by P. L. Gaus
Martha said, “Oh, it’s you.” She turned around and walked back into the room.
The Amish man said, “A fellow let me in. Can we talk?” followed by something in Dutch dialect. Martha answered in kind, and waved him into the room.
6
Friday, November 1 8:50 P.M.
WHEN Arne Laughton, president of Millersburg College, entered the front door of the Favor mansion, Daniel was waiting to take his coat and galoshes. The two exchanged glances when they heard Favor break out into laughter in the parlor next to the front foyer. Daniel folded the tall president’s long coat over his arm and said, “If you don’t mind, sir, Ms. Favor won’t be but a minute.”
Puzzled, Laughton looked in at the parlor door and saw Favor seated on the divan with her back to him. He caught DiSalvo’s gaze and waved awkwardly to the lawyer. DiSalvo acknowledged the president with a fractional tip of his head. In a far corner sat Sonny Favor, fidgeting.
Laughton stepped back into the foyer. Daniel offered a straight-backed chair, and the president sat with his slender hands on his knees, listening to whatever brief snatches of conversation he could understand. Intermittently, he made out key phrases, and, with growing concern, he moved his chair closer to the parlor door. He listened intently and ran his fingers nervously through white hair. By the time Favor came out to him, Laughton thought he had overheard the loss of a sizable portion of Millersburg College’s long-term funding.
“MY DEAR Mr. President,” Favor said, and took Laughton’s outstretched hand in both of hers. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long. It’s business, you see, with Mr. DiSalvo.”
She reached up and linked her arm in his, and with Sonny following, she guided the president into the bar, where she poured two drinks and toasted, “To Millersburg College!”
Laughton held his martini aloft and repeated the toast. He took a substantial swallow and said, “Forgive me, Juliet, if I show too much concern. Or if my concern is misplaced. But do I understand correctly that you’re to reduce funding for our college next year?”
“Why, Arne. You’ve been listening at keyholes again.”
Laughton blushed and stammered, “I’m sorry, but . . .”
With a dismissive wave of her hand, Favor said, “Arne, Arne. You can’t expect the Favors to carry the college indefinitely.”
A flush rose in Laughton’s face, and he gulped the rest of his drink. Unsure what to say, he held out his glass, and Favor refilled it, smiling.
“Arne,” Favor said, handing over the refill. “You didn’t support me for chairwoman of the board of trustees last May.”
“Juliet,” Laughton began.
Favor interrupted. “Oh, come now, Arne. Surely we needn’t worry about such little matters as these. As much as the Favors have been a friend to this institution? Not at all. But this can be repaired easily, Arne. There’s the December meeting yet, and we can’t operate too much longer with an interim chairman. He’s not that good, anyway, don’t you agree?”
“Juliet, I don’t think . . . ”
“Sure, Arne, sure. Now I do hope you’ll stay for dinner. Nine o’clock in the formal dining room. And you’re dressed just right.” She stepped close to the president and played coyly with his tie, as if their relationship permitted her an extra measure of familiarity. “Always such a gentlemen.”
Laughton straightened his tie. “I’m not sure, Juliet.”
“I insist. Please. See Daniel. And we will talk some more after dinner.”
“I hardly think this is the sort of thing to discuss over dessert,” Laughton said gruffly.
“Such a tone!” Favor chided. “I won’t sign any papers until tomorrow, anyway, so you needn’t worry about your precious money. There’s time yet, and we should use it. Don’t you agree? Please, Arne. Stay just a bit longer and we’ll sit down to a nice meal. Daniel is preparing sautéed Casco Bay sea scallops with peanuts and chives, plus Backaofa Alsace Style sea bass, or lamb with haricots à la Tourangelle. So how can you resist, Arne?”
“Perhaps, but I’m going to have to do something about my car.”
“What’s wrong out there?” Favor asked with indifference.
“Your Daniel has plowed a lane, but not much more than that. And in front of the house there are three cars, now, with little room for more. The drifts keep piling up, and I’m not sure any of us will be able to leave, if it keeps up out there.”
“Is it any better around back?” Favor asked, cataloging in her mind the people yet to arrive. To Sonny she quipped, “At least we don’t have your Lexus to worry about, do we?”
