Miriam went to her father immediately and told him what she had done. The two of them then went to see the State attorney, Malcolm Prescott, who was a long-time friend of her father’s. They had grown up in the same town and gone to law school together. In more recent years, the two families had often vacationed together. It was the State attorney who had encouraged Miriam’s father to run for the circuit court to begin with.
“Do you think the reason the boy was in the accident was because of what you did?” Malcolm asked her.
“I just don’t know. I can’t help but feel it might have.” Miriam was in tears. Her entire life was over, shattered, and probably her father’s career as well. All because she couldn’t control her temper.
Malcolm sat back in his big green leather chair and rocked for a moment. Finally, he pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen. “I want you to sit here in this chair and write down what you did. Then I want you to sign it. While you are doing that, I want to discuss something with your father in the other room.” The two men left the room, leaving Miriam alone with her thoughts and that sheet of paper. In a few minutes, the two men came back. Malcolm looked over what Miriam had written and then folded the paper, sealed it in a white envelope, and placed it in the wall safe that was hidden behind a painting. Several months following the accident, Miriam learned that the boy had died due to complications unrelated to the accident. But she never stopped feeling guilty about it. Many years later, after both of her parents had passed away and Miriam was working as a counselor to the inmates at the North Carolina State Penitentiary, she returned home one evening to find a thick brown envelope stuck in her mailbox. Inside was that note she had written so long ago as a frightened young girl. It was still sealed in the white envelope.
Except for her, everyone who had been witness to what was inside that envelope was now gone. She had been lucky. Now it was her responsibility, her mission, to help others whenever she was given the opportunity. As far as she was concerned, the incident with Lynda was best forgotten.
* * *
“Isn’t it time for your meeting?”
Lara was making some last-minute notes on her presentation when Sylvia came into her office.
Lara glanced at her watch. “Oh my gosh. Thanks, Sylvia.”
Lara grabbed the file on her desk along with a note pad and pen. “Wish me luck,” she said as she rushed out of her office.
“You got it,” answered Sylvia.
Lara hurried down the hall toward the conference room. She had been looking forward to this meeting for weeks now. The full Board of Directors as well as the Administrative Council were going to be there, and she was taking the opportunity to push her idea of a thirty-minute television special focusing on the college to coincide with the efforts of the fund-raising firm the Board had recently hired. She had already discussed the possibility with Bruce Peters, president of the college, and he seemed to favor it. Of course, one never really knew with him. He would go along with any idea just to ingratiate himself or if he thought it was politically expedient to do so. Lara was sure he wouldn’t go out on the proverbial limb for her. But if he showed any support for the idea at all, at least some of the others might go along with it. Jonathan Goode, program manager of WRAL television station in Raleigh, had certainly favored the idea when she approached him with it. Not only had he agreed to donate the thirty minutes of air time, he offered to contact several of the national network sponsors to work out an arrangement where he would give them fifteen seconds of free commercial time in exchange for their donation of one hundred thousand dollars to Piedmont College.
Something had to be done. The fall semester had been bad enough with the number of in-coming freshmen down and the amount of pledged financial support only trickling in. But this semester was a disaster even with the fund-raising campaign going on. Overall total enrollment had dropped from 1,840 students to 780 – over half, and the only new pledge she had received in recent weeks was from Wachovia Bank’s new chief administrator.
Peters had told her in confidence that several of the Board members were ready to cut their losses and close the school at the end of the May term. They didn’t want the responsibility of keeping something afloat that was a losing proposition. Several small, privately-owned colleges across the country had already shut their doors, and it seemed to be a growing trend since the federal government had all but eliminated any support for private institutions of higher learning.
Still, the television gimmick might work. Lara had located a couple of other small colleges out of state that had turned to television campaigns, and their enrollment figures had increased dramatically. With the emphasis placed on the right areas – playing up the advantages of a small, co-educational college as opposed to a major state university – she was sure she could make it work. Lara had even come up with a slogan: “Put a Little Class in Your Life.” Now if she could just convince the Board and Council members that with this plan the college had a good chance of getting back on its feet.
“Hey, Foxy Lady!” The usual covey of giggling coeds surrounded Tyree.
“How are you, Tyree? You ready for that game tonight?”
“Don’t you know I am that!”
Lara laughed at her friend. Tyree was as much a part of Piedmont College as the building itself – hanging out in the hallways, occasionally taking classes, and playing basketball. He was the school’s star player. Not only had he broken all the school records in basketball, he had created a bunch of new ones as well. Most points scored in a game, most assists, most points scored from the free-throw line, and on and on. He had taken Piedmont College to three, 2-A National Championships and won all three. Somehow between getting red-shirted for certain games and held out for others for reasons Lara didn’t fully understand, he had been eligible to play. But this was definitely his last year. His eligibility had finally been used up. Lara wondered what he would do.
“You gonna be there, Little Fox?”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” she said over her shoulder.
