CHAPTER 1

The Lemon Orchard

It Looked Extremely Rocky for The Mudville Nine ThatDay, The Score Was 2 to 4 With But One Inning Leftto Play.... A straggling few got up to go, leaving therethe rest, with but what hope that springs eternal, within thehuman breast.... Excerpt from Casey at the Bat-by ErnstThayer (This is not the original version of this poem ...)

Each of us has places in our lives that harbor 'shambles', a timewhen we got over the rough ground too quickly and left amuddle on our back trail. We all have a relationship, (or two!),gone wrong, or small, haunting mistakes we failed to correct ormitigate. We have future problems we might see coming, butdon't know how to prepare for, nor to avoid. We stumble alongwith these small shambles dangling from tiny chains on ourrearview mirror, or cluttering our emotional closets.

A "shambles" was historically, a place of destruction, like abattlefield or a slaughterhouse, a broken devastation. But to me,it meant an unpleasant stain, an area of mute reproach, somethingbroken, which, unrepaired, promised baleful repercussions. Ineeded to find solutions, or a way to make lemonade from thelemon trees I had grown in my life's orchard!

Sometimes, one can bundle the shambles into a closet or a filedrawer, or a grown child's empty room, and shut it away ... butusually, it sits on the fl oor like a reproachful dog, who doesn't likehis dinner, but cannot tell you what to feed him. You know youcan ignore him and eventually he will eat. But neither of you isgoing to be very happy.

On this balmy, mid-April morning, I seemed to have reacheda point where my "life orchard" was producing too many lemontrees. Where I had hoped to harvest apples and oranges, sweetand nourishing fruit from my family and my work, what I foundwas bitter and pithy. I had broken too many promises—to myselfand to others. Now at 46, not only did I have cupboards full of amessy divorce and irate children, but also file drawers full of overextendeddeadlines, annoyed boss and partners, and unhappyclients. And now, my mirror showed me another tasteless fruit,—apartial view of my aging and unfit body.

I, Jessica Charles Lennox, the woman who had been setto conquer the worlds of accountancy, wifely domesticity, andmotherhood, stood in my misty bathroom on a spring morningobserving this living, breathing shambles with startling clarity.How could I have "let myself go" like this?

After Max and Sassy were born, I had stopped ridingcompetitively, and eventually, completely. The strong, lean rider'sbody had now turned to flab, which seemed to be bulging anddrooping with self-satisfied abandon. My once glossy auburn hairwas graying and lusterless, appearing as dispirited as the rest of me.Where had it all gone? My partnership in the accounting firm washanging by a thread, the comfortable marriage was ended, andthe frenzied, exciting strategies of raising a pair of super teenagershad been dashed by their flight to uncle and grandmother.

It was too easy to blame the fl ailing economy,—or thepernicious Caroline, a petite redhead, who had insinuated herselfinto Eric's midlife crisis, offering the promise of a second youth.Too easy to blame my preoccupation with lawyers, loud argumentswith Eric, and the rigors of tax season for the abrupt departuresof Max to his uncle's farm on the Eastern Shore and Sassy to herpaternal grandmother in New York. Both of whom were nowrefusing to return home from their visits at Christmas vacation.

Yesterday, Eric had called to tell me that he and Caroline hadreturned from their "honeymoon" and he would be available "ifneeded". I hadn't even known he had married the sneaky littlebitch!

I could just see him sitting there, lounging back in his favorite,beat-up old office chair, his long, skinny legs stretched out toprop his LL Bean boots on the desk. The yard, full of tractors andother heavy equipment, would be visible through the windowover his shoulder, while he was telling me things I didn't wantto hear. I was sure that errant hank of hair was falling acrosshis forehead, and that goofy, happy-go-lucky smile crinkled hisslightly weather-beaten face,—which I felt like punching!

"Have you told the children yet?" I had asked him. "Or amI going to have to break it to them that they have a stepmother?"

"Well, they DID know that I intended to marry her." he hadmuttered into the phone.

"Oh, great!" I had retorted, not really surprised at hisoversight, "But did they know you were going to do so right thisminute? I'm not sure the ink on the divorce decree is dry yet!""Okay, okay! Calm down," he had remonstrated. "I'll callthem both today and tell them."

"It would have been so much better if you had given themsome warning!" I had replied tartly. "It's going to be a heck ofa shock to them this way!—And please try to convince themthat Caroline's permanent presence in your life is not going todetract from your love for them! Or your interest in them." Ihad finished, lamely. No wonder our children didn't want tobe here! How could I convince Max and Sassy that this housewas no longer a battlefield, when I was still seething with barelycontained anger, which alternated with a miasma of hopelessrejection and despair? With the briefest of goodbyes, I had stuckthe receiver into the cradle and returned to my worksheets.

