M.J. Rodgers - Father By Choice

There were two pages to her letter. But to Emily’s disappointment, Oliver read what appeared to be only half of the first before he suddenly stopped and closed it.

“We shouldn’t expose these documents to the light any longer,” he said by way of explanation.

The mayor nodded as he addressed the crowd. “The documents, artifacts and photos will be digitized and placed on the City’s Web site. Ladies and gentlemen, the founders of Courage Bay have left us a priceless piece of their history and ours. We’ll ensure that it is preserved for all to enjoy.”

When the mayor stepped away, Emily retook the podium and invited the audience to reconvene in the reception room of the Heritage Museum behind them, where drinks and hors d’oeuvres were being served.

The mayor and city council quickly joined the spectators headed toward those promised refreshments and the political shoulder-rubbing that was always the highlight of this type of social event.

Emily turned off the microphone just in time to prevent the argument that started behind her from being broadcast throughout the Botanical Gardens.

“How dare you imply that I’m too old and weak to catalog these artifacts correctly?” Phoebe asked in her seventy-three-year-old voice that was about as feeble as a two-by-four.

Oliver’s skin was turning a rosy pink beneath his full white beard. “You know damn well that’s not what I said, Phoebe. I simply pointed out that when it comes to computers, you are not up to speed.”

“Look who’s talking,” Phoebe said. “Last month, when Dorothy mentioned that we needed to update the Society’s hard drive, you were the one who got all hot and bothered because you thought that she was trying to reschedule our spring golf tournament.”

Oliver’s lips tightened. “I may not be familiar with the terminology, but need I remind you that the pharmaceutical company I ran for forty years is full of computers and competent operators?”

“We are not handing over these valuable items to some computer operator who hasn’t the faintest idea how to preserve them,” Phoebe said.

“What’s going on?” Emily whispered to Dorothy.

“Oliver just got a call from the hospital,” Dorothy whispered back. “Wayne won’t be able to take custody of the time capsule’s contents as planned. He’s had a stroke.”

“These irreplaceable items must stay in the hands of the Historical Society,” Phoebe continued. “Now, my grandniece Fiona is quite competent with computers. Together, she and I can—”

“Only last week you were complaining that Fiona was so tired chasing after her two preschoolers that she didn’t even have the energy to come see you,” Oliver interrupted.

“I’ll hire a sitter for her,” Phoebe said, undaunted.

“And how long will that take?” Oliver challenged. “You went through nearly sixty applicants and four months before you finally chose Mrs. Hanna to be the librarian. And what a choice that was.”

“Mrs. Hanna’s credentials as a historian are impeccable, not to mention the fact that she speaks five languages.”

“We didn’t need someone with impeccable credentials or who could speak five languages. We needed someone who could work the library’s computer! Now we’re paying Holly to come in and do it after school!”

“Ken, I need another picture of this imbecile,” Phoebe said, pointing to Oliver. “The last one of him I put on my dartboard is already full of holes.”

The photographer looked amused but made no effort to comply. Ken—like the rest of them—was used to Phoebe and Oliver’s verbal sparring matches. When these two crossed swords, the best thing anyone could do was stay out of the way.

“And that’s another thing,” Oliver said. “Ken’s supposed to be the Society’s photographer, but I can’t get him to do a damn thing for me. Every time I try he tells me he’ll have to clear it with you first.”

Oliver was talking about Ken as though he wasn’t there. Typical of Oliver. And typical of Ken that he showed no sign of offense.

“He has the editing and printing of the newsletter to see to,” Phoebe countered. “He’s not one of your lackeys. Speaking of which, where is this illustrious and purportedly proficient historian who was supposed to be on hand today to take custody of the time capsule contents?”

“Damn it, Phoebe, I already told you.” Oliver was shouting now. “Wayne had a stroke. Are you going to blame me for that?”

“Please, Oliver, Phoebe,” Dorothy interrupted as she stepped between her fellow board members. “I know this is disappointing. I, too, was counting on Wayne’s expert assistance. But he’s seriously ill. We should set aside concerns about the time capsule for the moment and think of him.”

“His doctor told Wayne’s wife that the stroke was minor,” Oliver said, as though Dorothy was making a big deal over nothing. “He’ll be all right.”

“That’s good to hear,” Emily said carefully. “But I believe the point that Dorothy was making is that Wayne needs to know how concerned all of us in the organization are for his welfare.”

“Thank you, Emily,” Dorothy said with emphasis.

“Oh, very well,” Phoebe said. “I’ll send him a fruit basket from the Society. And a card.”

“And now that that’s taken care of,” Oliver said, “let’s get back to the matter of what we’re going to do with the time capsule treasures.”

Dorothy and Emily looked at each other and shook their heads.

“None of us on the managing board knows enough to digitize this important information, not to mention putting it on the city’s Web site,” Dorothy said. “And, as generous as Oliver’s offer is to use personnel at the Smithson Pharmaceutical Company, Phoebe’s right. These artifacts are too valuable to let out of our hands.”

“Josh is employed part-time by the Society,” Oliver said. Scanning the now nearly deserted gardens, he called, “Josh? Damn it, where are you, boy?”

“Here,” Josh said as he scrambled up the platform steps.

Oliver grabbed his grandson’s shoulders. “You took computer courses in high school, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“So you could do whatever it takes to get images of these items into a computer and put them on the City’s Web site, right?”

Josh shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, that overwhelms me with confidence,” Phoebe said.

Oliver slipped his hands from his grandson’s shoulders and let out a huff of disappointment.

When Emily saw the look that flattened Josh’s face, she immediately stepped forward. “Josh is doing a superb job for the Botanical Gardens and the Society. He’s also been a big help getting things organized for today. I don’t know what I would have done without him.”

Oliver wasn’t listening. He was too busy shaking his head like a windshield wiper on high.

“Damn kids today come out of school dumber than when they went in,” he muttered.

Josh slunk off the platform just as Holly came out of the museum. She waved in his direction, but Josh turned away and disappeared into the trees.

Emily was trying to decide whether to try to talk to Oliver or just kick him when Dorothy raised her hand to get everyone’s attention.

“As much as Emily is right about Josh’s great work in the Heritage Museum and around the Botanical Gardens, it’s not fair to ask him to take on a task of this magnitude. We need someone from the Historical Society who has both experience in document preservation techniques and computer expertise.”

Dorothy looked pointedly at Emily.

Emily felt both Phoebe and Oliver’s eyes turn toward her as though assessing her right to have the job.

“She has the gardens to see to,” Oliver said, “and her own research.”