5
...the first gave her the gift of virtue, and the second bestowed beauty upon her...

 

His

 

His headache keeping him awake, Fish sat in his armchair, staring over his scribbled diary page at the wall.  Trying to force himself to do therapy wasn’t helping his throbbing head. 

The phone ringing surprised him. “Oh, it’s you,” he said, not recognizing her voice at first. “What’s up?”

“Is it too late to call?”

Fish glanced at the clock. It was after eleven. “No, not at all. I’m still up. Everything all right?”

“Oh, I’m fine. I was just walking back from the play practice and got a little freaked out, that’s all.”

That didn’t sound like Rose’s usual character. “Were you alone?”

“Yes. I guess I shouldn’t have been. I suppose I thought that a tough ex-New Yorker like me should be able to handle a walk beneath the street lights across campus alone.”

“All the same, crimes happen in sleepy Pennsylvanian towns too,” Fish said. “I’d feel better, Miss Brier, if I knew you had an escort at times like this.”

“I know,” Rose sighed.

“So were you calling me just to tell me that you were all right?” he queried.

“No, I actually had a favor to ask you.”

“Ah.” He put his feet up on his desk and attempted to feel beneficent.

“I was wondering—if you have time—if you’d like to come up to the College two weeks from now. We’re having this big medieval festival and it’s sort of an open house day. People have their families visit, and since you’re sort of like family, and Mom and the others can’t come, I was wondering if you wanted to come up. That is, if you’re not busy.”

He half-smiled. She was obviously trying very hard not to make it look like she was asking him on a date. “When is it?”

“The fourth of October.”

“I suppose I can come for the afternoon. Is that a good time?”

“Oh, yes. I’m so glad. By the way, I suppose you figured this out, but I did get the part of Cordelia in the play.”

“Congratulations! So the director preferred the humorous Cordelia to the high and mighty one?”

“I guess so. I’m trusting his judgment.” She sighed.

“Quite a tragic role.” 

“Yes. It’s a very sad play, isn’t it? It’s gruesome, too, especially the part where the two evil sisters have poor Gloucester’s eyes gouged out. And Lear going mad, and Edgar pretending to go mad. And Cordelia getting hanged at the end. There’s just one terrible heartbreak after another.”

“Well, it’s one of the Bard’s more tragic tragedies. Could be why the modern sensibility finds it so appealing.”

She agreed. “I’m glad you can come. So I’ll see you in two weeks then?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Thanks, Fish.”

“Glad to be of service,” he said lightly. “Good night.”

 

Hers

 

The next morning, Saturday, was cool. Rose felt a bit nervous, going outside once again, and shivered in her warm jacket. Fish is right, she thought, I really should get someone to walk with me next time I have a late rehearsal. Campus etiquette said she could call any of the men’s dorms and ask for an escort at any time, but she was, simultaneously, both too shy and too independent to resort to that. It seemed like asking for male attention.

Not that I had any inhibitions about calling Fish, she thought with an inward groan. She had to get over him.

But she forgot her problem when she got to the cafeteria and found Paul already downing his third bowl of cereal. He was wearing jeans, a gray Army sweater, and bright red high-topped sneakers.

“Ready for barn hunting?” he asked cheerfully.

“Most emphatically,” she said, putting down her backpack and her special “Monster Bioethics Paper” yellow notebook where she was meticulously setting out what she needed for the dreaded paper.

“As soon as you’ve eaten, we’re good to fly,” he said when she returned with her plate of pancakes. “Do you know where to go?”

“I got permission and directions from my cousin Jerry, who’s actually a third cousin,” she said. “He owns the barn and house, but doesn’t use them except to store farming equipment. He just plows the fields every other season. He said we can go through the barn and take anything we want—except the combine or the tractor.”

Paul snorted his milk and recovered. “Sorry. That was funny. Okay. And we’re looking for your dad’s stuff.”

“Mom said it was all in file boxes in the hayloft,” Rose said, giggling at him. “I’m hoping that if it’s not much, I can just bring it back with me and go through it here. Otherwise, it might take a while.”

