And yet, however amazed she was—and sad for Fred Kindler—at how fast everything was happening, she was not surprised that she was the one the board would choose if Francis Plummer refused.
You couldn’t have as much impact as she had, be as natural a leader, without knowing it.
Milton was waiting for her in the foyer when she arrived, and led her out to the terrace overlooking the river behind the club. “More private out here,” he said. They sat in deck chairs facing each other, his back to the river, she facing it. Over his shoulder she saw the glint of the sun on the water. “I don’t suppose you have any idea why I’ve asked you here,” he said, studying her face.
She didn’t answer. That was up to him to figure out.
“Fred Kindler’s resigned,” he said.
Even though she’d already guessed, she was shocked to get the news. Milton was watching her. “That’s terrible news,” she said at last.
“You think so?”
“Yes, I do. It makes me very sad. And very angry.”
“Good, I thought it would,” he said. And waited for her to speak.
But she didn’t. Your move, she thought. Not mine.
“We need an interim head,” he said. “To run the school next year.”
Rachel answered, “Of course you do.”
“We need one right away,” Milton said. “Like tomorrow. We need everyone to know there’s a boss. That there’s someone in charge. With a plan.”
“Yes, we do,” Rachel said, beginning to feel impatient.
“You need to know that Alan Travelers has also resigned.”
“He has? Why?” And then, before Milton could explain, she figured it out. “Oh, of course.”
“Yeah, pretty wacky, isn’t it?” Milton asked, smiling a little and shaking his head, and she could see the sadness in his face “You’d think a school could be free of politics.” And Rachel thought, Really! A school! How could you think that? And Milton, seeing the look on her face, said, “Don’t worry, that’s what I wish, not what I think.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” she said.
“Anyway, I’m the chair now.”
“That’s also a relief,” she said.
“We want it to be you,” she heard Milton say. “We want you to take the job,” and she waited for the rest: if Francis Plummer refuses.
But Milton said nothing, just watched her face, and then at last he said, “We asked Francis Plummer first.”
“I thought you would,” Rachel murmured. It sounded a little dumb, she knew. She should have been answering him. But in spite of her knowing this could happen, she was shocked and it was all she could think of to say.
“Just so you know. From me. Now. Not later from some jerk.”
“Thank you.”
“He turned us down. Doesn’t think he’s the right one.” And then, as if talking to himself, he said, “Somebody tells me he’s not right for a job, I always agree, who the hell am I to argue?” And when she didn’t answer—because what can you say to that?—and she was wondering if she’d have to give up all her teaching, Milton said, “He says you’re the right one.”
“That’s good, I’m glad he does,” she said. She knew she’d have to answer soon. She already knew she was going to say yes.
“So does Fred Kindler.”
“Well, if Fred Kindler thinks so, I do too!”
Milton smiled. “So you’re accepting? You’re going to run this fun house for us?”
“Yes, I accept!” Rachel said. “Assuming the board approves.”
“They’ll approve,” Milton answered. “Unless they want to find a new chair. It’s not as if we have a lot of time.” Then after a little pause, he added, “Besides, I’m the guy with the money,” and broke into a grin.
“Well, then, if that’s how it is,” Rachel heard herself say. If Milton Perkins could do whatever he wanted, so could she. “You want me now, you keep me.” The words surprised her as she said them. The idea had just come to her. It was outrageous and she loved it.
“What?”
“I’m not going to be your head just because I’m convenient,” she announced. “You’ve got to want me enough now to want me permanently.” There were only twenty-two people of color—her mom would say “colored people”—who were heads of school in the whole National Association of Independent Schools. This time the arrogance was going to come from the other direction!
“Jesus!” said Milton. “I’ll be goddamned!”
She started to say, If it doesn’t work out, I’ll get out of your way before you have to ask, just like Fred did. Then thought better of it. That’s a promise she’d make to herself; she didn’t owe it to anyone else. “You don’t want to be picking a new head every year,” she said.
