Breaking Ground (27 page)

“Well, that should satisfy Clif,” Howard continued.

“Seeing Clif satisfied will be worth the ticket of admission,” Henry observed.

Loretta and Dalton entered just in time to catch Henry's comment, and after Henry explained it, Dalton said, “Anyone care to wager on it?”

“I don't think that would be appropriate,” Howard said sternly. “And here's our treasurer now.” Clif walked stiffly across the room, headed directly for the cookie tray.

“You must have been talking about money,” Clif said between bites of a large peanut-butter cookie. “I didn't think I was late; it seems like you already got started.”

“Not at all,” Howard said. “We'd hardly begin without you, but as we're all assembled now … let's be seated.”

Howard called the meeting to order and asked, as he always did, for a motion to forgo the reading of the minutes since they had been mailed. And, as always, Clif so moved. Dalton seconded, and it was duly authorized that the minutes would not be read aloud. They never were, but Howard always insisted on accomplishing that obvious convenience with a formal motion.

“Corrections or comments?” the chair then asked. “Hearing none, I call for a motion to approve the minutes.”

“One moment, Mr. Chairman,” Clif Holdsworth said. “You didn't hear my correction because you didn't give me a chance to say it before your call for approval.”

“I'm sorry, Clif. Please proceed.”

“In the third paragraph of the second page,” Clif intoned, “the word ‘approve' should be deleted and the word ‘accept' introduced in its place. That refers to the treasurer's report, as you may know.”

Indeed they did, because each time Clif gave his treasurer's report, one of the trustees would inevitably try to end the agony by moving its approval. And each time that happened, Clif would point out that the report didn't need to be
approved
but
accepted
. The difference between those two actions was of considerable importance to him, but no one else cared, let alone understood. Clif always said he stood ready to explain the vital distinction, but, at least in Julie's year of meetings, no one had been foolhardy enough to take him up on the offer. Yet Henry, in preparing the minutes, invariably used
approved
, and with equal invariability Clif had the correction made before the minutes were approved. Julie strongly suspected that Henry took some impish pleasure in what he always apologized for as his “terrible error.”

Howard said the minutes were ready for approval as amended orally by Clif, and Loretta promptly moved their approval. “Or should that be
accepted?
” she lightly queried Clif.

“I believe the minutes themselves—unlike a report—do require formal approval. Though of course I would defer to our learned colleague Mr. LaBelle for confirmation of that.”

“You've got me, Clif. I'm just a lawyer. We didn't study Roberts' Rules of Order at Yale Law School.”

“Not surprised,” Clif said. “Perhaps our distinguished chairman should rule on this.”

“I'm afraid I didn't bring my copy of Robert's,” the chair answered, “but I'm prepared to rule in favor of
approval
if there are no objections. Then hearing none, I call for a vote on Mrs. Cummings's motion to approve the minutes.”

“As amended orally,” Clif added.

“Quite. All those in favor? Opposed? Then the minutes are approved as amended.”

“Orally,” Loretta offered, drawing laughter from everyone except Clif.

Julie glanced at her watch. When Henry had said before the meeting that the rest of Mary Ellen's gift would now be forthcoming, she had entertained the hope that this news would lead to a short meeting. But since it took ten minutes merely to get the minutes out of the way, that hope was fading.

“Next order of business,” Howard announced, “is the report of the building committee, which met two days ago. I believe, Dalton, you can summarize the meeting and the recommendations of the committee. If you have any paper on that, this would be a good time to distribute it.”

“No paper, Mr. Chairman,” Dalton said. “I think this is pretty simple.” He quickly described the committee's discussion and its two recommendations: to approve the contract for the construction of the Swanson Center, and to rename the building to include Mary Ellen.

“Are those formal motions?” Howard asked.

“Sure. I present both as formal motions. Do I need to rephrase anything?”

“We understand, Dalton,” Loretta said before Clif or Howard could object. “I second Dalton's motions.”

