Just then, another man was ushered into the room by Mr. Witherell.
This must be Jacob Martin
, thought Annie. He seemed the very opposite of Professor Howell. Annie would have guessed that Jacob was about Kate’s age, even if Kate hadn’t mentioned that she went to high school with him. His hair was longish and a nondescript brown color, but his clear blue eyes were kind, and though he wasn’t smiling, there was a soothing pleasantness about his expression. He was in jeans and lumberjack-type, tie-up leather boots. His navy blue wool pea coat was unbuttoned, revealing a cable-patterned Aran-type pullover beneath.
“Ah, there you are, my boy,” said Professor Howell, gesturing for Jacob to join them at the table. “Take a seat, and let’s get started, shall we?”
As Jacob took his place at the end of the table opposite the professor, Annie tried to assess the two men—one responsible for the words and ideas of the play, and the other responsible for how those words and ideas would be presented to the public. The two men couldn’t have been more different, and yet, she thought, they seemed to complement one another, at least in their respective roles. It was hard to imagine them having much in common otherwise.
6
Still standing, Professor Howell moved from Stella’s side to stand in front of his chair at the end of the conference table. He took charge of the meeting. “I’ll start the meeting by introducing myself.” As he spoke he lightly placed one hand over his chest, his fingers splayed out, and he punctuated his words with the motion of his opposite hand. “I am Professor Rudyard G. Howell—you may call me Professor Howell. I will be the director of
King Lemuel’s Treasure
. I do trust that all of you have read the play?” It was a statement and a question all in one. Everyone around the table, except Jacob, nodded to indicate that they had done so.
“Excellent. Now, as I understand from Mrs. Brickson, you are nearly all novices in the theater, but we won’t let that detain us from producing a fabulous show for our audience. I want you all to remember that my job here is not that of a parent. I’m not here to see that you get your homework done on time or that you don’t stay up too late. I expect self-discipline on your part to meet deadlines and to fulfill your functions as part of this company.
“My job is comparable to that of an obstetrician. Jacob has written a marvelous play. That is our fetus; our actions will determine whether it is brought into the world as a thriving baby, or if it will suffer and die. We do not want that to happen!” The professor punctuated his last sentence by slapping the table with the palms of both of his hands. Annie jumped slightly even though she was watching him the entire time. She almost wondered what she had gotten herself into. It was hard to take her eyes off the professor, but she stole a glance around the room. Were the others thinking the same thing? Her eyes landed on Stella. She gazed at Professor Howell with a look that bordered on adoration.
Good grief
, thought Annie.
The professor continued to speak, reaching out to take Stella’s hand, “Of course, all of you know Mrs. Stella Brickson, but if you would, please, dear lady, stand and tell everyone what your contribution will be to the play, and indeed, what it already has been.”
The professor took Stella’s elbow to help her to stand even though Annie and all the other members of the Hook and Needle Club knew that she didn’t really need it. Stella would’ve told anyone else to back off, saying, “I am not an invalid!” Annie knew it was true because she had heard her say that very thing in similar situations. It was just another sign that Stella was not herself around Professor Howell.
“Thank you, Professor,” said Stella, her eyelids fluttering. She looked around the room and said, “I will be acting as the producer of the play, as a representative of the Cultural Center committee. Besides looking after the purse strings for the production, my job is to see that Professor Howell has all the people and things he deems are necessary for the play.” With that Stella took her seat again.
“Excellent,” said the professor. Looking down at the papers that Felix had laid out before him at the table, he unhurriedly reached into his jacket pocket at his side, took out an eyeglasses case, opened it, unfolded a pair of designer reading glasses and perched them on his nose.
“Which of you is Alice MacFarlane?” he asked. His chin was down, and he looked over the frames of his eyeglasses at them all.
Annie saw Alice hesitate a moment, and then she stood up. “That would be me, Professor Howell,” said Alice.
“Excellent.” It seemed to be Professor Howell’s favorite word. “Mrs. Brickson has recommended you as our set designer.” Looking at the page again, he said, “It says here that you have a career in the field of home decor—is that correct?”
Again, Annie could see that Alice was hesitating. “You could say that, I suppose,” said Alice, somewhat timidly.
“Well, it’s not a matter of what I say—do you or don’t you?” asked the professor.
