Vivian didn’t have a new spring hat, but she did have a new invisible, self-appointed halo. She left that in place, but hung her beige cotton gabardine coat on its hook, over her pocketbook, then entered the switchboard room and made a declaration to her fellow operators.

“I will no longer be eavesdropping on the telephone conversations.”

She made this declaration in a whisper, out of earshot of their supervisor Leona, because the switchboard operators at Bell were not supposed to listen in on the conversations. It was definitely there, somewhere, in the rule book. And now, suddenly, Vivian agreed with it.

Her announcement had been met with dubious furrowed brows, both black-penciled and brown, and the switchboard operators at Bell decided to give Vivian some space in the minutes, hours, and days following that odd announcement. It was one thing to decide not to eavesdrop herself (Maria Tomasetti had just shaken her head and laughed), and quite another to pass judgment on all the others. But they’d all read the newspapers about Edward’s secret, dangerous, delinquent son attacking poor Charlotte. Vivian deserved some compassion and some space to breathe, and they just ignored her when she judged them; when she pursed her lips and shook her head if she spied Dorothy, Ruth, Pearl, or Laura flip the mute switch and lean in to listen.

The rest of Wooster had been catching their collective breath as well, as the hysteria of late February gradually subsided. The month of March had ushered in at least one significant change. J. Ellis Reed resigned his position as mayor, out of embarrassment over the scandal, and had taken an early retirement in order to spend more time with his wife, who was standing by his side, pale, poised, and wearing a forced smile, in the face of it all.

Harold Richardson, the council president, had to be sworn in as interim mayor, but when the term was up there would be another election. The grapevine was already buzzing that there was a lady—A LADY—who was considering throwing her hat in the ring. Dorothy Hoffman had overheard something about it at the switchboard.

“Didjya catch her name?”

Vivian frowned her disapproval at Pearl for asking the gossipy question, then scowled when one of her lights lit up and she had to answer the call instead of hearing the name of the lady running for mayor. A lady mayor?

Vivian quickly connected the call, then flipped the mute switch.

“When her kids were in high school she studied right along with them . . .” Ruth offered, from what she’d heard.

“She got her diploma . . .” Laura’s baby voice chimed in. “And then went to Cornell! That’s Ivy League!”

Cornell was a serious college. Even more serious than the College of Wooster. Vivian began to wonder if she might vote for a lady mayor, if the lady’d gone to Cornell.

“And, now, what do you know,” Pearl marveled. “She’s thinking of running for mayor of Wooster.”