Marienthal College was located in a nice suburb in the southwestern part of town. It was a small college, scarcely over a thousand students. The core of the campus barely covered a city block, and at that the buildings were comfortably spread out. Some of the buildings were nicely modern and some were classic brick structures. In the summer and fall it was nicely green with old growth trees, mainly cottonwoods; even in March, when there were but the first whispers of spring, it was still a nice campus.

The lounge for the student union was a fairly large room, with many overstuffed chairs and low tables. Usually, it was only lightly used, but it made a handy place when large receptions were held on campus. These came along from time to time, for one reason or another, and the staff at the Union had the drill for setting up for the receptions and catering them down to an art.

This would be a little different reception than the norm, Dr. Hamilton had realized right from the start. He'd been listening to the campus radio station, more checking in on what the kids were saying than to really listen to the music, when he heard Trey Hartwell playing an album of familiar music -- he recognized Dr. Harris' harp instantly. Within seconds he called over to the radio station, not getting an answer -- part of the reason Hartwell had played the whole album is that it gave him time to hit the food hutch in Buffet Hall for a sandwich and a milkshake. Dr. Hamilton knew that was a little against the rules since the DJs were supposed to hang around in case something happened, but it was a common practice, and he couldn't fault the kid.

Hartwell picked up the phone on the third call, and was a little embarrassed to learn that Dr. Hamilton, of all people, had caught him sneaking out for a break. But, Dr. Hamilton had spent most of his career around college students after all, and let him off easily. "That album you're playing," he asked. , "Is that by someone we know, by any chance?"

"It's Dr. Harris' new album, Harp Strings." Hartwell told him. "It hasn't been released yet. What I'm playing is actually a proof copy. It's going to be released by Jenny Easton Productions next month. Dr. Harris said it was OK to play it."

"Let me see," Dr. Hamilton said. "Oh, yes, you were the student who assisted her with her concert back in December. I hadn't realized she had an album in production."

Dr. Hamilton had been impressed. Marienthal had some good people, some excellent in their fields, but he couldn't think of anyone who had done something quite like that. This was something special for Marienthal! Since one of his jobs as president of the college was to bring people's attention to the place, this wasn't something he could let slip by with just a simple press release. A reception, he thought, maybe even a release party with Dr. Harris the guest of honor of course. Have her play a few selections, meet with a few people. With any kind of luck, he could get a story in the Kansas City Star. Show her off a little and show that even a small college like Marienthal could attract some quality people, even exciting people. The right story wouldn't hurt student recruitment, either.

Dr. Harris had cooperated readily with his suggestion, and it was quickly put together with only a little juggling of dates to keep the reception away from spring break, when the campus would empty out a couple days before it was supposed to. Dr. Harris told Dr. Hamilton that Jenny Easton had no objections to breaking the release a little early, where Marienthal College was concerned. To top it off, she had even added the thought that Jenny might be able to play a campus concert there sometime, possibly when her child was a little older -- perhaps a year off. That couldn't be in Downs Hall, Dr. Hamilton mused; it would have to be in the field house. Like most colleges, Marienthal brought in outside entertainers to hold some student events, but pulling in Jenny Easton would one-up a number of colleges in the area. It wasn't often that lightning struck like that right from campus. It was a win-win, all the way around.

So, on the evening of the release party there was a good crowd in the Union. The party was dry of course, but there were a lot of people there who had been at the December concert, or had heard the album on KCMC. Dr. Harris was there, wearing a stunning but conservative white evening gown -- well, it did show quite a bit of thigh, but still it was something a little out of place for her. Dr. Harris tended to dress a little tweedy, if not downright butch. Still, tonight she was a good-looking, flashy woman who really dazzled people. She was moving around, working the crowd and greeting everyone with a nice word.