Now, brushing my hair rather vehemently before my stillfoggy bathroom mirror, I regretted that I had not at least wishedhim well, or congratulated him, or something more elegant andsophisticated.... ("Mom, you're just not kewl," Max wouldhave said!)

And now today, Harry Bower, our senior partner, was callinga meeting to discuss the firm's future, he said. I was almost positiveit was to discuss my removal as a partner, if not to fire me fromthe firm. My performance through most of tax season had beenhurried and inefficient. If the other three partners decided to getrid of me, I could hardly blame them. These shambles were allmy fault, for not being able to cope, to resolve peacefully, to "get'er done"! Somehow, I must grasp my shortcomings and dealwith them!

I paused before the mirror, with my hair-brush mid-stroke,and wondered just how I would deal with the disorder, and whereI should start.... The mirror wasn't talking, but the phone rang.

I let the answering machine on the downstairs hall table takeit. I could hear my mother's voice, muted but cheerful, asking ifshe could stop by the office to get a copy of her tax returns forthe last three years. No hurry, she said, she wouldn't be comingdowntown till tomorrow.

She must be going to take out another mortgage, I thought,but what in the world for? Had my stepfather's medical problemsresurfaced? My mind shied away from the idea like a nervoushorse.

If I stood here much longer, I would be late for the office. Iforced some order to the mess of my graying locks and fl ed intothe bedroom to finish donning my armor for the day. All elsecould wait until I heard the reason for Harry's meeting, whichhe had announced just before closing yesterday. Today promisedto be confrontational and unpleasant.

It was, but not exactly in the way I had expected.

At the end of the day, behind the beautiful freeform slab ofmahogany I treasured as my desk, I sat in dejected silence, tooworn down to face the rush hour. I'll just stay here, I decided, fora couple of hours, and sort those clients I would keep (if I could),and those I must abandon. Harry Bower, Rosemary Stanton,Frank Sutton and I had been in disbelieving and recriminatingconference most of the day. I was exhausted and I knew it.

Pam, one of the two shared secretaries, had returned mymother's call to assure her the copies would be waiting for her. Istill didn't know what possible catastrophe might have occurredin my mother's life. No doubt she would enlighten me in time.But the size of today's disclosures left little room for my parent'sconcerns.

I was fully preoccupied with Harry's insistence that someonehad been playing fast and loose with the firm's finances. Apparently,whoever it was had covered their tracks well, and our year's profitshad vanished. Harry announced that he thought it best to dissolvethe firm and save what we could, instead of attempting to trackdown the culprit, or the money. He had stared right at me, as hesaid it.

Harry Bower, stocky and adamant, our firm's central core,had been awaiting us in the client conference room, ensconcedin the chairman's seat, facing the door down the length of thetable. He stood up as we had seated ourselves around the longoval. "I built this firm," he said, by way of preamble," With myexpertise and hard work. And, as it grew, I brought you threein as partners.... to share the workload and the benefits." hewaved his hand at us, and continued his preface. "Now one—orall of you," he shrugged as if not caring which it was, "has chosentreachery, and probably outright theft, as my reward."

"Jessie," he said, looking, not at me, but down at the noteshe had brought with him, "you have been making errors andoversights in your work, and probably omissions in your billingthe last four months," he pronounced accusingly. "Over a thirdof your clients are in extensions. I put it down to the distractionscaused by your divorce," he grimaced as he spoke, his ownacrimonious divorce not many years in the past, "But I cannotsee where your errors can be responsible for the large sums whichhave vanished."

His gaze swept the faces staring at him around the conferencetable, then continued, "When I looked more closely, there havebeen discrepancies from all of you.... but as yet I cannot findwhere the money has gone!" He sat down abruptly. His jowlsshook as he leaned forward, pressing his pudgy body against thetable almost threateningly.

"Money that should have been in the escrow account"he looked directly at me again, as I had the responsibility ofreviewing that, "and in the working account," here he shiftedhis glare to Rosemary, as that was her area to oversee, "—arejust not there! Though I cannot really believe that any of youwould intentionally torpedo us, the damage is done. We havecommitments for those monies, and payroll to meet. Frankly, Idon't see how we can. The firm is going down, and I, for one,want out!"

Frank had reared back in his chair in protest, his lean body,still tanned from his New Year's trip with his mousey wife, Peggy,to the sunny beaches of St. Croix, radiating rejection. "My booksare in perfect order!" he insisted stridently, "You cannot say I havediscrepancies!" But he looked assailed by doubt confronted by thecurbed anger and certainty in Harry's face and posture.

