Together Amanda and Carrie replaced the book in the corner. “You are coming to lunch with me, aren't you? All I had for breakfast was cold apple pie—I overslept, and the cleaning service ran me out."
"Lunch is not only part of the deal, I'm coming to the lab with you at one. Speaking of magazine articles, Bill Hewitt's planning one about the Melrose skeleton. He's cleaned the insignia and wants me to look them up."
"All right!” Amanda leaned over to pick up her purse. What a coincidence I'd get interested in the guy just when his body appears.... “I'll go dig around in the stacks."
"Come drag me away at eleven-thirty.” Carrie surveyed her desk, hands on hips, like a lunchroom monitor walking in on a food fight.
Amanda settled down with a copy of Thomas Mason's account books. Sally's son may have had his qualities, but legible handwriting was not one of them. She had to force herself to focus on the issues: Architecture as a design for living. Form follows function. How many structures had been “restored” to something that in no way served their original purposes?
It may look good, but could your toddler fall off it, over it, or down it.... It isn't necessarily the evil that men do which lives after them, it's their stuff. And the good is often hidden with their bones, Amanda concluded, with the feeling that wasn't the exact quote.
After a while she found herself sketching a man in a kilt and high-collared coat on the margin of her paper. Okay, okay, so James Grant's ghost was a lot more interesting than Thomas Mason's possessions. Go figure. She glanced at her watch and pushed back her chair.
Carrie was typing furiously at her computer keyboard. Amanda padded into the office, found a plastic cup in the trash, and filled it at the water fountain in the hall. Carrie didn't look up until she poured the water on the ivy. “It's no use, it's just going to die. I don't buy plants, I rent them. Somewhere out there are dozens of little leafy things wearing haloes and playing harps."
"Is there a heaven for plants?” Amanda asked with a smile.
"Jack maintains there's a heaven for small appliances.” Carrie saved her files, took off her glasses, and pulled her purse out of a drawer.
"If you follow that reasoning far enough,” said Amanda, “the food we eat must be translated to a great restaurant in the sky. I am the resurrection and the sandwich."
"Just find me a piece of chocolate cake,” Carrie returned, “and I'll give it the last rites."
They were still laughing when they settled down in a restaurant in Merchant's Square, just outside the Historic Area. The visitors in their halter tops and shorts seemed more wilted by the heat than the interpreters in their long skirts and waistcoats. Mind over matter, Amanda thought. She had to remind herself to speak modern English to the waitress. Every time she was surrounded by tourists her speech automatically thickened into two-hundred year-old cadences, rich in courtesies and subordinate clauses.
"I wonder if Cornwallis and his troops would recognize Williamsburg today,” she mused over her salad and iced tea.
"If not, Mr. Rockefeller and the Foundation have wasted their money,” answered Carrie.
"And what did the lads from the Highlands make of the colonies? The officers probably thought Virginia was Outer Boondock."
"But the troops may have gone back to their villages warbling how everything's up to date in Williamsburg."
"Those who went back,” said Amanda, wondering again why the body of an officer, a patrician, a gentleman, as he would have been labeled in those days, had been dumped like a potted plant.
The waitress whisked away their plates and deposited slabs of chocolate cake. Amanda and Carrie genuflected, murmuring the usual litany over the size of the servings, the calorie content of the ingredients, and the negative effects of both. Then they dug in.
The taste still lingered in the back of Amanda's mouth when she and Carrie arrived at
"Lunch is not only part of the deal, I'm coming to the lab with you at one. Speaking of magazine articles, Bill Hewitt's planning one about the Melrose skeleton. He's cleaned the insignia and wants me to look them up."
"All right!” Amanda leaned over to pick up her purse. What a coincidence I'd get interested in the guy just when his body appears.... “I'll go dig around in the stacks."
"Come drag me away at eleven-thirty.” Carrie surveyed her desk, hands on hips, like a lunchroom monitor walking in on a food fight.
Amanda settled down with a copy of Thomas Mason's account books. Sally's son may have had his qualities, but legible handwriting was not one of them. She had to force herself to focus on the issues: Architecture as a design for living. Form follows function. How many structures had been “restored” to something that in no way served their original purposes?
It may look good, but could your toddler fall off it, over it, or down it.... It isn't necessarily the evil that men do which lives after them, it's their stuff. And the good is often hidden with their bones, Amanda concluded, with the feeling that wasn't the exact quote.
After a while she found herself sketching a man in a kilt and high-collared coat on the margin of her paper. Okay, okay, so James Grant's ghost was a lot more interesting than Thomas Mason's possessions. Go figure. She glanced at her watch and pushed back her chair.
Carrie was typing furiously at her computer keyboard. Amanda padded into the office, found a plastic cup in the trash, and filled it at the water fountain in the hall. Carrie didn't look up until she poured the water on the ivy. “It's no use, it's just going to die. I don't buy plants, I rent them. Somewhere out there are dozens of little leafy things wearing haloes and playing harps."
"Is there a heaven for plants?” Amanda asked with a smile.
"Jack maintains there's a heaven for small appliances.” Carrie saved her files, took off her glasses, and pulled her purse out of a drawer.
"If you follow that reasoning far enough,” said Amanda, “the food we eat must be translated to a great restaurant in the sky. I am the resurrection and the sandwich."
"Just find me a piece of chocolate cake,” Carrie returned, “and I'll give it the last rites."
They were still laughing when they settled down in a restaurant in Merchant's Square, just outside the Historic Area. The visitors in their halter tops and shorts seemed more wilted by the heat than the interpreters in their long skirts and waistcoats. Mind over matter, Amanda thought. She had to remind herself to speak modern English to the waitress. Every time she was surrounded by tourists her speech automatically thickened into two-hundred year-old cadences, rich in courtesies and subordinate clauses.
"I wonder if Cornwallis and his troops would recognize Williamsburg today,” she mused over her salad and iced tea.
"If not, Mr. Rockefeller and the Foundation have wasted their money,” answered Carrie.
"And what did the lads from the Highlands make of the colonies? The officers probably thought Virginia was Outer Boondock."
"But the troops may have gone back to their villages warbling how everything's up to date in Williamsburg."
"Those who went back,” said Amanda, wondering again why the body of an officer, a patrician, a gentleman, as he would have been labeled in those days, had been dumped like a potted plant.
The waitress whisked away their plates and deposited slabs of chocolate cake. Amanda and Carrie genuflected, murmuring the usual litany over the size of the servings, the calorie content of the ingredients, and the negative effects of both. Then they dug in.
The taste still lingered in the back of Amanda's mouth when she and Carrie arrived at
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