by Cynthia Kuhn
“I do, actually. The students were excited about it as well.”
“Was it your idea, Lila?” The question was presented with discernible disapproval.
“No—they came up with it themselves. But I think literary quotes are a superb thing to put on a shirt.”
“I don’t know that it’s very appropriate.”
“Appropriate?”
“You know, Stonedale has its standards, Lila.”
“What do you mean by that?”
She lifted her chin. “I mean that it’s not like every other school. It’s special.”
“Every school thinks it’s special, Simone.”
“But every school isn’t, of course.” She carefully smoothed the material of her skirt as she spoke. “This school caters to a certain kind of student. We need to be aware of their needs too.”
“You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“See that’s just it, Lila. If you belonged here, I wouldn’t have to be.” A sly look crossed her face. “You might also be interested to know I had a long chat with the chancellor about you and your cousin today. He was quite interested.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your cousin, the murderer,” Simone spit out, her eyes narrowed.
A rush of fury clenched my fists and rocketed up my volume. “She didn’t kill anyone.”
“Of course you’d say that. But it was her knife in his chest, was it not? Or perhaps we should talk about how you were the one who ‘found’”—she leaned on the word heavily to emphasize her disbelief—“Roland dead. Perhaps it’s a family business.”
It took effort to speak calmly again, but I knew she loved seeing that she was getting to me, and I wanted to erase that satisfaction. “That’s ridiculous. She’s innocent. And so am I.”
Simone’s smile was bright and hard. “The chancellor isn’t so sure. He was also very interested in hearing about your mother’s…work.”
I shrugged. “Great. It’s art.”
She tittered. “Not quite the type of art that this community endorses, on the whole.”
“I thought you were just hired too. What makes you an expert on all things Stonedale?”
“Again, Lila, none of this should need explaining.”
“Oh, please do enlighten me, Simone,” I said, not bothering to temper the sarcasm in my voice.
“No, I don’t think I will,” she said, patting her pearls. “But rest assured that you won’t last the semester.”
Chapter 12
I pondered Simone’s threat as I walked across campus a short while later. It was dusk, that magically gray time of day when things are less sharply defined. It suited my state of mind. Although I would never admit it out loud, she had scared me. I didn’t know why she seemed to dislike me so much, unless it really was about my mother’s art. That in and of itself did threaten some people.
Or perhaps it simply was about class, which Simone had all but stated outright. It was true that Calista and I didn’t have privileged backgrounds like many of the faculty here—or the students, for that matter—but it was the twenty-first century, for goodness sakes.
Even if Simone were friends with the chancellor, could she have me fired? Wouldn’t it take more than that? I sighed. I didn’t know how it worked. Where there was a will, there was a way, so I couldn’t ignore her completely. However, I’d be darned if I’d let her walk all over me.
Thus resolved, I strode a bit more briskly through the campus gates. I had a lot of grading to do tonight, and I wanted to get started. I sorted mentally through the dinner options waiting at home—yogurt or crackers and a lump of questionable cheddar cheese. I veered onto University Boulevard and walked a few blocks until I reached Scarlett’s Café, vowing to restock my fridge at the earliest opportunity.
The bells on the door jingled as I entered the warm environment smelling of fresh bread, which was a very welcome contrast to the chilly evening. When the sun goes down in Colorado, it grows cold fast. I placed my order for soup and salad at the to-go counter and gratefully took the last available seat on one of the nearby wooden benches. I let the various sounds of voices wash over me for a few peaceful minutes.
“Lila, what a nice surprise. Are you here for dinner?” Judith stood before me in a camel-colored wool coat, with a red scarf draped beautifully in some incomprehensibly complex manner around her shoulders and neck.
“Just picking something up.”
I waved at the to-go counter.
Judith looked over my head. “I’m expecting Willa. We meet once a month to talk about our research.” I heard my name called from the counter, but Judith was still talking. “Would you like to join us? We could use an Americanist in the mix.”
“I’d love to, another time, but I have grading to do tonight.” The man at the counter yelled my name slightly louder. I cringed and pointed at him. “I think that’s me, in fact.”
“Oh yes, please go,” said Judith, moving to her left so I could make my way back to the counter. When I returned, brown paper bag in hand, she was chatting with Willa, whose lilac jacket stood out among the sea of dark coats.
“…it just started,” Willa was saying. “Which will make the hike this weekend that much harder.”
“Willa does fourteeners,” Judith told me. “She’s a marvelous athlete.”
“More like someone who is unwilling to let the mountains beat me. I’m more determined than athletic, I think.” Willa unbuttoned her jacket. “Hi, Lila. Everything go okay with the Lit Club?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Glad to hear it. Thanks so much. Especially since…” Her hazel eyes held my gaze. “The Roland experience must have been tough.”
“Judith was there too,” I said quickly.
She smiled at Judith. “Yes, and we’ve already talked about it, but I haven’t had a chance to check in with you. Sorry—too much going on, and I’m knackered. Oh, and poor Calista. How is she?”
