What Grows in Your Garden

by Carolyn P Schriber

  When classes resumed on Monday, the campus operated as usual, although everyone was aware that the end of the semester loomed ever closer. Professors could no longer ignore the stacks of grading that awaited them. The library’s research desk faced a line of students needing help with term papers due within the week. Student slackers who had failed to pay attention during the daily lectures now sought their more diligent classmates to borrow or photocopy the notes to fill the blanks in their knowledge.

  Underclassmen worried about declaring their majors, while seniors waited for crucial decisions. Would they receive that job offer? Did they get into a preferred graduate program? What about medical schools overseas? How soon would they have to pay back those strangling student loans? How many tickets would each graduate receive for admission to the commencement ceremonies, and who would tell Uncle Chester and Cousin Mildred that they could not attend?

  Many students had heard about the death of one of their classmates, and the campus buzzed for a short time with speculation as to the causes of the crash. Still, outside of the history department, few people had known Cassie because she had focused her attention on faculty rather than on her fellow students. Finals were approaching and then graduation week. Interest in the death of a stranger faded.

  Even those students and staff who remained unaware of the trauma might have noticed, however, that the third floor of Bailey Hall was quieter than normal. Professors’ office doors remained closed for most of the day, although lights showing through the transoms suggested someone occupied the offices. The graduate student lounge—usually overflowing with gossip sessions, sack lunches, undergraduate quiz grading, or frantic note-taking—stood empty, its coffee pot full for the first time in months.

  Gwen sat at her secretary’s desk doing a crossword puzzle while she waited for someone to seek her services. Doctor Brokowski had asked her to email the history faculty and graduate students, commanding their presence at a meeting in the small seminar room at 4:30. The mailroom had delivered a box of correspondence early that morning. But once Gwen had sent the emails, sorted the letters and packages into their appropriate pigeonholes, and checked the paper supplies in the printer, she had exhausted her duties. Now, stuck on a seven-letter word for ‘most important,’ she twiddled a pencil and fought the temptation to push a fire alarm button just to see if anyone moved.

  The group that assembled in the small seminar room before 4:30 remained quiet. They met one another’s eyes with sympathetic glances, silent nods, and unspoken questions. Those who knew something of Doctor Brokowski’s twenty-year-old family tragedy now realized that Cassie’s accident had happened at almost the same spot. And because of his position as Cassie’s advisor, they worried about his reactions. When everyone else was there, the group stared at the closed door, waiting for the chair’s arrival and understanding that whatever he had to say, he was about to force them to face the enormity of what had happened over the weekend.

  When at last he entered the room, his physical appearance set off mental alarms. He somehow seemed smaller than usual, hunched over and shuffling. His face was pale and unshaven, his clothes rumpled, and his hands shaking. Kevin Chalmers was the first on his feet, reaching out a helping hand and turning a chair around to face the group.

  “Here. Have a seat, Bob. It’s just us. No need to be formal on a day like today.”

  “Thank you, but I have several announcements to make, and I prefer to make them on my feet.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from a shirt pocket and smoothed it out on top of the lectern. Then he gripped the sides of the stand and forced himself to look at each member of his department.

  “I have no comforting words to offer you about what has happened. In the coming weeks, I know we will return to the subject many times. But for today, we need to concentrate—not on what has happened in the past, but on what lies ahead for each one of us. I begin with myself, not because I am important in the grand scheme of things, but because several of my decisions will affect many of you.”

  A pause filled the room, seeming to absorb the air itself into a gigantic balloon of fear and apprehension. “I have today handed in my retirement papers, effective at the end of our summer semester.” As a buzz filled the room, he held up a hand to silence them once more. “Please do not ask me where I’m going or what I will do, because I do not know. Perhaps I shall travel or apply for a readership in one of the great archives I’ve never had time to visit. There might be a book I should have written years ago or a fish I should have lured. I can tell you, however, that whatever I do, I need to move away from Birch Falls.

  “What should matter is what this retirement means for all of you. I will give up my duties as chair at the end of graduation in three weeks. The new chair, as the dean will announce soon, will be Doctor Kevin Chalmers. He will spend his summer moving into his new office and rearranging things—including all of you—to suit himself. The dean will reduce his teaching load to two courses per semester, and he will have a personal teaching assistant who will start in the fall semester—more of that later.

  “I know that each one of you joins me in congratulating Doctor Julia Winthrop upon her appointment as Associate Professor of History. Now you may add two other duties to that title. She will serve as vice-chair of the department and as head of your new search committee. Under normal circumstances, a tenured professor qualifies for an immediate one-semester research sabbatical, but she may postpone her sabbatical until the seventh year of employment and take a full year off.

  “Because of my departure, Doctor Winthrop has agreed to take the postponement and oversee the search to fill several new positions for the 2010-2011 school year. They will include a tenure-track appointment in Colonial America, with a secondary emphasis on Latin America. In addition, the department will add a sixth full-time position effective in 2010. That one will also be a tenure-track slot in Modern World History, defined as twentieth century and beyond, including the Middle East and Modern Asia. Third, Doctor Winthrop will hire a one-year visiting assistant professor to cover her classes, spanning the period from Renaissance and Reformation to Industrial Revolution. That’s a heavy search load, and she will need the help of each one of you—including our graduate students—to screen our applications, interview potential colleagues, and help make those final decisions.

