LITMIR.BIZ

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centered the trophy on the mantel.

      Struggling to her feet, Sally sputtered, “Monster!”

      Juliet straightened her skirt and blazer and tried to refasten her carnation. Frustrated, she tore the flower off and threw it into the fire.

      “Really, folks,” DiSalvo said and shook his head.

      “I know, Henry. I apologize,” Juliet offered, and glanced angrily at her daughter.

      Sally rubbed at her throat, looked woefully at Jenny, walked over to take her lover’s hand, and stood her up in front of the divan. To Sonny, Sally rasped, “If you don’t break free from her, you’ll never have a life, Sonny. Money isn’t that important.”

      Pausing, she looked in turn at Sonny, at her mother, and at DiSalvo. Softly she said, “Money isn’t really anything at all,” and escorted Jenny from the room.

      PHILLIPS Royce, chairman of the art department at Millersburg College, turned up the drive to Favor Manor behind Daniel’s small tractor. He followed slowly in the track the plow cleared and came up to the oval in front of the house, wiper blades snapping at the snow and ice. Instead of parking in front, where there were several other cars angled into a snowbank, Royce followed Daniel’s plow back around the east side of the house to the north, and parked in the rear. He stepped out into the blizzard, huddled next to the car, fought the wind to close the door, and sprinted to one of the back doors.

      Inside, the art professor stomped his boots without closing the door tightly, and this brought loud complaints from the three cooks working in the spacious kitchen to his left. He turned back to close the door, but Daniel pushed in behind him. The butler closed the door with effort and caught a stern look from one of the cooks, who reached up to steady several pans and skillets that had started banging in the draft from the open door. Bliss left his long black dress coat on and helped Royce out of his coat. He took a whisk-broom hanging on the doorknob and knelt to brush snow from the professor’s pants and boots.

      Phillips Royce was a small man of fifty-nine, not much taller than Juliet Favor. He pulled off a knit skullcap to reveal a large, clean-shaven head. He had big eyes and wore thick, black-rimmed glasses. His black mustache was full and long, covering most of his upper lip and twisting out into fancy, waxed curls on either end. He was dressed in a brown corduroy suit, with worn leather patches at the elbows. He twisted the ends of his mustache carefully, thanked Daniel, and ascended the stairs at the rear of the house without further comment.

      The staircase led to a vestibule at the back of the house on the second floor, where there were doors to two bedrooms separated by a long hall. He went directly to the west bedroom and halted before opening the door. Inside, he heard the playful voices of two young, drunk women. At the door to the east bedroom he heard nothing. He turned back, passed down the middle hall, and came out at the top landing of the front staircase. Here was another hall, perpendicular to the first, giving access to the master bedroom. At the west end of this hall, he stopped to listen again to the women’s voices, now on his right, and then entered a door on his left, to the master bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he removed his old boots, fluffed two big pillows, and lay back against the head of the bed.

      In a few minutes, Juliet came in from the master bath. She took off her blazer and threw it on the foot of the bed. With her blue skirt hitched above her knees, she climbed onto the bed and moved on hands and knees to Royce.

       7

      Friday, November 1

      9:00 P.M.

      ON THE front steps of Martha’s dorm, her Amish friend, Ben Schlabaugh, said, “That boy’s not treating you right, and you’d better believe it.”

      Martha stood shivering with the door propped open and said, “How many really nice things do you have, Ben? What’s wrong with wanting nice things?”

      “You shouldn’t be smoking that silly weed,” Ben said. He buttoned his denim jacket, turned up his collar, and put on his black hat.

      Martha let the door close a little and took a step back.

      “When can I see you?” Ben asked.

      “You don’t approve of me,” Martha said matter-of-factly.

      “You know how I feel about you, Martha,” Ben complained. “Always have, and you know it.”

      “You saved my life once,” Martha said. “I’m grateful, really I am. But that doesn’t mean we’re going out.”

      Schlabaugh drew gloves out of his hip pocket, put them on, and slapped his palms together. He tipped his hat and said, “I’m not giving up.”

       8

      Friday, November 1

      9:20 P.M.

      IN A PEACH and rose evening gown, Juliet Favor descended the grand staircase to the foyer and was greeted enthusiastically by several guests holding drinks. She tarried among them, enjoying their attentions, as she inquired about each professor or administrator. On passing through the parlor, she picked up several more people in her train and moved casually, chatting amiably, into the spacious dining room. There, a large oval table was set for dinner. Daniel stood formally, immaculate in his tuxedo. With him were six Amish children, hired as servers for the evening. The children were dressed in plain Amish garb, denim trousers and vests for the boys, and matching dark plum dresses with white aprons and prayer caps for the girls. They were “pin” Amish, from an Old Order sect that eschewed buttons, fastening their clothes with straight pins. They lived on a farm adjoining the Favor property, across the road from a family of “Knopfer,” or button Amish, who held neither conversation nor fellowship with their backward neighbors.

      At Daniel’s signal, the children took up positions evenly spaced around the oval table. Favor stood at the middle of the table, with her back to a large bay window. Floodlights outside reflected off the snow and cast a white, high-key light into the room.

      The president, dean, and their faculty, almost all of them chairpersons of an academic department or program, found their seats by consulting place cards on the dinner plates. When Juliet sat, they all sat.

      With her back to the west, Juliet had Daniel behind her, standing before serving tables that lined the long curve of the bay window. Harry Favor had added the window and its built-in tables when he enlarged the room some years ago so that Juliet could entertain on a grand scale. The food was laid out in chafing dishes on these tables. As the servers finished pouring wine and water, Favor lifted her glass to make a toast. The guests lifted their glasses with her.

      “To a new era at Millersburg College,” Favor proclaimed. “To new things and new ways.”

      Around the table, the guests collectively made their responses, some enthusiastically, others murmuring. As President Laughton rose to make a toast, Favor signaled for him to take his seat. He missed her signal and started to talk, at which point Favor said, “Arne, please. Let’s save that sort of thing for later.” Red-faced, the president sat down.

      Annoyed, Favor cut short her remarks and brought business to the fore. “You will each find,” she said, “an envelope at your plate. These are my responses to your various funding proposals to the Harry Favor Trust Foundation. Some of you will be pleased, but, I’m afraid, in most cases, we’ve had to make significant cutbacks. You each have an appointment slip for tomorrow, when we can negotiate your cases individually.”

      Favor stopped and watched as most of the guests at the table began to open their envelopes. She saw that only Michael Branden and Dean William Coffee refrained, and smiled.

      “Please,” Favor said. “You can read those later. For the moment, Daniel has prepared an excellent meal. Please indicate your choice of entrée to the waiter assigned to you.”

      While three of the children served the first course, the other three circulated to take orders. Favor sat quietly for the most part during the meal. The several questions put to her about budgets she deflected adroitly, keeping the conversation

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