family goes way back to Indian Territory days when Caleb Webster married Mary Castle. Mr. Webster—”
There was reverence in her voice and Nela had no doubt she referred to the foundation’s benefactor, Harris Webster.
“—honored his Chickasaw heritage when he named the foundation Haklo. That’s Chickasaw for
to listen
. That’s what we do. We listen to the requests from our community and respond. Our grants fund agricultural research, rancher certification programs, wildlife and fisheries management, biofuel studies with an emphasis on switchgrass, seminars of interest to farmers and ranchers, and, of course, we support the arts, including grants and scholarships to students, artists, musicians, a local nonprofit art gallery, and particular programs and faculty at Craddock College. And we have our wonderful outreach with the historical exhibits that we create ourselves.”
Pink tinged her cheeks. Her eyes glowed with enthusiasm. She gestured at the east wing. “That way is the director’s office and conference rooms and the foundation library. The catering office and kitchen are at the far end. The other staff offices and an auditorium are upstairs. Aren’t the stairs beautiful?”
Twin tiled stairways with wrought iron railings curved on either side of the fountain area.
They left the rotunda and walked toward the end of the main cross hall. “In the morning, I’ll take you around early to meet—”
A rattle of footsteps clicked behind them on one of the curving stairways.
Louise stiffened. Her eyes flared in alarm.
Nela realized the executive secretary was afraid. Louise had said she was alone in the building.
A man spoke in a high tenor voice, the ample space of the rotunda magnifying the sound. “…don’t know what the bitch will do next.”
Louise exhaled in relief but again bright pink touched her cheeks, this time from dismay.
A softer, more precise male voice replied. “Let it go, Robbie.”
“I won’t let it go. I won’t ever let it go.”
Louise gripped Nela’s elbow, tugged, and began to speak, lifting her voice, as she hurried Nela back toward the reception desk. “I forgot to show you the sculpture of Mr. Webster.”
Two men came around the curve of the stairwell. The older man’s silver hair was a mane, matched by an equally dramatic silver handlebar mustache. A black cape swirled as he moved, accentuating the white of a pullover sweater and matching black flannel trousers and black boots.
Nela was reminded of a drama professor from summer school between her junior and senior years. When he quoted from a play, a character came alive, robust, individual, memorable. He had been fun and she’d enjoyed every moment of the class.
His companion was younger, with perfectly coiffed thick blond hair and a smoothly handsome face now soured by a scowl. He was more conventionally dressed in a black turtleneck and blue jeans.
Nela knew instantly that they were a couple. There was that sense of physical connection that imbued all unions, whether heterosexual or homosexual.
Louise bustled forward to meet them at the foot of the stairs. She smiled at the older man. “Erik, it’s wonderful to see you.” She gestured toward Nela. “I want you to meet Nela Farley. She’s taking her sister’s place this week while Chloe is on her great adventure. Nela, this is Erik Judd and Robbie Powell.” There was the slightest hesitation and a flick of a glance at Erik, then Louise said hurriedly,“Robbie is our director of public relations.” She looked at the younger man. “Robbie, you scared me. I didn’t know anyone else was here. I didn’t hear your car come into the lot.”
“We’re in Erik’s Porsche. He insisted on parking in the visitors’ lot.” Robbie’s tone was petulant.
Louise looked dismayed. “Oh, Erik, you are always welcome here.”
Erik smoothed back a silver curl. “Since we’re in my car, I thought it was more appropriate to park in the visitors’ lot. I
There was reverence in her voice and Nela had no doubt she referred to the foundation’s benefactor, Harris Webster.
“—honored his Chickasaw heritage when he named the foundation Haklo. That’s Chickasaw for
to listen
. That’s what we do. We listen to the requests from our community and respond. Our grants fund agricultural research, rancher certification programs, wildlife and fisheries management, biofuel studies with an emphasis on switchgrass, seminars of interest to farmers and ranchers, and, of course, we support the arts, including grants and scholarships to students, artists, musicians, a local nonprofit art gallery, and particular programs and faculty at Craddock College. And we have our wonderful outreach with the historical exhibits that we create ourselves.”
Pink tinged her cheeks. Her eyes glowed with enthusiasm. She gestured at the east wing. “That way is the director’s office and conference rooms and the foundation library. The catering office and kitchen are at the far end. The other staff offices and an auditorium are upstairs. Aren’t the stairs beautiful?”
Twin tiled stairways with wrought iron railings curved on either side of the fountain area.
They left the rotunda and walked toward the end of the main cross hall. “In the morning, I’ll take you around early to meet—”
A rattle of footsteps clicked behind them on one of the curving stairways.
Louise stiffened. Her eyes flared in alarm.
Nela realized the executive secretary was afraid. Louise had said she was alone in the building.
A man spoke in a high tenor voice, the ample space of the rotunda magnifying the sound. “…don’t know what the bitch will do next.”
Louise exhaled in relief but again bright pink touched her cheeks, this time from dismay.
A softer, more precise male voice replied. “Let it go, Robbie.”
“I won’t let it go. I won’t ever let it go.”
Louise gripped Nela’s elbow, tugged, and began to speak, lifting her voice, as she hurried Nela back toward the reception desk. “I forgot to show you the sculpture of Mr. Webster.”
Two men came around the curve of the stairwell. The older man’s silver hair was a mane, matched by an equally dramatic silver handlebar mustache. A black cape swirled as he moved, accentuating the white of a pullover sweater and matching black flannel trousers and black boots.
Nela was reminded of a drama professor from summer school between her junior and senior years. When he quoted from a play, a character came alive, robust, individual, memorable. He had been fun and she’d enjoyed every moment of the class.
His companion was younger, with perfectly coiffed thick blond hair and a smoothly handsome face now soured by a scowl. He was more conventionally dressed in a black turtleneck and blue jeans.
Nela knew instantly that they were a couple. There was that sense of physical connection that imbued all unions, whether heterosexual or homosexual.
Louise bustled forward to meet them at the foot of the stairs. She smiled at the older man. “Erik, it’s wonderful to see you.” She gestured toward Nela. “I want you to meet Nela Farley. She’s taking her sister’s place this week while Chloe is on her great adventure. Nela, this is Erik Judd and Robbie Powell.” There was the slightest hesitation and a flick of a glance at Erik, then Louise said hurriedly,“Robbie is our director of public relations.” She looked at the younger man. “Robbie, you scared me. I didn’t know anyone else was here. I didn’t hear your car come into the lot.”
“We’re in Erik’s Porsche. He insisted on parking in the visitors’ lot.” Robbie’s tone was petulant.
Louise looked dismayed. “Oh, Erik, you are always welcome here.”
Erik smoothed back a silver curl. “Since we’re in my car, I thought it was more appropriate to park in the visitors’ lot. I
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