“Jesus!” Milton said again. He was smiling, his face lighting up. Rachel Bickham was right. The school wouldn’t survive a whole year of not knowing who was going to be the permanent head. Make a bold, decisive move right now—forget all the fancy bullshit process stuff, asking everybody what they think. He didn’t give a damn what anybody thought, it’s what he thought that counted. He stood and stuck out his hand. “You’re a hell of a lady!” he told her.
Rachel stood too to take Milton Perkins’s hand. “You obviously agree,” she said. This was actually happening!
“You bet I do!” They were standing face-to-face, her hand in his. “You think I’m going to announce that we don’t know who’s minding the store when I can announce this?” Then he let go of her hand and took her elbow, and they walked side by side, he in his blue suit, she stately in her summer dress, to her car. In a world where people didn’t have to think about the color of skin, one would have thought they were a father and daughter walking across the lawn.
“I’m going straight to Fred Kindler’s office,” she told him when they got to her car. “I want him to be the first to hear—and from me.”
Milton Perkins nodded, smiled, and opened the door for her. “I think he’s going to like your news,” he said.
FRED WASN’T SURPRISED an hour later that it was Rachel Bickham standing in the doorway to his office. It would have to be either Rachel or Milton Perkins—they were both too classy to let anyone else know what had been decided before he did.
“Well, aren’t you going to ask me in?” Rachel said, smiling.
“Of course! Sorry to be so spacey.” He didn’t know how to tell her that his head was so full of all the feelings brought up by what he was sure she was going to tell him that for a minute he couldn’t focus on the simple act of inviting her in.
Just inside the door, she put her long fingers lightly on his shoulder. “I’d space out too,” she said. It was just what he wanted her to say, and he was grateful.
He watched her sit down in one of the chairs in front of his desk, stretch her long legs out in front, put her arms up on the back. He sat in the chair opposite her. “I think I can guess what you’re going to tell me,” he said. “I hope I’m right.”
“You are,” Rachel answered.
“Oh, Rachel.” he said. “Congratulations!”
“Thanks. From you that means a lot.” She took her arms from the chair back, pulled her legs in, put her elbows on her knees, and leaned forward. “Are you all right?”
“I’m all right.”
“You are?” she asked, studying his face. “Because I don’t think I would be.”
Her questions made him feel shy all of a sudden; he had to make a conscious effort not to look away. “It hurts a little,” he admitted.
“I bet it does!”
“But your news makes it better.”
“Good,” she said. “Thanks. I could have worked for you,” she went on, looking at him even more intently now. “I could have worked for you for a long, long time. I felt good working for you,” and before he could thank her for saying these words, which he knew she meant, Margaret Rice put her head in the door.
“I think this is one you better take,” she said
, pointing to the phone.
“Later,” he said, but Margaret shook her head and he remembered the last time she insisted that he interrupt his meeting to take a call. He picked up the phone.
It was Hannah Fingerman’s lawyer again. “You have no idea how lucky you are,” he said.
“I don’t understand,” Fred said. He thought the lawyer meant that he was lucky to have quit as head of school. Well, he didn’t feel lucky at all. How does he know? he wondered.
“We threatened him, and he called off his suit, and so we win,” the lawyer said.
“Threatened? Who?”
“Mr. Fingerman. Who else? I mean, he was the one with the motivation, wasn’t he?”
“Wait a minute,” Fred said. “Are you telling me that—?”
But Mr. Singleton was too proud of himself to wait. “The police let him off after one or two interrogations,” he said. “Even though he would get two million dollars out of it. They were convinced he didn’t do it, that he’s not the type to run around hiring arsonists. Particularly since there’s no evidence of arson. They think it was a wiring problem that started the fire, but they aren’t absolutely sure, right? So we were able to convince Mr. Fingerman that we could put a lot of pressure on the police, stir up a lot of trouble by letting the media know how much money he’d be able to keep because the library burnt down. They’d have to haul him in again, and maybe he’d end up in court.”