Paul nodded, wiping his face with a napkin. “That’s no problem. I don’t have too much homework to do today anyhow. I just have to find a nurse I can interview for my Anatomy class.”

“My mom’s a nurse,” Rose said. “She works in the emergency room in our local hospital in New Jersey.”

“Really? Hey, do you think she’d mind if I did a short interview with her?”

“Not at all. I can give you her number.” Rose tore out a page from her research notebook and scribbled her home number on it and passed it to Paul. “She’d be happy to do an interview.”

“Awesome! This helps me out a lot.”

After finishing breakfast, they walked out to Paul’s little green Honda with tattered seats and a dent in the rear bumper. At least Paul kept his car fairly clean. Rose admired cars with character.

As they drove they talked about tons of different topics—everything from Paul’s youth group at home to his experiences in Army boot camp, from martial arts to juggling, from careers to the possibility of running away and joining the circus, from summer movies to good books—until they found the unmarked driveway that led to the Brier’s old homestead.

“Wow, this place is in the middle of nowhere,” Paul said as they approached the ramshackle house and barn. They were in fields bordered by forests.

“Mom said the property backs up on the State Forest,” Rose said. “It’s pretty deserted.”

As they came up to the house, Rose sighed. “It’s so sad to see old houses like this, all shut up and neglected. Someone should be living here.”

“Yeah,” Paul nodded, looking at the two buildings. The house had peeling paint and the windows were boarded up. The doors of the old barn were swinging in the autumn winds. Paul pushed them apart for her, and Rose stepped into the dim light.

Inside was a jumble of dusty machinery and decaying straw. Rose picked her way down a narrow aisle between stalls. The middle of the barn was cleared out. There was a coil of old rope hanging from a nail in a supporting beam along one side. An old wooden ladder leaned against the beam next to the rope.

“Mom said the boxes were in the hayloft,” Rose said, looking up. Above the stalls, she could see a platform where some bales of hay were stacked.

“Wonder if that ladder’s any good?” Paul mused, taking it up in both hands and testing it. “Seems pretty solid.”  He leaned it against the platform. “Mind if I go up first?”

“Not at all,” Rose said. He scaled the ladder nimbly, and stepped easily onto the board floor of the loft.

“Whoa! Watch the edge! These boards don’t seem sturdy,” he said, testing them gingerly. He walked forward. “It’s a bit more solid here, but I’m staying on the beams, just to be sure.”

“Can I come up?” Rose asked, anxious to see what was up there.

“Sure. It’s a maze up here.  I don’t see any boxes.”

Rose cautiously climbed the ladder and got onto the hayloft. As Paul had said, the boards near the edges were creaking and loose. But the rest of the floor seemed firmer, though there were sudden gaps and missing boards. She walked carefully.

The platform was haphazardly stacked with hay bales, and Rose sneezed when she touched them. She picked her way among them, following Paul. At last they found, beneath the eaves of the barn, some shallow closets, doorless, where there were stacks of brown file boxes. They were covered with thick dust, but seemed to be dry and otherwise in good shape.

“These must be it!” Rose exclaimed, but her heart was sinking. There were at least twenty boxes. There was no way she could take them all home to look through.

“Which ones do you need?”

“The ones that have his notes from work,” Rose said. “Bother. I guess we’ll have to start going through them.”

“Like hunting for treasure!” Paul exclaimed, his eyes lighting up.

Rose was grateful for his spirit. She pulled the closest box towards her, and lifted the dusty lid. Its contents were covered with more dust and she carefully blew off the mixture of straw, dirt, and dust that had accumulated over twenty years. Paul did the same, and began looking through another box.

They quickly found that some of the boxes had financial records—old bank statements, credit card bills, cancelled checks—from when her dad was in college and even before. Others held high school memorabilia, and college papers. After pawing through some of these, Rose decided that she didn’t want to try to take any of the full boxes home with her. There was simply too much dust and dirt on them, and she doubted Kateri would want them in their dorm room.

