Chapter Two
T hatcher Torrey leaned back in his weathered leather chair and sighed. His day had quickly gone from bad to worse when he’d walked into the faculty meeting a few minutes late only to be called out in front of the entire history department. He’d been aware of the decline in history majors in recent years, but he hadn’t realized how upset the higher-ups at the university were. Since he was one of the professors who’d been around the longest and the one everyone assumed was a shoo-in for the department chair position that should be opening soon, he supposed it was only logical that they might hold him partially responsible.
“Dr. Torrey, thanks for finally joining us,” Roger White, the Dean of Academic Services had said as Thatcher slid into a chair. From the tone of his voice, Thatcher had known better than to share the story of the flat tire he’d had that morning on his way back to DC. Even a valid excuse wouldn’t hold up in this courtroom. “You’ve been here for several years. Perhaps you’d care to offer a theory on the decline of our history majors. You know, we were once considered one of the premiere programs in the country. Any thoughts, Dr. Torrey?”
Thatcher couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt more ambushed. Even worse, he’d spotted the smirk on Clark Langston’s face from across the room. Thatcher and Clark’s rivalry went back twenty plus years to high school. When Clark had joined the history department last year, he’d become a daily thorn in Thatcher’s side.
Thatcher had cleared his throat and plunged ahead with an answer. “We’re still considered one of the premiere programs in the country, sir. I’m sure just as with enrollment numbers, the number of students who choose a particular major ebbs and flows as well. I feel sure our numbers will be back up soon.” He’d quickly taken his seat before any other questions could be asked of him.
“Tough one, man.” His friend and colleague John Reynolds had whispered from behind him.
“Would anyone else like to speculate on the dismal numbers?” Dean White looked around the room.
Thatcher hadn’t been surprised to see Clark raise his hand. “I have a theory,” he’d said, rising to his feet. Even though it was a casual meeting, Clark was wearing a jacket and tie. “I think one of the biggest problems facing the program might be the archaic teaching methods used by some of our faculty.” He looked pointedly at Thatcher. “Students today are used to being constantly stimulated. In most classes, they access their class work on their iPhones or laptops. You can’t expect them to be excited about a standard old-school lecture. I think that is a big problem. Just because we teach history doesn’t mean we should act like we’re in the Stone Age.”
Thatcher shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It was no secret that he resisted the technological advances some professors embraced. He much preferred the old-school style of teaching. He’d shared his opinion on the subject many times with his colleagues. Creating TikToks and the like for his classes was not on his agenda and it never would be. He was convinced there was another way of reaching the students without jumping through hoops. A history class was no place for some kind of dog and pony show. As far as Thatcher was concerned, any student who expected simply to be entertained should sign up for another professor. He’d earned a reputation as being a tough but fair teacher, and he didn’t see any need to change his methods.
“Thank you, Dr. Langston. I can see you’ve put a good deal of thought into our problem.” Dean White nodded in Clark’s direction. “We’re forming a committee to discuss implementing some new strategies in attracting students. I would like for you to join us if you’re able.”
Clark nodded solemnly and glanced at Thatcher out of the corner of his eye. “I’d be glad to. I want to do everything I can to make sure this program is the best it can be. Even if it means making some changes.”
Thatcher had felt his blood boiling. The audacity of this man was unbelievable. Swooping in here and trying to take over. Thatcher had barely heard another word for the rest of the meeting. Now in the solitude of his office, he tried to pinpoint the moment where his career had taken a wrong turn. He was certain it was the day Clark was hired.
A tap on the door startled him. “Hey man.” John walked into the cramped office and took a seat in the wooden chair opposite Thatcher’s desk. “That guy really has it in for you.”
Although John was Thatcher’s closest friend on campus, he didn’t know the real story behind Thatcher and Clark’s relationship. Thatcher didn’t like to air his dirty laundry to anyone, even a colleague he was friends with. It would be unprofessional.
