mantle and the clock that Ike couldn’t stand.
“I think I can rectify that situation at Callend. Dr. Clough often suggested I do so, but my time was precious, you understand. Well, my proposal is that you employ me as an adjunct member of your faculty. I would be more than agreeable to teaching several seminars in history.”
“By history, am I to assume you mean Civil War history?”
“The War of Southern Independence, yes, I am an expert on that subject, as my books clearly demonstrate, and I am distressed at the current treatment the southern cause receives nowadays.”
“I see. As you know, Mr. Lydell, Callend is a woman’s college and, quite frankly, we do not spend much time on war in general and that one in particular.”
“I find that quite remarkable.”
“Now, if you were to structure a seminar on the role women played in that tragedy, I might be able to work something out next semester.”
“Women? Tragedy? Dr. Harris, I am dismayed. The war was—”
“A terrible time, filled with wholly unnecessary death and suffering, because the politicians in the south and the politicians in the north could not bring themselves to sit down and work out a sensible compromise. All of them were men, naturally. Even your venerated Robert E. Lee knew that slavery must end. Only his loyalty to the Commonwealth, rather than to his country, prevented him from commanding the union forces. But, of course, you already knew that.” Ruth thought she heard Lydell sputtering on the other end. “Mr. Lydell, are you there?”
“I will have a word with Dr. Clough and some of my friends on the Board of Trustees.”
“Yes, do that. And if you change your mind about the women in the war seminar, do call. Oh, and Mr. Lydell?”
“Yes?”
“My faculty, whether black or white or in between, are not available to play at servants, yeomen, or whatever you have in mind, on your plantation, and certainly not for profit or the amusement of tourists.”
The line clicked dead.
There, she thought, that ought to be the end of that.
Chapter 9
Ike looked at his watch. Ten minutes had passed since he’d last checked. If Ruth didn’t appear in another twenty, he’d call it a night. Her faculty meeting may have run over—as if she didn’t have enough on her plate. Real or not, the concept that Callend College might admit men, after a century or more as an all-woman’s college, would agitate even the coolest faculty member. He stood, paced, and looked at his watch again. It would take her an hour to drive from town. He glanced once more through the glass slider that faced the driveway. She hadn’t been out to the A-frame that often. She had her cell phone. She would call. Though he did not really want any, he made a pot of coffee. While the coffee maker hissed and clunked, he turned to consider Ruth’s clock.
He removed the bubble wrap, checked that the key was inside the case, and placed it on the breakfast table. He stepped back. He had second thoughts about winding it. What if it bonged away all night? He didn’t know how he would manage that. If you are not used to a noise in the night, it could keep you from sleep for hours. He’d had that problem with a dripping faucet once, and a ticking, chiming clock, he reckoned would be at least as distracting. As he busied himself gathering up the wrappings, he heard a car approach and saw the sweep of headlights against the kitchen wall. Ruth. He strolled to the door and slid it open to greet her.
“Hi,” she said as she pushed past him. “You have booze, I assume.”
“Yes ma’am, I do. I take it that means you would like a drink, wine, beer, or the hard stuff?”
“Stiff one, that’s all I care about.”
“I have some moonshine, a little local white lightning, if you want a real jolt. I don’t recommend it, though. Knock you on your rear if you’re not careful.”
“Sounds good to me, but it might get in the way of the evening’s agenda. Better make it a
“I think I can rectify that situation at Callend. Dr. Clough often suggested I do so, but my time was precious, you understand. Well, my proposal is that you employ me as an adjunct member of your faculty. I would be more than agreeable to teaching several seminars in history.”
“By history, am I to assume you mean Civil War history?”
“The War of Southern Independence, yes, I am an expert on that subject, as my books clearly demonstrate, and I am distressed at the current treatment the southern cause receives nowadays.”
“I see. As you know, Mr. Lydell, Callend is a woman’s college and, quite frankly, we do not spend much time on war in general and that one in particular.”
“I find that quite remarkable.”
“Now, if you were to structure a seminar on the role women played in that tragedy, I might be able to work something out next semester.”
“Women? Tragedy? Dr. Harris, I am dismayed. The war was—”
“A terrible time, filled with wholly unnecessary death and suffering, because the politicians in the south and the politicians in the north could not bring themselves to sit down and work out a sensible compromise. All of them were men, naturally. Even your venerated Robert E. Lee knew that slavery must end. Only his loyalty to the Commonwealth, rather than to his country, prevented him from commanding the union forces. But, of course, you already knew that.” Ruth thought she heard Lydell sputtering on the other end. “Mr. Lydell, are you there?”
“I will have a word with Dr. Clough and some of my friends on the Board of Trustees.”
“Yes, do that. And if you change your mind about the women in the war seminar, do call. Oh, and Mr. Lydell?”
“Yes?”
“My faculty, whether black or white or in between, are not available to play at servants, yeomen, or whatever you have in mind, on your plantation, and certainly not for profit or the amusement of tourists.”
The line clicked dead.
There, she thought, that ought to be the end of that.
Chapter 9
Ike looked at his watch. Ten minutes had passed since he’d last checked. If Ruth didn’t appear in another twenty, he’d call it a night. Her faculty meeting may have run over—as if she didn’t have enough on her plate. Real or not, the concept that Callend College might admit men, after a century or more as an all-woman’s college, would agitate even the coolest faculty member. He stood, paced, and looked at his watch again. It would take her an hour to drive from town. He glanced once more through the glass slider that faced the driveway. She hadn’t been out to the A-frame that often. She had her cell phone. She would call. Though he did not really want any, he made a pot of coffee. While the coffee maker hissed and clunked, he turned to consider Ruth’s clock.
He removed the bubble wrap, checked that the key was inside the case, and placed it on the breakfast table. He stepped back. He had second thoughts about winding it. What if it bonged away all night? He didn’t know how he would manage that. If you are not used to a noise in the night, it could keep you from sleep for hours. He’d had that problem with a dripping faucet once, and a ticking, chiming clock, he reckoned would be at least as distracting. As he busied himself gathering up the wrappings, he heard a car approach and saw the sweep of headlights against the kitchen wall. Ruth. He strolled to the door and slid it open to greet her.
“Hi,” she said as she pushed past him. “You have booze, I assume.”
“Yes ma’am, I do. I take it that means you would like a drink, wine, beer, or the hard stuff?”
“Stiff one, that’s all I care about.”
“I have some moonshine, a little local white lightning, if you want a real jolt. I don’t recommend it, though. Knock you on your rear if you’re not careful.”
“Sounds good to me, but it might get in the way of the evening’s agenda. Better make it a
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