Rosemary's look of protest and affront at the accusations wasaccompanied by "Ridiculous!" but she, too, was visibly searchingher memory for possible action on her part which might haveprecipitated the firm's problems. She heaved her over-blowncurvaceous bulk out of the chair and strode the length of thetable, her thoughts clicking away behind a frown. From time totime, as she paced, she peered out from under her fl uffy blondecoif at each of us, suspiciously.

"Are you sure it is malicious and not just that we have beenbilling insufficiently?" She queried Harry. "How much is missing,anyway?"

"It's not really that large a sum," he admitted. "I foundonly about $175,000. worth of shortfall over the last year. $125thousand from the escrow account (here he fixed me with theangry glare again) and about $50k in recorded receipts, whichdon't seem to be in the working account (again it was Rosemary'sturn to receive that fixed stare!) But it's enough to break us, andbroke we are!" Harry asserted.

"B&A was a fat calf which has been neatly gutted in just thelast four or five months! Though I have found evidence goingback into previous years—You three can continue together if youwant, but I cannot stomach this insidious betrayal, nor take on theeffort to uncover this embezzlement and rectify it. I want out!"He reiterated firmly.

Rosemary stopped her pacing back and forth and subsided intothe closest chair. Pole-axed would have been a good descriptionof our mutual expressions. Almost two hundred thousand? Wasit possible that I hadn't properly checked the statements andtransactions in the trial balances of the escrow account that Pamhad brought me for review? How could I have missed $125,000.00 in discrepancies? We kept a fair amount in CDs, but surelythose lists were checked regularly? How had Harry picked it upwhen I hadn't? The firm's tax return had gone in more than 4weeks ago ... Had Harry been stewing over this since then, orhad he just become aware of the problem?

"I have been unable to pinpoint who is responsible," hecontinued, "nor to prove how it was really done. Certain errorsand omissions point to each of you in turn, and even to ME!Duplications have been made, errors in partners' draws, seeminglycorrected. One, or all, of you is being extremely canny and adept!But I will give you a hint—there were monies paid into, and paidout again, from the escrow funds for clients we don't have, orhaven't had for years." His hot eyes focused on me again. "Whoand how, no longer matters to me. I find that I am too old and tootired...." He turned to stare bitterly at the crisp spring sunshineand budding trees outside the wide windows, as though blamingthe burgeoning season for his defeat.

"I can no longer continue to work with unscrupulous people!Whether the firm can recover from this loss will be up to thethree of you.... I will disassociate myself and my clients fromyou all as rapidly as possible—and do NOT come to me for fundsto help make up these losses, whether or not you can ascertain theculprit!" He turned from the window to glare forbiddingly at thethree of us, still seated around the table.

"I have already transferred those funds pertaining to MYclients, out of the firm's escrow fund and into an escrow accountfor my new practice. Here is a list of those clients, and a spreadsheeton their escrow monies, as well as billed time due me,—whichmoney I have removed from the working fund! The capitalaccount and the securities accounts have always been mine andmy clients.... the CDs are mostly NOT THERE." He thrustcarefully stapled pages at each of us. Harry had well and trulyburnt our bridges and the three of us were liable to go up in theconflagration.

"You can use what's left of the working account and theunpaid receivables," he nodded to Frank, "to keep going whileyou salvage what remains of this firm and its clients, either as acontinuing partnership or splitting into your own practices."

I flicked quickly through my set and found copies of Harry'sworksheets at the back, showing the discrepancies he had found.He watched me as I studied them blankly.

"Those are certainly not all you'll find in the next fewweeks, but they were enough for me," he muttered dolefully, hisanger and accusations sliding away into muted frustration anddisappointment at the loss of status he had built with his ownhard work and competence. "One,—or all—of you has trashedthis firm we have built in the last 15 years, and since I can't provewho, I'm just walking away ..." I looked up quickly to see a ghostof satisfaction cross his face as he saw our acknowledgement ofthe grim situation. He had extricated himself, and we would haveno recourse to his help or experience in solving the firm's woes.

Harry slumped back in his chair, now looking only at thesmall pile of papers on the desk in front of him. He roused briefly,from the brown study into which he had sunk, while we werestill avidly scanning the papers he had given us. "It was not Irene,or one of the girls, either," he added, forestalling those questions,"And I am VERY doubtful that it could be Lance or Tiffany orRodd, as none can sign on the accounts, nor has the expertise—well, maybe Lance,—to perpetrate this." He paused, considering,"It had to be one of you three, who were able to sign the checksfor the firm, and had oversight of the bank accounts. Had it beenone of them, the money might have been juggled around andpilfered away with petty checks, but it had to be one of us toembezzle to the magnitude with which it has been done in just afew months!"—There it was again, that ugly word, spat out ontothe polished table between us.