sixty-one years but on his deathbed had recited Milton's Paradise Lost without a stumble), and of course family letters in their hundreds.
The labor of organizing such a large body of material was slow, given that all the Society's workers were volunteers. Two of the schoolhouse's five rooms were still piled high with boxes of unsorted gifts, but for those visitors interested in Everville's past, the remaining three rooms offered a pleasant, if somewhat over-tidy, glimpse of the early days.
It was highly selective of course, but then so were most history lessons. There was no place in this celebration of the Evervillian spirit for the darker side; for images of destitution, or suicide, or worse. No room, either, for any individual who didn't fit the official version of how things had come to be. There were pictures of the city in its infancy, and accounts of how its roads were laid and its fine houses built. But of Maeve O'Connell, who had ventured to the shores of another world, and returned to make her father's dream real, there was no sign. And in that disinheritance lay the seeds of Everville's undoing.
Phoebe was a little late coming for Erwin, but he was all politeness. He was soriy to be inconveniencing her this way, he said, but it really was urgent business. No, he couldn't really tell her what it was about, but it would be public knowledge before very long, and he'd be certain to thank her for her kindness in print. There was no need, she insisted; but she'd be very grateful if after the weekend she could come and pick his brains in a legal matter. He readily agreed. was she planning to make a will?
No, she said, I'm planning to divorce my husband. to which he replied divorce was not really his area of expertise but he'd be happy to chat with her about it In confidence, she said. Of course, he told her. She should drop by his offices on Monday morning.
The schoolhouse was still baking hot, even though it was now close to six, and while Phoebe went around raising the blinds and opening the windows, Erwin wandered from room to stifling room, peering at the pictures. "Can you tell me what you're looking for?" Phoebe asked him.
"I mean, vaguely."
"Back issues of the Tribune, for one thing," Erwin said. "Apparently they don't have room to keep them at their offices, so they're here."
"And what else?"
"Well, I'm not familiar with the collection. Is it arranged chronologically?"
"I'm not sure. I think so." She led Erwin through to the back room, where six tables were piled with files. "I used to come and help sort through things," she said. "But this last year's been so hectic-" She flicked through one of the piles. "These are all marked nineteen forty to forty-five." She moved on to the next pile. "And these are forty-five to fifty."
"So it's in increments of half-decades."
"Right."
"Well that's a start. And the newspapers?"
Phoebe pointed through the adjacent door. "they are in order. I know,
'cause I was the one did it."
"Wonderful. I'll get started then."
:'Do you want me to wait till you're finished?"
'It depends how patient you're feeling."
"Not very," she said with a little laugh. "Maybe I should just jot down my telephone number, and when you're done@' "I'll call you and you can come over and lock up."
"Right."
"That's a deal then." She went to the front desk, wrote her number on one of the Society brochures, and took it back to him. He was already plundering the contents of one of the files.
"You will put everything back, won't you?" Phoebe said, in her best forbidding manner.
"Oh yes. I'll be careful," Erwin replied. He took the brochure from her. "I'll call you when I'm done," he said. "I hope it won't be too late."
As she got into the car she thought: What would happen if I never went home again? If I just drove to Joe's place now and left town tonight? It was a tempting idea-not to have to go back to the house and cook dinner and listen to Morton bitching about every damn thing-but she
The labor of organizing such a large body of material was slow, given that all the Society's workers were volunteers. Two of the schoolhouse's five rooms were still piled high with boxes of unsorted gifts, but for those visitors interested in Everville's past, the remaining three rooms offered a pleasant, if somewhat over-tidy, glimpse of the early days.
It was highly selective of course, but then so were most history lessons. There was no place in this celebration of the Evervillian spirit for the darker side; for images of destitution, or suicide, or worse. No room, either, for any individual who didn't fit the official version of how things had come to be. There were pictures of the city in its infancy, and accounts of how its roads were laid and its fine houses built. But of Maeve O'Connell, who had ventured to the shores of another world, and returned to make her father's dream real, there was no sign. And in that disinheritance lay the seeds of Everville's undoing.
Phoebe was a little late coming for Erwin, but he was all politeness. He was soriy to be inconveniencing her this way, he said, but it really was urgent business. No, he couldn't really tell her what it was about, but it would be public knowledge before very long, and he'd be certain to thank her for her kindness in print. There was no need, she insisted; but she'd be very grateful if after the weekend she could come and pick his brains in a legal matter. He readily agreed. was she planning to make a will?
No, she said, I'm planning to divorce my husband. to which he replied divorce was not really his area of expertise but he'd be happy to chat with her about it In confidence, she said. Of course, he told her. She should drop by his offices on Monday morning.
The schoolhouse was still baking hot, even though it was now close to six, and while Phoebe went around raising the blinds and opening the windows, Erwin wandered from room to stifling room, peering at the pictures. "Can you tell me what you're looking for?" Phoebe asked him.
"I mean, vaguely."
"Back issues of the Tribune, for one thing," Erwin said. "Apparently they don't have room to keep them at their offices, so they're here."
"And what else?"
"Well, I'm not familiar with the collection. Is it arranged chronologically?"
"I'm not sure. I think so." She led Erwin through to the back room, where six tables were piled with files. "I used to come and help sort through things," she said. "But this last year's been so hectic-" She flicked through one of the piles. "These are all marked nineteen forty to forty-five." She moved on to the next pile. "And these are forty-five to fifty."
"So it's in increments of half-decades."
"Right."
"Well that's a start. And the newspapers?"
Phoebe pointed through the adjacent door. "they are in order. I know,
'cause I was the one did it."
"Wonderful. I'll get started then."
:'Do you want me to wait till you're finished?"
'It depends how patient you're feeling."
"Not very," she said with a little laugh. "Maybe I should just jot down my telephone number, and when you're done@' "I'll call you and you can come over and lock up."
"Right."
"That's a deal then." She went to the front desk, wrote her number on one of the Society brochures, and took it back to him. He was already plundering the contents of one of the files.
"You will put everything back, won't you?" Phoebe said, in her best forbidding manner.
"Oh yes. I'll be careful," Erwin replied. He took the brochure from her. "I'll call you when I'm done," he said. "I hope it won't be too late."
As she got into the car she thought: What would happen if I never went home again? If I just drove to Joe's place now and left town tonight? It was a tempting idea-not to have to go back to the house and cook dinner and listen to Morton bitching about every damn thing-but she
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