“Haven’t been around back,” Laughton said uneasily, watching the blood rise in Sonny Favor’s cheeks.
“Can you please check with Daniel?” Favor asked Laughton, turning her back to Sonny.
Somewhat offended, Laughton replied, “Certainly, Juliet. If you wish.”
“Thank you, Arne. And please tell Daniel to turn on the lights all around the house. I’d like him to plow again, too, this time wider. Yours is not the last car that has to get up my drive tonight.”
JULIET led Sonny back to the parlor, where they found Sally Favor and Jenny snuggled up to either side of a blushing Henry DiSalvo on the divan.
Favor erupted, “Oh, for crying out loud, Sally!”
“Mother dear,” Sally said, obviously still drunk. She hugged DiSalvo as if he were a fuzzy bear.
“I had hoped you’d left,” Favor said coldly.
“Can’t get down the drive, Mommy. Guess we’ll stay for dinner.”
“You’ll do no such thing!”
“You see that, Sonny?” Sally drawled. “Mommy’s true colors.”
“Why do you always have to push it, Sally?” Sonny complained.
“Because you won’t stand up to her!” Sally shot back. “You’re pathetic, Sonny. Stand up to her.”
Sally bounded suddenly to her feet, took Sonny by the arms and pulled him into the center of the room. “Stand up to her just once, Sonny.”
“You’re drunk,” Sonny muttered.
“So what?”
“I don’t see why you have to be so rude to everyone,” Sonny complained.
“Just to her, Sonny. Do you really think you can keep your trust?”
“Just three more years.”
“What do you mean? Didn’t you hear her lawyer?”
“You were listening?”
“Oh, Sonny! Grow up.”
Sonny shook his head and retreated to the fireplace, where he sullenly tapped the smooth brass rugby trophy on the mantel. Enraged, Sally closed the distance to him quickly, seized the trophy in both hands, and threw it onto the plush carpet in the direction of her mother. It gave a heavy thunk and rolled a foot or so to her mother’s feet.
Mrs. Favor launched herself at Sally, grabbed her by the neck, and twisted. In the brief scuffle that ensued, their legs became entangled, and they spun and fell to the floor as if spite and rejection had conspired to stir a vortex that dragged them down.
Stepping forward, Sonny managed to separate the two stunned women without getting kicked, while DiSalvo, embarrassed, returned the trophy to the mantel. Jenny sat quietly on the divan, smiling as if in victory. Nervously, DiSalvo centered the trophy on the mantel.
Struggling to her feet, Sally sputtered, “Monster!”
Juliet straightened her skirt and blazer and tried to refasten her carnation. Frustrated, she tore the flower off and threw it into the fire.
“Really, folks,” DiSalvo said and shook his head.
“I know, Henry. I apologize,” Juliet offered, and glanced angrily at her daughter.
Sally rubbed at her throat, looked woefully at Jenny, walked over to take her hand, and stood her up in front of the divan. To Sonny, Sally rasped, “If you don’t break free from her, you’ll never have a life, Sonny. Money isn’t that important.”
Pausing, she looked in turn at Sonny, at her mother, and at DiSalvo. Softly she said, “Money isn’t really anything at all,” and escorted Jen
ny from the room.
PHILLIPS Royce, chairman of the art department at Millersburg College, turned up the drive to Favor Manor behind Daniel’s small tractor. He followed slowly in the track the plow cleared and came up to the oval in front of the house, wiper blades snapping at the snow and ice. Instead of parking in front, where there were several other cars angled into a snowbank, Royce followed Daniel’s plow back around the east side of the house to the north, and parked in the rear. He stepped out into the blizzard, huddled next to the car, fought the wind to close the car door, and sprinted to one of the back doors.
Inside, the art professor stomped his boots without closing the door tightly, and this brought loud complaints from the three cooks working in the spacious kitchen to his left. He turned back to close the door, but Daniel Bliss pushed in behind him. The butler closed the door with effort and caught a stern look from one of the cooks, who reached up to steady several pans and skillets that had started banging in the draft from the open door. Bliss left his long black dress coat on and helped Royce out of his coat. He took a whisk-broom hanging on the doorknob and knelt to brush snow from the professor’s pants and boots.
