Friday was going to be a busy day. In fact, the entire weekend would be busy. Guests would be arriving today to move in for the semester. They would continue to appear until the reception Sunday afternoon.
The first to arrive was of course Constance Claire Donne, a returning senior student in English. She hoped to be a journalist and used Begley House and the guests as practice for news articles she wrote for the school paper. Tall, blond, and confident, she had ambition and imagination, which is a good combination not taken to excess. I gave her the key to room one upstairs and the nicely printed card with her name on it to slide into the brass frame on the door.
"Same room as last year," she said, looking at the key. "Same key too. Opens all of the same locks." She looked at me and smiled.
"It will work best if used only on your own lock," I replied.
"Of course, Mary Susan." Her head went up and down, slowly and very solemnly. "And thank you very much for remembering that I wanted my old room back this year." She brightened instantly. "Louis will be along soon. He had to change trains in Chicago. Seems silly when he only lives 75 miles from here. Why don't the trains go where the people go?"
"I don't know about trains. I have enough to do running Begley House without taking on the railroad system. Do you need help with your luggage?"
"I left the big cases in the hall. Louis can bring them up when he gets here."
I wondered how that thought fit in with her ideas, often and strongly expressed, about the equality of women and men. But I also knew that Louis would be only too happy to accommodate the pretty and fast-moving Constance Claire. Maybe she could have it both ways. Who knows?
The next to arrive was the previously mentioned Louis McDonald. He was my other returning Senior. His major field of study was history and he had intentions of becoming a lawyer first and then go into politics.
A large man with ruddy hair and complexion and a cheerful face, it has been rumored, but not yet proved, that he has, on occasion, drunk spirits. It is also rumored, with somewhat more evidence, that he is easily led, especially by pretty women with fast ideas, and that Constance Claire strikes him as just such a woman.
Constance Claire met him in the hallway and with explosions of speech and laughter helped him with his luggage up to the third floor. In three minutes they returned for his key and name plate. They then moved the rest of his and her luggage upstairs. I wondered if they had put his luggage in the hallway or inside his room using her key to open his door, but decided that I might not want to know that just yet.
He has been restored to room eight on the third floor, also at his request.
The next to arrive was a new occupant of Junior standing named Doris Lund. She arrived about one with her father and mother. I solemnly escorted the three of them, baggage in hand, to her room on the second floor. She would reside in room four. I slid the nameplate into the brass holder on the door, opened it with the key, and ceremoniously handed the key to Dora. She was living in Begley House, not her parents. They followed us into the room and put down her luggage.
Once they had finished telling me how nice the room was, I told Dora that excess luggage could be stored in a room down the hall. I pointed it out to her on our way to show her the bathroom. All three agreed that the bathroom was perfectly adequate and all three saw the inside latch. I don't know what they expected, and maybe they didn't either, but they seemed to like what they found. I went back downstairs.
The parents left, somewhat reluctantly it seemed to me, a half hour later to catch the train for home. When they spoke their leave, I noticed a slight lilt to their voices. First generation Americans, I thought, they still remember Sweden, but I hadn't noticed any such lilt in Dora's speech. They made sure that they had my address correctly and that I had theirs. They seemed to think I was in loco parentis for their child. The only part of that that might fit was the loco part.
That left me Friday afternoon to make my semi-annual rounds of the offices and people on campus whom I contact and who contact me during the course of the semester. The Dean was especially happy to see that I had his protégée settled in satisfactorily. I then visited the Dean of Women, the Bursar and the Registrar, leaving my business card with each of them for future reference. At the same time, I collected all I could of fliers and announcements for the upcoming term. I wanted my guests to know what clubs and organizations were offering memberships, what official events were planned and the hours of operation of the library and labs on campus. The Registrar provided a few maps of the campus, for those truly lost.
Saturday was more of the same. Mr. John Watson arrived by the morning train. He is a returning Senior student in biology who will someday be Doctor Watson. He has a few more years of study for that distinction. He studies hard, and spends a lot of time in the college laboratory. He claims that Begley House is closer to the lab than the college dormitory. I hope that isn't the only reason he chooses to live here, but it might be. He likes the atmosphere of Begley House but rarely participates in it. He thanked me for his key and name plate without ceremony and installed himself in his former room
Erica Landsdorf and Elizabeth Proctor arrived an hour later in a shared taxi. It seems they arrived on the same train. They are both new to Begley House. Elizabeth comes from what I would have to call a strong family background. It includes church, rather a lot of church, and some pretty stiff ideas of deportment especially as it applies to women.
Nevertheless, here she was at Begley House, bravely standing before me, waiting escort to her room. I led both of them to the second floor and introduced them to their quarters.
A room at Begley House is almost always the very first time any of my clients have lived away from family, on their own in any sort of way at all, and in a completely unknown situation. They always pretend that they are not simultaneously excited and terrified at the prospect. I open the door, demonstrating the use of the key in the lock, then hand them the key and step back, letting them enter the room first.
They take two steps into it, stop, and look around taking in each object in the room in turn. After a few seconds, I join them and ask perfunctorily if there is anything they need. They say no. I assure them that if they need anything at all or have any questions at all they are to seek me out immediately. I then leave them to do their unpacking and exploring.
With Erica Landsdorf, it was different. She walked into the room, set her suitcase on the floor, took a quick look around the room, inspected the wardrobe and looked carefully out the window. Then she turned to face me and said, "This will be quite comfortable, I'm sure. Thank you for all the careful preparation."
I admit being somewhat taken aback at the sudden dismissal, but I remembered that Erica had been on her own before and that this was not the first time she had lived in a rented room. That made her rather different from the other first-year students. She was different in a lot of other ways as well, I was to learn, but that all came later.