by Liz Adair
“That looks good.” Mandy pulled out her chair. “I’m glad for the chance to visit with you, too. I haven’t met with a lot of openness, and I’d like to ask a couple of questions.”
Fran set ranch dressing on the table and sat down. “Limestone is your typical small town. People are cliquish. Well, maybe it’s not typical. Most folks here are descendants of settlers who came from the backwoods of North Carolina during the Depression. They came to work in the lumber industry.”
“Is that where the ‘Tarheel’ comes from?”
Fran nodded. “They brought a lot of their culture and customs with them, coon dogs and whisky stills included. In fact, just last year the police arrested someone for operating a still about five miles upriver.”
“They didn’t include that in the fact sheet about the district,” Mandy said.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Fran said. “They’re proud of who they are, but it’s a little hard to get to know them, get them to trust you. I’ve been here three years, and I’m just now feeling at home.”
Fran dipped a cauliflower floret in the dressing. “You mentioned a lack of openness. I have an idea it’s more like hostility.”
Mandy looked up quickly. “How did you know?”
“Grange is well liked. People are angry that he’s been kicked down to assistant superintendent. It’s natural that they would resent your appearance, even though you had nothing to do with what happened to Grange.”
“What did happen to Grange?”
“Vince happened to him.”
“Vince Lafitte? I just met him this morning. He’s on the school board.”
“Yes, I know. He was elected last fall, and the first thing on his agenda was to make sure the district hired a new superintendent.”
Mandy blinked. “I still don’t understand.”
Fran shook her head. “Neither do I. Folks don’t talk about it, but there’s bad blood between Vince and Grange. Something that happened a long time ago.”
Mandy wrinkled her brow. “You’re kidding. How could that be? You don’t just demote a superintendent of schools.”
“It had something to do with state guidelines about qualifications. Several years ago, Grange took over when the superintendent had a heart attack and died. He was doing a great job, and the board kept him on, even though he doesn’t have the right degree.”
Mandy frowned. “Is it guidelines or requirements? If it’s something that the state mandates, it looks to me like Vince is getting a bad rap for bringing the school into compliance.”
“Don’t get me wrong. Vince is a great guy. I work for him, you know.”
“Really?”
“Yes. He owns the Qwik-E Markets— one here and one up in Trillium. Grange is a great guy, too. I’ve worked with him on the Opening Festival committee.”
Mandy took a bite of cheese and chewed while her mind assimilated the information. “How did you come to work for Vince?”
“I was managing a convenience store down in Arizona across from a building he was taking down. He’d come in for coffee as they were working on the setup, and we’d visit. That was about the time he bought the Qwik-E Market here, and he asked me to come work for him. That was three years ago.”
“How did you make the transition from the Southwest?”
Fran laughed as she got up and began clearing the table. “I wore a coat and wool socks for the first year, summer and winter, but I’ve acclimated. I don’t think I’ll ever go back. In fact, I don’t think I’ll ever leave Limestone.”
As they cleaned the kitchen, Mandy listened to Fran recount the story of the first little rental she bought and how she had lived in it as she renovated around herself. Buoyed by Fran’s good natured and down-to-earth manner, Mandy felt less alone by the time they drove back to the Qwik-E Market. She thanked Fran again, got in her own car, and headed back to the district office with a determination to prove her worth.
She walked in to find the reception desk empty. As she climbed the stairs, she made a mental list of what she wanted to accomplish that afternoon. Grange wasn’t in his office, and Mrs. Berman frowned as she passed, but Mandy’s mood was too light to be daunted. She smiled at the secretary and stepped to her own door.
She stopped with her hand on the doorknob, for the room was alight with yellow. A dozen plastic buckets of daffodils were scattered around the office. They were on the desk, atop the filing cabinets, on the deep windowsills, even on the floor. Mandy laughed aloud in delight.
She stepped in, closed the door, and looked around. An envelope stuck in the bouquet on her desk caught her eye, and she opened it, knowing the author before she saw the bold signature. It read, A little artificial sunshine for your day, and was signed simply, Vince.