  “Now, as to our junior faculty. The dean has invited Doctor Trevor Monroe to apply for a tenure and promotion decision at the end of next year. I’m sure we all wish him well, and I hope you will give him whatever support he needs. We also assume that Doctor Sarah Chomsky will be back next year in the second year of her three-year contract, and that she will continue to be an inspiration to those students who have so enjoyed learning from her this year. However, Doctor Chomsky, I need to point out to you that you have not yet turned in your formal Intent to Return statement. I must have it by May 23, or I will have to forge your signature to keep you here.”

  Sarah flushed with embarrassment, and her heart rate increased as she realized she wasn’t sure she wanted to return. She knew she couldn’t say that, however, so she nodded to show she understood.

  “Now let us turn to our graduate contingent. And I will start with our most important announcement. Mike McGarrity will observe my classes this summer, learning as much as he can about teaching that Early American Survey course. He will also sit in on Doctor Monroe’s Modern America and the World course as preparation for teaching the second half of the survey in the spring semester. In the fall, he will move into position as an adjunct instructor to teach our regular American Survey sequence. This is, we all recognize, an unusual appointment, but he has earned it, at least in part, by his extensive teaching experience in the Marine Corps.

  “Now for our other TA openings. Ellie Curtis is the teaching assistant for Doctor Chalmers this year, and she will continue to hold that position through the summer so that she can help with the organizational details of the department. In the fall, she will return to regular gradua
te status as she finishes her master’s thesis and prepares for a December graduation.

  “The dean has also granted us an additional teaching assistantship slot for the summer as we handle these transitions. As you know, Jeff Peterson is a full-time teacher during the school year, so we have felt no need to give him additional classroom exposure. Anyone who handles junior high school students daily already knows more than we do about teaching. However, to provide him with some insight into the differences between junior high and college, he will serve as Doctor Winthrop's assistant for the summer as they work out the details of our three job searches and set up a database to organize the applications.

  “In the fall, Matt Garrison will take over as the European history TA, with Doctor Chalmers having first claim on his services. I also hope that the dean will allow Jeff to hold a part-time TA position during the coming school year so that he can continue to offer Doctor Winthrop his computer expertise during the search process. Jean Pentergast will remain the American history TA, allowing Doctors Monroe and Chomsky to share her services as they see fit. Congratulations to all of you.

  “I must also acknowledge the accomplishments of Denise Melbourne, who is graduating with a Master’s Degree in History and English in just three more weeks. You may have heard that Toni Youngblood has left the program after her publisher rejected her cookbook manuscript with its historical tidbits supplementing the recipes. I believe that accounts for everyone's new status.

  “The final piece of news is that we have so far accepted four new graduate students who will enter the program in the fall. It is possible that we will receive several more applications during the summer, but we can handle those cases as they arise. I thank you for all that you have done for the department and for me over these years, and I wish each of you continued successes.” And with that comment, he walked straight out the door, avoiding any further discussions.

  As the others gathered their belongings and made their way to the stairs or elevator, Julia caught Sarah’s arm. “You look terrible, girlfriend. When was the last time you had something to eat?”

  Sarah shrugged and shook her head.

  “As your elder, I suggest a large dose of pizza.”

  “Thanks, Julia, but I am not hungry.”

  “I understand, but you need nourishment, no matter how you feel. Go get your car and go home. Feed the cat. Do whatever else you need to do, and I’ll be waiting out front. I intend to deliver you into the capable hands of Momma Capelli.”

  Sarah remained silent as the car wound its way through the foothills above Birch Falls. To break the mood, Julia asked, “How’s David doing?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Sarah?”

  “His parents have asked me to stay away from him. They blame me for what happened.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “No, I have to admit they are right. If he had never gotten involved with me, he wouldn’t have been with me Friday night outside my apartment. It’s my fault he risked his life.”

  “You don’t believe that!”

  “I do. It’s true. And I’ll never be able to forget that moment. The gunshots came first, and then he was spinning half way around, his whole shoulder shredded and spraying blood all over me. A fraction of an inch to one side, and he would have died right there at my feet.” Sarah’s face had gone pale, and unbidden tears streamed over her cheeks. “But it won’t happen again because I won’t let it. If we’re together, he will always put himself between me and any danger. And since he insists on being a cop, I have to remove myself from the picture.”

  “Is that why you haven’t turned in your letter of intention?”

  “Yes. I don’t think I can stay here. There must be other jobs waiting somewhere. Maybe I can be an adjunct for a while until I can put my heart back together again.”

  Julia could not think of any comforting words that would make the moment easier. Silence filled the car until they pulled into the parking lot at Guido's. “We’re here. And you need some mothering. Wipe your face and come on.”

  “Bambine! You haven’t been here in a long time! Momma’s already got your pizzas in the oven. You’re too thin, little one,” Guido fussed at Sarah as he seated them in their private booth.

  “No pizza, Guido. I’m not hungry.”