Sighing, she set the battered top back on the box she had been looking through, and reached for another one.

After an hour and a half of looking, Paul found a box that had materials from the newspaper her dad had worked at. He and Rose looked through the back issues of the paper, and Paul commented on the intensely liberal bias of the paper. He turned a page and said, “But here’s an article defending the town Nativity Scene. And it’s by Daniel Brier—that must be your dad.”  He grinned and handed it over to Rose.

Rose read it, a smile on her face. It sounded like it had been written by Dad—actually, it sounded like it had been written by her. She read the whole thing twice just to savor it, and then realized Paul had been observing her.

“You must miss him,” he said quietly.

“Every minute,” she said, and put the paper aside in a separate pile. She would take it home with her.

They browsed through other copies of the paper, and then finally Rose said with a sigh, “I’m sorry, Paul. I just don’t think I can find anything here. I guess this was a wasted trip after all. It would be easier to do research in the library.”

“Well, this was interesting, wasn’t it? Finding out more about your dad?”

“Yes,” Rose admitted. “I’m glad I came.”

“How much you want to bet that if you come back another time, you’ll actually find the notes?” Paul said.

“I’m not sure,” she said reflectively. “How much would you bet?”

“Two hamburgers,” Paul said. “Or more.”

She glanced at him. “You must be hungry.”

“Starving.”

“Okay. Let’s go then. Paul, thanks so much for driving me out here.”

“Hey, it’s been a real adventure. You’ll come out here again sometime, won’t you? Let me know if you need to borrow my car again. I think that people getting in touch with their past is important.”

“I really appreciate it.” She slipped a few of the papers into her notebook to keep for sentimental reasons. Paul was separating the boxes they had already looked through from the untouched ones. “So we know where we left off,” he said.

As they came down the ladder, Paul pointed. “There’s a ladder on the wall. We could have used that one.” Rose looked and saw rungs of a ladder hammered into the wall running up to the loft.

“It’s further away from where we needed to go, though,” she said. “We’d have to crawl through all that hay to get over here.”

“Hey, Rose, you know the fifties dance next month?” Paul asked.

“Yeah, I heard about it,” she said, swallowing slightly and turning back around.

“There’s a dance contest. I’d like to enter. Would you want to be my partner?”

Okay, so this was a real date, even by non-Mercy College standards. The world seemed to swirl slightly, then she recovered, blushing. “Sure. That sounds like fun, Paul.”

“Great!” he exclaimed, opening the barn door for her. “I’ll sign us up.”

As they got into the car, she wondered to herself at how easy it was to begin a relationship with someone, particularly in college. It was almost as easy as Fish had predicted it would be... The thought made her redden again, but for a different reason. Was Fish right, after all? Would she really forget him so soon?

 

HIS

 

There were twenty-one days until his errand. He entered the appointment with the stylus of his electronic planner and counted the days again, not touching the small gray screen. Was there any way he could get out of it?

Scared, Denniston? Oh, I can see you’re scared now. Scared and you don’t know where to run.

“Damnation,” Fish said to the Palm Pilot, then closed the black leather flap of the case and slid it back into his briefcase. He should be studying. No point in taking all these extra classes if he wasn’t studying for them.

Getting himself a cup of tea with sugar, he sat down at his desk and turned the pages of his anthology to “The Eve of St. Agnes,” the long poem by John Keats. He read through it to himself.

 

St. Agnes’s Eve. Ah! Bitter cold it was!

The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold.

 

Here was something to distract him.  A romantic view of the Middle Ages, wonderfully executed, with lush imagery and vibrant language. Seeing as he had first read it while sitting in a prison cell in juvenile detention, the verse had seemed particularly powerful to him, a colorful contrast to the dreariness, banality, and senseless violence that had surrounded him then.  Escapism? Or something more real than reality?