Mandy could have danced. She clasped the card in both hands and held it to her heart, smiling as she closed her eyes and twirled on her toes. She was still smiling as she opened her eyes and confronted the contorted face of Grange Timberlain standing in her doorway.
The sight of that one expressionless, staring eye disturbed her more than his lowering brow and turned-down mouth, and it lingered in her memory, fighting with the daffodils for precedence, long after he had turned on his heel and stalked into his office.
MANDY WOKE THE next morning after the first night in her new house. She stretched and sat on her knees by the balustrade above the living room. Resting her arms on the railing, she looked through the tall windows at the vista spread out beyond. The river looked like a steel-gray ribbon winding around a spreading bouquet of Douglas fir and rosy-brown alder. Above the river, fog lay in a fluffy white stratum, like an eiderdown that had been shaken out and was floating down to cover the bed again.
Mandy got up, wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, and opened the sliding glass door that let onto the back balcony. After stepping out into the chilly air, she looked around. She had worked late the previous afternoon, reading files, meeting with Mo Smith, and planning strategy, and it was dark by the time she headed downriver for groceries. When she had returned to her unlit house, she hadn’t been able to see anything more than the dim outline of the mountains across the way.
Now, in the morning light, she saw that the forest began about fifty feet behind her cabin. Looking to the right, she could see how the land sloped away in a gentle grade down to where the river, visible through the trees, curved around. Someone had recently done some work with a trackhoe, pushing up a ridge of gravel that made a gray scar on the green landscape. Mandy took a deep breath and turned back inside.
As she knelt by one of her boxes to find a towel, she noticed the phone sitting on the floor. Remembering that Fran had said that she could call out, she lifted the receiver to try it. The dial tone buzzing in her ear suddenly reminded her how far she was from home, and she grabbed her purse and fumbled in a zipper pocket for her phone card. Holding it in a trembling hand, she whispered the string of numbers under her breath, punched in the sequence, and waited while it rang once, twice, three times. Disappointed, she was just about to hang up when she heard a breathless voice.
“Hello?”
“Mom?” Mandy’s voice had a catch in it.
“Who’s this? Mandy?”
“Oh, hi, Leesie. Where’s Mom?” Mandy sniffed and wiped her eye with the corner of the blanket.
“Are you all right?”
“I think I was a bit homesick for a moment. Silly. Is Mom there?”
“She’s in Chicago, remember? Some sort of conference for reading teachers.”
“Oh, yeah. I remember.” Mandy slumped against the wall.
“Is anything wrong? How is Washington? What’s the district like? Have you got an apartment yet?”
“What are you doing home, Leesie? I thought you were going to stay at the Millers while mom was gone.”
Leesie was Mandy’s half-sister. Younger by eleven years, she had been born a year after Mandy’s mother married Conroy Wheeler.
Mandy’s life had changed dramatically wi
th that marriage. Her mother had been a single mom at sixteen, and Mandy had learned early about hard work and strict economy. With the support of Mandy and her own parents, Mandy’s mother had finished high school and put herself through college. She had just finished her degree when she met and married Conroy.
Conroy brought more to the union than economic freedom. He brought color to a world that Mandy only remembered in black and white. Although a successful CEO of a large grocery chain, he loved music and drama and was head of the Albuquerque Allied Arts. Under his aegis, a new performing arts center was built, and he actively promoted the support of young artists in the community. He made sure that Mandy studied piano, and when she wanted to play jazz instead of classical music, he cheered her on. His sudden death last year had drained the color out of the world again. It had come back, or she thought it had, with the person who used to call her cherie.
“I forgot my history notes and had to come back for them,” Leesie said. “I was just going out the door when the phone rang. You didn’t answer me. Have you got an apartment yet?”
“Yes. I moved in last night.”
“What’s it like?”
“Well, it’s a small district. Um, I really can’t tell more than that. I just got here.”