The conference room was set up with one long table and several chairs positioned around it. Coffee and iced tea, small sandwiches and a variety of other finger foods were displayed on the antique lace cloth covering a small drop-leaf table at one end of the room. The liquor cabinet, normally concealed in a dark mahogany armoire was open. It was a lovely room, with its dark rich paneling, the forest green and deep rose carpets, the cream-colored antique satin draperies with matching cornices decorated with Victorian fringe. The Ladies of Piedmont, that wealthy group of elderly women who had tirelessly donated their time and financial support toward decorating the room, had done a splendid job.
Several of the Board members were already seated and talking quietly when Lara arrived. They stopped talking and looked at her when she entered the room. She had that effect on people. The way her dark hair framed her face, the intensity of her deep blue eyes, and her neat, attractive figure were enough to make one pause. But it was more than her being pretty. She had an air of confidence and intelligence that caused people to automatically stop whatever they were doing and look at her. There was also that quiet reserve about Lara which hinted at something mysterious and a little vulnerable.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” She smiled warmly at the men who were openly ogling her. The men returned her greeting in various forms.
Lara put her papers down on one end of the conference table and went over to fix herself a cup of coffee. It was a few minutes before four o’clock. She carried the coffee back to where she had left her papers. Senator MacAlly had already pulled a chair out for her.
“Thank you, Senator.”
“You’re quite welcome, my dear.” He immediately sat down next to her.
In the next few minutes, several more members of the Board and Council came in: Mark Caldwell, Jim Usher, Clarence Noble, all wealthy businessmen in the community, and Judge Carl Phillips who was senior member on the Board as well as chairman. New to the Council was Mir
iam Temple, warden at Braden Women’s Prison, whom Lara had met on a couple of other occasions. Last to arrive was Carole Parker. Rushed, as usual, and out of breath she quickly sat down on the other side of Lara, giving her a hug as she did.
Lara quickly glanced over the agenda that Peters’ secretary had given to her earlier. She would follow Peters after he gave his report on the budget. She studied the men around the table – all of them from different backgrounds with their own hidden agendas. It was difficult to say who would support her and who wouldn’t. This was Miriam Temple’s first meeting, so she naturally wouldn’t know what was going on. Curiously, the one she felt most confident in, other than Carole, was Mark. Even though he was Jake’s employer, he had always treated her fairly. He seemed to be genuinely interested in the success of Piedmont College and over the years had invested a great deal of time and money in it. If she could get her proposal past the Board and Council members, and if the television program proved a success, it would mean the college could stay open. No matter how hard she would have to work, it would be worth it.
Lara loved her job, especially the people she worked with. It worried her that the college might be forced to shut down. She could find other work without much difficulty. In fact, she would probably draw a bigger salary if she got out of academics and went into the business sector. But for many of the people working at the college, it would be a tremendous hardship. Most of the professors at Piedmont had taught all of their working lives. They knew nothing else. Rocky Mount, being basically a rural community, didn’t offer much by way of employment to PhDs. If the college closed its doors, most of the faculty would be forced to move elsewhere. And people on the staff, like Sylvia who was a single parent with two teenage boys, were used to the insular environment of the college atmosphere. They would also have a difficult time readjusting. So Lara worried about the college closing. That and the dark green jeep.
Lara glanced around the table as Peters wrapped up his report. There was a lot of head shaking and a few grunts. Carole scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to Lara. It said, Knock their jock straps off, kid! You have my vote!
Lara stood up and opened her folder. Other than Carole and Miriam Temple who were both smiling at her, everyone else had stopped shaking their heads and were now looking down. This wasn’t going to be easy.
* * *
Jake checked his watch as he sped west along the blacktop road toward Old Town Farm. Leona would be home making last minute preparations for their dinner guests, and the field hands should all be gone for the day. He figured he had about thirty minutes.
Jake could do a lot in thirty minutes. Check the newly planted corn in the field over at West End Trace, see what equipment needed repairs for the peanut planting scheduled for next week, or stop by the office and go through the inevitable dozens of messages that were perpetually scattered across his desk. He would do none of these things. This evening he had something else on his mind.
It was almost dusk. Hundreds of acres of newly planted fields stretched out on each side of the road. The lights on a red pickup approaching from the opposite direction flashed. Feeling a sense of impatience, Jake slowed to a stop.
“I’ve just been over to Green Cove to check the tobacco. The plants look good, but the ground’s mighty dry.”
When Jake took the job as president of Caldwell AgriServices he moved Dan Bullock up from being just a field hand to the position of field manager. It had been a good decision. Dan had a natural feel for the land and had never been wrong on when to plant or when to harvest.
“You have the ground tested for moisture yet?”
“I will before we start irrigating.”
Jake nodded and pulled away. He drove slowly, watching the red truck in his rearview mirror until it disappeared from sight. A mile farther he turned off the blacktop road through a gate and onto the narrow gravel drive that circled a pond. If things went as he planned for this evening, he would finally close on the Carter land deal. And once he had that, he was confident the Caldwells would finally give him the shares in the company he had asked for when he first took the job.
