that?"
"The new housemother. The one you told me about."
"Is she a little batty?" asked Mrs. Woodbury.
I thought so but knew better than to agree with a negative evaluation that might end up in Laura Lee's personnel file. "What gave you that impression?" I asked.
"She had her nose in a book while walking up the middle of Longfellow Lane. And she appeared to be wearing a raccoon coat."
I said, "I haven't seen any raccoon coat yet, but I know she collects old clothes."
"October is hardly fur coat season," said Mrs. Woodbury. "I think it's a sign of schizophrenia when a person overdresses to that extent."
"October in New England can be chilly," I said. "In fact, they're predicting an overnight frost."
"Is she the one I'm supposed to look for at dinner?" Marietta asked.
I said, "Yes. Did you introduce yourself?"
"Didn't have to," said Marietta.
"And you're on friendly terms with her because she's a neighboring dorm parent?" asked Mrs. Woodbury.
I said yes. We ate together occasionally when my parents were busy.
"I've met your parents, haven't I?" she asked.
I said yes, and for good measure underscored that the doctors Hatch were not only dorm parents but also tenured faculty of long duration. Perhaps she remembered that they had marched in her husband's inaugural procession? In matching purple and white doctoral hoods? Or perhaps she'd noticed a round-shouldered middle-aged man on a bike, briefcase strapped with bungee cords to the rear fender? That was David Hatch.
"Do they have to live in a dorm?" asked Marietta.
I said no, it was their choice. They liked the convenience. And honestly? Who could wean themselves off free room and board? They wouldn't be good at living in a real house, having to shop and cook and call a plumber and buy light bulbs—
"They're hippies," Marietta informed her mother.
"We have a hippie," Mrs. Woodbury said pleasantly. "Our older daughter Monica. She wants to be a farmer after she gets her MSW."
"Good for her," I said.
"She thinks she has a good recipe for making cheese from goats," Mrs. Woodbury said.
I looked out the car window. Three tall Griggs Hall sophomores were walking single file, toes pointed, along Longfellow Lane. Three high-fashion umbrellas, red, pink, red striped, were raised to identical heights. "I think Laura Lee was a Rockette," I said.
"You think, or you
know?
" asked Marietta.
"I'm not positive. All I know is that she owns Rockette shoes."
"See?" said Mrs. Woodbury, patting her daughter's thigh. "Who said there were no interesting people at Dewing? Here we have someone who stepped down from a New York stage to share her experiences with the residents of ... which hall, Frederica?"
"Tibbets."
"Tibbets and beyond. The dancing certainly puts a different spin on that ratty coat."
"Why?" Marietta asked.
We had left campus and were at a traffic light. Mrs. Woodbury addressed me in the rearview mirror. "You know what I mean, don't you Frederica? Wardrobe department versus Salvation Army?"
I said, "Absolutely. She arrived here with her clothes in two big steamer trunks."
"Green light," Marietta barked.
Mrs. Woodbury edged forward in distracted maternal fashion. "I wonder if Eric knows that we have a retired Rockette in our midst?" she murmured.
I said, "Historically, the president of the college hasn't had much to do with dorm parents."
"I know Eric wants very much to change some of the preconceived notions about who fraternizes with whom. In fact, I think your parents may have expressed an opinion about that."
I said lightly, safely—Mrs. Woodbury didn't think me capable of irony—"Really? They're usually
so
supportive of the status quo."
"There's no reason why I couldn't plan something myself, an afternoon tea. Dr. Woodbury doesn't have to preside at every college function."
I said, "Laura Lee is planning some sort of get-together in Ada Tibbets Hall. We discussed it the other night at the library." I might have added, She loves the limelight. She
"The new housemother. The one you told me about."
"Is she a little batty?" asked Mrs. Woodbury.
I thought so but knew better than to agree with a negative evaluation that might end up in Laura Lee's personnel file. "What gave you that impression?" I asked.
"She had her nose in a book while walking up the middle of Longfellow Lane. And she appeared to be wearing a raccoon coat."
I said, "I haven't seen any raccoon coat yet, but I know she collects old clothes."
"October is hardly fur coat season," said Mrs. Woodbury. "I think it's a sign of schizophrenia when a person overdresses to that extent."
"October in New England can be chilly," I said. "In fact, they're predicting an overnight frost."
"Is she the one I'm supposed to look for at dinner?" Marietta asked.
I said, "Yes. Did you introduce yourself?"
"Didn't have to," said Marietta.
"And you're on friendly terms with her because she's a neighboring dorm parent?" asked Mrs. Woodbury.
I said yes. We ate together occasionally when my parents were busy.
"I've met your parents, haven't I?" she asked.
I said yes, and for good measure underscored that the doctors Hatch were not only dorm parents but also tenured faculty of long duration. Perhaps she remembered that they had marched in her husband's inaugural procession? In matching purple and white doctoral hoods? Or perhaps she'd noticed a round-shouldered middle-aged man on a bike, briefcase strapped with bungee cords to the rear fender? That was David Hatch.
"Do they have to live in a dorm?" asked Marietta.
I said no, it was their choice. They liked the convenience. And honestly? Who could wean themselves off free room and board? They wouldn't be good at living in a real house, having to shop and cook and call a plumber and buy light bulbs—
"They're hippies," Marietta informed her mother.
"We have a hippie," Mrs. Woodbury said pleasantly. "Our older daughter Monica. She wants to be a farmer after she gets her MSW."
"Good for her," I said.
"She thinks she has a good recipe for making cheese from goats," Mrs. Woodbury said.
I looked out the car window. Three tall Griggs Hall sophomores were walking single file, toes pointed, along Longfellow Lane. Three high-fashion umbrellas, red, pink, red striped, were raised to identical heights. "I think Laura Lee was a Rockette," I said.
"You think, or you
know?
" asked Marietta.
"I'm not positive. All I know is that she owns Rockette shoes."
"See?" said Mrs. Woodbury, patting her daughter's thigh. "Who said there were no interesting people at Dewing? Here we have someone who stepped down from a New York stage to share her experiences with the residents of ... which hall, Frederica?"
"Tibbets."
"Tibbets and beyond. The dancing certainly puts a different spin on that ratty coat."
"Why?" Marietta asked.
We had left campus and were at a traffic light. Mrs. Woodbury addressed me in the rearview mirror. "You know what I mean, don't you Frederica? Wardrobe department versus Salvation Army?"
I said, "Absolutely. She arrived here with her clothes in two big steamer trunks."
"Green light," Marietta barked.
Mrs. Woodbury edged forward in distracted maternal fashion. "I wonder if Eric knows that we have a retired Rockette in our midst?" she murmured.
I said, "Historically, the president of the college hasn't had much to do with dorm parents."
"I know Eric wants very much to change some of the preconceived notions about who fraternizes with whom. In fact, I think your parents may have expressed an opinion about that."
I said lightly, safely—Mrs. Woodbury didn't think me capable of irony—"Really? They're usually
so
supportive of the status quo."
"There's no reason why I couldn't plan something myself, an afternoon tea. Dr. Woodbury doesn't have to preside at every college function."
I said, "Laura Lee is planning some sort of get-together in Ada Tibbets Hall. We discussed it the other night at the library." I might have added, She loves the limelight. She
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