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“In what way?” asked Hawthorne, watching her straighten her handkerchief.

The chaplain gave him a forced smile. She spoke slowly, as if she felt that Hawthorne would otherwise have difficulty understanding. “Well, certainly he’s unpopular and there have been stories in the past about him being involved with students, though quite a few years ago. True or not, these get handed on. And you have to admit that he’s ineffectual: from what I hear he regularly falls asleep in your group therapy sessions. Then there’s his homosexuality.”

“What about his homosexuality?” Hawthorne had had few dealings with the chaplain. Her wish to control whatever came within her circle of influence, her air of disapproval—Hawthorne felt his task would be easier if he stayed out of her path. He knew she worked hard and was popular with some students. She taught a class in biblical history and another in comparative religion. And she led a weekly Bible study group that was attended not only by students but also by a few faculty and staff.

The chaplain touched her hair. Its wispy gray strands reminded Hawthorne of smoke and he observed the pinkness of her scalp beneath it. She wore no makeup and her face had a claylike pallor. On her left wrist was a gold Omega watch.

“It gets in the way of his effectiveness. Of course, Clifford makes no secret of being gay. That seems to be the current fashion. But unfortunately the students think of him as a homosexual before they think of him as a psychologist. And his manner is so . . . unattractive. Believe me, you’ve done very well at Bishop’s Hill, but now we have prospective students visiting with their parents. And this business of his office being vandalized is simply the last straw. Who knows what he did to cause some student to react so violently? I think it would be wise if you did for him what you did for Mrs. Hayes.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”

“I think you should let him go.”

“I didn’t fire Mrs. Hayes, she resigned.”

“I know that’s what you’ve been saying . . .”

Hawthorne nearly lost his temper. Reaching into the drawer of his desk, he withdrew a copy of Mrs. Hayes’s resignation letter and handed it to the chaplain.

The Reverend Bennett glanced at the letter and returned it. “You must know, of course, that copies of this have been circulating. Some people say that she wrote it after she had been promised a retirement package.”

Hawthorne hadn’t realized the letter had become public. “Good grief, Reverend, if I say she resigned, she resigned. Why do you insist on thinking I’m not telling the truth?”

The chaplain became red in the face. “Do you deny you fired Chip Campbell?”

“That’s very different. He gave me cause. I twice caught him being violent to students. And I’ve since learned of other incidents.”

“It can easily be argued that Clifford’s ineffectuality is cause. He doesn’t do his job. The students have no respect for him—he’s a joke to them. As for the vandalism of his office, many think he deserved it.”

It occurred to Hawthorne that the chaplain had no belief in psychology. She believed in morality alone—right and wrong without gray areas or gradations. The God that occupied her heaven was a harsh divinity who toted up a person’s sins and after a certain number booted the unfortunate sinner down to hell.

When he spoke again, Hawthorne tried to soften his voice. “I can’t fire Clifford and I have no wish to. The board of trustees makes the ultimate decision on all firings, just as it did with Chip. We’re going through a difficult transitional period. This requires patience. Right now Clifford has a great deal of anxiety and the gossip doesn’t help. But soon I hope he’ll settle down. The person who deserves punishment is whoever wrecked his office. Not Clifford.”

“You know, of course, the vandalism could occur again.”

“We’ll be on the lookout. And if the person is caught, then he’ll be punished.”

But when the chaplain finally left, Hawthorne knew she hadn’t believed him. She took it for granted that he had unlimited power. And Hawthorne knew that if she herself had unlimited power, Evings would be gone in a shot. She would have no qualms about dismissing him. Mercy wasn’t a quality that the Reverend Bennett valued. And me too, thought Hawthorne, I’d be gone as well. But he felt troubled about Evings. He didn’t much like the man and Evings was doing a bad job. On the other hand, he was also suffering—both from his guilt at his failure as school psychologist and his anxiety about being fired. Then there was the destruction of his office.

Hawthorne looked forward to hiring a second psychologist, someone who could take over the burden of the work. Already ads had been placed. Once the new person arrived, Evings could be left to drowse in his overheated office with his novels. Next fall, if the school was still open, Hawthorne would talk to him about early retirement. In the meantime, Hawthorne again had to reassure Evings that his job was safe. He had to reduce the man’s panic.