“No, not your school. Your apartment. What’s it like? How many bedrooms?”
Mandy could picture her sister on the other end of the line. Tall, blonde, vivacious, a natural leader— everything Mandy was not. Leesie had her father’s exuberance for life and his single-mindedness. Mandy sighed and figured she’d better tell her what she wanted to know. “My house is something out of Sunset magazine.”
“Are you being sarcastic?”
“No, I’m not. It’s an A-frame, about a stone’s throw from the river. The front is all glass, and I’m sitting in the upstairs bedroom right now, looking out at mountains and forest, with a river running through it. Belongs on a calendar.” But on a calendar the sky would be blue.
“How many bedrooms?”
“Two. And two baths.”
“Sounds wonderful. Do you have a phone number yet? I’ll give it to Mom.”
“Not yet. I’ll email her. You’d better go. You’ll be late for school.”
“Yikes— I already am. But that’s okay. It was great to talk to you.”
“You too. Bye.” Mandy heard the click as her sister rang off, but she sat for a moment, still holding the receiver. When an ugly beep beep beep sounded in her ear, she hung up. She shrugged then picked up her underwear and towel and padded into the bathroom.
She felt better after a hot shower. Dressing quickly, she went downstairs to fix breakfast. She boiled oatmeal in the saucepan she had sent in one of the parcels and ate it out of the pot with the stirring spoon. She sat on a folding chair that Fran had loaned her, using two empty boxes stacked atop one another for a table. Both counter and cardboard table were graced by buckets of daffodils.
As she ate, Mandy stared at the river flowing in the distance and reflected on the staff meeting the day before. There had been resistance to her suggestion that Mrs. Berman handle all calendars and that issues important to the district be tracked by email for documentation. It irked Mandy that everyone looked to Grange for permission. It wasn’t until he said in a noncommittal voice that they could give it a try that everyone had agreed. Next, by her invitation, each reluctantly and sketchily described his or her responsibility in the district. Mandy closed the meeting, saying she had noticed that, though math scores were strong, reading was woefully deficient. She announced that at their next staff meeting, set for the following week, they would be strategizing on ways to remedy this, and she asked Mrs. Berman to make sure that meeting was on everyone’s calendar.
As Mandy scraped the last of the oatmeal out of the bottom of the pot, she realized that, save for the short recital each staff member had made about areas of responsibility, she was the only one who spoke during the meeting. She sighed, remembering Albuquerque’s district staff meetings full of give and take, overflowing with ideas and enthusiasm.
She set the pot to soak in the sink and ran upstairs to get her jacket and purse. Then she locked the door behind her and drove through the morning mist back up to where Wesley Gallant’s metal-clad carving studio sat behind his house. This was her morning to visit the school board.
MANDY COULD HEAR proof of Wesley’s industry the moment she got out of the car, but instead of the throaty roar of a chain saw, a high-pitched whine scraped the air.
The large metal building had two garage-style rollup doors on the long side, but it was to a smaller door on the end that Mandy headed. She knocked twice, and when no one answered, she turned the knob and pushed the door open. Immediately, the whine became louder, and Mandy could see why there was no response.
A tall, lean man with safety glasses and ear protectors worked intently with a small rotary tool that sent clouds of powder into the air, making a rusty, aromatic fog inside the building. Under his skillful hands, the scene Mandy had seen the previous morning emerged, captured in cedar. An eagle, wings stretched up, legs extended, held a writhing fish in its talons.
As she stepped through the door, a suspended particle lodged in Mandy’s eye, and she paused for a moment, staring at the ground and blinking furiously to try to float it out on tears. Clenching her hands to keep from rubbing the eye, she finally was able to see without discomfort. That was about the time she realized the whining of the air tool had stopped, and she looked up to meet the stern gaze of Wesley Gallant.
He took off his earmuffs and safety glasses. “Dr. Steenburg, I presume?”
Mandy smiled and extended her right hand as she rubbed tears away with the back of her left. “Yes. Thank you for taking the time to talk to me.”
