War and Peas (6 page)

“What a shame," Sharlene said.

“I reckon it was. Anyway, I've thought back on those years a lot lately. Guess it's part of getting old. You start remembering your childhood. So when I saw an ad for a Pea Festival in the paper last week and saw the name Snellen, I recalled those peas and wanted to come tell someone here about them."

“I'm so glad you did. That's a wonderful story," Sharlene said. "Would you have the time to come to my office and let me make a few notes about it?"

“Oh, ma'am, it isn't all that important. I don't want to take up any more of your time. Just wanted to get the story off my chest."

“No, please. I've got plenty of time and I'd like to make a record of this.”

As they left, Jane emerged from her hiding place, smiling. She'd thought of a pea museum as sort of a campy joke, but here was proof that even peas could be important to someone. Lifesaving to a whole family, even. She was glad to have eavesdropped on such a pleasant conversation. And glad, too, that the old gentleman had accidentally picked someone as kind and patient as Sharlene to tell his story to. She wondered if the board of directors realized what an asset Sharlene really was and resolved to share that view with anyone who would listen.

Jane completed her tour of the room and was heading for Sharlene's office when she passed the main door. Shelley was just coming in. "Remind me to tell you about a conversation I overheard," Jane said.

“Something to do with Ms. Palmer's death?"

“Oh, no. Just a very nice, heartwarming story." She lowered her voice. "This must be the old man who told it.”

Sharlene was ushering him out a door labeled STAFF ONLY. He was loaded down with pea- museum memorabilia, including a pile of T-shirts for his grandchildren, and he was still trying to pay for it, an offer Sharlene wouldn't hear of.

When he'd gone, she turned to Jane and Shelley. Today she was wearing a proper black suit with a creamy white blouse. Her wild red hair was somewhat confined by a black velvet ribbon. She looked extremely professional.

She said, "I guess you know we're in kind of a mess today, but it shouldn't keep you from working. Thanks again for coming."

“Let's get on with it, then," Shelley said. "The same room I was in last week?"

“Yes, the boardroom.”

They entered the STAFF ONLY door and Jane found herself in a rabbit warren of offices almost as cluttered and interesting as the museum itself. She could suddenly understand the desire to have a new facility. It would be maddening to have to work around such clutter, no matter how well organized it was. The boardroom was the least crowded spot, but even it had things stored and stacked in cartons.

“I can bring Jane up to speed, Sharlene," Shelley said. "Now, Jane, here's the computer.”

As Sharlene departed, Jane said warily, "Why are you telling me this?"

“Because you know how to operate a computer."

“Shelley, all I have is a little PC with a word-processing program, a checkbook program, and a bunch of games. I don't know anything about—"

“You'll figure it out. It's just a matter of transferring data from a written sheet to the database—"

“Database," Jane groaned.

“—and assigning a number. Here's what we do: each item in the museum will be assigned an identification number — there's a sheet Ms. Palmer drew up explaining how to determine the number. Then each item has a description — what it is, approximate date, how and when it was acquired if anyone knows, value if known."

“Shelley!" Jane exclaimed. "How would
we
know any of these things?"

“In a lot of cases, some of the information is on the display itself. Don't worry. We don't have to guess or research much. Other, much more knowledgeable people will be filling in the blanks later. We're just doing the initial scut work, which is to assign the numbers, put in what information we can get easily, and label the item with the assigned number. We do that with these special little tags that won't harm the exhibit items. They're very expensive, so don't waste them."

“I'm in way over my head," Jane said. "Why have you done this to me?"

“You are Woman! You can manage," Shelley ordered.

Out of the corner of her eye Jane caught a glimpse of a cat curled up on top of a stack of boxes. She reached out to bestow a comforting pat and immediately jerked her hand back. "Oh, my God! Shelley! That cat's dead!"

“Of course it's dead. It's stuffed."

“Why is there a stuffed cat in here?" Jane's voice had risen to an almost hysterical pitch.

