans I have for this place,”
Munchauser said, almost salivating at the notion of taking over the estate.

“You are as dense as you are deranged. Madame may have left you some cash to see a dermatologist and a laser hair removal
specialist, but trust me, Summerstone and all that’s in it will be left to me. She knew that I would protect her legacy.”

Schmidty turned away from Munchauser, clearly tired of arguing.

“Mr. Garrison, are the others all right?” Schmidty asked Garrison.

“They’re okay. Not Theo, but I don’t think any of us expected him to take this well.”

“Is he crying?”

“No, he’s still silent. To be honest it’s a little creepy, like he’s in a coma with his eyes open or something.”

“Mr. Theo always was such a sensitive soul, he just needs time to mourn — we all do… .”

“Hey, kid?” Munchauser called out to Garrison.

“Well, not all of us, just those of us with feelings,” Schmidty corrected.

“I said ‘hey kid,’ why didn’t you answer? You think you’re too good to answer me?” Munchauser asked Garrison angrily.

“Sorry,” Garrison mumbled.

“You better be, because I don’t know if you heard but I’m in charge now.”

“Stop that,” Schmidty interrupted.

Completely ignoring Schmidty, Munchauser continued speaking to Garrison: “Assemble your comrades in the drawing room in five
minutes. As your new headmaster, I want you all there for the reading of the will, the passing of the torch,” Munchauser said
with his version of a grin, which clearly displayed his pronounced gums. If Munchauser
did
inherit the school, Garrison definitely hoped he would use some of the money to sort out his teeth.

“I suppose the sooner we get this over with, the sooner you’ll leave,” Schmidty hissed to Munchauser.

“Or the sooner
you’ll
leave. I will take such pleasure in throwing you and that fat dog off the mountain. The realization of a lifelong dream.”

A bit later, Garrison guided Madeleine, Theo, Macaroni, and Lulu down the Great Hall and into the classroom. Schmidty had
lit several candles and arranged numerous vases of pink roses throughout the room. On the coffee table, surrounded by tea
candles, were a couple of small black-and-white photos of Mrs. Wellington as a child. Schmidty and Munchauser were standing
directly in front of the coffee table, each with a hand on a large and exquisitely wrapped pink envelope.

“I’ll read it,” Munchauser said.

“I don’t trust you,” Schmidty said spitefully.

“Well I don’t like y —”

“Give it to me,” Garrison interrupted, desperate to get the reading of the will over with as soon as possible.

“Fine,” Munchauser acquiesced after Schmidty nodded in agreement.

“However, before you read the will, I would like to make a small speech. I think it’s going to be hard to talk over your sobbing
later,” Munchauser said pointedly to Schmidty.

Lulu and Madeleine bookended Theo and Macaroni on one couch while Schmidty and Garrison sat on the other. Munchauser, seemingly
energized by Mrs. Wellington’s death, paced in front of the somber group as he prepared to speak.

“As some of you may know, I am Welly’s lifelong attorney, the most trusted member of her inner circle, a true friend,” Munchauser
said while poorly pretending to be overcome by emotion. He went for his handkerchief in his breast pocket but instead pulled
out a betting form, then another and another. Soon the floor was littered in forms, and Munchauser decided it easier to simply
skip the theatrics.

“As it takes a while to liquidate assets, not to mention that I have no interest in refunding any of your parents’ money,
I will be finishing the summer as your headmaster. And please feel free to call me master, for short,” Munchauser said with
another one of his attempts at a smile. “I will teach you the fine art of life at the track, including debt collection and
placing bets. The house takes all winnings, and you’re responsible for your losses.”