Sons of Fortune

Nat’s mother seemed to be one of the few people who wasn’t disappointed that her son hadn’t been elected president. She felt it would give him more time to concentrate on his work. And if Susan Cartwright could have seen the hours Nathaniel was putting in, she would have stopped worrying. Even Tom found it difficult to pry Nat away from his books for more than a few minutes, unless it was to go on his daily five-mile run. And even when he broke the school cross-country record, Nat only allowed himself a couple of hours off to celebrate.

Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, New Year’s Eve—it made no difference. Nat remained in his room, head buried in his books. His mother only hoped that when he left to spend a long weekend in Simsbury with Tom, he would take a real break. He did. Nat cut his workload down to two hours in the morning and another two in the afternoon. Tom was grateful that his friend kept him to the same routine, even if he declined the invitation to join him for his daily run. It amused Nat that he could complete the five miles without ever leaving Tom’s estate.

“One of your many sweethearts?” asked Nat over breakfast the following morning as his friend tore open a letter.

“I only wish,” said Tom. “No, it’s from Mr. Thompson asking if I want to be considered for a part in Twelfth Night.”

“And do you?” asked Nat.

“No. It’s more your world than mine. I’m a producer by nature, not a performer.”

“I would have put my name down for a part if I was confident about my Yale application, but I haven’t even completed my independent study.”

“I haven’t even started mine,” admitted Tom.

“Which of the five subjects did you select?” asked Nat.

“Control of the lower Mississippi during the Civil War,” replied Tom. “And you?”

“Clarence Darrow and his influence on the trade union movement.”

“Yeah, I considered Mr. Darrow, but wasn’t sure I could manage five thousand words on the subject. No doubt you’ve already written ten.”

“No, but I’ve almost finished a first draft, and should have a final copy ready by the time we return in January.”

“Yale’s deadline isn’t until February; you really ought to consider taking a part in the school play. At least read for the audition. After all, it doesn’t have to be the lead.”

Nat thought about his friend’s suggestion as he buttered himself a piece of toast. Tom was right, of course, but Nat felt it would be just another distraction if he was hoping to win a scholarship to Yale. He glanced out of the window across acres of land and wondered what it must be like to have parents who didn’t have to worry about tuition payments, pocket money, and whether he could get a holiday job during the summer vacation.

“Do you wish to read for any particular role, Nat?” asked Mr. Thompson as he stared up at the six-foot-two boy with a mop of black hair, whose trousers always seemed to be a couple of inches too short.

“Antonio, possibly Orsino,” replied Nat.

“You’re a natural Orsino,” said Mr. Thompson, “but I have your friend, Tom Russell, in mind for that part.”

“I’m hardly Malvolio,” said Nat with a laugh.

“No, Elliot would be my first choice for Malvolio,” said Thompson with a wry smile. Mr. Thompson, like so many others at Taft, wished Nat had become the student government president. “But sadly he’s not available, whereas in truth, you are best suited for the role of Sebastian.”

Nat wanted to protest, although when he first read the script he had to admit he thought the part would be a challenge. However, its sheer length would demand hours of learning, not to mention time spent in rehearsals. Mr. Thompson sensed Nat’s reservations. “I think the time has come for a little bribery, Nat.”

“Bribery, sir?”

“Yes, my boy. You see the admissions director at Yale is one of my oldest friends. We studied classics together at Princeton, and he always spends a weekend with me every year. I think I’ll make it the weekend of the school play,” he paused, “that is, if you feel able to play Sebastian.” Nat didn’t respond. “Ah, I see bribery is not enough for someone of your high moral standards, so I shall have to stoop to corruption.”

“Corruption, sir?” said Nat.

“Yes, Nat, corruption. You will have observed that there are three parts in the play for females—the fair Olivia, your twin Viola, and the feisty Maria, not to mention understudies and maidservants, and don’t let’s forget that they all fall in love with Sebastian.” Nat still didn’t respond. “And,” continued Mr. Thompson, revealing his trump card, “my opposite number at Miss Porter’s has suggested that I should take a boy over on Saturday to read the male parts while we decide who should audition for the females.” He paused again. “Ah, I see I have finally caught your attention.”

“Do you believe it’s possible to spend your whole life loving only one person?” Annie asked.

“If you’re lucky enough to find the right person, why not?” responded Fletcher.

“I suspect that when you go to Yale in the fall you’ll be surrounded by so many bright and beautiful women, I’ll pale by comparison.”

“Not a chance,” said Fletcher. He sat down next to her on the sofa and put an arm around her shoulder. “And in any case, they’ll quickly discover that I’m in love with somebody else, and once you’re at Vassar, they’ll discover why.”

“But that won’t be for another year,” said Annie, “and by then…”