  “A nice glass of wine, then.”

  Sarah nodded, but Julia interfered. “That’ll set her right back on her butt. Does Momma have any of that good Tuscan soup—that ribollita?”

  “Sure, sure. We always keep it going on a back burner. That’s what it means, you know. It’s ‘reboiled.’”

  “Bring her a bowl of that first—then the wine.”

  “You’re pushy, you know that?” Sarah scowled at her.

  “Yes? Well, you need a push. Ah. Here it is, all steamy. Take a big whiff of that.”

  “What have they been reboiling back there? Old boots?”

  “It has white beans, bread, parmesan, beef, olive oil, carrots, celery, onion, garlic, kale—whatever remains at the end of an evening’s worth of cooking. Go ahead. Taste it. Poppa has often told me that ribollita can cure anything—even a broken heart.”

  In a few more minutes, momma came from the kitchen bearing a pizza for Julia and a box for Sarah. “I already had your pizza in the oven, just the way you like it. So now it’s free. You can take it home with you. Eat it at midnight when you’re hungry again.”

  “Oh, momma, no. I can’t do that.”

  “What? I should throw it out? It’s a work of love. And from the looks of you, you could use a little love.”

  When the tears started to flow again, momma pushed her way onto the bench and took Sarah into her ample embrace. “There, there, my child. I don’t know what has happened, and you need not tell me. But what I know is that love is the most important thing in life. Look at us. Poppa and I fight like cats and rabbits, but we never forget that we love each other.”

  Sarah let out a small laugh through her tears. “Cats and rabbits? You mean cats and dogs? Or is there something about rabbits I don’t know?”

  “Whatever. We fight, but we love. We fight and we make up—all the time, for forty years now. When you can’t live without someone, you fight him and forgive him. That’s the way love works.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Farewell and Beyond

  Saturday, May 23, 2009

  The three weeks leading up to graduation had passed in a blur. By those last few days, the students had settled down. For graduating seniors, it was a time for nostalgia, for spending time with college friends who were moving out in many directions. Most seniors did not have to take exams, unless they teetered on such a precarious edge that a final exam grade could determine their eligibility to graduate. Across all classes, students were finishing their papers because almost no one wanted an incomplete that would change their summer plans. And for most, the end of this semester marked the end of a successful year—reason enough to slow down, take a deep breath, and enjoy each of these final days.

  For the history faculty, however, there was no period of respite. Their problems and fears did not go away with the closing of a grade book or the issuing of a diploma. Sarah could feel the tension every time she entered the hallways of Bailey Hall. And when she stopped to consider each of her colleagues, she understood the causes of their angst.

  Doctor Brokowski had tried to take himself in hand after that first day of grief had sent him to work unshaven, red-eyed, and rumpled. If Sarah needed to talk to him about something, she knew she might find him engrossed in books and papers. But the chances were as good that she would find him sitting at his desk, staring out of the window. Try as he might to pretend that everything was under control, he could not avoid the signs of change all around him. Half-filled boxes cluttered his office as he began the tedious process of cleaning out drawers and filing cabinets that had accumulated their contents for twenty years. Sarah noticed his desktop photographs had disappeared. His wife�
�s picture and that of his tiny daughter had been unfortunate reminders of Cassie’s fate. He might think of them at home in the middle of the night, but he could not stand the distraction during working hours. Much like the new graduates, he was leaving one whole life behind him to venture out into an unknown future.

  Doctor Chalmers was a walking bundle of nerves. He, too, faced internal conflicts. One part of him wanted to take over the department at once, while the rest of him worried that he was not up to the job. On one afternoon, when he seemed unable to decide anything about departmental matters, Sarah’s subconscious dredged up a memory from the preceding fall. When the faculty had discovered the keying of their car doors, Sarah had wondered about the epithet applied to Chalmers: ‘Coward.’ She had thought it to be inappropriate. Now she understood. Brilliant as the man was in reading medieval manuscripts, he was weak in his ability to take a stand on any important issue. Like the Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz, he lacked the gift of courage.

  Now, as Sarah looked back on the year, she could see several examples, many of them stemming from Doctor Chalmers’ suspicions about Cassie. Time and time again, he had considered accusing her of doing the keying, of dabbling in witchcraft and poisonous plants, of being the person who applied itching powder to the toilet seats and the one who delivered the flowers. Each time, he had pulled back, saying that maybe it didn’t matter. But it had mattered, and the results of his failure to act fell onto his shoulders. Could such a weak personality run an academic department? Sarah foresaw trouble ahead.

  Julia Winthrop was without doubt Sarah’s best friend. From their first meeting, she had served as Sarah’s confidante and mentor. In the middle of chaos, she remained calm, reasonable, kind, and compassionate. She well deserved her promotion to associate professor, and Sarah wanted to see her enjoy the accolades coming her way. But with the added job search responsibilities that Brokowski had heaped upon her, along with serving as a backup for a weak department chair, even Julia was succumbing to her frazzled nerves. She snapped at those who interrupted something she was doing and snarled at student requests she used to grant with a smile. Even Bert tiptoed around her these days, not daring to mention marriage for fear she might bite his head off like some giant praying mantis.