Dr. Hamilton noticed that Hartwell was there too, but he wasn't hanging out with the crowd; he was fiddling with the lights at one end of the room, checking the sound system. Dr. Hamilton couldn't pay a lot of attention to the student, but at one point he was a little surprised to see him take a guitar from another student and hide it behind a couch near the "stage." Wonder what that's about, he thought. Oh well, she probably plays the guitar too. There's considerably more to that young woman than met the eye when she had first come here for her interview two years ago.

"Oh, Dr. Hamilton," he heard Dr. Harris say in a cool voice. "I was wondering what had happened to you. I have someone here I should like you to meet." He looked around, to see her standing next to a small man, only a little taller than she was, wearing a business suit and tie and a neatly-trimmed Van Dyke. Next to him stood a dark-haired woman a couple inches taller yet, also nicely dressed in a business suit. "This is Randy and Nicole Clark," Dr. Harris explained. "I invited them to be here tonight as my special guests. Randy and I go far back, and they are among my nearest and dearest friends. Randy, Nicole, this is Dr. Hamilton, the president of Marienthal College."

They exchanged "pleased to meet yous," and Dr. Hamilton asked, "Are you from around here?"

"No, Spearfish Lake," Mr. Clark explained. "We came down here for a trade show, and decided to visit Myleigh while we were in the area."

"Well, welcome to Marienthal College," Dr. Hamilton said. "I hope you like our little campus."

"I was here briefly, once before," he said. "Seemed like a nice enough place. Has a little character to it, not like the big, sterile Bauhaus block architecture you see around a lot of colleges."

"Oh, you're an architect, then?" Dr. Hamilton asked.

"Nothing like that," Mr. Clark smiled. "Just a contractor, but we sometimes wind up having to do architectural work. It runs in the family. My grandmother was a well-known architect in her day, won some awards."

"Randy," Dr. Harris frowned. "In all the years I've known you, I've never heard that."

"Well, she died before I was born," he replied. "I've only heard stories about her. Have I ever shown . . . no, I guess I haven't. Commons is a huge, impressive log building. It shows up in a lot of architecture books, especially those dealing in large log construction. It's getting a little dated now, and is getting to need some major maintenance, which we'll be doing as soon as the weather breaks. It was the first really big Clark Construction project, nearly fifty years ago, and we like to keep it in the family."

"Then your grandfather must have built it, then," Dr. Harris said. "He's a very nice man."

"He is," Mr. Clark said. "I could never do what I do without him." He turned to Dr. Hamilton. "My grandfather is close to eighty and in the last couple years has developed heart trouble, so now he only gives general oversight, and I manage the day to day affairs."

"Sounds like a big job for a young man like you," Dr. Hamilton said.

"Bigger than I wanted at this point in my life, but you have to do what you have to do."

"That's true," Dr. Hamilton agreed. "So, I take it you've known Dr. Harris for some time?"

"We were both undergraduates at Northern Michigan University," Dr. Harris explained. "I confess, I would have had considerably more difficulty getting through my graduate studies without his assistance and support."

"Well, Mr. Clark, it's good to have you here," Dr. Hamilton smiled. "I trust you are no stranger to Dr. Harris' harp playing."

"No, I've heard it a time or two," Mr. Clark smiled.

At that moment, Hartwell, the student who had been managing the lights and sound, came up and got his attention. "Dr. Hamilton," he said, "If we're going to get under way on time, you probably should be working your way up to the mike. You, too, Dr. Harris."

A few minutes later, Dr. Hamilton was standing under the lights at one end of the room. "Faculty and students of Marienthal College, and honored guests," he began. "One evening toward the end of last semester, there was an informal concert presented over in Downs Hall. I know many of the people there that night are here tonight, and we were all thrilled and surprised at the magnificent performance given by one of our own from here at Marienthal. If I may be casual, she set the place on its ear, and we were all proud to find out that we had such a performer among us. I'm informed that over the holidays she just finished work on her first album, Harp Strings. It'll be formally going on sale the end of next week, and we're here to celebrate that fact. If you haven't heard her before, you're in for a treat. With that, I'll get out of the way and give you Marienthal College's own Dr. Myleigh Harris."