“Perhaps the clerk could read them for us?” Clif suggested.

Without looking down at his notes, Henry spun out some formal language that captured the building committee's
recommendations. Julie was impressed; she hadn't known until a few moments ago that Henry had gone to law school at Yale, but she wasn't surprised.

“Those your motions?” Clif asked Dalton, who replied, “Better than mine, but Henry got them just right. I call the question.”

“I believe, Mr. Chairman,” Clif said to no one's surprise, “that an opportunity for questions and discussion should precede the vote. Calling the question now precludes that.”

“I withdraw my motion, Clif,” Dalton said patiently. “I was just using the words casually, to mean that I'm ready to move ahead.”

“So we understand, Dalton,” Howard said, “but Clif is of course correct that we need to discuss these matters. Both are quite critical to the future of the Ryland Historical Society. Questions or comments on the motions?”

This, Julie said, is going to take the rest of the day. She was resigned to forgoing some private time with Rich before dinner with the Nilssons. But she was pleasantly surprised. Clif, as expected, focused on the financing of the construction, but Henry's assurance about the $500,000 gift from Mary Ellen quite easily convinced him that approving the contract would not lead to immediate insolvency for the Ryland Historical Society. Clif knew, to the penny, how much money was in the bank already and how much the contract required, and that the additional cash from Mary Ellen's estate was more than enough to bring the two figures into balance. “Of course, down the road a piece,” the treasurer noted, “when we fit out the building and put up the signs and all, we'll need some more cash, but we have pledges scheduled to come in this fall. So I believe we can proceed to approve the contract based on Henry's assurances.”

Although Henry paused for a moment on the word
assurances
, understanding it more narrowly than the others, he resisted comment. “Ready for the question, then?” Howard asked. The motion
to approve the building committee's recommendation and sign the contract for the construction was promptly approved. With almost no discussion, the second recommendation was also approved: The new building would be officially called the Daniel and Mary Ellen Swanson Center.

“Think there's room for all that on the signs?” Clif asked.

“We can squeeze it in,” Dalton replied. “Of course we might have to come back to the board for approval if the extra letters cost too much.”

“I don't think anyone here will object,” Clif answered with such seriousness that it was impossible to grasp whether he recognized that Dalton was pulling his leg.

“Fine,” Howard said. “We've done some very important business here today, and I'm sure you all understand how significant this moment is. We all feel very deeply the absence of Mary Ellen Swanson at this time. Which brings me to a last piece of business. If the board is prepared to spend a few more moments?”

Julie checked her watch again and saw it was just 4:50. If the discussion about new trustees didn't take too long, she would have forty-five minutes or so alone with Rich. Others looked at their watches, and there was a general murmur of agreement that they could withstand another item of discussion.

Howard reminded them that with Mary Ellen's death the membership of the board had declined by three over just a year. “Of course you're a fine group. A fine group,” Howard continued. “And numbers aren't everything. But I think you'll agree that we could benefit from an enlarged board—bring us up to full complement. Certainly one more member, perhaps up to three. With that in mind, you'll recall, I asked you last year to recommend names of potential new trustees. With all our other business this year we didn't make much progress, but I don't think anyone will be surprised that it was dear Mary Ellen who took this matter in
hand. She suggested Frank Nilsson, and at my direction Julie has had a talk with Frank about this matter. Julie, could you bring us up-to-date?”

Julie knew very well what Howard wanted her to report on: her breakfast meeting with Frank a week ago, the highlights of his résumé, his interest in serving on the board. There was so much more she knew about the man—and even more she could speculate about without completely knowing. If she was right, this man wouldn't come within ten feet of sitting on the board. But she had to focus squarely on the matter at hand. She gave the facts.

“Excellent report, Julie,” Howard said when she had finished. “I believe most of us know Frank in one capacity or another, but our director has provided a fine overview from an outsider's perspective. What comments do you have about the prospect of asking Frank Nilsson to join our board?”

