Let's Play Dead

by Sheila Connolly

  As we were walking back to the Society, Shelby said, “Do you want me to nose around, see if I can find you an assistant? I don’t want to tread on Melanie’s toes, since that’s her job, but I might know of a few potential candidates.”

  “I would be eternally grateful. I do believe Melanie when she says she’s had plenty of applicants but none of them right for the position. There are plenty of people looking for work, but that doesn’t mean they can do what I need done. Melanie’d probably thank you, too. I’d rather she concentrated on filling the registrar position, and she’s got plenty else to keep her busy. But why would you know any likely candidates?”

  “The ‘old gals’ network. Besides, as I said before, I like to talk to people, and I’ve talked to plenty since I moved to Philadelphia. Give me a day or two and I’ll see who I can come up with.”

  We’d reached our building, and held off on conversation until we’d passed through the lobby and gone up to the third floor. At Shelby’s office door, she stopped. “Thanks for the lunch, Nell-and for filling me in. I’m glad that you trust me.”

  Our lunch, which had stretched well past two, left me with little time to start anything new before I was supposed to leave for Let’s Play. No doubt if I had that magical assistant, she-or he-would have a tidy stack of messages waiting for me, arranged in order of importance; would have updated my calendar; and would have left several letters for me to sign before whisking them away to mail. I sighed. I was beginning to fear that this paragon of efficiency was a fairy tale, or at best, a dinosaur well on the way to becoming extinct. Who wanted to be the nameless, faceless assistant to somebody, after all? As a feminist I applauded that: too many capable, talented women in the past had settled for that type of paid servitude. But as the president of a busy institution, I wished I could resurrect just one. I needed help, and I knew it.

  So I didn’t get much done before I had to leave for my appointment. I didn’t even have anyone to tell that I was officially leaving for the day. I stuck my head into Carrie’s cubicle. “Carrie, I’m headed out-I’m going to go talk to Arabella Heffernan at Let’s Play, and then go home from there.”

  Carrie’s face lit up. “Let’s Play? Ooh, I loved that place when I was a kid. My mom used to drag me to all these stuffy museums and I hated those, but sometimes she’d let us go to Let’s Play and it was great. Say hi to Furzie.”

  “Furzie?”

  “The big blue bear at the front entrance. Don’t worry-he doesn’t bite.”

  “That’s good to know. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  It was a fifteen-minute walk to Let’s Play, and I knew enough to stick to the smaller streets-if you took the larger ones, it was like walking through a wind tunnel as the tall buildings funneled the gusts at you.

  Let’s Play was unique in my experience with museums. It occupied a pair of adjacent two-story brick buildings that had begun life in the late nineteenth century as small businesses, or maybe it was factories. Little had been changed structurally, and there were still a lot of exposed beams and naked pipes inside. The city had changed around the buildings, but their location was ideal for visiting parents, since they lay in close proximity to the other child-friendly Philadelphia museums. Parents had to park only once, and then if they wished they could split up, one parent leading the older kids to the science museums to visit dinosaurs, the other heading for Let’s Play, where hands-on interaction with the diverse exhibits was not only allowed but actively encouraged. I loved the concept. Why should a museum be a dark and stuffy place where everyone kept telling you “shush” and “don’t touch”? Let’s Play was the polar opposite: it was welcoming and friendly. I was curious to see what the new exhibit would be like, but I was sure it would be fun, at least if you were a kid.

  I walked in and introduced myself at the front desk, shouting to make myself heard over the noise of happy children. I smiled toward Furzie, who beamed benevolently over all comers. There seemed to be kids everywhere-must be some school group here today, or maybe the usual allotment of children had been compressed into a smaller-than-usual space because of the construction Arabella had mentioned. The frazzled young woman at the desk made a call and nodded encouragingly at me, then pointed toward the gift shop off the lobby. I made the assumption that Arabella would meet me there and drifted over.

