“Our own Lolita.”

Kate found their joking disagreeable. “Who do you think put the clippings in the mailboxes?”

“That’s just what we’ve been wondering,” said Bennett, lowering his voice.

“Some do-gooder, most likely,” said Chip, giving Kate a wink.

“Did you do it?”

“Not me, but I don’t mind that it was done. This stuff should be out in the open.”

Kate began to ask what kind of stuff Chip meant, but it was too early to start an argument. Still, she couldn’t keep herself from making a small jab of her own.

“And that’s why you’ve missed those two meetings? To keep stuff out in the open?”

Roger laughed. “He probably wanted to be out in the open himself. You know, hunting or fishing.”

Chip frowned. “I just don’t have time for that bullshit.”

Roger patted Chip’s shoulder solicitously and raised an eyebrow. “I just hope you don’t make our new headmaster too cross.”

Kate moved away before she heard Chip’s answer. She felt exasperated with both of them. Looking around, she saw Skander at the door with Gene Strauss, the admissions director, and his wife, Emily. Strauss also taught shop, automotive mechanics, and seventh-grade math. He, his wife, and teenage daughter lived in another of the faculty houses; he had been at the school for thirty years. Kate couldn’t imagine how effective he was as a director of admissions since he always looked slightly dour.

In the next ten minutes, Kate spoke to nearly everyone in the room. Five more people arrived but not Hawthorne. Kate hoped he wouldn’t come. Everyone had read the articles and held opinions about what had happened. A few were critical, a few were worried, though none appeared concerned about who had put the articles in the mailboxes. “Bound to come out sooner or later,” Strauss had said. Several people mentioned being impressed by Hawthorne’s reputation. Betty Sherman told Kate that she’d heard something about a book contract. “It would certainly put our little school on the map,” she said.

Kate sipped a cup of mulled cider and listened to the conversations around her. At times someone’s talk would shift to a student or the faculty meeting the previous day, but again and again the topic returned to the fire at Wyndham School. The news clippings had become part of the information they were using to determine what Hawthorne would do at Bishop’s Hill. Nobody felt better because of what they knew, but some were more unnerved than others and several times Kate heard Chip Campbell repeat his remark about “fleshpots.”

For Kate the dozen or so people in the living room were all extensions of Bishop’s Hill and as much a part of the school as its architecture. It was the center of their lives, their home and place of confinement. It was safe and unsurprising even if they disliked it and wished to be elsewhere. Their only uncertainty was Hawthorne. Though it wasn’t him they feared but change—Hawthorne was merely the instrument of change or potential change, because other than the Tuesday-Thursday faculty meetings and putting out litter baskets and making the faculty park behind Douglas Hall, little had happened. But that wasn’t quite true. Hawthorne was also asking faculty members to return various articles they had borrowed, things like lawn mowers and sporting equipment. Ted Wrigley, the other language teacher, had been asked to return a pair of pruning shears that he had borrowed in May. Much had been hinted and more was expected. Everyone knew the school was in trouble and dire remedies were being explored. Kate could see how the clippings might fortify her colleagues. To resist Hawthorne because he was new and had ideas other than their own was hardly tenable, but if his credibility could be diminished, that was something else again.

It was eight-twenty before Hawthorne arrived, giving a rap on the door and ringing the doorbell. Then he entered without waiting for the door to be opened. His face was flushed from the cold and he wore khakis and a dark green sweater. His glasses steamed over as he shut the door behind him. He took them off and wiped them on a handkerchief, then rubbed his hands together as he approached Skander, who made his way toward him, beaming.

Kate was standing by the dining room table talking to Ted Wrigley, who taught German and French. Ted kept eating small spice cookies dusted in powdered sugar and the lapels of his sport coat were spotted with white. Ted was a little older than Kate and had a young wife who had remained home with the baby. Kate thought he must have been awfully ravaged by acne as an adolescent because his face was pockmarked with scars. He was very shy. The students complained they couldn’t hear him in class and had nicknamed him the Phantom because of his whispering. Despite his timidity, he had objected to giving back the pruning shears, as if doing so acknowledged some offense on his part. “Certainly, I meant to return them,” he repeated. Kate gathered that Hawthorne hadn’t spoken to Wrigley himself but had asked the head of the grounds crew to round up missing equipment.

Kate was struck by Wrigley’s expression as he watched Hawthorne enter. It wasn’t hostile but there was a chill to it: Hawthorne was Other, the outsider. And as she looked around the room, she saw this expression again and again—on Chip Campbell and Roger Bennett, on practically everyone.

None of this showed in Skander, who was effusive as he welcomed Hawthorne and led him to the dining room table. “We have coffee—decaf and regular—as well as mulled cider.” Then, lowering his voice: “Or something stronger, if you’d prefer. Beer, wine . . .”

“Regular coffee would be fine,” said Hawthorne. “Black.” He greeted Kate and Ted Wrigley, shaking hands with both.

“What a constitution you must have. It would keep me awake all night.” At that moment Skander’s wife signaled to him from the door to the kitchen. “Excuse me,” he said, and hurried off.

Hawthorne turned toward Kate. “I was glad that you spoke up about Jessica Weaver in the meeting yesterday. She’s been having difficulty with her roommate and a number of others in her dorm. She’s got quite a tongue on her.”

“I like her,” said Kate, moving away from Ted. “She learns very quickly and I like her energy, but I can see that she’s unpopular with the other students.”

Hawthorne leaned toward her and said more quietly, “I’m sure she had no idea she’d be coming here till a few days before she actually arrived. The application didn’t come in until after the first week in September. As Fritz said, ‘It’s not as if we didn’t have plenty of room.’ Her stepfather took her out of the strip club and gave her the choice of coming here or being turned over to the courts.”

“Then no wonder she’s angry. I’d be angry myself.” Glancing around the room, Kate saw several of the faculty watching them. She realized that Hawthorne knew nothing about the news clippings. She wanted to tell him but the moment seemed awkward.

Fritz Skander came out of the kitchen and quickly rejoined Hawthorne. “Come and say hello to Hilda. She’s eager to see you.” Hawthorne smiled and shrugged his shoulders at Kate as Skander led him away.

In the next few minutes Hawthorne made his way around the room, shaking hands and greeting the teachers who were under his charge. Despite his courtesy, there was a coolness that Kate attributed to shyness. She found herself next to the nurse, Alice Beech, who had arrived just before Hawthorne.

Alice was watching Hawthorne talk to Gene Strauss. “He doesn’t know those clippings were put in our mailboxes,” she told Kate. “I’d like to shake whoever did it.”

“What do you think’s going to happen?” asked Kate.

The nurse crossed her arms over her chest. She wore jeans and an orange sweater. “I think somebody’s going to tell him, but it’s not going to be me.”

“People are saying that he means to write a book about Bishop’s Hill,” said Kate, then blushed a little at finding herself repeating the current gossip.