Sharlene had come back in the room with a handful of paperwork. "Oh, that's Mr. Auguste Snellen's mother cat. Heidi."

“That statement appears to make sense to you," Jane said.

Sharlene laughed. "A long time ago, all the peas for sale were kept in one big warehouse and it got a horrible rat infestation. The people who worked for him wanted to have the rats poisoned, but Mr. Snellen didn't like poisons. And he didn't like what they were going to cost, either, and said he wasn't going to have a warehouse full of peas and dead rats. So he went out and got this cat. She was pregnant, see. And after she had her kittens, she taught them all how to kill rats and the problem was solved. Mr. Snellen made a pet of her and said she'd saved his business. He was awfully fond of her. Even had a picture taken with her — when she was still alive, of course — and I keep a copy on my desk."

“You have a picture of Auguste Snellen on your desk?" Jane asked.

“Well, it's silly, I know. He died ages before I was even born, but I sort of felt like I knew him. And he looks like such a nice old thing."

“I think that's wonderful," Jane said.

“I'll show it to you later," Sharlene offered. "Anyway, when the cat died, they say Mr. Snellen was heartbroken. She used to curl up on his desk while he was working, so he had her stuffed so she could stay on his desk. She's held up pretty well, considering.”

Jane looked at the cat closer. It was an orange cat, curled in a tidy ball, head on front paws, with green marble eyes and a few mangy-looking bald spots. But some long-gone taxidermist had done a good job of making her look natural.

Jane suddenly laughed. "Well, I hope when I'm through here, people can say the same of me. 'She's held up pretty well, considering.' Let's get to work, Shelley.”

Jane was enormously
relieved
to discover that.' the job wasn't nearly as hard as it had sounded. Regina Palmer's instructions on how to assign the item numbers were clear and easy to understand and appeared to account for every possible contingency in a marvelously logical manner. Even the computer was cooperative. The database was one specifically designed for museum inventories and was easy to use. Shelley had spent time the week before recording many of the items on paper forms that exactly duplicated the computer program's format, so all Jane had to do was assign the number and enter the information. Once she stopped worrying about the information that was missing, it was really a snap.

Among the many stacked items in the boardroom was an old radio in working condition. Jane found an "oldies" AM station and spent two hours happily listening to the Everly Brothers, Elvis, and the Supremes while typing information into the computer. When Shelley and Lisa Quigley came into the boardroom and announced that it was lunchtime, she was surprised. Shelley had spent her time in the farm-implement room, filling out more forms, which she set down next to the computer.

Lisa Quigley said, "There are snack machines here, but I wouldn't advise eating from them. There's also a little strip mall next door that has a few fast-food restaurants that are pretty good. Pizza, burgers, salad, and pasta. I'd recommend the salad shop. What are your preferences? I'll go get us all something."

“No, sit down. I'll go," Shelley insisted. She took their orders and disappeared.

Jane turned off the radio, shut down the computer, and stood and stretched.

“We really appreciate your help," Lisa said, glancing through the stack of papers Shelley had left on the table.

“It's actually fun," Jane said. "I'm curious to see some of the things I've been entering. I can't imagine what a 'circa 1870 crank-handled pea shucker' looks like.”

Lisa smiled and sat down at the long table in the center of the room. Jane took a chair across from her. When Jane had first met Lisa and she'd given them their instructions for the reenactment, she'd looked like a trim, contented thirty-five-year-old. Now she looked haggard, unhappy, and a decade older.

“I'm terribly sorry about Ms. Palmer's death," Jane said. "It must be a tremendous loss to all of you.”

Lisa nodded. "She was so important in so many ways. Especially to me. She was my best friend."

“I'm sorry. I didn't know," Jane said. "You've known her for a long time, then?"

“Ever since college. We were taking a history course and discovered that we were both doing papers on the identical subject—'Women's Roles in the Agrarian Society of Pre-Renaissance France.' It was kind of spooky. Instead of competing for the documents we both needed, we got permission from the professor to do the paper jointly. It was marvelous working with Regina. She had a real gift for language."

