“Marjorie married them.”
“Marjorie! Mrs. Boyd? Married them?”
“She performed the ceremony. It made some of the new trustees mad.”
“Well, that’s interesting. Who’s the third teacher I’m about to see?”
But Ms. Rice went right on, her tone of voice almost friendly now: “Marjorie got one of those Universalist Church preacher’s licenses that were created for COs in the Vietnam War. Since the alumnae learned about it, Marjorie’s been asked to perform quite a few marriages.”
“The third person?” he interrupted.
“Oh. The third person. That’s Fredericka Walters. She teaches German.”
“I know,” he replied, feeling a further surge of worry. He’d made it a point, during his earlier study of the school, to know how many students each teacher instructed. Fredericka Walters was one of the highest-paid teachers on the faculty—with the fewest students. He was going to have to do something about that.
“Oh, that’s right, you know what people teach,” Ms. Rice said, and he immediately regretted cutting her off. It dawned on him that before doing anything else he should have had a long, relaxed talk with her.
“Some people call her Sam,” Ms. Rice went on. “She likes men’s names; and others call her Fred, of course.” Then after a pause: “But don’t worry. It won’t be confusing. It will be a while before anybody’s going to call you by your first name.” Her face flooded with red again.
He forced himself to let that go, trying to believe she didn’t even know that she was insulting him; she was just describing his situation. “Show them in please, Ms. Rice,” he said as gently as he could.
Margaret Rice went out the door. In an instant, she returned. “They’re not there.”
“They’re not there!”
“Right. They must have gone over to the faculty room to get some coffee. While you and I were talking.”
“We only talked for a minute! The faculty room’s clear on the other side of the campus.”
Ms. Rice shrugged her shoulders again. “They’ll be back.”
“When’s my next appointment?”
“Nine-fifteen. Mavis Ericksen and Charlotte Reynolds. Two of the new board members,” she added, rolling her eyes.
I know; I met them during the hiring process, remember? Fred almost said. So did my wife. But he remembered what happened last time he told her he knew something.
“It’s already five after nine,” he said instead. “That only leaves ten minutes. So when the teachers get back from the faculty room, tell them I can’t see them now. They can come back later.”
Margaret Rice stood stock-still, staring at Fred for what seemed a very long moment. “You’re joking!”
“No, I’m not joking. Tell them.”
“You can’t just cancel an appointment like that. They’re teachers!”
“Yes, I can.”
“They’re going to be mad!”
Now it was his turn to shrug. As Ms. Rice started to leave, he said, “Let’s leave the door open. I don’t want anybody to think I’m hiding in here.”
“WE HEARD THAT about making the teachers wait,” Mavis Ericksen said. An alumna, she was a tall brunette, very pretty, in a red dress, stockings, high heels. She turned to Charlotte Reynolds for affirmation. Charlotte, also an alumna, and mother of an eighth, ninth, and tenth grader, was a stocky, thick-legged athlete in a short tennis dress. She nodded back at her friend. “Good for you, Fred,” Mavis said. Both women sat down in the chairs he offered. He came from behind his desk and sat in a third chair facing them.
“Yes, good for you,” said Charlotte, whom Fred found more comfortable to look at; that way he could keep his eyes off Mavis’s heartbreaking legs.
“We’re very glad you’re here,” said Mavis. “As a matter of fact, we are delighted! Welcome.”
“Delighted is the perfect word,” Charlotte pronounced. “How’s everything going?”
“Fine,” Fred fibbed, thinking of Carl Vincent’s numbers filed right behind him in his desk.
“Really?” Mavis’s eyes probed.
“Just diving in,” Fred said, feeling suddenly guarded. He tried to make his voice sound enthusiastic. “There are a lot of things I need to learn about.”
“One of the things you have probably already learned,” Mavis said, “is that Charlotte and I are among the more recent appointments to the board. The result, I would say, of some….” She hesitated, turning to her friend.
“Persistence,” Charlotte supplied.
“Yes. Persistence,” Mavis agreed.
“The school was getting pretty close to shutting down, you know,” Charlotte said.
“I know. We will all work together to make what Marjorie built here permanent.” He imagined himself apologizing to Marjorie for such a lame statement.
Mavis’s eyes focused intently on his. “You’re right. Respect for Mrs. Boyd. That’s how we need to approach everything. But I refuse to let anyone make me feel guilty.”
“I’m sure that’s not what you meant,” Charlotte murmured to Fred. Then more loudly: “How’s Gail adjusting?”
“Quite well. Everybody has been very kind,” he said, pushing out of his mind the fact that Peggy Plummer and Eudora Easter and Rachel Bickham, head of the Science Department, were the only teachers who have dropped in to say hello to his wife. “She’s finishing hanging our pictures as we speak.”
“Well,” Mavis said, “we’re sure you’re busy, so we should get right to the point and tell you why we’re here.”
“Definitely,” Charlotte murmured. “Time to get down to business.”
“We’re here to stand firmly behind you when you get rid of Joan Saffire,” Mavis announced, looking straight into Fred’s eyes. Joan Saffire was the assistant director of Development.
“Absolutely,” Charlotte nodded vigorously. “We’re right behind you.”
“Uh … I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Fred said.
“There will be a rebellion, of course,” Charlotte said, looking hard at Fred. “A huge fuss. Lots of the alumnae, virtually all of the faculty, and many of the board—all the trustees who voted for Mrs. Boyd to stay, as a matter of fact. That’s almost fifty percent.”
“Charlotte!” Mavis exclaimed.