We pooled our information on Calista and discovered that none of us knew much of anything yet. They asked several questions about her well-being and said they planned to visit her this week. Both told me to call upon them if they could be helpful to my cousin in any way. It was heartening to see how concerned they both were—which also provided some support for Calista’s own faith in these two women. She always dismissed out of hand any suggestion I made about their possible involvement in the attacks of late.
I asked if they were on the tenure committee, hoping they’d have insight into the infamous Roland letter, but neither had heard any specifics about the contents.
Willa turned back to Judith. “In the meantime, Spencer just added me to the hiring committee to replace Roland.”
“I’m on it too,” said Judith.
Willa smiled. “I was hoping you were.”
“Who are the other members?” Judith asked.
Willa performed a visual check of the room—front, back, and sides—until she was satisfied that we could speak freely. “The only one I’m bothered about is Norton. He’s definitely on the list, for some reason I do not comprehend.” Willa glanced at me. “Just between us, okay, Lila?”
“Sure.” My ears pricked up. I was glad she appeared to trust me.
“Norton simply doesn’t want the same things most of us seek. I’m certain he hopes to hire that horrid Eldon in Roland’s place, which I think would be very unfortunate for our students. On a related note, I’m positive Norton will nominate himself for department chair again when that election comes around—”
“He’s run countless times,” Judith informed me. “Never wins.”
Willa laughed. “Can you imagine if that daft twit was steering our department? We’d be utterly doomed.”
Judith leaned her head closer to Willa’s. “Not to dissuade you from your views, dear, but may I, wit
h all love and support, suggest a more measured expression of them in public, perhaps?”
“Sorry. You’re right,” Willa said, appearing both impatient and chastened somehow. She started to poke around in the large leather crossbody bag she wore, then paused and covered her lips with her hand as she thought. “I can’t remember who else is on the hiring committee, and I don’t think I brought the list with me.”
“What about Simone?” I asked, taking the chance to bring her name up. Although I’d just vowed not to let her govern my experience here at Stonedale, I needed to find out why she was so hostile.
“No,” said Judith.
“Why do you ask?” Willa added.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “She’s on my mind, I guess.” I flailed for words, knowing it wasn’t prudent to gossip about fellow newbies in front of other faculty members, however delicately.
I decided to test the waters. “Simone seems very, uh, committed to the university,” I said carefully.
“Her mother used to teach in the education department here, which may contribute to that,” said Judith. “She was very proud of Stonedale.”
“I could see how that would affect Simone’s perspective,” I said, trying to find the words to bring up her behavior. “We haven’t had a chance to get to know each other yet, and she’s been…”
“Unfriendly?” Willa asked.
Now or never, I guess. “Yes,” I said firmly. “I don’t know why. Maybe our personalities don’t mesh or something.”
“Well, I know why,” said Willa.
Judith seemed surprised. “You do?”
“Indeed. It’s like this, Lila. Her sister Selene interviewed for your job and didn’t get it. You were hired instead. You are, ipso facto, an enemy.”
I nodded but didn’t say anything. What was there to say?
Judith gave Willa a reproachful look and put her arm on my shoulder. “Lila dear,” she said, “I’m not sure it’s as simple as that—”
“Oh, it’s absolutely as simple as that,” said Willa grimly. “I’m her faculty mentor, remember? We went out to dinner the other night. Simone couldn’t have been less subtle about her innuendos where Lila was concerned. I’m not going to go into detail, but it’s all rubbish. Not your fault, Lila. Not at all. Besides, Selene wasn’t even an Americanist. I don’t know why she was interviewed.”
“Didn’t she write her dissertation on Robert Frost?” Judith asked.
“John Donne, mostly, with gestures made to other authors,” Willa said. “She’d clearly exaggerated the amount of attention paid to Frost in order to apply for the position, but from some of the comments she made, I didn’t find the depth of her commitment to American literature to be persuasive. In any case, Simone shouldn’t blame Lila for being a better candidate.”
Judith appeared distressed, but her tone was calm and comforting. “Perhaps we could sort through this, the four of us?”
“I don’t know,” I said. Seemed pretty straightforward to me. Simone wanted me fired so she could try to get Selene hired. Or maybe Simone just wanted to punish me for landing the job over her sister. “Do you think it’s necessary for us to talk about it? I wouldn’t even know what to say.”
“Maybe not,” said Willa. “You and Simone working on the Literature Club together might alleviate some of the tension, just as a natural result. That’s one reason I urged you to do it, by the way.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Yes, and thank you for taking that work on, Lila,” said Judith. “It’s so important to the students.” She smiled at me.
“Just don’t let Simone get to you,” advised Willa, in her blunt but not unkind way.
Easier said than done.