After setting down his tool, Wesley took her hand briefly, but he did not return the smile. Instead, he strode to the corner and turned off the compressor. “For what it’s worth,” he called over his shoulder.
Wesley must have been six foot six. Dressed in Levi’s and a brown flannel shirt, he looked to be about forty. His sandy, shoulder-length hair was cut in a casually careless way, and his short beard, mustache, and dark eyes lent him a rustic air. A Los Angelino trying to look like a Tarheel. She had read his bio online and found he had a degree in marketing from UCLA. He was a major player in the chainsaw sculpturing subculture, and his pieces could be found in galleries from Alaska to Mexico.
“Pull up a stool,” Wesley said. It sounded more like an order than an invitation.
Feeling her hackles rise, Mandy paused a moment to count inwardly to ten before she sat.
“What can I do for you?” Wesley’s tone was curt, but his mouth curled into a small smile as his eyes met hers, and that softened the question somewhat. Mandy noticed he had a dusting of sawdust on his face and in his beard.
“I didn’t come by to ask you to do anything,” Mandy said. “You’re a member of the school board. You hired me. I’ve come to— to pay my respects, you might say. To report for duty.”
“Whoa, there, Nellie! I didn’t hire you. You’re not going to pin that on me.”
Taken aback by the vehemence of his denial, Mandy stared. “I was assured that the board unanimously approved my contract.”
“The board was unanimously railroaded by Vince Lafitte. That’s the only unanimous thing about the whole sorry mess.”
Mandy frowned. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I understand.”
“It doesn’t matter. The only thing you need to understand is that, no matter who has the title, Grange Timberlain is superintendent. You may have the office and the salary, but nothing has changed. Grange is still in charge.”
“And he has the files,” Mandy murmured.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch what you said.”
“Nothing.” Mandy stood. “Thank you for being so frank, Mr. Gallant. I’ll be equally frank. I came here to do a job, and I intend to do it to the best of my ability.”
Wesley’s
voice softened. “Does that mean you want to do what’s best for the students?”
“Yes, certainly.”
“Then throw your lot in with Grange. There’s not a person in the district better qualified to lead.”
“Oh? And what makes him so qualified?”
Wesley counted the points on the fingers of one hand. “He’s a Tarheel. He understands the people of this area. He’s dealt with adversity in his life and risen above it— way above it. And in doing so, he’s found the key to involving students in something bigger than they are. They look up to him, and—”
“—and he doesn’t have the degree. Period. Paragraph. I didn’t make the rules, Mr. Gallant. I didn’t depose Mr. Timberlain, and neither did Mr. Lafitte. He deposed himself when he made no move to comply with the state code.”
“That attitude will win you no friends.”
Mandy’s chin came up. “I didn’t come here to make friends.”
“It’s a lonely place without them.”
“I don’t wish to quarrel with you. Any quarrel that we have can only hurt the district and the students. Can we continue this discussion another day, after I have found my feet?”
“There is no point. You won’t change my mind, and I don’t imagine I can change yours. You were brought here under false pretenses, and I’m sorry for it. You can blame Vince for that, since he made arrangements for the hire.”
“It looks to me as if the people of Limestone are blaming Vince for bringing the district into compliance with state mandates. They’re there for a reason, and it has to do with excellence in education.” She took her keys out of her purse. “I think Vince Lafitte is very forward-thinking, and I’m surprised that you, as an educated man, aren’t more supportive.” Mandy headed toward the door but paused as she passed the eagle sculpture. Turning back, she asked, “Could it be a calculated business decision to side with the old-timers? I realize you sell your sculptures elsewhere, but who supplies your raw material?”
To Mandy’s surprise, Wesley threw back his head and laughed. “Touché. I’ll tell you what, Dr. Steenburg. I’ll take you up on that talk when you’ve ‘found your feet.’ It shouldn’t take long as you don’t have to look as far as most. I’ll be anxious to hear what you’ve got to say when you know more of what’s going on.” He stood and followed her to the door.