“I guessed that you would sign up,” Francis said. “It didn’t surprise me. Though quite a few of the people on the faculty thought he was a phony. Or a lunatic,” he added, remembering Mendoza’s telling them that the Ohlones were not just outnumbered by the animals but by every species of animal, and claiming in a kind of chant that “if we put one of you and one of them side by side in their world, you would see emptiness and would despair. They would see the majesty of First Things, the nearness of God.”
For the first time, Lila took her eyes off the road, glanced at Francis. “But not you?” she asked. “You didn’t think he was a phony?”
“No, not me.”
“Why not? I mean, he was kind of intense. Sort of overboard.”
Francis hesitated. He’d concede Mendoza’s funny name, but he didn’t think he was overboard at all.
“Like, you’ll be three thousand miles away from home for two months, away from your wife and the school.”
“Yeah, it’s a long way.”
“So why’d you come if it’s so far away?”
“I’m only gone for the summer,” he said, thinking of his conversation with her mother. “You’re away from home from September to June.”
Lila frowned, took one hand off the wheel to push her blond hair away from her forehead. “Now you’re acting just like my mother,” she said. “Whenever she doesn’t want to tell me something I want to know, she changes the subject.”
“All right,” he said, giving in. “It’s like this: Once when I was a little kid, I was fishing with my dad.” He began to speak very fast now that he’d discovered he was going to tell her this amazing thing. “In a canoe. And a huge turtle swam up to the surface of the lake. Came right up beside me where I was in the bow of the canoe. He looked right at me, looked me right in the eyes.” He stopped talking suddenly, aware of how foolish he sounded.
“And you looked back at him,” Lila finished.
“Yes.”
“And then he went away?” Lila’s voice was very quiet.
“Yes. And then he went away.”
“You recognized each other,” she announced, and now he was surprised at how matter-of-fact her voice was. “He chose you,” she said. “He’s your totem. From out of the time when the earth was here and human beings were not.” All Francis could think about was how different this kid’s reaction was from Peggy’s when he tried to tell her what this moment meant to him.
“Thanks for telling me. I know you better now,” Lila said. “I’ve always wanted to know you. Now I do. Thanks.”
LATER, IN A campground near Winnemucca, Lila waited for sleep to come. She’d rather have been out under the stars, but Francis had insisted she put up her tent and sleep in it. Afraid some crazy rapist would come through. “Who knows who comes to public places like this?” he’d asked. Speaking like a dad! He was in his tent too, not far from hers. She imagined she could hear his breathing over the noise of the big trucks on Route 80 half a mile away. She shivered with her happiness and hugged herself, and then she fell asleep.
FIVE
In Fred Kindler’s office Peggy was saying, “I think I can help you,” and wondering if he could hear the shyness in her voice. She still felt she was usurping Francis’s place. “I think I’d be a good recruiter.”
Fred didn’t respond for several seconds that seemed like forever. Forget it, she wanted to say. It was just an idea.
In fact, he loved it. He was embarrassed that he had hesitated, caught assuming that Francis should be the one, not her. But he was sure she was right. “I should have thought of it myself,” he said. “You’ve been here longer and know the school better than anyone.”
“Except my husband,” Peggy murmured She needed to let Fred know he was forgiven.
“Yes. Well, he’s busy. He’d help if he could,” Fred said, and Peggy thought, Thanks. Thanks for saying that, wondering if her new friend would be this diplomatic if he weren’t the headmaster.
TWO DAYS LATER, the plane that Fred and Gail Kindler, Nan White, and Peggy took from Bradley Field to Hopkins Airport in Cleveland was two hours late; by the time they got across the airport and into their rented car for the drive to Shaker Heights, they knew the audience of potential students and their parents had already been gathered for half an hour in Steven and Sharon Maynard’s house. They arrived at the Maynard’s front porch at eight-thirty, feeling harried and rushed—an hour and fifteen minutes tardy, just as the summer sun was setting. Above them, draped from a second-story window, was a big American flag to celebrate the Fourth of July weekend, which would start in just two days.