“Oh, come on, you know he didn’t do it,” Fred said. What he really meant was he didn’t believe any of this. He couldn’t afford to.
“Of course I don’t think he did it, Mr. Kindler. But I believe we could make an awful hassle for him, and I know he’s a softie who doesn’t like to fight. Otherwise his ex-wife wouldn’t own all the businesses he started, would she? But when I absolutely knew we won was when Mr. Warrior called me to tell me that you’ve found some artifacts.”
“Oh!” Fred said. “He did?” He’d already guessed what was coming next. “But we’ve only found a few,” he said.
“So what? If you look long enough, you’ll find lots,” the lawyers said, “and that’s another reason to persuade Mr. Fingerman to capitulate. Because you’re obviously going to make another Collection, which will provide the same distinguishing element to the curriculum its predecessor did. Thus the basis of his case collapses, doesn’t it? Besides, maybe he still loves his wife. Anyway, you’ve got your two million dollars now. Congratulations.”
“Whose idea was this?” Fred asked.
“I was the one who convinced him the new Collection destroyed his case,” the lawyer said, but Fred guessed it was Sara’s father’s. He wondered if it was Milton Perkins who had laid the threat of suspected arson on Hannah’s husband. And then decided he didn’t want to know.
“Persistence pays, Mr. Kindler.”
“Yes, it does,” Fred said.
“So now the school will get the gift,” the lawyer said. “It’ll take a month or two, but it’s going to happen. There’s nothing in the way now. It’s certain.”
“That’s wonderful news,” Fred said.
“Yes, I thought you’d think so.”
“Well, thanks,” Fred said. “Thank you very much.”
“Is something wrong? You don’t sound as happy as I thought you would.”
“Everything’s fine. It’s extremely good news. Thank you very much.”
“Fine, we’ll stay in touch.”
“Yes, we will,” Fred said, and hung up.
“Anything wrong?” Rachel asked the same question the lawyer had. She could see the shock on his face.
He didn’t know how to answer even if he thought he should. Besides, his instinct was telling him she shouldn’t know—or anyone else—not until after she was officially appointed interim head. If she found out now, she’d think he had another chance to succeed and change her mind about taking his job. “Everything’s fine,” he said, and when she didn’t answer he knew she didn’t believe him, so he added, “Really. It’s good news, actually.”
“Well, that’s good,” she said as brightly as she could. And then, as much to get his mind off whatever the bad news was as to tell him the exciting news about herself, she said, “Fred, guess what: I’m not the interim! I’m permanent! I’m the real head!” She told him about her conversation with Milton. “He didn’t have much choice,” she said. “I had a pretty good hand to play.”
“Rachel, that’s wonderful!” he said after he got over the surprise. He wanted her to know how glad he was for her, how right for the school the boldness of this stroke. “You’re exactly the right person at exactly at the right time,” he said. But in an instant another thought arrived: She had his treasure, and she had it with a security that he never had, and in spite of his regard for Rachel, he was crushed again. Now he wanted to be the headmaster of Miss Oliver’s School for Girls more than ever.
Later, thinking back on this moment, he would be proud of how forcefully he set aside this grief so he could be gracious to Rachel. “Exactly the right person!” he said again, repeating this truth. “How clear it all is.”
“Nothing would have ever gotten clear if you hadn’t come along to define the issues and stick them in our faces,” she said, standing up to go. She reached, took his hand, pulled him up out of his chair, and hugged him. “You need to remember that.”
“Thank you, Rachel,” he said, hugging her back. Her words were a blessing, and he was glad for the school that she would be the head.
Just the same, he envied her. And she was a friend! It was exactly how he didn’t want to feel.
THE NEXT DAY the board unanimously approved Perkins’s recommendation of Rachel Bickham. They were relieved by the handy and worthy solution she provided, just as he had predicted they would be.
And besides, if it didn’t work, they could always fire her.
