Cold River (9 page)

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.

She consciously took three steps after she was outside before she turned to take her leave. It was a trick she learned years before when she realized she wasn’t going to grow any more. Those three extra steps made it so she didn’t have to crane her neck to look people in the eye. “Thank you again, Mr. Gallant. I’ll be in touch.”

“Any time.” He raised his hand in farewell and then reached to pull the door closed.

A light rain had begun to fall, and Mandy hurried to her car. She got in and brushed the droplets off her jacket before starting the engine and turning the heater on high. As she waited for the car to warm up, she glanced in the mirror and was dismayed to see a black streak where her mascara had run and been smeared across her cheek. She took a tissue from her purse and did her best to rub it off, trying to remember how long she had been talking with a dirty face.

She took out her planner and read again the directions to the home of the third school board member. She repeated them aloud as she backed out of Wesley’s driveway, and then she headed toward Highway 20.

Gertrude Foley’s house was not easy to find, as it sat at the end of the road on a bench above town. Mandy found the retired schoolteacher out back of her house. On the cusp of eighty, big-boned and ruddy, Mrs. Foley wore bib overalls over a gray sweatshirt and slowly followed a rototiller as it churned a textured path through her garden spot. Five ducks waddled behind her, nuzzling their bills into the coffee-colored soil as they searched for grubs. At the far end of the garden, peas twined their way up a hog-wire lattice.

Mandy had to call Mrs. Foley’s name twice before she got her attention. The old lady turned, and Mandy noted the generous mouth and hazel eyes that looked like they wouldn’t miss much. Though the old lady had agreed to meet Mandy this morning, there was no smile of welcome. She turned off the tiller and waited.

“I’m Dr. Steenburg,” Mandy said. “Thank you for saying I could come by.”

Mrs. Foley stood her ground, so Mandy stepped into the newly plowed garden. When her stylish high heels sank in and tipped her backward, she overcompensated and lurched forward. Had it not been for Mrs. Foley’s steadying hand, she might have gone down.

“Excuse me,” Mandy said, color rising to her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to fall on you.”

“That’s all right. You’re not wearing gardening shoes.”

“No, I’m not. I think I’ll go back to where the footing is better.” She made the return trip with more grace, trying not to think what the rain and dirt were doing to her shoes. When she gained solid ground, she said, “I wanted to come and meet you. Report in, you might say.”

“I suppose you’ve already talked to Vince Lafitte.”

“Yes. Mr. Lafitte came to see me yesterday.”

“I’ll wager he did. I taught that boy in fifth grade. Taught him and Grange both.” Mrs. Foley leaned down and began tugging on a hank of grass wound around the tiller axel. “Poor Vince. He always wanted to be somebody.”

Mandy frowned. “He seems like somebody
to me. How long must someone wear a childhood label?”

Mrs. Foley’s head was still down as she yanked at the snarl of grass. “I don’t know, people being what they are. It’s a different world now, but back when he was in grade school, there was a stigma attached to being born out of wedlock.”

Stunned at the old lady’s revelation, Mandy stood with her mouth gaping.

Mrs. Foley straightened up and threw the grass on a compost pile, and the ducks ran to investigate, quacking in interrogatives. The old lady wiped her hand on her pant leg. “I think it still haunts him. He didn’t have time to be somebody in high school. No time to play football, like Grange. He had to work to help support his mother. As soon as he finished high school, he left to go to work for someone, setting off dynamite. Now he owns the company. And quite a few things around here, too.”

Mandy shivered. The rain was growing heavier, and she hadn’t brought anything that would shed water. “Mrs. Foley, perhaps you’re telling me things that shouldn’t be told. Mr. Lafitte’s parentage is no concern of mine. What is my concern is the future of our schools. I’d like to sit down with the school board and talk about your vision for the district, maybe write a mission statement.”

“Is that the way you talk in the big city?” Mrs. Foley stomped through the tilled earth to get a hoe that leaned against the fence. “What you’re implying is that we have no vision. We’re not capable of looking to our children’s future because not having a mission statement means we have no focus.”

Mandy blinked. “No, no. I didn’t mean that.”