“I know. Her instructions on cataloging are very clear," Jane said. "But surely you brought something to the paper as well."

“Oh, I'm dogged. I never let a piece of research go until I've squeezed everything out of it," Lisa said with a self-deprecating smile. "We were a good combination. Got an A on the paper. Had it published in an academic journal. And became friends, too. We could have made names for ourselves in scholastic circles, I think. But we both badly wanted to get out into the real world."

“And so you both came here to the Snellen?"

“Regina came first. She was a year ahead of me in school. I'd taken a year to work and pay off some student loans halfway through. Regina figured out the long-term plan — she wanted to find a small museum, otherwise we'd have come in at the very lowest level and had to spend years, if not decades, working our way up. The Snellen was perfect. Regina fell in love with this place the minute she walked in the door, she said. And she interviewed with Miss Snellen and they got on together awfully well. The Snellen had a director who was retiring and Miss Snellen wanted somebody young and enthusiastic and bright who could see a future for the museum instead of just going along the way it was forever. I suppose Miss Snellen had in mind then that she might leave most of her fortune to the museum, but she didn't even hint at that. Anyway, Regina took the job.”

Lisa had been looking at the wall behind Jane as she spoke and suddenly recalled herself. "I'm sorry. This must be awfully boring to you."

“Not at all. I'm fascinated," Jane said. It wasn't quite the truth, but she sensed that Lisa needed to talk, and she was more than willing to listen if it would help assuage her grief. "What happened next?"

“Regina took over the directorship, found an apartment, and got to work. She'd only been here about a month or two before she figured out her long-term plans. She called and explained to me some of what she had in mind — more involvement in the Pea Festival, renovations in the budget structure, and such. But she said the one thing the museum desperately needed was a good public-relations and promotion plan. And she wanted me to do that. I was ready to enroll for my last semester, but I dropped all my courses and signed up instead for advertising classes. Whole new world to me!"

“It must have been," Jane said. That helped explain why Lisa hadn't seemed to fit the stereotypical mold of the aggressive, outgoing publicity person. She was basically a scholarly type who'd taken up promotion for purely practical reasons.

“It would have been the most hideous semester of my life, except that I had so much to look forward to. Regina convinced Miss Snellen that although I didn't have much training in promotion, I knew history and was a hard worker. Miss Snellen agreed to give me a chance — well, after all, qualifications didn't mean so much then. The former director had been a retired high-school science teacher. So I came here. Regina found a bigger apartment so that we could live together and work on museum concerns in the evenings without having to cart paperwork back and forth."

“You're smiling as if that was fun, to work day and night," Jane said.

“It
was
fun, really. The challenge of it. The Snellen Museum was like a lump of clay just waiting to be formed into something. When I came here, it was only open three afternoons a week, and as often as not, the only volunteer guide we had was Miss Snellen herself. But Regina solicited some women's clubs to sponsor volunteer guides. I trained them and then we opened the museum six days a week, charging a small admissions fee to help with the finances. Regina and I began visiting local schools, hauling along exhibits and encouraging teachers to bring classes here. Meanwhile, Regina hired Sharlene, who took over a lot of the paperwork, and that allowed Regina and me to finally start spiffing up the exhibits themselves."

“What a huge amount of work!" Jane said.

“Yes, and sometimes it seemed to go so slowly. But almost always in the right direction. Of course, there was one summer that the city was putting in a new sewer line and the street was closed. I think we had about fourteen hearty souls the whole season who went to the trouble of climbing through the construction rubble to get here."

“How discouraging!"

“Yes, but Miss Snellen was wonderful. When she realized that the museum really could be an attraction, not just a personal hobby of hers, she got behind us with the funding. She even manned the gift shop a day a week, though standing for long periods was hard for her. She encouraged Regina to write articles for various publications that would make the Snellen, if not a household name, at least a name that a few history buffs had heard of. I remember the first time somebody actually came from out of town specifically to visit the museum. We were so excited that we nearly buried the guy in attention.”