In 1875, Miss Cassandra Dunne was a well-regarded teacher in Boston, celebrated nearly as much for her scientific curiosity as for her outspoken beliefs on women's rights and the education of girls. Her classrooms brimmed with energy, chalk dust, and lively debate, but Cassandra's dreams were bigger than what the city's neighborhoods and privileged boys' schools could hold. She longed to bring knowledge to those who needed it most, to children whose futures had not already been secured by lineage and wealth.
For months, she pondered her next steps in the dim light of her tiny rented room, the ink pot on her desk slowly draining as she penned applications to schools in distant territories. Her friends tutted at her ambitions and her father, a clockmaker, tried to convince her to remain in Boston, where she might be safe and even-though he would never admit it-find a suitable husband. But Cassandra's heart was set westward, toward adventure and possibility.
In 1875, Miss Cassandra Dunne was a well-regarded teacher in Boston, celebrated nearly as much for her scientific curiosity as for her outspoken beliefs on women's rights and the education of girls. Her classrooms brimmed with energy, chalk dust, and lively debate, but Cassandra's dreams were bigger than what the city's neighborhoods and privileged boys' schools could hold. She longed to bring knowledge to those who needed it most, to children whose futures had not already been secured by lineage and wealth.
For months, she pondered her next steps in the dim light of her tiny rented room, the ink pot on her desk slowly draining as she penned applications to schools in distant territories. Her friends tutted at her ambitions and her father, a clockmaker, tried to convince her to remain in Boston, where she might be safe and even-though he would never admit it-find a suitable husband. But Cassandra's heart was set westward, toward adventure and possibility.