Phillips Royce was a small man of fifty-nine, not much taller than Juliet Favor. He pulled off a knit skullcap to reveal a large, clean-shaven head. He had big eyes and wore thick, black-rimmed glasses. His black mustache was full and long, covering most of his upper lip and twisting out into fancy, waxed curls on either end. He was dressed in a brown corduroy suit, with worn leather patches at the elbows. He twisted the ends of his mustache carefully, thanked Daniel, and ascended the stairs at the rear of the house without further comment.
The staircase led to a vestibule at the back of the house on the second floor, where there were doors to two bedrooms separated by a long hall. He went directly to the west bedroom and halted before opening the door. Inside, he heard the playful voices of two young, drunk women. At the door to the east bedroom he heard nothing. He turned back, passed down the middle hall, and came out at the top landing of the front staircase. Here was another hall, perpendicular to the first, giving access to the master bedroom. At the west end of this hall, he stopped to listen again to the women’s voices, now on his right, and then entered a door on his left, to the master bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he removed his old boots, fluffed two big pillows, and lay back against the head of the bed.
In a few minutes, Juliet came in from the master bath. She took off her blazer and threw it on the foot of the bed. With her blue skirt hitched above her knees, she climbed onto the bed and moved on hands and knees to Royce.
7
Friday, November 1 9:00 P.M.
ON THE front steps of Martha’s dorm, her Amish friend, Ben Schlabaugh, said, “That boy’s not treating you right, and you’d better believe it.”
Martha stood shivering with the door propped open and said, “How many really nice things do you have, Ben? What’s wrong with wanting nice things?”
“You shouldn’t be smoking that silly weed,” Ben said. He buttoned his denim jacket, turned up his collar, and put on his black hat.
Martha let the door close a little and took a step back.
“When can I see you?” Ben asked.
“You don’t approve of me,” Martha said matter-of-factly.
“You know how I feel about you, Martha,” Ben complained. “Always have, and you know it.”
“You saved my life once,” Martha said. “I’m grateful, really I am. But that doesn’t mean we’re going out.”
Schlabaugh drew gloves out of his hip pocket, put them on, and slapped his palms together. He tipped his hat and said, “I’m not giving up.”
8
Friday, November 1 9:20 P.M.
IN A PEACH and rose evening gown, Juliet Favor descended the grand staircase to the foyer and was greeted enthusiastically by several guests holding drinks. She tarried among them, enjoying their attentions, as she inquired about each professor or administrator. On passing through the parlor, she picked up several more people in her train and moved casually, chatting amiably, into the spacious dining room. There, a large oval table was set for dinner. Daniel stood formally, immaculate in his tuxedo. With him were six Amish children, hired as servers for the evening. The children were dressed in plain Amish garb, denim trousers and vests for the boys, and matching dark plum dresses with white aprons and prayer caps for the girls. They were “pin” Amish, from an Old Order sect that eschewed buttons, fastening their clothes with straight pins. They lived on a farm adjoining the Favor property, across the road from a family of “Knopfer,” or button Amish, who held neither conversation nor fellowship with their backward neighbors.
At Daniel’s signal, the children took up positions evenly spaced around the oval table. Favor stood at the middle of the table, with her back to a large bay window. Floodlights outside reflected off the snow and cast a white, high-key light into the room.
The president, dean, and their faculty, almost all of them chair-persons of an academic department or program, found their seats by consulting place cards on the dinner plates. When Juliet sat, they all sat.
With her back to the west, Juliet had Daniel behind her, standing before serving tables that lined the long curve of the bay window. Harry Favor had added the window and its built-in tables when he enlarged the room some years ago so that Juliet could entertain on a grand scale. The food was laid out in chafing dishes on these tables. As the servers finished pouring wine and water, Favor lifted her glass to make a toast. The guests lifted their glasses with her.
“To a new era at Millersburg College,” Favor proclaimed. “To new things and new ways.”
