course. But what has that got to do—?”
“We save the school, we save everything.”
“I already gave him some advice,” Peggy murmured.
“And that’s all you’re going to do?”
Now Peggy was too restless to sit. She got up, moved around the room, stopped next to a larger-than-life sculpture, the one she loved best. It was Humpty Dumpty sitting on a wall, and in the center of his round, white stomach was a door that let you inside to sit on a bench where, when you pulled a lever, Humpty fell off the wall and came apart into exactly fifteen pieces. The students who had thought it up, designed it, and built it named the piece Undefeated because they, unlike the king’s men, could put Humpty back together again—in a jiffy.
Peggy rubbed her hand over Humpty’s smooth surface. She thought she knew what Eudora was going to say; it brought a little surge of joy.
“You can help him recruit,” Eudora said. “Travel around the country selling the school with him and Gail and Nan. You’ll be good at it. You’ll be wonderful.”
Peggy had no doubt that she could speak for the school, and she wanted to. But that’s not what she needed to hear. For on the heels of her excitement about it came her anger. “That’s what Francis should do!” she exclaimed. “It’s his job.”
“So you do it,” Eudora said. “You’re just as senior as Francis is. You be the head’s right hand.”
“Me?”
“Oh, baby!” Eudora murmured. “I’ve been counting on it.” It was true; she’d seen this coming, as soon as she learned that Marjorie was fired.
Peggy knew how striking this exchange of roles would be. “What place will Francis have when he comes back?” she wondered aloud.
Eudora studied her and smiled. “You’re catching on,” she said.
“I don’t want to catch on. I’m no politician.”
“Yes, you are. Everybody is.”
“It will create an even bigger separation between me and Francis.”
“And this is the way to heal it. How else? Run after him and drag him back? Go out there with him and pretend to be an Indian?”
This was too much for Peggy all at once. She needed to be alone now. She needed time to think.
And besides, here came Mary Bradford, a tall, blond kid with coltish legs, a summer student, into the studio. Mary had been so eager to get away from her family in San Francisco, where she’d been for only a week since the school year ended, that here she was back on campus two days before summer school began. She was carrying a big black portfolio case. In spite of the bounce in her step, she had the drawn look teenagers get when they are tired and won’t admit it. After flying in from the West Coast yesterday, she had stayed up most of the night to finish her drawings and couldn’t wait to show them to Eudora.
“Hello, Mary,” Peggy said, then turned to Eudora, smiled her goodbye, and started to move away. Mary was Eudora’s business, not hers. Besides, she couldn’t wait to be alone.
“No,” Eudora urged. “Stay here with us.” She wanted Peggy to see the drawings.
Eudora revered Mary’s talent, which she knew was greater than her own; she was using all her skill and passion in nurturing it. That was what Miss Oliver’s was all about. She wanted to confront Peggy with the result of her teaching, so clear in the blossoming of Mary’s work. Maybe that would stir Peggy to acknowledge that if they save the school, they save everything she cared about, including her marriage. After all, the Plummers were as much married to the school as they were to each other—and what was wrong with that? She turned to Mary. “Let’s show your work to Mrs. Plummer too.”
Mary hesitated
“Mary, Mrs. Plummer is my friend.”
That was all Eudora needed to say. For Eudora’s claim to an adult affection, to loyalty and trust, named exactly what was absent in Mary’s family—and the original reason for her having been sent away from home. “I’d love to have you see them,” Mary said to Peggy, and now Peggy had no choice. Later, she would realize how clever Eudora was being.
Mary took her drawings out of the case and laid them side by side on a big table. Eudora studied them. A year ago, she would have praised all of Mary’s work. But now, a year of hard work later, the stakes were up; she’d award no easy praise. She said nothing for the longest time, merely looked.
“It’s a joke,” Mary told Peggy, breaking the silence—and Eudora’s rule: Never explain. If it’s not clear on the paper, do it again. But she couldn’t help it, she loved her idea too much to chance Peggy’s not getting it. “It’s a double computer,” she said. “The place you put your feet is one keyboard—we’ll use organ pedals with the letters painted on them—and the other’s a wrap-around, so you can type with your feet and your hands at the same time, write two different books. And that’s not all. We’ll start with a hairdresser’s chair. It’ll have one of those weird old-fashioned hair dryer hoods so you can write two books and get a shampoo all at once!”
Eudora was still looking at the drawings, frowning now. It was as if she hadn’t heard a word. “I’m sorry,” Mary said to Eudora’s back. “I broke the rule. But my parents are always bragging about how busy they are. Multitasking,” she added. “How’s that for a stupid word?”
Eudora ignored Mary’s excuse and kept her back to her, still staring down at the drawings. She pointed with her left hand to the first picture in the sequence. “This one’s good,” she said. “Very good. These are even better.” She pointed with her right hand to the next three in the sequence.
“Thanks,” Mary said.
“Don’t thank me, dear,” Eudora answered. Then abruptly picking up the fifth drawing, holding it with both arms extended in front of her, she said, “What about this one?”
Mary hesitated.
“What about this one?” Eudora insisted.
“I was in a hurry.”
“Do it again.”
A tiny smile appeared on Mary’s face. Peggy thought she looked relieved.
“Tomorrow?” Eudora asked.
“All right. I’ll bring it in tomorrow,” Mary said. Then, pointing to the sixth drawing: “What about this one?”
Now it was Eudora who was smiling. She shook her head back and forth and didn’t answer. She knew that Mary understood: We’ll look at the sixth when the fifth one’s as good as it can get.
“That’s what I thought,” Mary said. She gathered her drawings into her case, slowly, deliberately, while Peggy and Eudora watched. Then she smiled at Peggy. “Thanks,” she said, and turned to Eudora. “Same time tomorrow?”
Eudora nodded. “I’ll be right here,” she said, and Peggy thought, Yes, and the next day too and the next and the next and the one after that, and knew—as