It had taken months of working his ass off and ingratiating himself to the Caldwell family. That business with Lara hadn’t helped any either. But he had been lucky, considering how the Caldwells felt about scandal. And now there was no damn way they could refuse to give him what he wanted. He had more than proven himself. Profits from the farm implement store had doubled during the time he had taken over running the operation. Crop production was at an all-time high. Even the gamble he had taken with the soybeans, planting an extra five thousand acres, looked like it was going to pay off big time. And now with Carter selling out, that would give the Caldwells total access to the major water supply in the county.
The thought of being part owner of the largest agricultural business in the southeast gave Jake an erection. That and the thought of what was waiting for him at Old Town Farm. He felt himself swell uncomfortably inside his slacks. He rubbed the source of the discomfort with the palm of his hand. The feeling of sexual pleasure surged through his body.
* * *
“I thought you and wifey were having a big important dinner party tonight.” She held the backdoor screen open. The kitchen light behind her illuminated the outline of her body through the loose-fitting dress she was wearing, revealing in shadow her small waist and rounded hips. Jake walked up the wooden steps of the porch and pulled her against him, devouring her lips with his mouth and tongue. Then he backed her into the house, letting the screen door slam shut. He pulled her dress roughly off her shoulders.
She laughed, teasing him, as he sucked and licked her neck. “My goodness.” She backed away and peeled his hands away from her breasts. “Do dinner parties always make you this passionate?”
“Only when those three old women are going to give me part of their empire,” Jake answered. His voice was husky with raw emotion.
“I thought it was their sons, Mark and Stanley, you had to please.”
“They only do what I tell them to do,” Jake snapped, picking her up and carrying her into the bedroom.
Jake didn’t like Margo questioning him. He knew he had already told her too much about his business. In the heat of passion, or when he drank too much, he tended to talk about things he normally would keep to himself. But Margo was just a temporary pleasure in his life. He was letting her stay at the house at Old Town Farm while she completed her senior year at Piedmont College. It was a good arrangement. He had found her more than willing to show her gratitude whenever he came around. And, in return, she didn’t have to pay any rent. She wasn’t about to blab anything and mess that up. But he was getting tired of her questions.
He was also a little concerned that someone might find out about Margo and tell the Caldwells. Other than Simon, the simple-minded old man who came around to fish the pond at Old Town Farm, no one else knew about her. It was Simon who first told Jake about someone living in the old abandoned house. Simon had a way of finding out things that made Jake somewhat uneasy. But Jake let him hang around anyway, treating him like one of his hired help, allowing him to fish the pond whenever he wanted, and occasionally giving him money. In return, Simon gave Jake information if he thought it was useful. And it usually was.
Then there was that group of old biddies from town who were wanting to research Old Town Farm as some kind of historical landmark. Jake had been able to put them off by telling them some bull shit about the integrity of the structure being altered so much over the years, it was no longer of historical value. But he didn’t know how long that would satisfy them before they’d start poking their noses around again. The last thing he wanted was for them to go to the Caldwell sisters about it. That might be just the kind of thing they would like – an historical landmark to add to their list of possessions.
Margo would be graduating in a few weeks and moving on. After that the old biddies of the Historical Society could do whatever they
wanted with Old Town Farm. And Jake could find another temporary pleasure. Until then, he didn’t want to do anything to cause tongues to start wagging again.
Jake had surprised everyone when he remarried so soon after his divorce from Lara. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Leona was from an old established Rocky Mount family, the Caldwells probably would have objected. But Leona had been born and reared in the country. She could deal with the rural element. And because of her strong family connections, she could open doors for Jake that until now had been closed. By occasionally having a little pleasure on the side as well, Jake felt he had just about everything he could want.
Jake finished tucking in his shirt and fastened his belt. “Be good,” he said as he walked toward the door.
“Oh, I’ll be better than good.” Margo leaned against the pillows on her bed and spread her legs suggestively, causing Jake to laugh.
Outside, Jake paused. He smelled him even though he couldn’t see him. He stepped off the porch steps and glanced back at the house. The lights had been on and none of the curtains drawn. That was careless. Slowly he walked toward his car, wondering how much Simon had seen or heard.
“Capt’n Jake, Missus Kruger says your guests is waitin’ and for you to get on home. She told me to come lookin’ you.”
Jake turned around and saw Simon step out from the darkness of the trees. He was holding his old straw hat in his hands, fidgeting nervously with the tattered brim on it. He hung his head slightly, not looking directly at Jake. The old mangy dog that followed him everywhere stood slightly behind Simon’s left leg, hair bristled.
Jake watched Simon bending and unbending the old hat and again wondered how long he had been waiting outside the house. “Oh, she does, does she?”
Gospel According to Prissy Page 8