His words caused a change in Alice’s expression, and her face took on a slightly pinker hue. Annie could see a fire had been lit inside her friend. “Yes, I do have a career in home decor, and I’m quite knowledgeable. Besides being my livelihood, I’ve taken several courses and have read extensively about interior design and the history of architecture. I admit I don’t really have any experience in the theater, but I am a quick study, and I’m sure I can do an
excellent
job.” Alice emphasized the word “excellent.”
The professor opened his mouth, and Annie could see that he had started to say “excellent” but paused and said instead, “Very good.” Then he asked, “Do you have any talent for drawing or any other representational skill?”
“Yes, I do,” said Alice. She had apparently decided that humble was not the way to be with Professor Howell. “I often make my own embroidery designs, and I provide sketches and photographs of groupings for my clients to help them see how the home decor products that I represent can be used to the best advantage in their homes.”
“That will be fine, Mrs. MacFarlane; I think we can work with this. You may sit down. One of the students in my department, Carl Johnson, is specializing in set design, and you will be working with him. He’ll be able to assemble our ideas into a computer image to work with. I have brought along two books I would like you to read.” He looked briefly at Felix who started shuffling through his cardboard box and came up with two large books that he brought over to the table and placed in front of Alice. Without pausing, Professor Howell continued, “Then you and Carl and I will schedule a meeting next week with this fellow—” the professor looked at his paper again, “Wally Carson, who I understand has been contracted to be in charge of building our set.” He looked around. “Is Mr. Carson here today?” he asked.
Peggy stood up, a little wide-eyed, looking as if she might run away at any moment, and said, “No, sir. I’m Peggy Carson, Wally’s wife. He’s at a job today, but starting the first of next month, he’ll be reporting to the Cultural Center to start setting up his shop on the main floor in the back room by the parking lot.”
“Yes, I’ve seen that space,” said the professor. “It should do very well for the shop since it has the loading dock to bring in materials and a freight elevator to get the finished pieces up to the backstage area. Please tell your husband that Felix will be calling him to set up an appointment as soon as possible.” Professor Howell didn’t say, “Make a note of that, Felix,” but apparently he didn’t have to as Felix immediately pulled a small handheld device from his pocket and started punching in characters.
“Yes, sir,” said Peggy. For a moment Annie thought Peggy was going to curtsy, but she didn’t. She did continue to stand, waiting for permission to sit.
Professor Howell was looking down at his paper again. “Ah, here we are. It says here, Mrs. Carson, that you are a ‘people person.’ Is that how you would describe yourself?”
Looking at Alice, Peggy seemed to have decided it was best not to fudge. “Yes, sir. I would say so. In normal circumstances, I think most people would say that I’m outgoing, and I like to be around all kinds of people.”
Professor Howell looked at her again, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? Yes. You were speaking with Mrs. Brickson the other night in the theater, when she was giving me the tour, and all those little girls were running about.”
“Yes, sir,” Peggy said again. “My daughter, Emily, is going to be in the dance recital next week. It was one of their practice nights.”
“Do you have any experience on stage yourself?” asked the professor.
“Yes, sir, I do. Mrs. Butler took me to summer drama camp two years in a row, when I was 12 and 13, and besides that, I played the lead in Stony Point High School’s yearly musical four years running.”
“And who is this ‘Mrs. Butler’?” asked Professor Howell.
“That’s Mayor Butler’s wife,” said Peggy. Looking at Ian, she said, “Oh … .” She covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers as if she had made a terrible gaffe. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mayor. What I mean is, she was his wife. She … she passed away a while ago.”
“That’s OK, Peggy,” said Ian, giving her a reassuring smile.
“Of course—Mayor Butler—I should have realized,” said the professor, almost to himself. Then he said to Peggy, “Then it would be safe to say, I suppose, that you have a strong voice?”
“Yes, I do,” replied Peggy. “I haven’t had the opportunity to sing much in public since high school though, except in the church choir.”
“Why don’t you sing something for us now,” said the professor, looking back down at his notes.
Peggy swallowed hard. “Now?”
“Is there some reason you can’t now?” asked the professor.
Peggy took a deep breath. “It’s just that I haven’t … uh … prepared anything.”
“Sing whatever it was you sang with the church choir most recently,” said the professor nonchalantly.
“Well, OK, then.”
Annie had heard Peggy sing with the choir, but never on her own. It was a small choir, and they didn’t perform very often, but the choir was large enough that Annie had never really tried to pick out voices. She wasn’t sure what the professor was doing asking Peggy to sing on the spur of the moment like this.
