Although Kate was distressed about the fire and Hawthorne’s ordeal, she was far more distressed that someone had thought it necessary to put the news stories in her mailbox. The stories didn’t discredit Hawthorne but they formed a slur, a black mark that could affect his connection with the men and women at Bishop’s Hill. After all, he was trying to get them to trust him.

At the meeting the previous afternoon, there had been several more faculty members than on Tuesday but a number made it clear they were there under duress. Chip hadn’t come and Clifford Evings had fallen asleep. Fritz Skander had forgotten to bring certain files. Roger Bennett had some complaint about having to return a television that he had borrowed from the school the previous year. One of the science teachers, Tom Hastings, had wanted to know “what all this fuss was about” Chip’s stopping a girl who was running in the hall, which had led to a discussion of Jessica Weaver. Kate had defended the girl, saying that she did very well in Spanish even though she made a point of being rude to the other students. Bennett asked if that was the girl who had worked as a stripper and Mrs. Sherman had said, “Stripper? What stripper?” Afterward there had been limp crackers, hard cheese, and cider with too much fizz. It hadn’t been a successful occasion.

Kate drove home along Antelope Road. It was almost dark and her headlights caught the flash of orange from the turning leaves of the maples. She picked Todd up at Shirley Hodges’s, then took him home to make dinner. Todd was blond, and tall for a second grader. He was excited about some science project involving crickets, but Kate gave him only half an ear as she continued to think of the fire at Wyndham School and what Hawthorne had gone through. At eight o’clock, she planned to go to Skander’s for a little while with the other faculty. She wondered if everyone had received the same news stories in their mailboxes and how that would affect the evening.

In the end, Kate almost didn’t go. She knew it might be unpleasant, and there was no one she cared to talk to except perhaps for Hawthorne himself. But that very consideration led her to make the effort—not that she was so eager to talk to Hawthorne, but she felt hopeful about his arrival at Bishop’s Hill. And because she was sure that hers was the minority point of view, she wanted to go to Skander’s to express it. Consequently, when the baby-sitter arrived at seven-forty-five, she kissed Todd good night, reminded him to brush his teeth, and drove off into the dark.

Skander greeted Kate at the door and took her coat. He wore a bright red cardigan with gold buttons. “Punctuality,” he said as he beamed at her, “is a wonderful gift.” Then, before she could respond, he went on, “Did you receive those news clippings in your box? I’m afraid everybody did. I can’t imagine who would have done such a thing. Everybody’s talking about it. Jim will be terribly upset. He’s quite shy, you know. We’ll have to look out for him.”

Skander lived with his wife and ten-year-old son at the far end of the Bishop’s Hill campus, beyond the six dormitory cottages, in one of the five brown-shingled houses reserved for faculty. Some guests had arrived already but not Hawthorne. Chip Campbell was talking to Roger Bennett in front of the fireplace, where several logs were burning. Chip had a beer; Bennett had a handful of carrot sticks. Bennett’s wife, the school chaplain, sat on the couch talking to Mrs. Sherman, the art teacher, who had the house next to the Skanders’. The chaplain was heavyset, serious, and slightly older than her husband. In fact, as Kate had thought before, she was the more masculine of the two. Not that Roger was especially effeminate, but he had a giddiness and a nervous laugh that at times struck Kate as girlish. The Reverend Bennett was definitely a no-nonsense woman—at least Kate had never seen her laugh—and she wore tweed skirts and thick, serious shoes.

Betty Sherman wore a dark blue skirt and a colorful peasant blouse. She looked distressed as she listened to Harriet Bennett. Betty was given to theatrical gestures and Kate had not been drawn to her until she had learned that she lived alone with her son, who was retarded in some way. Then Kate had thought how difficult her life must be. No one, as far as Kate could recall, had ever mentioned a husband.

Observing Chip and Roger Bennett, the chaplain and Mrs. Sherman, Kate realized they were all talking about what had happened in San Diego. She heard references to the fire and saw the earnestness of their faces. Mixed with it was a sort of charged inquisitiveness, the excitement of news that temporarily took them out of their daily routines. Hilda Skander came out of the kitchen followed by Bill Dolittle, the librarian, carrying a tray of cookies. Dolittle wore a white turtleneck that emphasized the roundness of his belly. He had been divorced years ago and had a son who was a sophomore at Plymouth State. Dolittle put the cookies on the dining room table and gave Kate a little wave. Hilda Skander smiled at her.

Hilda was like a smaller version of her husband, shapeless and bustling, but her face was pointier. She wore a denim jumper that nearly reached her ankles and had short graying hair. She said something to Bill Dolittle and they both returned to the kitchen.

Kate thought again how these people had been living in close proximity to one another for years. Although not a family, they were familylike. They shared a history. In fact, there were not many friendships among them and they often complained and gossiped about one another. But their joint interest in Bishop’s Hill kept them from drifting too far apart. Kate had wondered, with a fear approaching dread, if she would become like them, and the thought made her determined to put a time limit on her position at the school. As long as George stayed difficult, however, it was doubtful that she could move from the area. In eleven years Todd would be eighteen and ready to go to college. But Kate swore she’d rather cut off her left foot than remain at Bishop’s Hill for that length of time.

The doorbell rang and Skander bustled over to answer it. Kate joined Chip and Roger at the fireplace. It was a cozy living room with colonial-style furniture and horse-and-buggy patterns on the wallpaper. The air smelled of wood smoke and cinnamon. The fire crackled. Chip stood with his back to it, warming his legs. He wore a blue Bishop’s Hill sweatshirt and matching sweatpants. Chip coached the swim team and tended to exaggerate his affiliation to sports, though he wasn’t particularly athletic. He also ran the school football pool and was always collecting money from one person or another. Several times he had offered to explain the system to Kate and was surprised when she showed no interest, as if she had expressed no interest in daylight or breathing.

“So what do you think of our new headmaster,” Chip asked her, “pursuing the fleshpots as his wife and daughter burned?”

Kate found herself stiffening. “I don’t believe that’s actually what happened.”

Bennett offered her a carrot stick and she shook her head. “Certainly it was unfortunate for him to be away from the school,” said Bennett, “whatever his motives.”

“Why shouldn’t he be away from the school for an evening? Anyway, perhaps it was entirely business,” said Kate.

“She was too pretty for business,” said Chip.

Bennett tittered, then said, “I must say that his credentials were rather impressive. I wonder what he’s doing at Bishop’s Hill.”

Chip had his bottle of Budweiser raised to his lips and he arched his eyebrows. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he said, “Fritz suggested that he might write a book about us.”

“Oh my. Harriet will be pleased. So that’s why he came here?”

“It’s about the only thing that makes sense unless he’s doing the dirty with that little ex-stripper.”