"Little" Sister Pt. 03

And wait.

And wait.

We had a projector and screen set up. During the entry period, it was set to cycle through images of me with friends and colleagues. Elspeth greeted everyone while I fidgeted. I thought of all the people I had invited. Would they be disappointed. I wanted everyone to have something iconic, but how many iconic things did I own? Maybe money would work. If it's what you have, then...

Elspeth raised her voice to say, "...Doctor Siobhan Richards." Show time.

I turned the corner to enter the room. What had been a quiet buzz of conversation stilled abruptly. I was glad I was in a tight laced corset, because it forced me to keep breathing. I had prepared some remarks, but they went out the window.

Instead, I said, "When I first saw this version of me in a mirror, I asked Sheila why? She told me I was not pretty. Before I could protest that this explained nothing, she said, 'Think it through, Doctor.'" No one laughed, but there were several winces. As quiet rebukes go, Sheila's was major league and several people in the room could truly appreciate it. Almost everyone could follow the reasoning behind her directive. I gave them a moment, then went on.

"You have all seen images of Sheila in the Irish sod green dress and white lace cover. You have likely seen her on the dance floor. With that as an example, how could I aspire to less than this?" I waved a hand at myself and shut the fuck up.

I let them think...

...for a while.

It was a lot to follow, but Dartmouth does not employ buffoons or hand out degrees like candy. When eyes started to widen and heads started to nod, I knew my evening was a success. As Sean says, never overplay the hand. I only needed to tie a bow on things.

I said, "I asked you here tonight so I could pay tribute to what has gone before. As much as the future may be different from the past, the past is the foundation. Dr. Lancaster..."

Emilia Lancaster was Dean of Woman's Studies and one of my supporters. Her head jerked when I called her name. I went to the mannequin and extracted the bell from below the T-shirt. I handed it to her with the promise of two images. Dr. Lancaster bowed her head in acknowledgment.

Things went quickly. I gave the ratty pants and torn T-shirt to the heads of the Gay, Lesbian and Transgender Society and CGSE, along with the two nipple rings. Several items of no longer worn body jewelry went to the my teaching aides, the newsletter, supportive faculty and Triangle House. That left Drs. Krelinov, Steele and my nine wedding assistants. I started with the Dean.

"Dr. Krelinov, my gift to you is intangible. A collection of family documents is coming to the library and history departments. To the extent that goodwill accrues to me, I assign it to the department and its projects. Dr. Steele, as my taskmaster, I bring you work." I raised a document box. "These are the raw notes and early commentary from two summers in Boston. Take them in trust for all the social sciences." There was appreciative murmur to that one.

"There are nine more. You know who you are. Please come forward."

My nine assistants for the wedding came up. To seven I gave rings I removed from my ears. To Evaine, I gave the eyebrow stud. For Elspeth I had worn the large nose ring. If Veronica could do it, so could I. Everyone accepted their small token, Elspeth with wide eyes. One thing left to do.

"Everyone, I ask you to bear witness." Eight of my assistants stood at my sides. Elspeth opened a small box. From them I removed the ruby studs. I concluded, "These studs are a family heirloom. They represent the past, but also continuity. They have endured for generations already." I placed one stud in my left ear. "They also represent my place within my family. This I acknowledge, for myself and for generations to come." I placed the second stud in my right ear. "I present myself to the future. You are my witnesses. Thank you." There was generous applause.

I honestly had no idea what to expect. I initiated the evening because I had debts to pay. As an eyesore, many persons and institutions had defended me and supported my position through the years. I hoped my tribute repaid them in small part. If nothing else, I hoped they would not feel betrayed by my unfamiliar visage. Judging from the faces and comments, I had succeeded at least in part.

Above that, I received appreciation for making the gesture. Many people called it moving. Several offered congratulations on my statement of responsibility. This was common among the most senior faculty present. I asked everyone to sign my guest book and promised a commemorative image via email. The Dean of History chided me for giving Dr. Krelinov too big a stick.

The line was almost done when Morgan Robertson came forward with a guest. Senator Robertson was wearing her political hat openly, so her guest was either another politician or a potential donor. She did not keep me in the dark.

She said, "Jo, that was lovely. Had I not seen the pictures, I would have trouble believing it. It had to have caused you trouble, which I suppose is the point to the gathering. It went well I think. But, I did come to talk shop.