There was a round of applause, and Dr. Harris strode out onto the stage, carrying the blue harp. "Thank you all for coming," she said with a big grin. "And, thank you, Dr. Hamilton, for your warm introduction. Before I get started, I should like to announce that thanks to the kindness of Jenny Easton, there will be advance copies of Harp Strings for sale after this performance, and I shall be available for autographs should anyone desire. Now, those of you who were at the performance in Downs Hall in December will remember that I commented that there seemed to be a great number of literature students present who apparently had not been assigned enough homework. Given that I also see many of them here tonight, in light of the special occasion I shall declare an amnesty on the assignment due Monday." Several cheers broke out, but she quickly squelched them: "It is, however, due Wednesday." There were scattered moans.

She took a breath and went on. "In December, I was surprised at the number of people who turned out, so I'm pleased to see so many of the same people here tonight," she said as one hand began to pick out a rhythm on Blue Beauty. "You will recall that I opened the concert with a favorite of mine that was recorded for Harp Strings, so I shall play it for you again." She swung into Black Haired Rebel Girl. After the last notes died out, she talked to the audience for a moment, then moved on to Month of Sundays, also from the album, and followed it with Inland Sea. Each was followed by good applause.

Dr. Hamilton thought the show was going well, so he was surprised as anyone else when, after Inland Sea, Dr. Harris stopped and said. "In view of the honor of the occasion, I should like to announce that we have a special guest with us tonight. You will remember my relating stories about surfing storms on Lake Superior. We have with us tonight one of my fellow Superior surfers, Randy Clark. Randy, would you come down here, please?"

Dr. Hamilton looked as the small guy in the suit and the Van Dyke got up and came down to the lights. "Randy and I have known each other many years," Dr. Harris said, as she pulled the microphone from the stand. "It was in fact, through his good offices that I was able to meet Jenny Easton and travel down the road to my standing before you tonight. We played together for some time in undergraduate school, and we continue to play together. Randy, you see, plays in the Boreal String Band along with me."

That brought a cheer. "As long as I have known him," Dr. Harris continued, "I have known him to be very shy and self-effacing, never seeking the limelight, and he thought to avoid it tonight by leaving his bass guitar at home." She turned to Randy and continued. "However, Randy, we at Marienthal anticipated that, so we have arranged to borrow one for you." With that, Dr. Hamilton watched as the Hartwell kid came scuttling out of the shadows with the guitar he'd hidden there earlier, along with a second microphone stand.

Clark looked indignant, as Hartwell handed the guitar to him. "My . . . Dr. Harris," he said into the microphone, "I'm going to get you for this."

"Trey, I detect that Randy feels uncomfortable," she said. "Something appears to be missing. Could you help, please?" Hartwell hustled out of the shadows again, carrying a pair of wraparound sunglasses.

Clark got an absolutely evil look on his face, smiled, and put them on. "You're right," he told Dr. Harris. "That's better." He picked at the guitar, testing the tune, and made a couple adjustments as he said, "Dr. Harris, we haven't rehearsed anything for months. I suppose you have something in mind that we can both fake our way through."

"Why, yes," Dr. Harris said. "Considering that we are both surfers, there is a piece of surfing music that we have played together on occasion." She started to pick out the opening rhythm.

"Oh, yes," Clark smiled. "We have done that once or twice," and swung into the bass guitar lead of Pipeline, the greatest of all the old surfing instrumentals. In but a moment, both of them were rocking hard. Dr. Hamilton had heard Dr. Harris do it as a solo back in December, but he realized now that something had been missing -- that deep bass guitar lead. This was serious, get on down, classic instrumental rock. Dr. Hamilton remembered back to when he was a kid, hearing that on the car radio while he was driving around wondering what the surfing scene in California was like. They played it right through, rocking hard, and at the end, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that this was not going to be just a simple harp concert.