  I love gift shops, and this one made me wish I had kids. Heck, I wanted half the things I saw: a menagerie of wind-up animals; prisms; all sorts of wonderful rulers and crayons and erasers. There was nothing battery powered in sight, thank goodness, and everything looked appropriately indestructible. I was contemplating how a large spider embedded in Lucite would look on my desk when Arabella came bustling in, apologizing breathlessly.

  “Nell, so good to see you. Sorry to keep you waiting, but things have been so crazy. Of course, that’s been true for months-maybe crazy is the new normal. Let me take you upstairs so we can talk.”

  There was no way to stem her burbling, so I nodded in agreement and followed her back into the melee of the hall, then up a flight of stairs. Things were appreciably quieter on the second floor, and became increasingly so as we went toward the back of the building. When we reached Arabella’s office, she pointed me toward an overstuffed armchair upholstered in bright cotton fabric decorated with bunnies. “Sit down, please. I’ve made tea, and there are cookies!” She beamed at me, obviously pleased with herself.

  Arabella was clearly the mother figure of her small museum. I would have said Earth Mother, but Arabella liked nice clothes too well for that, and I knew she was a shrewd manager. But she was short and nicely rounded, partial to flowery prints; her hair sprang out in determined grey curls, and her eyes twinkled.

  The teacup had violets on it; the sugar cookies, matching purple sprinkles. Arabella looked so darned happy to see me, and to have the privilege of plying me with tea and cookies, it would’ve been curmudgeonly of me to decline. Besides, both the tea and the cookies were excellent.

  Arabella gave me time to appreciate them, nodding approvingly as I ate. “You poor dear, you’ve had quite a time of it, haven’t you? How are you settling in?”

  “It’s going well, I hope. It’s a little early to say. But I feel honored that the board chose me.” Out of desperation, most likely, but I wasn’t going to bring that up with Arabella. “You’ve been running this place for quite a while, haven’t you? You must have seen a lot of changes over the years. Do you think kids want different things now, compared to when you started? It seems that everything has to flash and buzz and beep, and it’s all electronic these days.”

  A cloud passed over Arabella’s face. “Sadly so. But the younger ones still enjoy it. Sometimes I go down to the exhibits and just watch them playing. They get so excited! And we try to keep things fresh-that’s one of the reasons for the new exhibit.”

  “What is it about? I apologize, but I don’t spend much time with children, so I’m kind of out of the loop.”

  “It’s based on the Harriet the Hedgehog series, which is aimed at our precise demographic. It’s written by Hadley Eastman-she’s a local author, which makes a nice tie-in, and her books have sold well, so she’s well-known. She’s been working with us to develop the exhibit. And I’m so happy to be able to support children’s reading-sometimes I think they may never learn how, and then where will we all be?”

  “Amen to that.” I poured myself another cup of tea-and helped myself to one more sugar cookie. “So tell me, what other kinds of programming do you offer? Do you have any agreement with the school district?”

  “Oh, of course…” And we were off, talking shop. After a while it was clear to me that Arabella’s reputation as a good businesswoman was well deserved. She knew her audience, and what worked. She also knew her limitations, and she was happily settled in her particular niche, with no plans to expand beyond it. In a way it was heartening to me: young children weren’t changing much, and they were still enthralled by simple things, bless them.

 
; When I checked my watch again, it was after five. “Heavens, I had no idea it was so late. I don’t want to keep you.”

  “Oh, but you can’t leave without seeing the exhibit! A little sneak preview? Once it opens, it will be covered with children-at least, that’s what we hope.”

  “I’d love to see it.” I was honestly curious about what she and her staff had done with the exhibit.

  “Well, then, come with me. You’re in for a treat!”

  CHAPTER 4

  I followed Arabella from her office to another part of the second floor. It was hidden behind drop cloths decorated with whimsical animals and birds that looked like they’d been hand-painted by preschoolers, which they probably had. Across the top ran a large banner clearly made by somebody a couple of decades older, that proclaimed in big letters, “Harriet’s Coming!” Arabella turned to me and her eyes actually sparkled-something that, before this moment, I wouldn’t have believed possible. She was so thrilled to be showing off her newest addition, she simply radiated good cheer. She held back one panel of cloth and motioned me inside.