Sharon Maynard greeted them in the spill of light from the front door of the big brick house, a tall, angular woman in her late forties, dressed in a white blouse and a floor-length blue skirt. Her faded blond hair was pulled severely back, her face was pale, and she wore no makeup; Peggy remembered a rounder face. But she felt warmly greeted when Sharon took her hand and smiled, then did the same with Nan. “It’s lovely to see you again,” Sharon said. “I’m glad you’re still at the school.” Nan let the comment go, and while Sharon was still holding her hand, Nan turned to the Kindlers, standing to her right, and introduced them. Very slowly, Sharon released Nan’s hand and then proffered her own, only partway and limply, and just the end of her fingers, first to Gail, then to Fred, while looking at a space above their heads. The Kindlers pretended they didn’t notice the slight.
Then they were in the house, and they heard the noise of conversation stop, and Steven Maynard was greeting them in the front hall. He was still in his brown business suit, a big man gone comfortably to roundness who wore a fifties crew cut. He took Gail’s hand and held on. “Gail! Welcome to our house. Thanks for dropping your own work and coming all the way out here to be with us.” Then he turned to Fred. “And Fred! We’re glad you’re here!” When he bent down to put his huge hand on Fred’s shoulder, Peggy and Nan exchanged quick glances of gratitude, and Peg felt the impulse to hug this big, round bear. Behind Steven, through the archway into the living room, the guests were watching.
Steven put his long arms out as if to corral the four of them and shepherded them into the living room, leaving his wife in the doorway, and Peggy saw the surprise appear on Sharon’s face. She watched the expression glide into a pout. Steven was not going to let her make the introductions! He had seen the way she greeted Fred and Gail. Peggy felt another rush of gratitude.
The furniture had been pulled to the sides of the Maynard’s airy living room to make room for the folding chairs, where at least forty people sat. The walls were a stark white; an Oriental rug covered the center of the polished hardwood floor, and abstract paintings hung on the walls. Peggy thought they were ugly. It flashed through her mind that maybe Steven didn’t like them either.
The four recruiters sat down in folding chairs at the front of the room facing the audience. Peggy scanned the room, looking at every face. There was no one here she didn’t recognize. She knew everyone there! Couldn’t remember everyone’s name, but recognized every face. So everyone was either a parent of a present Oliver student, or an alumna, or a parent of an alumna. Wait! she thought. There’s been some mistake. Not one potential new family is present! Not a single girl of high school age is here! She glanced across the room at Sharon Maynard, who stood in the archway to the living room, watching Peggy discover this. It dawned on Peggy then that maybe this wasn’t a mistake. She stared at Sharon’s eyes, burning in, until Sharon had to look away, and then Peggy knew: It wasn’t a mistake.
She heard Steven introduce her first. But she didn’t hear much of what he said because, along with her surprise at such treachery, she was aware that everyone in the audience was looking at her, not at Steven, while he talked. Their eyes pinned her to the wall as if to ask, Whose side are you on?
His, she wanted to answer, anger flooding. That’s right, his side. I’m loyal to him, this new guy, the man—and you better be too. She wanted to jump up in the middle of S
teven’s little speech and explain to these people all the reasons why Marjorie had to go. Instead—for she would keep her cool—she forced herself to smile and nodded her head in acknowledgment of the warm applause for her that she knew Fred wouldn’t get when he was introduced.
She needed to lean across Nan and Gail and whisper the news to Fred—make sure he understood no potential families were there to recruit, so he wouldn’t make a fool of himself. Nan couldn’t be sure; she hadn’t been with the school long enough to know everyone in the room. But Steven had already begun his introduction, and Fred was already standing up. “I’m proud and delighted to introduce our new head,” Steven said, doing his best to whip up enthusiasm. “We are fortunate to have a person of such high caliber.” Peggy searched the crowd to see if others noticed person instead of man. Faces were stony, expressionless, the clapping halfhearted, so minimally polite as to be insulting, and Peggy was amazed at the fierceness of the feelings in the room, which burnt even fiercer now as Fred Kindler stood to make himself their target. It wasn’t until these last few months since Marjorie was fired that Peggy had truly begun to learn, deep in her gut, not merely in her brain, just how volatile school communities are, how charged with emotion. She was getting another lesson right then and wondering where she’d been. The answer, of course, was that she’d never been at the head’s right hand, let alone at this new one’s, who had to follow in Marjorie Boyd’s footsteps and do all the things she wouldn’t do, and wasn’t even the right gender. She wouldn’t take Fred Kindler’s job for a million dollars.