The comments were neither numerous nor passionate. Julie sensed a general willingness to invite Frank to become a trustee—not because he was an outstanding candidate, but because he
was
a candidate, one willing volunteer whose appointment would reduce the number of vacancies. And—here Julie was in agreement—electing him would end this meeting. But she had not reckoned on Clif Holdsworth.

“We need to be careful about Frank Nilsson,” the treasurer said.

“Careful?” Loretta asked. “What's that supposed to mean? My impression is that Frank's a solid citizen.”

“Suppose so.” Clif responded. “I've known Frank since he married Patty and moved to town. Knew her from when she was born, and her folks—the Oakes family goes back a long way in Ryland. But there are matters I don't think the rest of you are aware of.”

Clif's grumpiness and negative perspective were well known, but Julie sensed something more lay behind these comments. Could he, she wondered, suspect Nilsson of Mary Ellen's death? Or know about the break-in at her house and see him as responsible for that? But aside from Dalton, Julie didn't think anyone on the board knew what had happened. What could Clif be getting at?

“Maybe you could explain what you're getting at,” Dalton interjected; Julie wondered if he was reading her mind. “Perhaps you could spell it out for us newcomers,” he added.

“It's not a case of newcomers,” Clif answered. “I feel rather reluctant to go on, frankly, since I might be compromising my duties here.”

“For heaven's sake, Clif,” Henry said, “if you know something important about Frank Nilsson, tell us. If you don't, or can't say, then you shouldn't have brought it up.”

“All right, since I opened my mouth I suppose I should go ahead and use it. I think you all know I sit on the board of Ryland Bank and Trust.” In fact, Julie didn't know, but she guessed she was the only one who didn't. “If you want to conclude what I'm going to say is privileged information, you can ignore it. But, mind, I'm not saying this comes from my role at the bank. It's the sort of thing anyone with open eyes and ears could know.”

“Clif, please!” Howard said. “If you have information we should know, then by all means go ahead and tell us. This is a private discussion, and I'm sure we all recognize that nothing said here should go beyond this room. But if you feel you're revealing something you shouldn't, then let's drop it.”

“Like I said, Howard, anyone paying attention can see Frank Nilsson is up to his neck in debt. He's got a couple of projects for old folks going down the coast, and he and Luke Dyer just went deep into it to buy Mary Ellen's land and finance the condo project.”

“You're saying he's in trouble?” Dalton asked.

“Didn't say that. Just noting that he's not the moneybag a lot of you might think he is. He's highly, highly leveraged, and I don't see when and how he's going to get square. This Birch Brook thing—well, it's hard to imagine they can make that fly.”

“Let me see if I understand this, Clif,” Loretta said with the sort of patience Julie imagined her bringing to a parent-student conference. “Frank Nilsson has a lot of debt associated with his projects?”

“Correct.”

“Okay, then what?” the principal continued. “What impact does this have on his role as a trustee here?”

“Not saying it has
any
impact. Just feel we ought not to buy a pig in a poke.”

“Meaning?” Loretta continued.

“Meaning he's not in a position to give a lot of money to the historical society. If the rest of you think he's a golden goose waiting to be plucked, think again.”

Julie enjoyed Clif's mixed metaphors, but it wasn't either a pig or a goose Julie would compare Nilsson to—more like a weasel.

“One's personal capacity to give is not a legitimate criterion for election to our board,” Howard duly pointed out, sounding as he often did as if he were reading from the bylaws.

“That's fine, then,” Clif responded. “I just don't want folks to jump into this without understanding that it'll be a cool day in Hades when Frank Nilsson is in a position to write a check for anything. At least one that doesn't bounce.”

No one had an immediate response, but after a brief silence Dalton asked, “Is there any chance, Clif, that Frank's financial situation could become an embarrassment to the board? Aside from whether he can make a gift, are you saying we should be worried that he might get into some public difficulties about his finances?”