Then Peggy closed her eyes and began singing very slowly in a rich, soulful voice,
“Abide with me, fast falls the eventide,
The darkness deepens, Lord with me abide,
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me.”
She paused and skipped ahead to the final verse of the classic hymn, moving her voice up the scale to sing with more urgency, and repeating the final line, but changing it slightly,
“Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes,
Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies,
As morning breaks and earth’s vain shadows flee,
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.
Through life and death, O Lord, abide with me.”
The room was silent when she had finished, and it was as if there were some palpable presence that bade them not to speak and certainly not to applaud—it would have been unthinkable. Annie had no idea that Peggy was capable of making such beautiful music. She felt the sting of tears in her own eyes, and when she looked over at Mary Beth, she was already pulling a tissue out of her purse. Jacob Martin’s head was bowed down, and she couldn’t see his face, but his body language seemed to indicate that he, too, was moved.
Even Professor Howell seemed to be affected by Peggy’s performance and was unable or unwilling to speak and break the spell, but finally, he cleared his throat and said, “That, my dear, is what we call a showstopper in the theater.” Looking at Stella, he said, “You were right. I think she has what it takes for the part.”
Peggy looked confused. “What part?” she asked.
“Mrs. Brickson suggested you for the part of Abigail, the king’s sister. I wasn’t convinced, but I believe you can do it. Well done, Mrs. Carson. You may sit down now.”
Peggy sat down, slightly dazed. Annie saw her look over at Stella, and the oldest and the youngest members of the Hook and Needle Club exchanged smiles—Annie read their expressions: Peggy’s said “thank you,” and Stella’s said “you’re welcome.”
Professor Howell continued down his list, calling on each member of the Hook and Needle Club in turn. As Annie watched him proceed to interrogate each person, she began to understand that what she was seeing was the teacher in action. He seemed to know just how much to push to make the person he was addressing push back rather than fold. He adjusted his technique depending on the person. He laid out his expectations, but also encouraged each of them, in a slightly backhand way, to say outright what she considered to be her strengths if not her weaknesses.
With Gwen, he was all business. She was to be in charge of advertising and organizing any printed material and ginning up sponsors. Ian promised to help by mentioning the play at any event he was asked to speak at, which happened quite often.
With Mary Beth, the professor changed tacks. He spoke with gentleness, no doubt having been informed by Stella of her recent news, and sometimes precarious emotional state. Peggy’s song seemed to have affected her more than anyone else, and her face was still a little splotchy from the tears she had shed.
The professor explained he that wanted to arrange special instrumental music for the intermission between the acts of the play, and asked Mary Beth if she was interested in trying to organize any Stony Point musicians who might be available to form an ensemble with students from the college. Mary Beth played the flute herself and was part of Stony Point’s community band.
“We have a fine music department at Longfellow,” said Professor Howell, “and Professor Torres has agreed to put together a program of compositions from the medieval era, arranged for modern-day instruments, so we’re looking more for instruments that can be translated to mimic those from the Middle Ages, like the flute, the recorder, the guitar, perhaps the dulcimer or the harp, and also something akin to the tambor for percussion—so it’s really quite specialized and not your normal set of band instruments.”
When Mary Beth gave her consent, the professor said, “Excellent. I’ll give you Professor Torres’s number at the college so you can speak to her directly. She can tell you much better than I what is required.”
The professor moved on to Kate next. “Is Kate Stevens here?” he asked.
As the others had done, Kate stood up, looking a little nervous. “I’m here.”
“Good. I see here that you design crochet patterns. What can you tell me about that?” asked the professor.
“Well,” began Kate, “it requires math skills and an understanding of how garments need to be constructed to fit the human body comfortably. One has to consider the ‘hand’ and the drapability of the fabric that is being made, and to make sure there is enough ease in the proper places when it’s assembled.” She paused to think a moment. “It also requires knowledge of colorways—what works together and what doesn’t. And also how different types of yarn behave—some types of fibers work better for certain types of clothing than others. For instance, wool traps heat against the body, but it also wicks perspiration away from the body. That’s why it’s so great for winter wear and socks in particular.” She paused again and asked herself, “Let’s see, what else? … Oh, I know. Designing clothing also requires imagination and a certain amount of research both in current trends in fashion and in historic costuming as well. I’m always on the lookout for inspiration.”