"Allow me to introduce Marc Brunner of Sylvania. He represents one of New Hampshire's leading employers. Their headquarters are overseas, so the Beacon Light project is of interest to them. Since you seem to be spearhead for the startup fund raising, I brought him to meet you."

Mr. Brunner said, "I am glad she did. Most impressive. Such transformation is worthy of Kafka, though I do not see you as a, ah, what is the word?"

Morgan and I chorused, "Cockroach." We did not burst out laughing, but it was a near thing for me. Germans take Kafka's Die Verwandlung very seriously. Usually translated as The Metamorphosis, it is the story of a man turning into a giant bug and dying. Herr Brunner, seeming to realize his reference could be easily misconstrued, became embarrassed.

He spluttered, "Frau Doktor, please do not offense take. Die Transformation ist sehr beeindruckend. Most impressive is..." I held up my hand.

I said, "Herr Brunner, be at ease. I take no offense. What you said is almost exactly what Herr Karl said a few days ago. In fact my fiancé calls me Frau Doktor. What did you wish to discuss?" He was not ready to go there.

"You say Herr Karl. Who this is?"

I answered, "He is Lars' ultimate superior here in the United States. Lars Gunter is my fiancé." Herr Brunner started at Lars' full name.

Thinking aloud he said, "Lars Gunter mit Siemens. Herr Karl? Mein Gott! Georg Karl höchsten Vorgesetzten mit Siemens. Wer war ich im Gespräch mit?"

Morgan was taken aback. I tried to follow the muttered German and caught the part about Georg Karl, Senior VP. The last part seemed to be wondering who I was. I cleared my throat, which usually works with Sean. Herr Brunner looked up, a bit sheepish.

I said, "Yes. I met Georg Karl a few days ago, along with several other Siemens managers. We wanted to get their blessing for the marriage. Herr Karl also used the words 'most impressive.' He also said Lars, young Gunter, had good judgment. Is that sufficient endorsement?"

"Ja, Frau Doktor. Ganz gut." That much German I can handle. Morgan pulled me aside.

She asked, "He looks like you hit him with a rock. What happened?"

I answered, "It was just some shameless name dropping. You met my fiancé Lars, who works for Siemens. Lars and I met with the senior managers for Siemens USA, to get a variance on their fraternization policy.

"Lars is on a multi-year training program. They do not like the participants to be distracted, so we had ruffled feathers to smooth. I sort of took over the meeting. Lars said exactly three words. Georg Karl, the senior manager for US operations said, I quote, 'Most impressive. Young Gunter good judgment has.' There was more, but it was clear we have a go-ahead. Herr Brunner was much impressed with Herr Karl's name." He was not the only one. Morgan's mouth dropped open.

"Holy shit. Excuse my language, but holy fucking shit. Even I know the name Georg Karl. He endorsed you, as in you personally?" I had not thought of it that way.

I bit my lip, which I never do, "Yeah. When you parse it out, it is a personal endorsement of me. Hmmm. There is another shoe coming. I can feel it. But, for the moment, you have it exactly right. Who'd a thunk it?"

"Sister, you don't know your own strength." The comment came from behind. I turned to find Dr. Hiller, one of the three faculty to receive a personal invitation and body jewelry. For both my years on campus she had been one of my ardent supporters. I was relieved to see that her support would not be lost. If anything her look was invitational.

I said, "Dr. Hiller, I am so glad you could come."

"Call me Susan. I suspect we will be seeing a lot of each other. By the way, I am in awe of the way you are playing Dr. Chernikov and Dr. Lang. These papers, if my sources are good, will be a major addition to the Library and right from under Princeton's nose. A major New Jersey find and Princeton doesn't get it. Weeping and gnashing of teeth. Adding Dr. Krelinov was a master stroke. Setting the Russian against the Ukrainian. Genius." Wow. This was high praise from a master.

I said, "I will not deny some of that was planned out, but not the last. I owed Dr. Krelinov, like I owe you." That brought a peel of laughter.

"Oh, my goodness. Siobhan, my dear, one thing you must learn is that you never owe anyone for doing their job. Thanks are appropriate, since it is rare enough, but you owe the employer. You pay by making Dartmouth proud."

