Well, I'm back. My apologies about the wait, but with a few reviews I might be able to keep up the stamina to write another chapter. (Hint hint.)

Chapter Ten: All Lessons Learned

1It was Monday morning, when first period Advanced Placement American Literature class was made privy to the latest news about the mansion. Professor Summers was back from the dead, making notes on the chalkboard casually, as if he had been there all along. Many of the students had stopped in the doorway to stare. There had been several reports over the weekend, of students catching glimpses of him in the kitchen or heading down the hallway, but no one had expected to see him back in a classroom, especially so soon.

"Alright, alright," he began, waving them inside. "Come inside, have a seat: we've got things to do, places to go, people to see." The small group of students cautiously filed into the classroom, taking their seats in the small lecture room.

"I've been told, you were supposed to have read The Scarlet Letter," he began the lesson once everyone had settled in. A chorus of groans circulated through the room. "Yes, yes, we have to talk about that," Scott continued, mimicking their unenthused tone. "So let's begin with a little background information on Nathaniel Hawthorn." He pointed behind him to the name scrawled out on the blackboard.

"Born July 4th, 1804—don't write that down, the date's not important," he waved off the swarm of furiously scribbling pens and pencils. "In Salem, Massachusetts—providing us with the backdrop of our story. Earlier this year, some of you, read a book called The Crucible—remember that on?" There were several blank stares throughout the room.

"But Mr. Summers, we already took that test," Scott teased in a sarcastically droning voice. "Well you've got to remember these things! Does anyone recall a certain character from The Crucible, one Judge Hathorne? Well, he was a real judge of the Salem Witch Trials of 1692, and the ancestor of Nathaniel Hawthorne. Hawthorne was so disgusted by his family's involvement in the persecution of innocent men and women during the Salem Witch Trials that he added the 'w' to his name to disassociate himself from them.

"Hawthorne was also a recluse," he continued. "What's a recluse?" A tense silence filled the room. "Come on, this is my AP class, someone should be able to tell me what it means."

"Someone who keeps to themselves," Kitty offered sheepishly.

"That's exactly it," Scott offered. "I'm glad I have at least one student who's awake. He wrote several short stories, and worked as an editor for a magazine, but he wasn't able to make a living on his writing. He got a job at a Boston Customs House, which is where our story begins. The Scarlet Letter is what made him one of the most acclaimed writers of his time: so what did we think of it?" A tense silence filled the room. Scott blinked, surveying the guilty faces of his students. "Someone has to have something to say?" One gloved hand was slowly raised.

"Marie," he offered encouragingly, walking towards her.

"Well it kind of made me angry," she tried to explain in her southern lilt. A chorus of unimpressed laughter circled through the room; the girl blushed.

"No, absolutely," he agreed. "Would you care to tell us why?" Rogue shrugged.

"I just didn't like the fact that they persecuted Hester," she explained thoughtfully. "Even though she never did anything to hurt them—it seemed grotesquely judgmental." Scott smiled minutely.

"But then aren't you being judgmental about the puritans being judgmental?" He questioned. Marie shrugged abashedly. "It's okay," he assured her. "Go on."

"The way Hawthorne presented the story," she continued. "You weren't supposed to like Governor Bellingham, even though he was the law-abiding citizen or whatever—"

"Precisely," Scott encouraged, now in full teacher-mode, moving to the chalkboard. "Hawthorne was absolutely, one-hundred percent anti-puritan." He jotted it down on the board in thick letters and underlined it dramatically. "As long as we're discussing Governor Bellingham—did anyone catch what kind of house he lived in?"

"A nice one..." Jubilee put in unenthusiastically.

"It's huge," Scott agreed, flamboyantly waving his hands. "There are glass windows, and gold filigree laid into the stair railing—he lives in a Puritan society. What is Governor Bellingham?"

By now the class had gotten past their displeasure and malcontent with the unfamiliar enthusiasm and quirkiness of the day's lesson, and were currently curious enough to play along.

"The antagonist," Kitty offered.

"No, no, not that," their teacher replied. "What's it called when you tell people one thing and do another."

"A hypocrite," John replied, resting his chin on one balled fist, rather unenthused.

"Exactly," he agreed, writing it on the board. "Now let's talk about Hester...who is she?" By now many of the students were willing to voice their thoughts, and he would occasionally offer guidance to incite the answers he was looking for. It was a generally productive class, and they had gone through the major themes and techniques with a few minutes of class.

"Would anyone else care to offer up their opinion on The Scarlet Letter?" He prompted. "On anything at all...even if you hated it." The silence through the classroom was absolute. "No one else has anything to say? You should. Everyone of us should be able to identify with someone in this book, don't you think? We've all been judged, feared, hated. Some of us are like Hester...people can judge us outright. Others are like Dimmesdale...you can pass for human, but you know in your heart that your different. We don't have you read these books to make your heads spin. Take a lesson from Emerson, become "Man Thinking" take what you read and learn from it."

As students stared glassily, the bell rang, signaling the end of the period.

"Remember, we're writing on Friday," he reminded the class as they gathered their books and scurried out of the room.

"Professor Summers," Marie started up, approaching his desk cautiously. He turned back to her attentively. "I just wanted to tell you...I really enjoyed today's lesson. I mean Dr. McCoy's a great teacher and all, but he's a little too smart for our good." Scott laughed lightly.

"Well thank you very much, Marie," he offered, seeing her out the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."