Halt at X: A North of Boston Novel

by Sally Ann Sims

  “Excellent,” said Honor.

  Aden had briefed Lucinda already on everything in the report. He was such a boon to the department, to P-H. As precarious as this new tightrope was on which they were now walking, she had to continue to make their professional relationship work, unclouded by his feelings for her, deep as they seemed to run. He was too good to lose. Too good, period.

  “Great work,” Bomi said, reading the summary sheet. He’d helped himself to another peanut butter cookie when the bag came back to the table and stuck it in his briefcase, grinning at Aden.

  After a round of questions on Aden’s report, Honor gave cultivation and solicitation assignments for the month to move the next group of donors along. Moves Management, the professional fundraising association called it. Lucinda thought that sounded so awful, like the fundraisers were master chess players and the donors pawns. She didn’t use the term or think of it that way. Instead, she thought of it as finding people passionate about education and giving them a way to participate with their money, time, or soul if they wanted to really dive in. Whip things up. Making things happen. People like Bomi.

  Bomi was given some donors to call and thank for recent gifts, easing him into the fold. The group adjourned. Aden cornered Honor by Lucinda’s desk. Everyone else except Bomi headed out the door. He approached Lucinda by the coffeemaker.

  “Honor told me about your and her concerns with this new endowment money, entered last semester in small amounts,” Bomi said, then looked over his shoulder, his voice so soft she could barely hear him. “I am watching that fund carefully and am setting up new procedures on check signing.”

  “Perfect, Bomi. It’s just the kind of thing I was hoping you’d do when you signed on. In the meantime, I’m going to pull out the current Gift Acceptance Policy and take a pen to it. I welcome your input. It was written two decades ago by my predecessor under a different president.”

  She paused and looked at him. He nodded. She hoped that meant they were on the same page. She was fairly sure they were.

  “So it’s time to revise it. Given the fields we’re venturing into.”

  “I imagine so,” he said. “It is good to work with you, Lucinda. Refreshing.” He smiled again. “I will let you know what our friends say when I call.” He held up the donor list.

  “Thank you.”

  Aden appeared to be hovering for one last word, but Honor requested a private chat with Lucinda. Aden, nothing if not expert at interpreting social cues and the tangled hierarchies of work etiquette, wished the women good evening and departed. Moments later, they saw him down below laughing at something Harris said.

  “What happened to Keegan?” Lucinda asked.

  “The family is claiming he had to have an emergency appendectomy.”

  “So why would Cliff lie?”

  “I don’t know,” Honor said. “And I don’t like it. We’ve butted heads before… .”

  Lucinda smiled, as did Honor.

  “As you know, on numerous occasions. But he’s never out-and-out lied to me. I don’t think they’re colluding, he and Frank. I think Cliff still worships him as P-H’s empire-builder. Or so he’d like him to be.”

  They watched Harris and Aden in conversation — Harris nudging Aden on the upper arm like a boxer warming up and Aden laughing — students flowing around them like a stream.

  “I think it’s time for Cliff to move on,” Honor said.

  * * * * *

  “Nine hundred thousand,” Frank said. “We needed a million five for our corporate challenge.”

  He’d changed his mind and told Lucinda to meet him in the Pecan Room, not his office. John wasn’t in yet, but there was a carafe on the coffee table in front of them.

  “What is this corporate challenge, Frank? What is the money really for?” She kept her tone friendly and poured them both coffee.

  “It’s a goodwill thing we need to do for our lead corporate donors. To show leverage. They want to see how seminal their gifts are. You know a lot about goodwill. Keeping people happy? Like me?”

  She met his gaze as she handed him the cup and saucer. Her smile disappeared.

  “Frank. Let me get you up to speed on what’s happening.” Again, she thought. “I’m leading a group of 30 professionals and support staff who are now raising $98 million a year baseline and another $71 million in capital, special projects, and endowments. During the last three weeks, we’ve focused on gifts of potentially over $5 million each and foundation grants totaling another $1.8 million. I get my marching orders from the Strategic Plan, the approved yearly budgets, and the Board. Not once has Cliff or Honor mentioned this ‘corporate challenge’ to me. I was able to scrape together nine hundred thousand, but any more at that, at this moment, will bleed money from our larger campaigns.”