  I immediately felt like Gulliver. I had stepped into a miniature world, and I was at least two feet too tall for it. The space must have measured fifty by fifty feet, and it was filled with animals and plants, interspersed with child-size molded chairs and low tables, presumably for craft projects. A case mounted on the wall contained the books in the Harriet the Hedgehog series, but they definitely took second place to the three-dimensional versions of the characters. The air smelled of clean sawdust and paint, with a whiff of old building. Two workers were painting statues, and the floor around them was strewn with drop cloths. Harriet apparently had a lot of friends: I thought I could identify a frog and what might be a duck or a goose-the latter’s identity was questionable since its feathers hadn’t been painted yet.

  “It’s just me!” Arabella called out to the workers. They looked up, and one waved a hand. Then they résuméd painting. “I’d introduce you, but we’ve got such a tight deadline I’d rather they just keep working. So much to do!”

  I noticed that Arabella was much closer to the right size for this exhibit than I was. “This looks wonderful,” I said, and meant it. “What’s your target age group?”

  Arabella looked like a proud mother hen. “Toddlers, up to five. So they can look Harriet here in the eye, you know.”

  I admired how whoever had crafted this statue had managed to reduce the hedgehog’s signature spines to something that wouldn’t impale a child climbing on her. The artist had succeeded, though the result was a wee bit lumpy. But safe. In a public institution that needed to be childproof, safety had to trump authenticity.

  “Harriet is a delightful character. You’d think a hedgehog’s personality would be prickly, with all those spines, but Harriet is a sweetheart,” Arabella said. “That’s a real teaching opportunity, you know: don’t judge someone by her exterior, but take some time to get to know her. And she has such wonderful friends! Mallory Mouse, Barry Bunny. And of course there has to be a bully-there always is-and that’s Willy the Weasel. But Hadley has brought him around slowly, over the course of the series. Willy just wants to make friends, but he doesn’t know how to do it.”

  I had to ask, “Are there any native hedgehogs in Pennsylvania?”

  “Good question, dear. No, there aren’t, not in any part of America-but they’re found in Africa, Eurasia, Asia, Borneo, and parts of Europe,” she recited promptly. “Oh, and in New Zealand, but those were introduced there. But there is a very active group in this country promoting hedgehogs as pets. The little things are fairly low maintenance, and they’re rather endearing little creatures, aren’t they? Do you remember Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle?”

  My mind was blank for a moment until a childhood memory surfaced. “Wasn’t that a Beatrix Potter character? Oh, right-she was a hedgehog, too.”

  “Exactly. And a very sweet one. That’s the spirit I think the author has captured, although of course Harriet’s stories have a more modern feeling.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, how did you fund the exhibit?” I said.

  “I’m sure you’re aware that there are grants available for educational purposes, and we tapped into those where we could. After all, this display encourages young readers. Of course, all that happened before so many foundations faced financial difficulties-thank goodness. I doubt we could do it under current conditions. Hadley Eastman’s publisher contributed as well-this is excellent publicity for her series. And our board was very supportive. Most of them have young children or grandchildren.”

  “I wondered about that. Is it a requirement that they have children to join the board?” Not a problem we faced. In fact, children were rarely seen within the Pennsylvania Antiquarian Society, which was just as well, given the delicate nature of our collections. I shuddered at the thought of sticky little fingers on old documents, and games of tag among the shelving.

  “We don’t require it exactly, but it’s strongly supported, and most board members are in complete agreement with the idea. In fact, when we are working on recruiting a new member, we typically ask them to come during the day or on a weekend along with their children, so they can get the full flavor of the place. Not many have been able to resist joining us after that experience.”

  “Lucky you. I’m guessing the average age of your board members is about half that of ours.”