The older woman began cultivating between the rows of peas with the corner of the hoe. “Well then,” she said without looking up, “what did you mean?”

“I meant that I wanted you to tell me what the district’s vision is. I’m new. I don’t know where you’re going and what you’ve already done to get there.”

Mrs. Foley straightened and put a hand on one hip. “For that you need to talk to me? Grange can tell you. Talk to him.”

Mandy flapped her arms against her side in frustration. “I’m not getting a lot of help there.”

“Have you asked for help?”

“Not from Grange. I’m asking you.”

“And I’m giving it. Talk to Grange.”

Mandy felt her throat tighten. The cold drizzle had made her hands numb and plastered her hair against her head. Water dripped down her neck and nose. She was miserable and fighting a lonely, losing battle.
You are NOT going to cry,
she told herself sternly and waited to speak until she could do so in some semblance of a normal tone.

“Thank you so much for seeing me, Mrs. Foley.” She cleared her throat and went on. “I will talk to Grange, as you suggest. But I hope you’ll give Vince Lafitte credit for wanting to help prepare North Cascade students for life in the twenty-first century. Maybe he’s remembering the preparation he got and what it was like when he left Limestone. Maybe he wants better for the children of this community. They obviously have to go away for jobs. Let’s prepare them to be on an equal footing with graduates of other schools.”

Mrs. Foley watched her through narrowed eyes. Then she nodded and took hoe in hand. “I’ll see you at the next board meeting, then?” She began loosening the dirt along the back of the trellis, and the ducks flocked around her feet.

Feeling she had been dismissed, Mandy turned to go back to the car. She had taken only two steps when she heard Mrs. Foley call, “Dr. Steenburg.”

Mandy turned and wiped the hair out of her eyes. “Yes?”

There was a smile on that generous old mouth as Mrs. Foley said, “You’re very young. Welcome to Limestone.”

“Thank you,” Mandy said woodenly. She turned and slogged back to her car, noticing too late the little mounds of duck droppings along her way.

“Fits,” Mandy muttered. “A perfect end to a lovely morning.”

She wiped her shoes as best she could on the grass before she got in the Miata. Then she retraced the route back to the highway, making only one wrong turn on the way, and headed home to dry out before the next stop on her list.

An hour later, Mandy pulled up at the bus garage, dressed in the only other suit she had packed. In her briefcase she carried the classified workers’ contract, a set of charts and graphs Mo had put together for her, a job description she had written after networking with colleagues superintending small school districts, and two affidavits. She’d had the foresight to ask Mo to draw a diagram of the garage facility, located next to the high school.

Harvey Berman sat waiting for her in the driver’s lunchroom. Fortyish, and small, with a thin face and wary eyes, he wore jeans, a black T-shirt, a Levi jacket, and a black baseball cap. He stood when Mandy entered, though he didn’t speak.

“Mr. Berman? How do you do?” Mandy shook his hand. “Thank you for making time to see me.”

Harvey murmured something inaudible.

“Before we sit down and talk, would you please show me around?”

Harvey ducked his head in assent but didn’t move.

There was an awkward silence, which Mandy broke by asking, “Is this the break room?”

Harvey nodded.

“And through that door?”

“Garage.”

“May I see it?” Mandy moved in the direction of the door, and Harvey scooted by her to open it. The cords in his neck stood out as he plastered himself against the doorjamb and held the door open with his extended arm.

She passed through into the cavernous bus barn. At a nearby workbench, a man in greasy coveralls bent over a vise and plied a file. He looked up at Mandy’s approach.

“Are you Del? I thought you must be. How do you do? I’m Dr. Steenburg.”

“Mechanic,” Harvey offered in strangled syllables.

“Yes, I know. Where are the other— oh, I see.”

A dozen faces of different ages and both genders looked down on Mandy from the windows of a bus parked in the garage. Thinking she was growing accustomed to grim visages, she walked to the open door and climbed up the yellow stairs. Harvey followed.

“Hello,” she greeted. “I’m Dr. Steenburg, the new superintendent. I know some of your names, but I’d like to meet you all.” She went down the aisle shaking hands and saying each name after it was given her. Then she turned and asked, “Did you abandon your break room so Harvey and I could talk?”