  Frank sat back on the couch with his right foot balanced on his left knee, his expression unchanged as she spoke, waiting for his next opening.

  “I’ve got two $5-million gifts about to close by end of March,” she said.

  “Great to hear,” Frank said without any warmth. “And to let you know, Warren came up with three new donors at $250,000 apiece. That will fill the gap we have now.”

  “Who?” Lucinda asked. We don’t have a real gap.

  “Let’s let him tell you. You two should talk more often.”

  Warren sauntered in and made himself right at home, plopping into a seat with a mug of coffee, his tie loosened. He must have been skulking on standby in the library, she thought.

  “Warren, give us an update on those new donors,” Frank said.

  “Leads that Pat Weld gave me. Just had to go and pick the fruit. Nailed the third one last night,” he said, leaning back against the couch.

  Lucinda exhaled in disgust before she could stop herself. Warren’s not sharing the names of who he’s targeting as prospects. Great move. The competition has begun.

  Warren emptied his mug, then rose and positioned himself near Frank at the fireplace, leaning against the mantle, grinning confidently through his closely clipped beard in a way that made Lucinda want to slap his face.

  “I’m promoting Warren to oversee all the corporate relationships we’re building across the board. He’ll be reporting directly to me.”

  Lucinda stood up. She was not going to have Warren looming over her with that mendacious smile. Walking over to the floor-to-ceiling window by the fireplace, she positioned herself to face the men, feeling the chill through the windowpanes, but holding her ground.

  “I strongly advise against this. There needs to be one central person knowing everything that’s being done under the name of development for P-H. What you propose for a reporting structure won’t support — ”

  “It’s a done deal, Lucinda,” Frank said. “We have to change with the times. Corporate revenue is going to be extremely important to our strategy from now on.”

  Frank shook out the sleeves of his jacket and stroked his tie into place.

  “Well, I disagree with this approach. However, your decision is… your decision. I’ll be getting back to my office,” Lucinda said curtly. “I have donor solicitation calls to prepare for. Gentlemen.”

  Warren straightened up in front of the fireplace, shifting his weight squarely onto both legs, his hair gleaming especially wet in the firelight. She wondered whether landing $750,000 in pledges was some small compensation for being stood up at the altar. What would his commission be? She swore to herself that whatever it was he would not be keeping it. That in a year, if not sooner, he and Frank would be out. Or perhaps she would be out, or worse? She noticed the fireplace tongs. Perhaps… .

  Lucinda turned away from the men and walked slowly out of the room. It’s not for Frank to decide how to structure her staff, but haggling got her nowhere. She wasn’t going to beg or cajole or point out how his decisions did not make sense. Those days were over. Frank did not have the flexibility of mind to know you could be forward thinking and innovative, while simultaneously following a
few principles crucial to the management of fundraisers, like keeping your reporting structure single-pointed to prevent the creation of factions and silos that led instantly to unhealthy competition among staff. Like what had already begun and, she thought now, was probably his intent. She resolved to outwit him or outnumber him. Or both.

  It struck her then that it was going to take everything she had to outwit Frank and all those powerful men he aligned himself with. Was it worth it? Yes. She owed it to the students, who would never know how their education was about to be compromised by Frank’s favorite corporate buddies. She’d already witnessed the lean in his focus to the business and technology majors that could directly benefit Fargill and Dover — those research grants that Bomi found for one — while other programs and multiyear research projects were cancelled or other avenues not pursued. Like her father’s research project and God knows what other programs she didn’t know about. She was sure Jennifer and Aden could produce an instant list for her of new initiatives suddenly fallen out of favor.

  Missed opportunities are hard to prove, but Lucinda’s mindset was to fight for the students. And what was Frank doing with this corporate campaign money besides the first offense of giving Warren paybacks? Her father the botanist’s words popped into her head as she fled the president’s mansion, Corruption breeds like festering algae in a stagnant summer pond.