But according to the commentaries he had picked up from the library, the whole poem was actually the erotic fantasy of a severely repressed man, telling the story of a lying male predator who tricks his victim by twisting and exploiting her religious beliefs.  It was depressing.

  Fish had to admit that there was something a bit untoward about the situation: the hero creeping into his love’s bedroom on St. Agnes Eve to present himself as the husband she is hoping to dream of, according to a pious custom.  But the professors writing about the poem were so crass he was disgusted.

You’d think no one really believes in love any longer, he reflected to himself, thumbing the angry pages of one recently-published commentary. Everyone seems as cynical as those teenaged criminals I used to know in JD.

Maybe I’ll just stick to doing an analysis of the medieval imagery since the meaning of the poem is so controversial, he decided. He had always taken pleasure in literature. And being able to concentrate on it now was a welcome change from the larger issues in his life. He couldn’t escape the effects of prison cells and captivity, even here.

 

Hers

 

A week later, the phone awoke Rose.

“Hi, Rose. Am I calling too early?”

“Blanche!” Rose exclaimed, sitting up in bed. “How are you?”

“Oh, pretty deliriously happy. How are you?”

“Just tired,” Rose stifled a yawn. “I was at play practice until late last night. Then I met up with Alex, Leroy, and Paul and we watched a movie until three.”

“What did you watch?”

“Some superhero movie that they all watched when they were kids. It was a Japanese film. There was a dinosaur and a giant pigeon smashing Tokyo.”

“Sounds mentally invigorating.”

“It was. These guys are so weird, but I like them.”

“How are your classes?” Blanche asked in her older sister voice.

“Great. Super. It’s so nice to study things that are actually interesting. I’ve been working hard on my bioethics paper. Paul is in that class with me. He actually drove me out to the barn to find some of dad’s notes for my topic, but we haven’t found any yet.”

“Now that’s the second time you’ve mentioned Paul on this phone call.”

“He’s really, really cool, Blanche,” Rose sighed. “I’ve never met anyone like him. You’d think someone smart like him would be more jaded or unhappy, but he’s just like a little kid. Except he’s tall. We have a lot of fun together. He asked me to go to the fifties dance with him.”

“Do you like him?”

“I guess I sort of do. Well, you can’t not like a person like Paul. It’s almost impossible. You might think he’s shallow, but I know enough about goodness to know that he’s not.”

“How’s Kateri doing?”

“Barely being a student. She’s so busy! I never see her.”

“She’s a Kovach,” Blanche sighed. “Activism is in her blood.”

 “So—let me see—Blanche, I can’t remember why I called you,” Rose scratched her head.

“I called you,” her sister reminded her. “You must have been thinking about calling me.”

“I was. Fish might be coming up here in a week.”

“Oh, really? Why?”

Rose confessed, “I invited him. Since you guys can’t come up for the medieval festival on family weekend.”

“So you invited him as substitute family?”

“Well, yes, sort of. Maybe I shouldn’t have. But—I sort of need to see him and Paul at the same time. To decide. You know?”

“I think I know,” Blanche said with a sigh.

“Are you disappointed in me? I know you want me to get over him,” Rose said.

“I know your heart, Rose. You’re very loyal. It will take time.”

“So, anyhow, why did you call me?” Rose tried valiantly to change the subject.

“Just to ask you how you would like being an aunt.”

“An aunt???? Ahhh! Congratulations!” Rose whooped, rolling over in bed and leaping onto the floor. “When is the baby coming?”

Her sister laughed, a bit nervous. “My gosh, this is so strange, Rose, to be telling you this. We weren’t sure for a long time, but the baby’s coming in April. I think. Well, Mom thinks.”

“Is Mom totally excited?”

“Of course. She’s just beside herself. I told her I want to have the baby at home, if I can, and I want her to be there.”

“At home? Are you sure?”

“Bear and I are looking into it. Because of my medical history, I might not be able to. But we’ll see,” Blanche said. “Say a prayer for me, okay?”

“Okay. Blanche, I am so, so, so excited.”