“We’ve known each other for a long time. He’s never been a fan of mine.” That statement wasn’t entirely true. Clark and Thatcher used to be friends. A long time ago. A fight that came to blows during their senior year of high school had effectively ended the friendship, and the fact that both had planned the same career path didn’t help to mend things. Thatcher had kept up with Clark after college through alumni news, but their paths hadn’t crossed—until Clark had interviewed for a position in Thatcher’s department last fall, and much to Thatcher’s chagrin, been offered the job. They’d spent the past year managing to be civil toward one another, but Thatcher had an idea those days were over.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but word around here is that Clark’s after the department chair position. I guess that doesn’t surprise you.” John didn’t meet Thatcher’s eyes.
Thatcher let out a grunt. “Not exactly. Especially considering his recent golf outings with Dean White. Such a kiss up.”
“You should also know that he’s been saying some pretty bad stuff about you to anyone who’ll listen. Mainly quoting some of your former students who say they feel like they didn’t learn as much as they could have because you didn’t utilize all the technology available.” John picked up the paperweight from Thatcher’s desk and turned it over in his hand. “I doubt the students actually said those things unprompted though. I have a feeling he’s been coaching some of the female students to say what he wants them to. What a nineteen-year-old sees in him is beyond me.”
Thatcher raked his hands through his hair. “I don’t understand why this is happening.”
“Look, we all know that no one works harder than you. No one is more devoted to this job and these students. You practically live up here during the school year.” John motioned toward the faded blue couch in the corner that often served as Thatcher’s bed.
“It looks like dedication isn’t enough anymore. Maybe it’s time for me to move on and let Clark take over. But somehow, I doubt he’s going to be happy until he’s completely ruined me.”
“About that. . .” John trailed off. “Any chance you want to tell me the real story behind you two? Whatever happened was more than twenty years ago. Is it a grudge that old still worth holding on to?”
Thatcher met John’s gaze. “The grudge is his, not mine. As far as I’m concerned, we could’ve moved past it. But he clearly isn’t ready to let it go.” This was Thatcher’s way of saying he wasn’t ready to share. Thankfully, his friend knew him well enough not to press the issue.
John nodded. “Guess not.” He paused. “Thatch, there’s one more thing.”
Something in John’s voice made Thatcher uneasy. “What’s that?”
“You and I both know you should be the obvious choice for department chair once Dr. Gregory retires at the end of the year. But I really think Clark is launching a full-out campaign. Not only is he becoming golf buddies with Dean White and calling you out every chance he gets, but now he’s on some kind of mission to put himself on the national map.”
Thatcher was confused. He knew of Clark’s ambition at the university. But the national map? “What do you mean?”
John leaned forward. “There may not be any truth to this at all,” he said, his voice lowered. “But I played racquetball this morning right after one of Clark’s graduate assistants. As he and his partner were leaving, I overheard their conversation. He said Clark was hot on the trail of some great historic discovery. He mentioned Abraham Lincoln and some documents, but then clammed up when he noticed me.”
“Abraham Lincoln?” Thatcher let out a heavy sigh. “That figures. Remember when they found that inscription on Lincoln’s pocket watch? That was huge news. Anything to do with Lincoln is newsworthy. Even after all these years, the public is still fascinated.”
John nodded. “Do you think there are really Lincoln items still out there that haven’t been discovered?”
Thatcher shrugged. “I guess it’s possible. And if there are, and Clark finds them. . .” he trailed off.
John set the paperweight back on the desk with a thud. “Then I’d dare say he’d be named the next Department Chair and our lives would be misery.”
The men exchanged glances.
“It seems to me you only have once option.” John rose from the chair. “I’ll see if I can find out anything else about the documents.”
“And it looks like I’m going on a treasure hunt.” Despite the circumstances, Thatcher couldn’t help but feel a twinge of excitement. A showdown with Clark had been twenty years in the making, and he wasn’t going down without a fight.