“Thank you for coming to hear about our school,” Fred began, and Peggy’s heart sunk. “And thanks also to you alumnae and parents who have brought friends so they can learn about our school,” Fred went on, for he wasn’t cynical enough—not yet—to believe this absence of school-age girls was the result of a dirty trick. In fact, the idea didn’t even occur to him. He assumed instead that these parents wanted to check out the school—and him—on their own, before their daughters got interested. He would have preferred a less cautious approach, but he took what he could get and soldiered on. “And if what my colleagues and I say tonight inspires you enough, as I believe it will, to persuade your daughters and the daughters of your friends to hear more, we would be delighted to return and talk with them.” But now, someone in the back row was laughing. And a surprised, embarrassed expression appeared on many of the faces, and Fred hesitated, and Peggy saw a look of confusion on his face.
Then she watched him guess the real reason why there were no Oliver-age girls in the audience. Steven Maynard, who had just taken his own seat in the front row, stood up again.
“I’m sorry, Fred” he said. “I assumed we had sent you the lists of who was coming and who wasn’t.” He glanced, appalled, at his wife, who was still standing in the archway.
Fred nodded an acknowledgment to Steven, turned back to his audience, didn’t miss a beat. “Well, then,” he offered, “since you obviously know the school, let’s get to know each other.” Peggy was awed at her new head’s quick-footedness.
No response from the audience. Stony faces still, staring at Fred. They left him hanging.
Peggy watched Fred as he figured out what to say next. He wasn’t quick enough. “Oh, it’s all so slick!” a red-haired woman in the second row exclaimed. Peggy couldn’t remember her name, who her daughter was. Next to her, her husband nodded his head in vehement assent. “A very professional spin job, your coming here,” the woman continued. She wore a red dress as if to match her hair. “But we didn’t come here to hear you talk. We came to ask you questions.”
“That’s right,” called from the back row. “We have questions.” It was Mrs. Johnstone. Peggy knew her well, the mother of Karen Johnstone, a terrific kid who lived in Peggy and Francis’s dorm. “Lots of them.” Mrs. Johnstone’s voice was brass. “We have lots of questions.”
“We’re angry!” the woman in the red dress exclaimed, looking as if she were about to cry, and Mr. Loyal Spouse next to her made a show of holding her hand while Peggy’s disgust blossomed. Let your wife be angry all by herself, idiot! she thought.
Now Carl Beecher stood up in the back row. He was short, very round, and bald. Peggy knew him, the father of two alumnae and a present senior. Her spirits rose; she knew he’d say the right things.
She was right. Carl looked directly at Fred: “Yes, there’s a lot of anger,” he admitted in a gentle voice. “But it’s certainly not your fault. You didn’t fire Marjorie. We need to move on.”
Thank you, Fred wanted to say, for he was certainly grateful, but decided he wouldn’t. That would make Carl’s statement of fact look like sop to a weak leader. So he merely nodded his head at Carl.
“That’s exactly right, we need to move on!” Steven Maynard said. He smiled at Carl, then stared at the woman in the red dress to shut her up. Then he turned to Fred: “So Fred, let’s hear your thoughts.”
“First I have question,” Carl announced before Fred had a chance to begin. Still standing in the back, he faced the archway and stared at Sharon. “It’s not for Mr. Kindler,” Carl added, and Sharon blanched, knowing what was coming. “Why didn’t you tell us this was a recruiting gathering?” Carl asked, speaking very slowly. Sharon’s tall frame stiffened, and she didn’t answer. “Instead of just a chance to meet the new head,” Carl continued. In the front, Steven turned to stare across the room at his wife. “You set him up,” Carl said to Sharon. “Didn’t you? You called us up, but you didn’t ask us to bring anyone. I bet you didn’t even call the list of families the school sent you.” Everyone’s eyes swung from Carl to Sharon, like people watching a tennis match.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” Carl persisted. “Aren’t I, Sharon. You set him up.” Steven Maynard was still staring at his wife. It was all over his face that he knew the answer.
