Free Thirteenth Child by Patricia C. Wrede

started, our house was busy as a train stop, with people coming and going and talking seriously with Papa about his report. Dean Farley came three times, and once the school’s president, Mr. Grey, came with Professor Graham. The professor shook his head and told Papa he was a brave man, but Mr. Grey said that Papa had only done what any man of conscience ought, and that the Settlement Office must realize at last that the college was not going to be manipulated or coerced. Later on, I asked Hugh what Mr. Grey meant, and he said that Mr. Grey was glad of the chance to show the Settlement Office that they couldn’t boss the college around, but because he was president of the college, he couldn’t say so in plain words without maybe offending them.
    The day before school started, I was out back with Rennie, weeding the kitchen garden, when two peculiar-looking men came up. They wore simple homespun coats over bright shirts, and squared-off hats with feathers stuck in the hatband. The older one was tall and skinny and dark-haired, with a square-trimmed beard and three hawk feathers in his hatband. The younger one was medium-tall, blond and broad-shouldered and not much older than my brother Charlie. He only had one feather in his hat, a long, shiny black one from a crow’s wing. As soon as she laid eyes on him, Rennie straightened up and patted at her hair.
    “Pardon me, ladies,” the older man said, and Rennie straightened up further yet and almost smirked. “Could you tell me where I would find Professor Rothmer?”
    “Papa’s in his study,” I said.
    Rennie frowned at me, then smiled her best smile at the two men. “My father is inside. If you’d like to come around front to the porch, Eff can run and tell him you’re here.”
    “That will be most satisfactory,” the older man said.
    Rennie made a shooing motion at me behind her back. I made a face at her, being careful that the visitors couldn’t see me. I knew well enough what was proper without her bossing me just to show off in front of company. But the very minute I was out of sight I ran as fast as I could to Papa’s study to tell him we had more visitors.
    I was quick enough that Papa and the two men arrived at the front of the house almost at the same time. Papa checked, just for an instant, and when he got a good look at the two of them, his face got the little smile on it that meant something interesting was about to happen. Rennie didn’t notice; she was too busy making a face back at me as she went past me into the house.
    “Professor Rothmer?” the older man said.
    Papa nodded. “That I am, sir.”
    “Toller Lewis,” the man said, extending his hand. “President of the Long Lake City branch of the Society of Progressive Rationalists. And this is my nephew, Brant Wilson. We’ve come to see you on a matter of business, so to speak.”
    The corners of Papa’s mouth got deeper, as if his smile was getting stronger without getting any wider. He took Mr. Lewis’s hand and shook it. “What business would the Society of Progressive Rationalists have with a practicing magician and a professor of magic?”
    Mr. Lewis shifted his feet and opened his mouth, but then he closed it again without saying anything. Brant looked over at him and then turned to Papa and answered, “I’d like to attend your class on Theory and Application of the Great Barrier Spell this fall, with your permission.”
    Papa looked startled. The Society of Progressive Rationalists didn’t hold with magic and magicians. I’d seen one of their pamphlets once—it had said that magic was a snare and a crutch, and men would only realize their full potential if they stopped using it and depended on their brains and strong arms instead. That made no sense to me; after all, magic takes plenty of brains. And why would anybody want to work three times harder than they needed, just to say they hadn’t used magic to build a house or make a coat or dig a well? The Rationalists