Around the table, the guests collectively made their responses, some enthusiastically, others murmuring. As President Laughton rose to make a toast, Favor signaled for him to take his seat. He missed her signal and started to talk, at which point Favor said, “Arne, please. Let’s save that sort of thing for later.” Red-faced, the president sat down.
Annoyed, Favor cut short her remarks and brought business to the fore. “You will each find,” she said, “an envelope at your plate. These are my responses to your various funding proposals to the Harry Favor Trust Foundation. Some of you will be pleased, but, I’m afraid, in most cases, we’ve had to make significant cutbacks. You each have an appointment slip for tomorrow, when we can negotiate your cases individually.”
Favor stopped and watched as most of the guests at the table began to open their envelopes. She saw that only Michael Branden and Dean William Coffee refrained, and she smiled.
“Please,” Favor said. “You can read those later. For the moment, Daniel has prepared an excellent meal. Please indicate your choice of entrée to the waiter assigned to you.”
While three of the children served the first course, the other three circulated to take orders. Favor sat quietly for the most part during the meal. The several questions put to her about budgets she deflected adroitly, keeping the conversation light. On her side of the oval, to her immediate left sat Sonny Favor, who said nothing during the meal. On Favor’s right sat Dean of the Faculty William Blake Coffee, in his position long enough to know better than to discuss business with Juliet Favor over dinner. Next to Coffee, around the table to Favor’s right was Henry DiSalvo. At the right end of the oval sat Kathryn Aimsworthy, chairwoman of the sociology department and the anthropology program. Opposite her, at the far end of the oval, there was Walt Camry, chairman of the English department. To his right sat President Laughton, who was on Sonny’s left. Facing Juliet Favor from left to right on the other side of the oval sat Dick Pomeroy, chairman of the chemistry department; Michael Branden, history chairman and founder of the Millersburg College Museum of Battlefield Firearms; Phillips Royce directly opposite Favor; Carol Jenkins, chairwoman of economics; Elizabeth Williamson, women’s studies chairwoman; and to Aimsworthy’s right, Rebecca Willhite, physical education director. In all, then, twelve guests sat at the table with Juliet and Sonny Fav
or.
Food was served from the tables lining the curve of the large bay window. Light came from several candlesticks and from the window, reflected from the snowfall. Polite discussions in genteel voices were the rule. Juliet gradually withdrew from the conversation, the back of her neck and head giving her obvious discomfort. By the end of the meal, most guests knew to take their envelopes, make a graceful exit, and go home to read in private of their department’s fate.
Among the last to leave was President Laughton, who was politely rebuffed. Phillips Royce, who intended to stay, was also refused. As Daniel saw him out the back door, Favor went up the rear staircase holding the back of her head. Soon after that, the Amish servers finished clearing the tables, and they left together to walk home in the snow. And by 11:30 P.M., Daniel Bliss had dismissed the kitchen staff, plowed one more time, and retired to his quarters at the back of the property, in a ranch-style home behind a four-bay garage.
9
Saturday, November 2 7:30 A.M.
CAROLINE Branden was out with the sunrise, bundled head to toe against the cold, filling her backyard birdfeeders. At the back of the lot, near sheer cliffs overlooking a wide Amish valley blanketed in white, she filled two finch feeder tubes with black thistle seed. At several stations in the middle of the yard, she put out whole sunflower seed and cracked corn. On a pole near the kitchen window, she tied on a new strip of raw suet and replaced a cake of commercial peanut suet in a square wire cage. Pulling her bags of seed and other supplies on a green plastic toboggan with yellow rope, she trudged through the deep, soft snow to the door at the side of their full-length back porch. One at a time, she lifted the heavy bags up the steps, and stacked them inside, with the rest of her winter stores.
She brushed off snow and stomped her feet before crossing the length of the porch to a sliding door. There, she stepped into the Brandens’ family room, slipped out of her yellow-and-black hooded ski parka, and sat on the couch to unlace her high snow boots. Black snow pants came off last, and she laid the whole outfit out on the carpet to dry. Down to blue jeans and a sweatshirt, she put on fluffy green slippers and found her husband, Professor Michael Branden, in the kitchen, still in his blue cotton pajamas. He had a mug of freshly made coffee waiting for her at the kitchen table.