“Same here. And Bear sends his love, as usual.”

 

HIS

 

Fish found himself thinking again about the “Eve of St. Agnes” as he drove to Meyerstown and Mercy College for the medieval festival. Funny how the Middle Ages continued to inspire people. Keats tried to recreate it in the early 1800’s. And here was a Catholic college doing the same thing today. Almost a fundamental human impulse in the modern age. Why was that?

As Fish walked down the sidewalk at Mercy College to the Student Commons where the medieval festival was being held, he noticed several passersby in costume—one dressed as a jester and strumming a guitar, several gowned ladies, and a nun in brown sackcloth with a full flowing veil. After he passed the last one, he found himself wondering if it was a costume or real religious garb. Mercy College was a Catholic school, after all.

When he reached the Commons, he found a throng of students, professors, and children all dressed in colorful medieval clothing. He felt a bit drab and out of place in his black pants and dark shirt. He wandered around aimlessly when suddenly he caught sight of Rose. She was carrying her violin and wearing a gypsy outfit, with a full red skirt, white shirt and multi-colored headscarf. As she ran over to him he noticed she had bare feet—in October!—and jingle bells on her ankles.

“Fish!” she exclaimed. “There you are! You missed our songs—I was playing violin with some other students who had a gypsy band and we just finished our last set. But I’m so glad you could make it.”

“It was a nice drive out,” Fish said, putting his hands in his pockets awkwardly. “Sorry I missed your violin playing. I always enjoy it. Nice costume.”

“Thanks. I hope you don’t feel out of place. Why don’t you come over and meet the gypsy band? We could loan you a cape.”

“Uh, no thanks.”

“Well, they seem to have scattered already—There’s Kateri! Hi roomie!”  Rose waved excitedly. “Come over here!” To Fish she asked, “Do you remember Kateri from the wedding?”

“I don’t know,” Fish was saying, as a girl in a long shining satin green gown and flower wreath bustled over to them, holding up her skirts to come faster. Her feet were also bare. (What was it with girls and bare feet?)   She had long, thick black hair and thin braids wrapped in gaily colored thread, and Asian eyes with a round tan face.

He put out his hand. “Benedict Denniston.”

She shook it, giving him a hard handshake, but her keen black eyes were laughing. “Kateri Kovach,” she said. “But I’ve met you before, Fish. I was a bridesmaid at Blanche’s wedding.”

“Oh,” he was confused. “You were?” He didn’t remember anyone with long thread-wrapped braids at the wedding.

“I had my hair up,” she said, guessing his thoughts and shaking her mane. “People always say they don’t recognize me when I dress up. Don’t worry, I’m used to it.”

Fish paused. “By any chance, you wouldn’t happen to be leading any protests around here?”

Her eyes sparked. “My reputation precedes me,” she said, folding her arms. “Yes, I do a bit of that. Sort of in the family tradition.”

He shook his head at her. “I’d be careful, if I were you.” He told her about meeting Dr. Prosser and the conversation at the French restaurant.

“Wow,” said Rose. “They did a background check on you, Kateri.” She seemed impressed.

Kateri shrugged. “I should have expected that. They did the same with my brothers and sister. It goes with the territory, being an outlaw.” She grinned at Fish mischievously. “My older brothers held sit-ins at abortion clinics and spent a couple of years in jail. I’ve barely done anything at that level. All I do is go downtown with a few signs and a few friends, and tell the truth. Not much to that.”  She jostled him. “You should come down with us some time. Rose here would go but she always has play practice.”

“I did go once,” Rose said loyally.

“What exactly is going on down there?” Fish asked.

“They do abortions, even partial-birth and full-term abortions, when the baby could be born with no problem,” Kateri said, crossing her arms and looking serious for the first time. “They’ll encourage women to abort their babies if there’s a chance the baby might be handicapped. I’ve even heard reports that they euthanize homeless people who are taken to their emergency room. They seem to have no respect for human life—it’s merely a commodity.”