My face must have shown something. She said, "What?" In response I went to my bag and pulled out my current workbook. At the top of the first page was the line, Make Yale Proud, attributing Dr. Eisenmann. Dr. Hiller's eyes widened when she read it.

She said, "Donald Eisenmann. I can accept him as good company, even if he is a Yalee. He would be, by the way. Proud. I'll give him a call. He should see your presentation." She smiled, "I feel like I have been monopolizing the bride at her wedding. Do not neglect your other guests."

She was right, of course, though by then most had left. I gave hugs to eight of my grad students. The Anthropology newsletter wanted a quote. I let the editor watch as I added You pay by making Dartmouth proud and Dr. Hiller's name to my notebook. After a moment to flesh out the quote, I turned to the only person left.

Elspeth had done her best to channel Christine and be the invisible aide. It made me proud for both of them. Christine is truly gifted within her range, but she had none of the usual hallmarks of success. I was proud that an accomplished person like Elspeth would choose to emulate her. I was proud that Elspeth could recognize Christine's strengths for what they were. For a Boston brahmin, it was doubly impressive.

I went to Elspeth and gave her my best hug. She clung to me like a child. Since it is important to say such things, I told her what I had just been thinking. Elspeth shuddered. After a moment I realized she was crying. Perhaps Susan Hiller was right. Perhaps I did not know my own strength.

I was never sure the impact my little ceremony had, but some envisioned troubles never occurred. The lesbian community was not overjoyed that I was switch hitting, but it was a minor thing compared to their adoration of my new fashions. It seems that Elspeth was not the only one who had wanted to give me a makeover.

The grunge side of my life had a similar reaction. They were sorry to lose me as a member in good standing, so to speak, but they acknowledged how well the new look worked. Many of the relationships cooled, but there was no hostility. The same was true of the faculty and staff. A few were cooler, but there was no venom.

On the other side, my access to senior people greatly expanded. Before long, that access expanded to alumni and benefactors. The prior year I had received exactly three luncheon invitations. I received that many the day after my ceremony. I quickly realized I had moved from academic asset to public relations asset. Sean refers to his time in the Army as being a trained seal. I grew to sympathize.

In my personal demesne, things were the the same, but different. In several ways, it reminded me of my second summer in Boston. I had a new set of graduate assistants to ride herd over. They were exactly what I had come to expect. The big change was me. I had matured between my two summers in Boston. My new look may not have been maturity, but the results were much the same.

On another front, I was dealing with a familiar topic—my dissertation had run off in a new direction. Originally, I had intended to recast my Yale dissertation to an anthropological viewpoint, dealing with the evolution of halfway houses over recent generations. My first thesis would give me a current day reference from which to expand.

Or so I thought. My time dealing with the Amish led me to focus more on the transition into an urban environment. Transitions were still the key, but the groups were very different. I would not focus on the Amish. I would let Evaine do that. Instead I would focus on the broader question of how the rural to urban migration had changed in the information age.

Much of my research was still useful. Going back into my Boston notes, there were several cases that could continue to serve. Their fathers or mothers—or grandfathers or grandmothers—had done it before them. That still left a lot of new research to do, plus my teaching and supervisory duties. On top of that was my new found status in campus society. There were at least two obligatory functions a week. Once again, I had no life of my own.

The irony was that Lars was not around to distract me. I learned of his transfer the day after my ceremony. I barely had time to get to the airport to see him off. From that point on, we were ten, or fourteen, hours out of synchronicity. Our communications became email oriented, with weekend chats. My written German became almost as good as Lars' English. I even absorbed a little Japanese.

Chapter 14 – Roast Turkey

Sheila asked me to come home for Thanksgiving dinner. I sent my things ahead. Tuesday after class I drove down in Shadow, to find the whole house had been rearranged. In many ways it was as much of a shock as my time before the wedding. I was lucky to have an established bedroom, because George's room now belonged to Christine. Next to it, in what had once been Greatgran Sparks' room, was the nursery.

The whole third floor was again ready for occupation, with three rooms taken. One was by an Amish widow, Mother Lapp, who served as cook and unofficial head of all things Amish. At opposite ends of the hall were the men's and women's quarters. So far only two girls and three men. The girls were cleaning and laundry staff. The men were working on Sean's yacht, though that project was nearing completion.