In the fifteen minutes before his history class, Hawthorne signed papers and took care of immediate business. He had the sense of playing catch-up, that he was always behind in his work. When he left his office, he was late for class and had to remind himself not to run in the hall. Entering after the bell, Hawthorne caught Scott throwing an eraser at another student. But the students were livelier than earlier in the week. They preferred the vicious emperors to the sane ones, whereas Hawthorne could easily have spent a few more days with Marcus Aurelius.

After class, Hawthorne had an appointment with Skander to go over a few bookkeeping details, but he was delayed by several students with questions. When he got back to his office shortly before three o’clock, he found Skander sitting on the edge of his wife’s desk chatting with Hilda.

“Busy, busy, busy,” said Skander with an affable smile. “I don’t see how you do it.”

“You know,” Hilda told her husband, “he’s always in here when I get here at eight.”

Both Skander and his wife beamed at him as if they found Hawthorne’s hard work endearing. He wanted to shout, Don’t you realize we’re all that’s keeping the ship from sinking? But he imagined there was something innocent to their cheer—like the blind flutist playing his dance along the cliff’s edge.

In another minute, Hawthorne and Skander were settled on the couch in Hawthorne’s office. Hawthorne had several pages of figures that he had gotten from the bookkeeper. Skander began talking about Clifford Evings as soon as they sat down.

“I saw him after lunch hurrying back to his apartment,” Skander said. “He’s still awfully upset. Canceled all his conferences, I’m told. I remember years ago Old Pendergast bragging that he had gotten Clifford so cheaply. These things unquestionably come back to haunt you. Of course I’ve tried to have a friendly word with Clifford. He’s been avoiding his office altogether. We certainly can’t have that.”

Hawthorne looked up from his papers. “I don’t blame him for feeling disturbed.” They talked about Evings for a moment and Hawthorne said he would speak to him. Then Hawthorne tried to turn Skander’s attention to the business at hand. “You know that leather chair I bought . . .”

“That wonderfully comfortable one. I was terribly envious.” Skander had his arms stretched out on the back of the couch and reached over to pat Hawthorne’s shoulder.

Hawthorne laughed. “You can come over and sit in it anytime you want. Anyway, I ordered it through the school so that I could obtain our discount, but I paid for it myself. You remember, I gave you the check. Going over the records, I find that not only was the chair billed to the school but we seem to have paid for it.”

“My Lord,” said Skander. He sat up and took the papers from Hawthorne. Studying them, he raised the thumb and fingers of his right hand as he counted. “I do believe you’re right. I’ll have to talk to Strokowski about this.” Midge Strokowski was the bookkeeper who worked under Skander. She also taught a computer course and an elective on modern economics.

“I wish you’d fix it and get the money back. I mean, if the store was paid twice . . .”

“Of course, of course. How embarrassing.”

They discussed how the mistake might have happened. Possibly Hawthorne’s check had been put in another account. Skander had a pocket full of hard grape candies. He offered one to Hawthorne, who refused. Skander popped a candy in his mouth, then chewed it, making a noise like radio static.

“By the way,” said Skander, “I saw you and Kate coming down from the bell tower. I’m so glad that you two have become friends. It’s good to see that you’re putting San Diego behind you. Obviously you’ve both had losses and so it’s a pleasure for me to see you take such enjoyment in each other’s company. Not that George Peabody hasn’t been unhappy as well. I quite liked him the several times I met him. But people have to move on. I, for one, never blamed Kate for the divorce. And if he’s angry now, I’m sure he’ll get over it.”

Skander had heard that Peabody had called Hawthorne and threatened him. Peabody had also called several of the faculty members to complain.

“I believe he’d been hoping to get back together with Kate,” continued Skander. “Up until now, of course. Gets a little too friendly with the bottle, or so I hear, but he keeps it in the privacy of his home. Not a bad man, by all accounts. Who knows who got him going, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Chip Campbell. He always had a malicious streak. Chip was another of Pendergast’s little economies.”

