The enthusiastic amateurs who auditioned for such productions were office workers, MCCC students, nurses, commercial fishermen, truck drivers, and waiters who had enjoyed being in school plays and church pageants. As for the audiences, half of them were friends or relatives of the actors; many had never seen players of professional caliber except on TV; many had never seen live theatre.
On the whole, Qwilleran thought, the cast did well. There were no forgotten lines or missed cues. The voice coach had convinced them to project their lines to the show-goers in the back row.
When it was over Qwilleran went home and was writing a review for Friday’s deadline when Polly phoned, “How was the play” she asked.
“Not bad. How was your meeting?”
“The library needs a new furnace. Mr. Hammond came to the meeting himself and convinced the board members that we’re only throwing money away on repairs. We’re ‘spitting into the wind,’ he said. The metaphor shocked the ladies into action. They signed a contract without the usual fussing, because of the coldweather scare.”
“Can Hammond have the new equipment installed and operating before the heavy snows and freezing temperature?” Qwilleran asked.
“To tell the truth, Qwill, it’s been on order since August. He and I knew it was inevitable, so…”
“You practiced a little duplicity.”
“Sometimes it’s necessary, dear. And I knew the K Fund would help us pay for it…. Well, I know you’re writing your review, so I won’t keep you.”
“I’ll talk with you tomorrow night after the maiden voyage of the new bookmobile.”
“Did you see the list of scheduled stops in today’s paper?”
“Yes, and I’ll meet it at Ittibittiwassee Estates.”
“Good choice. A bientot.”
“A bientot.”
During the phone conversation Koko had been sitting on the box of Klingenschoen correspondence, and now he hunched down on it with his tail elevated like a flag as he went through the motions of digging into the box.
“Okay, we’ll have a look,” Qwilleran said, “and you can write my review of the play.”
He opened it gingerly, as if it might contain the skeleton of a dead mouse, or even a live one. False alarm! The box contained handwritten letters on stationery yellowing with age. The handwriting looked familiar.
“Treat!” he shouted and gave the cats their bedtime snack, then escorted them to the top balcony. When he came down the ramp he was wearing the paisley silk pajamas that Polly had given him for Father’s Day, with a mushy card from Koko and Yum Yum. He took time to brew coffee before settling into a lounge chair with the box of old letters.
The handwriting was definitely his mother’s. She had been proud of her penmanship; fine pen strokes, slanted, precise, elegant. She had learned it at a private school somewhere. No one wrote like that these days. Scanning the sheets he found they had all been written to Aunt Fanny and dated with the month and day – no year. June 2 was the date on the first one. It was signed “Love from Annie.” His mother’s presence haunted the page as he began to read, and shivers traveled up and down his spine.
Dear Fanny –
How’s everything? Are you having fun? Do you like Atlantic City as much as you thought you would? I know you don’t have time to write letters, so don’t bother to answer this, but… I have NEWS! I told you my parents wanted me to go back to Des Moines and work in Dad’s office, but I adore Chicago TOTALLY, and after slaving for four years as an English major, I’d jump off a bridge before I’d work in an insurance office, and I told them so. It didn’t go over big! Dad is hopping mad about my moving to Chicago, and Mother goes along to keep the peace. She’s afraid to cross him. She says she loves him. I guess I don’t understand LOVE. And she doesn’t understand why I don’t want to marry her best friend’s son. Dad would take him into the business and we’d all live happily ever after. But I can’t STAND the guy! He’s so DULL, and his eyes are too close together. (You know what you and I used to say about THAT!)
So here I am, and my wildest dream has come true – a job in the PUBLIC LIBRARY! I get a clerk’s salary because I don’t have a degree in library science, but – just between you and me – I do everything the librarians do. But that’s okay. I love the work TOTALLY. With my first paycheck I made a down payment on a secondhand upright. You never heard me play the piano, but I think I’m really pretty good, just for fun – to make Dad hit the ceiling – I asked him to ship my baby grand. Fat chance!… I have a small apartment, and the girl across the hall is nice – Sue Ellen, from Tennessee, pronounced Tinnissee. We go to plays and concerts together – just a couple of country girls whooping it up in the big city.
Love from Annie