Chapter 13
This month’s mentoring meeting was focused on the expectations for tenure-track faculty. Stonedale’s motto, “Ever More,” was certainly appropriate, I thought, studying the large framed school crest on the wall behind Chancellor Wellington, who seemed positively giddy as he reeled off the achievements for which we would need to strive: the highest possible course evaluations, to be supported by the highest possible faculty observation reports, with the highest possible student advising numbers and membership on the highest possible number of committees—divided among department, college, and university—plus, of course, a book or two. “With,” he added, flashing a smile, “the best possible press.”
I’m sure I wasn’t the only one in the room who was having difficulty breathing at the thought that we were supposed to accomplish the best possible everything, which meant that excelling was the lowest possible standard, but I was the only one who found herself horrified to have raised her hand. The chancellor gently flicked a piece of lint from the arm of his immaculate suit, which no doubt cost more than my whole monthly—maybe yearly—salary, and nodded at me.
“Thank you for that explanation, Chancellor Wellington. May I ask a question?”
He waved his hand benevolently to indicate that I should speak.
“Is there a certain number in each category for which we should aim?”
Chancellor Wellington leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Mentors? Would you like to answer this one?” It was impossible to tell if he didn’t know the answer or if he was simply disinclined to provide a concrete standard—in other words, something tangible for which to aim. That is not how academia works, generally speaking. For example, with your doctoral dissertation, you must go boldly where no scholar has gone before; however, you must also choose something that allows your claims to be supported by existing research, which narrows down the whole originality aspect quite a bit. Moreover, you need to choose something familiar enough that your committee members can remain the experts during the process, which eliminates pretty much anything they have not read. I’d somehow muddled through that project, but now that my career was on the line, I was desperate for clarity.
Judith turned to me. “There isn’t one number per se, Lila. But there is a picture, developed over time, created by the annual evaluations performed by the chair, in which each of the areas is addressed—”
She was interrupted by an irritated-looking professor whose table card identified him as being from Political Science. “We rank you. Annually,” he snapped. As if Judith hadn’t just said that.
Simone regarded him delightedly, clearly enjoying his contribution to my mortification.
“But how do we know if we’re on track to meeting the annual requirements?” I asked, noting relief cross the faces of several other new professors—they may have had the same question, or perhaps they were just glad they weren’t the one blurting things out, as I seemed unable to stop myself from doing.
Irritated Prof sighed deeply and drummed his fingers on the table. Chancellor Wellington smoothed his silk tie while glaring at Judith, silently demanding she shut me up.
But she didn’t, bless her heart. Instead, she asked if anyone else wanted to talk about annual evaluations. After a silent pause, a few hands went up. Then a few more. She smiled sweetly at the chancellor. “Do you think it might be useful to spend a moment on the reappointment process?”
The chancellor, seizing the chance to seem magnanimous, nodded regally. “Indeed. Why don’t you give a brief overview, Dr. Westerly?”
As we walked out of the meeting, Judith squeezed my arm. “Don’t worry, Lila. You weren’t the only one to have questions. Keep asking when something is unclear.”
I knew I was lucky to have an actual mentor in Judith, not just a faculty member going through the motions.
“I’m here for you, Lila,” Judith continued. “Do you have any other concerns?”
“Only that I won’t be able to publish anything on time or in the right places. Roland seemed very doubtful about my topic.”
“There’s a reason ‘publish or perish’ is whispered in the shadowy groves of academia�
��it can be a dangerous place. People disappear every year.”
If this was her idea of a pep talk, it wasn’t helping. Not one bit.
“However, this does not mean you are destined to disappear.” Judith tucked a lock of long white hair behind her ear and lowered her voice. “Yes, you have to publish scholarship—we all do—but rest assured that most people don’t accomplish much research the first semester, or even during the first year in many cases. Rational people know it takes a while to sort through the demands of the position. Others, however, feel it their duty to keep the pressure on new hires. Roland was the latter type: he knew asking about it would upset you, so he did.”
I managed a small nod.
“I’m telling you how it is. Not how it should be.” She punctuated this by leaning forward to bestow a quick hug, whereby I was briefly smothered by the abundant fringe of her scarf and a burst of lavender scent. “In such situations, one simply does what one can.”
Whatever that meant. “Thanks, Judith. I’m sorry I brought it up. It doesn’t matter.”
“But it does matter. Please don’t apologize, dear.”
“Jude!” A petite woman with spiky white hair strode up and hugged Judith. She wore an embroidered tunic and denim skirt with ornate cowboy boots. There was a palpable sense of energetic purpose emanating from her, as if she were on the way to some magnificent adventure.
I took a step backwards, then remained uncomfortably right where I was—torn between giving them space and waiting to speak more with Judith.
“I only have a second,” the woman warned Judith. “I’m racing to meet my sister, and you know how she is about being on time.” They laughed lightly, as if it were a recurring refrain.
Judith beckoned me over. “Lila, I’m so pleased to introduce you to one of my dearest friends, Elisabetta Vega. Liz, meet Lila Maclean, who took over your position.”