  Frank had obviously embarked on some arrangement with corporations that he wasn’t going to share with her. As far as day-to-day fundraising to keep the classrooms humming, he had no clue. He was going for some capitalization of glory.

  She ended up without consciously choosing at The Puffy Muffin. It always did her good to mingle with the students after this sort of run-in. And a chocolate chip muffin would not hurt matters.

  She claimed her spot by the window with the best view of the walkway to Thornbough Hall. Harris passed by, not looking in, but she knew he knew she was in there. He had eyes all over him.

  Mai Lee brought her muffin and coffee to the table.

  “You’re in late today,” she said.

  “Recovering from a meeting,” Lucinda said, forcing herself to smile. “How’re classes? You pick a major yet?”

  “I’m thinking of International Relations. Minor in poli sci and Arabic.”

  Lucinda smiled. Mai Lee was preparing to take on the world, politically, in Arabic. Surely she herself could face down a cocky college president and a smartass fundraiser? And maybe a couple of corporate thugs?

  Lucinda began to mentally put people in columns: for, against. For: Aden (no doubt there), Honor, Beverly, probably Abby if she disliked Warren, Bomi. Those were the gems from work. Then there was the home front: Peter, Tori, and Martin could always be counted on. Bart? Would he help if he knew? Did she want to tell him? She didn’t want him back from fear for her safety, or her pride, or worse, pity. She ran her finger around the hot rim of her coffee cup and pulled her muffin apart. Mai Lee had warmed it so the chips were just starting to melt. Don’t forget John Pringle, she thought. Definitely for.

  Against: Frank, Warren, this Hal person, probably Cliff, but it was too early to tell. She didn’t know where to put Don Keegan either. And what about Sean Wickes? He was not a fan of Frank, but as a new Fargill employee… .

  Harris passed by the window again.

  Harris, definitely for.

  Margo. She wasn’t sure. She could be against you today and for you tomorrow.

  “Planning some complicated ‘ask’?” Jennifer queried. She sat down in the booth seat opposite Lucinda with a takeout cup.

  “Counting my blessings,” Lucinda said, smiling easier now. What about Jennifer? For or neutral? Lucinda wasn’t sure whether Jennifer was willing to go out on a limb for her boss or the department.

  “Congrats on the National Science Foundation megagrant for microbiology,” Lucinda said.

  Jennifer beamed.

  “I know! Wasn’t it great! But there are two professors struggling to renew oceanography and paleontology research projects. I think they’re considering moving, like your father did, like what Aden mentioned at our meeting last fall was going on in his departments.”

  Jennifer stirred her jasmine tea to cool it enough to drink.

  “Where do you see yourself in five years?’ Lucinda said. It just popped out.

  “Here,” she said. “Why?” Her mouth tightened and her eyelids lowered a bit.

  “Just wondering who is in it for the long haul,” she said, looking up the hill.

  “I think it’s sad how fundraisers jump around so much,” Jennifer said. “I swore I’d find the right position and stick with it.”

  “Sometimes they don’t jump, they’re pushed.”

  “I know. That sucks too. I just try to do my job.”

  “Well, keep it up. And thanks for your hard work.”

  Jennifer relaxed a bit, letting out some of the breath she’d been holding.

  “Thanks, Lucinda. I’ve got to be off.” She stood up, clutching her cup, and left The Puffy Muffin in a few long, elegant strides.

  I still don’t know what column to put her in.

  Purple and Orange

  The first Saturday in March was in the sixties, practically balmy, and, despite the threat of muddy trails, Lucinda was determined to hack the mare through the woods. After all, this is why one had a horse, wasn’t it? To enjoy the woods and the sunshine and forget about everything else. What she really wanted to do was ride on the beach, but she’d wait till she got more experience under the mare’s girth.

  Lady Grey had done well in her preliminary training and was queen of walk, trot, and halt. And surprisingly calm for a former racehorse, thought Lucinda, but Holly had smiled knowingly when Lucinda commented on this in their last lesson.

