would that cause for the long term?
At the foot of the stairs, she saw the teenage clerk from the Qwik-E Market manning the reception desk. “Good morning, Elizabeth.” All she got in return was a muttered reply and lowered eyes.
Mandy persisted. “It’s nice to see a familiar face. You’re a busy lady, it seems. Could you tell me where Ms. Cooley’s office is?”
“Back there.” Without looking up, Elizabeth indicated a door behind the desk under the stairway. A faint, rosy tinge suffused her cheeks.
“Thank you.” Mandy stepped around and knocked on the door.
“Go on in,” Elizabeth said.
Mandy did. The door opened onto a large room with windows along one wall. The other three walls were lined with banks of five-drawer, oak file cabinets. In the middle stood a businesslike arrangement of two copy machines, a supply cabinet, and a work table. Two students, a boy and a girl, bent over the task of folding and stapling booklets together.
“Excuse me. I’m looking for Ms. Cooley.” When the teens looked up, Mandy introduced herself, feeling once more the disadvantage of being barely five feet tall.
The young man said, “Hey,” and smiled. “Mrs. Cooley is over there, behind the file cabinets.”
His coworker, slender, raven-haired, and sullen, wore black pants, a black T-shirt with a Maltese cross on it, and black boots. She simply stared.
Mandy said thanks and walked to where a cozy nook had been carved out of the room by a notch in the arrangement of the filing cabinets. Midge Cooley, sitting behind a stack of papers, looked up as Mandy walked through the keyway. She didn’t answer Mandy’s smile, but looked apprehensively past her as she brushed a limp tendril of hair away from her face.
“Hello, Ms. Cooley. May I sit down?”
Midge didn’t meet her eyes. “Yeah. Sit.”
“Mr. Timberlain said I could get some things from you. Would you tell me the protocol for your department? How you control who has access to the records, and how one goes about requesting files?”
Midge obliged, explaining the way the files were set up and how they were maintained. Every now and then, she glanced nervously over her shoulder as if she were afraid of being caught consorting with the enemy. After making a list of the files Mandy wanted, she produced them quickly, handing them silently over with her long jaw clenched.
Mandy said thanks and carried the stack back to her office, glancing through open office doors on her way. Grange was hunched over his desk again. Mrs. Berman was busy at her computer, but she frowned over her reading glasses, and her eyes slid to Mandy’s bare left arm. Without a change of expression, Mrs. Berman turned back to her work.
Mandy walked on to her own office, thinking for the first time that maybe she should have taken that job offer in the Alaskan bush, the one made on the same day as the one for North Cascade. The money had been better, but the remoteness and climate had weighed against it. As she set the files down on her desk, she looked out at the rain wrinkling the puddles in the parking lot and wondered if Chevak, Alaska, could have been much worse.
“Ahem.”
Mandy turned and instantly recognized the postman from earlier this morning. Standing in her open doorway, he was dressed casually in Levi’s and a Carhartt jacket, and as he met her gaze, she could tell by the tiny muscle movement around his clear blue eyes that he remembered her, too.
“Dr. Steenburg? I have three boxes for you. Where shall I put them?”
“Right next to the last filing cabinet, if you please. I’m so glad to see them. You do good work!”
“U.S. Postal Service. Neither rain nor snow, and all that jazz. We aim to please.” He stacked the cartons against the wall and leaned on his hand truck. “I saw your license plates. You’re a long way from New Mexico.”
“It would seem so.” It came out a little more wistful than she intended, so to cover, Mandy asked, “Do I have to sign
At the foot of the stairs, she saw the teenage clerk from the Qwik-E Market manning the reception desk. “Good morning, Elizabeth.” All she got in return was a muttered reply and lowered eyes.
Mandy persisted. “It’s nice to see a familiar face. You’re a busy lady, it seems. Could you tell me where Ms. Cooley’s office is?”
“Back there.” Without looking up, Elizabeth indicated a door behind the desk under the stairway. A faint, rosy tinge suffused her cheeks.
“Thank you.” Mandy stepped around and knocked on the door.
“Go on in,” Elizabeth said.
Mandy did. The door opened onto a large room with windows along one wall. The other three walls were lined with banks of five-drawer, oak file cabinets. In the middle stood a businesslike arrangement of two copy machines, a supply cabinet, and a work table. Two students, a boy and a girl, bent over the task of folding and stapling booklets together.
“Excuse me. I’m looking for Ms. Cooley.” When the teens looked up, Mandy introduced herself, feeling once more the disadvantage of being barely five feet tall.
The young man said, “Hey,” and smiled. “Mrs. Cooley is over there, behind the file cabinets.”
His coworker, slender, raven-haired, and sullen, wore black pants, a black T-shirt with a Maltese cross on it, and black boots. She simply stared.
Mandy said thanks and walked to where a cozy nook had been carved out of the room by a notch in the arrangement of the filing cabinets. Midge Cooley, sitting behind a stack of papers, looked up as Mandy walked through the keyway. She didn’t answer Mandy’s smile, but looked apprehensively past her as she brushed a limp tendril of hair away from her face.
“Hello, Ms. Cooley. May I sit down?”
Midge didn’t meet her eyes. “Yeah. Sit.”
“Mr. Timberlain said I could get some things from you. Would you tell me the protocol for your department? How you control who has access to the records, and how one goes about requesting files?”
Midge obliged, explaining the way the files were set up and how they were maintained. Every now and then, she glanced nervously over her shoulder as if she were afraid of being caught consorting with the enemy. After making a list of the files Mandy wanted, she produced them quickly, handing them silently over with her long jaw clenched.
Mandy said thanks and carried the stack back to her office, glancing through open office doors on her way. Grange was hunched over his desk again. Mrs. Berman was busy at her computer, but she frowned over her reading glasses, and her eyes slid to Mandy’s bare left arm. Without a change of expression, Mrs. Berman turned back to her work.
Mandy walked on to her own office, thinking for the first time that maybe she should have taken that job offer in the Alaskan bush, the one made on the same day as the one for North Cascade. The money had been better, but the remoteness and climate had weighed against it. As she set the files down on her desk, she looked out at the rain wrinkling the puddles in the parking lot and wondered if Chevak, Alaska, could have been much worse.
“Ahem.”
Mandy turned and instantly recognized the postman from earlier this morning. Standing in her open doorway, he was dressed casually in Levi’s and a Carhartt jacket, and as he met her gaze, she could tell by the tiny muscle movement around his clear blue eyes that he remembered her, too.
“Dr. Steenburg? I have three boxes for you. Where shall I put them?”
“Right next to the last filing cabinet, if you please. I’m so glad to see them. You do good work!”
“U.S. Postal Service. Neither rain nor snow, and all that jazz. We aim to please.” He stacked the cartons against the wall and leaned on his hand truck. “I saw your license plates. You’re a long way from New Mexico.”
“It would seem so.” It came out a little more wistful than she intended, so to cover, Mandy asked, “Do I have to sign
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