  “Now, let me show you…”

  As we strolled through the still-incomplete exhibit, Arabella identified the individual characters scattered around the room, each within its own little stage set. After a while I realized that the building had quieted. No more babbling of young voices or shrieks of glee from downstairs. I checked my watch: yes, it was close to six. I supposed you would get used to the noise if you worked in a place like this, but I had to admit I preferred the tranquility of our library. And our walls, while roughly the same age, were at least twice as thick, and muffled what little noise there was.

  We’d completed the circuit of the room, which didn’t take long because the room was geared to children’s short legs, and Arabella asked, “Well, what do you think?”

  She looked so eager that even if I’d had anything negative to say, which I didn’t, I wouldn’t have had the heart. “It’s marvelous. I can see why children will love it.”

  Arabella gave a start. “Ooh, you haven’t even seen it in action! Have you got another minute?”

  “Sure,” I said, mystified.

  “Jason?” Arabella called out. “Can you switch on the circuit for the active displays?”

  “No problem, Mrs. H.” One of the painters-the one who’d waved-made his way through the animals and opened a concealed wall panel I hadn’t even noticed. I could hear the click of a breaker.

  After a few seconds, Arabella called out, “Jason, dear? Nothing is happening.” She turned to me. “Harriet’s eyes are supposed to light up when the power is on. And then when you pat her, her ears swivel forward, to show that she likes you.”

  I stared at Harriet, who remained resolutely still. I wondered what hedgehogs really did to show any kind of emotion. The only thing I could recall about them was that they curled up in a ball when they were frightened, leaving their spines facing out to deter their enemies. I kind of envied them: there were days when I would like to do something like that.

  Jason was still flipping switches, but nothing was happening. “Maybe the problem is on this end? Could you come take a look?” Arabella asked. “I really want Nell to see what Harriet does.”

  “Sure thing.” Jason ambled toward us. Up close he turned out to be a nice-looking young man-well, young by my standards, which put him in his early twenties. He was wearing stained painter’s coveralls, clearly several sizes too big.

  “Jason, this is Nell Pratt, from the Pennsylvania Antiquarian Society. Nell, Jason is my daughter Caitlin’s boyfriend. He’s helping us out here with some of the last-minute things.”

  Jason nodded to me and said sh
yly, “Hi.” Then he turned his full attention to Harriet, sitting obstinately dark and mute.

  Jason got down on his knees to see if the concealed wires were connected. Apparently they were, so he moved on up to Harriet’s head, which grinned silently, her ears unmoving. He reached out and patted Harriet’s shiny black nose. Nothing happened. Jason looked confused, and Arabella looked crestfallen. I felt sorry for her: she had been so excited about showing off her charming new toy to me, and it appeared to be a dud.

  “Jason, dear, could you try Willy? Maybe then we’ll know if it’s just one of the figures or the whole group.”

  “Sure, Arabella.” Jason straightened up and approached a second figure a few feet away. Taller than Harriet, this one sported a smarmy grin and sprouted a lot of whiskers. He was leaning over with an elbow on an old-fashioned metal gate, which put his head within easy reach of small children. The placement of his body also prevented anyone from climbing on the low gate, which was no doubt the intention of the designer.

  “That’s Willy the Weasel,” Arabella explained. “He’s supposed to…”

  When Jason reached out and tweaked Willy’s nose, there was a sharp snap or crackle or pop, and all the lights in the room went out.

  “Oh my!” Arabella squeaked. “That’s not supposed to happen.”

  It wasn’t the only thing that wasn’t supposed to happen. Jason had dropped like a stone at Willy’s feet, and I crossed the space in a second, kneeling beside him. “Arabella, call 911!” I said. “Does anyone have a flashlight?”

  Since I had been closest to Jason, I figured I’d better take charge. I didn’t know how Arabella would react in an emergency-for all I knew she might succumb to an attack of the vapors. I felt for Jason’s carotid artery. At least, I think I did-I was going solely by what I’d seen on a lot of TV shows. I groped around until I found what I thought-and hoped-was a pulse. I forced myself to take a deep breath and stop shaking. Yes, it was a pulse-faint and thready, but there. Jason wasn’t dead, thank God, but I had no idea how close to it he was.