Sean and Sheila still lived in the new wing. Sheila confessed that she did not want to give up some of the modern niceties. Sean said it was just his computerized shower. Sheila conceded a point without agreeing. I could see both sides. In addition to the bath, the bedroom was just up the hall from the private gym and their home office suite. Since Sheila was close to the end of her second trimester, it mattered that there were no stairs.

Sheila herself was a major shock. I had grown used to her being impossibly thin. Twenty five weeks into a pregnancy, Sheila's middle had expanded to match the size of her breasts. At first glance, she looked slightly overweight, rather like I used to look. It was a shock to see her with a "normal" profile, though she still moved like no one I have ever seen. The other shock came at dinner, when she ate more than I did—then had dessert.

Avocado, lime, ginger sorbet did not sound particularly appealing. When I asked if it was a pregnancy craving, Sheila introduced me to her nutritionist, Loren Smith. He was out for a weekly weigh-in and profile. He told me that Sheila was one of his more challenging clients, partly because morning sickness and her eating habits combined to make weight gain difficult. Avocados had been a key. Sheila loved them and they were loaded with healthy fats. Mother Lapp quickly developed a range of ways to serve them, including as a sweet.

Francine was also pregnant, though about a month less far along. She called. Francine and Sheila constantly texted about their progress, but the weekly weigh in was occasion for an actual call. Sheila brought me into a three way. Francine, as always, was in full educational mode. I learned more about having a child in ten minutes than I wanted to know, though the information might prove useful at some point.

As it turned out, we had found one thing that would slow Francine down. After a mere twenty minutes, she was yawning regularly. Sheila was also flagging, though not as much. From Francine's monologue I learned that both of them were having difficulty metabolizing enough iron. While her tiny size was not causing problems, Francine had other issues. It was a good thing she was rich enough to stay home, because her last few weeks might be in bed.

We said our good byes, then Sheila hugged me before she went to join Sean. As she left, she said that Christine had missed her blanket. I thought nothing of it, until my bedroom door opened that night. Christine crawled in and snuggled back into my belly. I could understand missing this. Nor was that everything. I had almost forgotten how much I liked having a wake up call.

Wednesday was so much different from my routine, that I almost felt relaxed. Christine woke me up. We played chase and tickle until I had worked up a sweat. Showering was a different sort of fun. Then we had juice, coffee and biscuits in the little kitchen. It was a good way to start the day, but we had to get dressed and go be grownups. That proved both interesting and unexpected.

I had gotten out of the habit of wearing the corset. When I closed the busks, it was surprisingly easy. While not paying attention, I had lost weight. Perhaps it was the work outs. Perhaps I developed new habits during the month or two I did wear it daily. Perhaps it was because of my better self image. Christine merely nodded and ran her hands down my sides. I shivered at the contact. It may have been the most erotic thing of the morning.

The day continued at a leisurely pace. Christine showed me her room and the nursery. There was a reference shelf three feet long. It covered pregnancy, newborn care, infant care, adolescent care, nanny law, poison treatment and first aid for children, cradle teaching, baby and child psychology and yoga. I asked about the last one. Christine said, "Sharon." That explained it. Sharon was a yoga instructor, whom Sheila trusted with her fitness clients. If Sheila trusted someone, so did Christine. Hell, so did I.

On the subject of Sheila's clients, I had several messages requesting Dr. Richards' services. I wondered how Sheila and Richard would take my accepting a session. I asked Christine. She equivocated with her hand. Either she was unsure or there would be mixed reaction. I made a mental note to check. Then I spied a certificate.

Christine was registered as an In Home Child Care Specialist with a well known nanny placement. service. I glanced at her. Christine tried to wave it off, but I could tell she was proud. I would have to look into this for my thesis. Basic nanny was a job with few legal hurdles. References were more difficult. I gave Christine a hug and told her I was proud.

From there we went into the guts of the renovations. The old house had over fifty rooms. Installing forced air heat and cooling was impractical. A storage room had been converted to a boiler room, which heated the big first floor rooms. Outside were several compressors. The old brick flues and chimneys held an insert. On one side was a double wall vent for the gas room heaters. On the other side was a line for liquid coolant. The exchanger, which looks like the vent of a window AC, was mounted above the fireplace mantel and covered by a decorative screen.