Hawthorne tried to make appropriate responses, though he was unsure what those responses should be. All he knew about Peabody he knew from Kate, and he wasn’t disposed to think well of the man. He was also annoyed that Fritz kept harping on the subject, just the way he’d harped on children during Kevin Krueger’s visit. Maybe it was time to speak to him about his tactlessness. Yet Hawthorne felt the fault was his, that he was being oversensitive. After another moment, he was able to turn to the papers that he still held in his lap.

“Another matter I wanted to discuss . . .” Hawthorne began. “I don’t follow the accounting about Chip’s salary. Four thousand should be going to Ted Phillips, the substitute we hired for two of his classes. Then our faculty who took over classes should each get a thousand per class, except me, of course. But I don’t see what happened to the remaining eight thousand or so. It should be going toward the repairs on the roof of Emerson Hall and for the new psychologist we bring in.”

Again Skander took the pages. “Surely it’s right there. You must be overlooking it.”

“Show me.”

Skander ran his finger down the page, then pointed to a figure. “Here, where it says ‘Miscellaneous.’”

Hawthorne leaned forward to see. “But it’s not miscellaneous. It had a specific purpose. And this doesn’t seem like the right amount. It’s far too low.”

“But we gave Chip an extra two months. You approved that. He was paid through the end of December.” Skander unwrapped another hard candy.

“Even still, Fritz.”

“Yes, yes, I see you may be right.”

They remained huddled over the papers for another ten minutes. Skander admitted that there had to be a mistake. He telephoned Midge Strokowski, asking her not to leave until he had seen her and speaking more sharply than was usual for him.

“Try and get this cleared up,” said Hawthorne. “It may be that we’ll have to have an audit before the end of the calendar year.” They were both standing by the door.

“That would keep Midge on her toes.” Then Skander laughed and scratched the back of his head. “And me too, I expect.”

When Skander left, Hawthorne meant to go down to the Dugout and chat with students, which he often liked to do, but when he went to the door he found Bobby Newland pacing back and forth in the outer office.

“I’d like to talk to you about Clifford,” he said brusquely.

Hawthorne invited him in. Bobby didn’t want to sit on the couch but preferred the visitor’s chair. He turned down Hawthorne’s offer of a cup of coffee. He wore black jeans and a black turtleneck under a gray sport coat. His dark goatee was like a furry drop suspended from his moon-shaped face. Bobby appeared tense and kept his hands bunched in the pockets of his coat. Glancing around the office with disapproval, he slowly eased himself into the chair as if it might swallow him.

After Hawthorne sat down at his desk, Bobby glared at him for several moments. “I hope you realize that Clifford is
absolutely
terrified.”

“I know he’s upset. I’m very sorry.”

“It’s more than being upset. He’s very frightened. Not only is he terrified of being fired, but now he has to worry about his personal safety.”

“I have no intention of firing him. As for whoever wrecked his office, the police are investigating and the board knows of the situation. I asked Clifford if he wanted me to hire someone, a private investigator, but he said he didn’t want anyone.”

“Of course he said that. He’s terrified of making you even more angry.”

Hawthorne leaned forward with his elbows on the desk. “Look, Bobby, where are you getting this idea that I’m angry? I’ve no idea who wrecked his office but we’re doing what we can. If you feel we need additional security, then I’ll make the call right now. Ease up on me, will you.”

“That’s very simple for you to say,” said Bobby, “but what about Mrs. Hayes and Chip Campbell? And Chip was even beaten up. Why shouldn’t Clifford be frightened?”

Hawthorne considered showing Bobby the letter from Mrs. Hayes that he’d shown to the Reverend Bennett. Had he no credibility at all? He looked down at his desk and rubbed the wrist of his right hand. There was the picture of Meg and Lily smiling at him. He thought that if the phone rang at that moment and a woman’s voice said how much she loved him, that it was Meg and she wanted him to join her, then he would surely begin to scream.

“Mrs. Hayes wasn’t fired. If you want proof, there’s plenty of proof, but right now I’m sick to death of the whole subject. As for Chip, he was fired for a specific reason and don’t tell me you know nothing about it. I count on you to do your work as a mental health counselor. The students like you and I’ve been impressed by how you handle yourself in the group sessions. But you’re continuing to spread gossip and it’s going to wreck us if we’re not careful. Who told you that Clifford was going to be fired?”