  “That’s another misconception,” Holly said. “That all thoroughbreds are spazzes. It just isn’t true. Get them away from the track. Turn ‘em out. Treat them well, and they have no reason to lose their heads.”

  Lucinda tacked up in the crossties and led Lady Grey into the indoor to mount and stretch her legs before they headed out. As the mare passed by, Nanogirl whinnied with growing impatience from a stall where she’d been sequestered by Ramsey, and Lucinda heard a swift kick against the stall wall, about a foot off the ground. Ramsey ambled over toward the loose box stall.

  “I’m hoof soldier to a princess,” he joked to Lucinda.

  At the entrance to the indoor, Jay, holding Paz’s reins, leaned against the wall, hovering over Thea, who also leaned against the wall with her arms behind her. She was laughing at something he said and arching her back, thrusting her hips close to his. Jay spied Lucinda approaching through the entrance and stepped away from Thea, but not before Lucinda registered their proximity to each other, then turned away and mounted.

  “Back on you go, lass,” Jay said to Thea.

  Lucinda walked the mare twice around, then exited the indoor at the parking lot entrance area. The sun felt splendid on her face, and she loosened her reins, the mare stretching her neck forward and lengthening her stride.

  When they entered the oak-pine woods, a song sparrow, inspired by the newly tender weather, burst into his bouncing Ping-Pong ball song. Lady Grey negotiated the hard frozen ground and the soft muddy ground, sometimes different hooves on different surfaces. In a well-drained field north of Salt Marsh Stable, Lucinda squeezed the mare into a trot, but she cantered instead. Lucinda just shifted her weight forward and let her run. On the back of her silver horse, Lucinda felt, for the first time in years, free. This is why I ride, she thought. A freedom that you can never recreate on two legs.

  The mare continued toward the trees on the other side of the field, and then Lucinda turned her to the right. Lady Grey’s shoulders were stiff on the turn but she came right back to the walk when Lucinda shifted her weight back into the saddle and eliminated the slack in the reins. The mare would need a good bit of training to get her to bend properly around turns for her dressage tests
, but all in good time. They continued along the row of white pine trees lining the final secondary road before the dunes.

  Lucinda crossed the road to its opposite sandy shoulder — there was hardly any traffic — and listened to the booming of the waves breaking on the beach. As Lucinda turned the mare to recross the road, she was suddenly in tandem with a silver pickup truck. A hellishly piercing sound filled her brain, and her heart strained against her chest, the blast from the honking horn punishing her ears. The mare wheeled away from the road toward the beach, taking off at a gallop. Lucinda shifted her weight forward, putting pressure on the left rein to guide Lady Grey away from the incoming tide to the deeper sand, and the mare slowed with the increased struggle to find solid footing.

  At that point, Lucinda was able to circle, pull up, and dismount the trembling mare, her nostrils rapidly pumping in air. Lucinda stroked her neck and her breathing calmed. While she led Lady Grey to the hard-packed sand and walked her south along the beach, gulls mewled in the wind blowing beneath small puffs of clouds.

  There’s no way on that open stretch of dune road the driver didn’t see me till the last second. Everyone around here knows you don’t honk a horse off the road. The horse could have just as easily freaked and run into the oncoming vehicle, or reared and dumped me on the pavement.

  Unless that was the intent?

  So what was this? Number four?

  The fact the truck took off immediately meant this was no coincidence — an innocent soul would have stopped to offer help. Lucinda mounted and walked back to the road. When they crested the last dune, there was Harris leaning against the driver’s side door of his squad car looking west.

  “Hey, word travels fast,” she said.

  “Yeah. I know. Mini-devil in a purple halter! I needed some comic relief anyway.”

  “Comic relief?”

  “I got an APB for Nanogirl. ‘Presenting a major traffic hazard.’ She busted out and took off, headed in this direction. Left Ramsey in the dust. Since I was already over here, I thought I’d stop and — ”

  “I didn’t realize she’d gotten that attached to my mare. By the way Harris, number four just struck.”