Now Fred knew exactly what to do to be the leader. He would take them down a better track. “I don’t think we need to pursue this,” he said. “Let’s not go down that road.” Peggy was amazed again.
Carl turned away from Sharon, put his eyes on Fred. Steven did too, facing completely around, putting his back to his wife. His face was very pale as he sat down. In the back, Carl sat too. Sharon remained standing.
“I understand how people feel,” Fred said into the silence. He moved his eyes around the room, seeking individual faces. “I’m glad you’ve put it on the table.”
Hooray for you! Peggy thought. You’re running this thing, you’re the boss!
“I know the size of the shoes I have to fill,” she heard Fred say next. “With your help, I’ll fill them”—and suddenly she was very angry. Oh, don’t be so damn humble! Peggy waned to yell, and the next thing she knew she was on her feet, and she was the one who was making a speech.
“Marjorie resigned of her own free will,” she lied. “You need to know that. She decided on her own to quit,” she heard herself saying. “She was tired. She knew the school needed new ideas.” She looked into people’s eyes, stared them down. “All right, I shouldn’t have interrupted. But he”—nodding at Fred—“is too gracious to say it, and it needed to be said.” So get over it! she wanted to add, just get over it! She felt Fred’s eyes and turned from the audience to meet them, and sat down. Her knees were shaking; she felt empty, as if she’d been holding her breath.
In the silence that Peggy had created, Fred felt a surge of joy. He began to talk, listing the traits that made Miss Oliver’s so special. The tension in the room began to melt—except for the lady in red, who whispered something to her husband. Fred went on, telling the audience what they needed to know—that he loved what they loved about the school.
He’s proving me right, Peggy thought. He knows what he’s doing, understands what works. She scanned the audience again. They were listening, at least. Give this man a chance, she wanted to say.
A few minute later, Fred finished and invited discussion. It was near the end of the meeting, and he was sure he was going to win
this game. Steven Maynard stood, and everybody knew he was going to ask an easy question, throw a softball. But Steven didn’t get a chance because the woman in red stood again. “You’ve been avoiding the subject all evening,” she said. “Do you plan to admit boys, or don’t you?”
“Why shouldn’t I avoid it?” Fred snapped back. “Since it never crossed my mind.” He felt another rush of joy: that he could lie so quickly!
“So?” Her voice rose. “You’re telling us there is absolutely no circumstance—none whatsoever—under which you would consider admitting boys?”
Fred hesitated for just an instant, and Peggy waited, and Fred hesitated another instant—to draw breath, intending to blast this woman—but Peggy wasn’t waiting any longer, she was on her feet again. “You heard him,” she said, focusing on the woman as if there were no one else in the room. “You heard what he said. No boys. Ever. That’s what he said. And he’s the headmaster. Why do you even bring it up?”
Steven was looking at Fred. “Exactly!” Fred said. “Exactly why I didn’t bring it up.” He stared at the woman until she sat down. And then he realized: This has to end right now.
As if reading Fred’s mind, Steven turned to the audience. “That’s a good place to end this meeting,” he announced. The audience was obviously surprised. There was a restless shuffling.
“Wait!” said Sharon from the archway. “We’re not finished.”
But Steven turned his back on his wife. His gesture was blatant, his disgust obvious. Then he stepped across to the front of the room and took Fred’s hand in both of his and pumped it. “We’re so glad you’re here!” he boomed. “You’re just what the school needs.” Then, turning back to his guests: “Thanks so much for coming, everyone. Drive safely.”
Still, the audience was in their seats. They turned to look at Sharon—like basketball players waiting for the second referee to reverse the call of the first. To no avail: she was not looking at the audience, she was clenching her fists, and trying not to cry, and staring at her husband, who had turned his back to her again. The guests wanted no part of this! They moved quickly to the door and out of the house.
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