 “Are you sure that’s true, about the euthanasia?” Fish asked dubiously.

Kateri nodded. “Sure as I can be. I’ve talked to former workers there, but none of them want to go on the record. This Prosser lady is the director. I’ve had a run-in or two with her before. A very cold fish, sorry for the pun.”

“I hope you’re not planning on bombing the hospital or anything,” Fish said. “They certainly seem to think you will.”

Kateri frowned. “They’re fantasizing because we make them scared. They have to give themselves something material to be afraid of. But what they’re afraid of is the truth. No, I’m never going to give them the satisfaction of returning their violence with violence. That’s not our way.”  She looked at Fish seriously. “You can’t stop this kind of evil with guns and bombs. What we do is public, nonviolent protest to keep speaking the truth.”  She tossed her hair back with her hands, and Fish noticed it took both her hands to do it. “Like I said, come down and see sometime.”

“Maybe,” he admitted.

She stretched. “I’m going to go do some folk dancing. Rose, you going to come?”

“In a minute,” Rose said, quickly glancing at Fish, who tried to make himself look like the sort of person who didn’t do folk dancing.

Kateri waved and strode off, her green dress glinting in the October sunlight. Some flowers were falling out of her wreath and the petals blew away as she walked, scattered to the wind.

“So that’s Kateri,” he said. “I guess I didn’t remember her from the wedding.”

“I don’t see how you could have. All the Kovachs were there. She’s number ten of eleven. They’re a really wild family. I dearly love them all. Her brother Adam was my hero for the longest time. I thought I was going to marry him when I grew up, but he’s already married, with about three kids.” She sighed. “The Kovachs are fascinating. Do you know who I think they really are?”

“Who?” Fish asked, half-smiling. He knew Rose was going to tell him.

“Outlaws, in the grand tradition of Robin Hood. For one thing, they have almost no money, but you’d never know it. And they hunt, and trap, and raise chickens, and make almost everything they need, or they grow it. And it’s true that her older brothers used to lead protests and get arrested when they were at Mercy College. Only back then it was abortion clinics—they’ve been shut down now. The Kovachs are all tremendous readers and thinkers, and really sharp about politics and issues and things like that. Kateri has more courage than any other girl I know. She’s been my best friend and Blanche’s for as long as I can remember. We used to live down the street from them when we had our farm in New Jersey. And that’s one big reason I decided to come to Mercy College, because this is where the Kovachs all went. But most of them didn’t finish school. They ran out of money, or they got married, or spent too much time in jail. Kateri will probably end up that way too. She just has too much energy and fire to stay at school.”

“Hmm,” Fish said. “I hope she’s careful.”

“Oh, she is. She’s a Kovach. No one can outwit a Kovach. They’re all foxes,” Rose said confidently. “Let me go and stash my violin and then I’ll show you around.”

They walked around the Commons together, looking at the different sights. Music of drums and pipes played in the background. Professors in medieval garb—some wearing their academic robes—sat around tables with students drinking ale and talking. Children with cardboard shields and wooden swords and capes dashed around shouting playfully. Some girls in gowns with wreaths on their heads danced in a big circle.

Fish noticed several guys in black doing sword work in the soccer field. Rose glanced at him and noticed where his attention was. “Oh, I have to introduce you to the Cor guys. They’re like the campus knights.”

“How about we get some food?” he said, a bit stiffly.

“Okay,” she glanced at him, surprised. He couldn’t really explain his reaction to himself, let alone to her.

They had some food, and watched the living chess match. As the game ended, the music struck up again and the players and audience began spontaneously dancing a kind of modified Virginia reel. Fish saw Kateri dancing with a boy in a monk’s costume.

Rose touched his arm and he glanced at her.

“Would you dance with me?” she asked timidly, looking up at him.

She was always asking for something from him. He looked at her. Her grey-green eyes were a bit wistful. Funny how her eyes changed colors, almost with her moods. When he had first seen her about an hour ago, he could have sworn her eyes were blue.

“For old time’s sake?” she asked.