On Thursday, one day before graduation, the package of letters went out: Fred’s resignation letter to Alan Travelers, Travelers’s regretful acceptance, and from Milton Perkins the announcement that the brilliant, young, and female Rachel Bickham would be the headmistress. To show how fortunate the school was, the newly appointed board chair, celebrated for his steadfast loyalty to girls-only education, also sent Rachel’s stunning curriculum vitae.
Before classes that same Thursday morning, Fred Kindler got the word around to the faculty that he wanted to see them in the faculty room. As soon as most of them arrived, he told them of his resignation. He made it standing up and didn’t wait for their reaction. Instead, he turned and left before any of them could think of what to say.
Then at Morning Meeting he told the students. A few of the girls broke into smiles, and several made silent gestures of applause. A few others, surprising him, frowned, shocked and disappointed. But mostly there was silence. Then Milton Perkins stood. He didn’t say anything in praise of Fred Kindler, didn’t say how grateful the school should be, what a hell of a guy he was—because Kindler had made him promise not to. He simply announced that on July 1, 1992, Rachel Bickham would become the headmistress of Miss Oliver’s School for Girls. There was an instance of silence. And then the girls stood up and stamped their feet, and cheered.
Before the cheering was over, Karen Benjamin discovered she was walking up the aisle toward the stage. The decision was made so fast she felt as if she’d had nothing to do with it, as if it had arrived like startling news from another land.
Peggy Plummer watched Karen move toward the stage. She guessed Karen was going to do the right thing by Fred Kindler. Good for you, Karen, she thought. If Karen didn’t, Peggy would.
Karen climbed onto the stage and stood in front of the podium, then looked down straight at Fred Kindler in the front row. “Mr. Kindler, come up here,” she said.
Taken by surprise, and filled with dread, Fred didn’t move in his chair. The last thing he wanted was to be onstage again.
Karen beckoned him. He shook his head. “No. Please don’t,” he said just loud enough for her,
and the people nearest him, to hear. He wanted to melt away, out of sight.
Karen walked along the lip of the platform to the steps, climbed down, crossed to Fred, and took his hand. For an instant, he resisted. But how churlish it would be to refuse her gesture! He let her tug him to his feet. The next thing he knew, he was walking hand in hand with her to the steps and then up them and onto the stage, and everyone was staring at them. All right, he thought. I’ll just get through this.
Karen let go of his hand, stepped away from him, and stared out over the audience. “Stand up,” she said. At first only a few stood. “Up!” she commanded. People began to stand, some immediately, willing to do what’s right, others slowly, resentful for being bossed around. “Good,” Karen said when everyone was standing. “Thank you. Now we’re going to do what we should have done before. We’re going to thank Mr. Kindler for being our headmaster.” She turned to Fred and clapped her hands, applauding him.
Peggy Plummer, of course, had leapt immediately to her feet when Karen said to stand up. She cheered loudly now and clapped her hands, and so did Rachel Bickham, Eudora Easter, and Father Woodward. The applause of Gregory van Buren, Francis Plummer, and yes, even Margaret Rice, was also clear. Lila Smythe clapped her hands loudly, a grave expression on her face. The girls near enough to her to see her applauding followed her example, convinced that if Lila applauded, they should too. But from most of the school, the applause was merely polite, and a fair number refused to applaud or even to stand. The overall effect was dispiriting: a community failing to be gracious when graciousness was most needed. Many would look back on this moment as one of the lowest in the year.
Now Fred knew even more clearly how few friends he had and how many enemies at Miss Oliver’s School for Girls. It was a brutal message. He couldn’t get off the stage fast enough. He turned to Karen. “Thank you, Karen,” he said. He wanted to tell her how much more her respect for him mattered than the contempt of all these others. But this was for her ears only, and he couldn’t say it because the meager applause had died to almost nothing, and the whole school would hear. He wouldn’t demean himself by returning the insult he’d just received.
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