Shadows of the Rose

The classroom was in darkness, empty and abandoned. Miss Hunter gazed around for the last time at what had once been her domain. In the typing room, she had been queen. All the typewriters looked forlorn, sitting silently on each desk, their dust jackets covering them like a shroud. Did they mourn her leaving Did they even know, or was it just the fancies of an old woman, an old woman who was no longer needed A door on her life had closed, and no matter how much she wanted it, she knew it could never be re-opened.

Oh, she would visit the school occasionally, she supposed, but she would no longer be a part of it. Things would go on without her and she didn't know how she was going to cope with that. Yes, she was sixty with greying hair and more wrinkles than she cared to count, but she could still think, she could still feel, she could still teach if they'd only let her.

And what did she get for her forty years of loyal service A gold plated carriage clock that she could put on the mantelpiece ticking off the little time she had left. She got a nice "Thank you" from the headmaster, but she could tell what he was really thinking, that she was too old and they were glad to get rid of her. She shuddered at the memory.

Who gave them the right to decide whether she was too old or not What had age got to do with anything She was older, wiser, and more mature. Surely they were qualities to admire in a teacher She could just imagine who they would hire as her replacement, some vivacious young thing straight out of teacher training college full of new ideas and tricks to keep the pupils interested. Emily had never had to resort to trickery to help her students learn. She tried to dismiss the thought and sighed. Was she really that out of touch

It was difficult for her to think of someone else using her desk, sitting in her chair, teaching her class. Would her pupils miss her or would they even think of her now that she was gone Would they even care Perhaps they wouldn't even remember her after a few weeks.

Emily was reluctant to leave the classroom that she had spent so much time in. She had never married, never had a family, the one thing she regretted above all others. It would have been nice to be surrounded by grandchildren in her last years. As it was, she had been alone.

There had been a young man once, Andrew Samson. Her parents had been friends of his parents and they met at one of her parents' parties. They were always throwing parties, trying to throw their money around to impress people and Emily hated the parties. She was always paraded like some sort of trophy. After the party where she'd first met Andrew, he came to visit her, always with her mother or father in the parlour with them. Every time Andrew looked at her, she felt her heart flutter and her knees tremble.