“All right,” he said.

He took her hands and twirled her slowly to the music. She turned back to face him, and took his hands with a serious expression that made him smile. He led her into a promenade with the other dancers.

“How’s the play going?” he asked by way of making conversation.

“Fine,” she said, but her face was worried. Gray eyes.

“Do you like the part?” he queried.

“I do, and the director is great, but I’m not getting along so well with some of the other cast members,” she confessed, speaking quietly. He noticed she glanced around as she spoke. He supposed that perhaps some of them were nearby in the costumed crowd.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I have a hard time connecting with the guy who plays Lear. He’s not that great, not at this point. Plus, well, I think he likes me, and that’s distracting. He’s nice, but I don’t like him, if you know what I mean.”  She looked up at him as he twirled her again and her red skirt flared out around her.

“That must be difficult,” he said.

“It is. But the worst part is Goneril and Regan—the girls who play them, I mean. The one girl, Donna, just doesn’t like me. Oh, sometimes she’s very nice, and I try to be nice back, but it’s sort of a sugar-coated meanness. Same with Tara, her friend, who’s playing Regan.  And, well, I just want to do the play. I’m not trying to antagonize them, but the director chose me to play Cordelia. It’s just difficult.”

“Sounds like it,” he was concerned. “You mean this is the same Donna who wanted the part of Cordelia?”

“Yes, that’s her. She’s Goneril. She does a wonderful job. I keep telling her that whenever I get a chance, but she just stares coldly at me.”

“Is she around here?” Fish asked, noticing that Rose kept glancing over her shoulder.

“As a matter of fact, she was—she and Tara—wait, they’re over there.”  Rose indicated with a nod of her head a corner of the courtyard. Fish saw two girls dressed in medieval gowns that had a bit of a lower cut than most of the other girls. One was a tall striking blond. The other was shorter, heavy-set, and was smoking. The blond looked in their direction, and Fish didn’t care for her expression.

“Strange lady,” he said as he turned away from them.

“I think she’s had a rough life,” Rose confided. “So it’s not all her fault.”  Her gaze brightened and her eyes were green again. “Look! There’s Dr. Dawson! He’s one of my favorite professors. Do you mind meeting him?”

“No, not at all,” he said, trying to be affable.

Dr. Dawson was a thin man with glasses and gray hair and a courtly grace. He shook Fish’s hand warmly and was most interested to hear he was doing his doctorate work at the university.

“That’s where I did my masters,” he said. “Do you know Dr. Anschlung?”

“She’s my boss. I’m her assistant.”

“Wonderful woman. Very, very brilliant. She was my director. You couldn’t do better. Why don’t you and Rose join us at our table? This is my wife Gianna and our children.”

Fish found himself introduced to a smiling blond woman and an assortment of children. The Dawsons had brought a picnic lunch and were happy to share. It was clear from Rose’s talking with the children that she was a familiar figure with the family. Fish found out she had babysat for the Dawson children on a few occasions.

“Rose tells the best stories,” one little boy with tousled black hair informed him.

They spent the rest of the time with the Dawson family, and Fish noticed other professors and their families sharing their meals with the students as well. The head of the school, a priest, Father Corrigan, got up and gave a spirited address in medieval style about the day and about the school. Everyone cheered and booed at the appropriate places. Fish, observing from his place beside Rose, sensed a markedly different atmosphere from the anonymous collegiality one found at his university. Certainly not all the students were “into” the festival—he saw some of the students on the outskirts standing aloof and bored as any world-weary teenager. But most of them seemed to be joining in the fun with alacrity.  Rose certainly was.

Driving home, he reflected that the day had been relaxing and fairly uneventful. Aside from wanting to dance with him, Rose had treated him with the most platonic attitude possible, and he was mildly surprised that she seemed to be taking his advice about going on with her life. I shouldn’t be so suspicious of her motives, he chastised himself. He had told Rose that he would continue to be friends with her. She was showing him that she was capable of it. He supposed he should return the favor.