As the applause died down, Dr. Harris said to the audience. "Randy and I have been known to play a special occasion when needed, and we have one of those special occasions coming up in the future -- two months from today, in fact. Over break, we did practice it, but since we're together tonight perhaps we should give the main song a run-through, just for the sake of not getting stale."

What followed was about as big a change of pace from the rock of Pipeline as could be imagined. Dr. Harris picked out a gentle rhythm and added, "In case you're interested, we will be playing it at the wedding of a couple of close friends of ours, at the bottom of the Grand Canyon." Clark picked up the song, just as a gentle accompaniment, and she began to sing.

The bass guitar just lent depth to the music without overpowering it. It was a sweet and gentle performance; Dr. Hamilton had never heard it done that well, and when the song came to an end, the applause was just about as good as it had been for Pipeline. "Ladies and gentlemen," Dr. Harris said in an exultant voice as soon as it began to die down a little, "Randy Clark of the Boreal String Band."

That set off another round of cheers; Clark took off his sunglasses and bowed to the crowd, then handed the bass guitar off to Hartwell, took the microphone and said, "And, with that, ladies and gentlemen, we return you to the regular scheduled program, Dr. Myleigh Harris of the Boreal String Band, Harp Strings, and Marienthal College."

"Well, Randy," she said as he headed back to his seat, "We make a tough act to follow, don't we? But, I shall do my best, with an old favorite of yours and mine, a piece we used to practice together in the dorm at Northern Michigan. I'm sure you'll remember this," she said as she eased her way gently into Lore of the Loom.

* * *

"She's quite the showman, isn't she?" Nicole smiled as he sat down. "Not the meek little Myleigh we know, is she?"

The show went on considerably longer than planned, and not just due to the two tunes she'd done with Randy. She ended the show with Dawnwalker, the most famous of the songs she had done with Jennifer, and predictably, it drew good applause, and calls for an encore, so, like the last time, she did American Pie. That had the crowd singing along, and ended it on an intimate note.

Afterward, Trey was literally mobbed back at the CD sale table, to the point where Nicole pitched in with him. Blake had thrown in a couple cases of Saturday Night CDs just as an afterthought, and the crowd went through 600 CDs at fifteen bucks each like a 40-foot combine through a wheat field while both Myleigh and Randy signed autographs. It took over another hour for the crowd to die out, and afterwards they had to wait around while a reporter from the Star had a short interview, and took photos of Myleigh and Blue Beauty.

"Well, I'd say that went pretty well for a kickoff under the circumstances," Trey commented to Randy and Nicole as they sat at the table, counting and facing a pile of fives, tens and twenties.

"I could have imagined worse," Randy said. "Was it like this the last time?"

"No, this was even wilder," Trey smiled. "I was wondering how she was going to pick it up after the two of you did Pipeline, but the Wedding Song brought it back into perspective. Thanks for being a good sport about it."

"Trey, damn it, you know I've never done a public show, not one like that, anyway. Myleigh and I used to jam around in the lounge in the dorm at Northern, but that wasn't a show, for freaking sakes. Where did you come up with the idea for the shades? I hardly ever wear sunglasses, except on bright days when there's a lot of snow."

"Myleigh and I talked it over," he said. "She said she thought it would give you a little gag to have some fun with. For being flat surprised, you handled it beautifully."

"You've been planning this, haven't you?" Randy charged.

"Of course," Trey said. "That was pretty much the show that she plans to give when we do that little tour in a few days, but we thought we ought to throw in something special here. Worked pretty well, I thought. I'm just a little concerned how she's going to handle a cold crowd, but not real worried. I mean, I saw her back in December."

"I hope so," Randy said. "I notice you've taken good care of the details."

"I can't build a fire, but I can carry the firewood," Trey said. "It is kind of fun."

"So I take it the two of you have been getting friendly?" Randy probed a little.

"Oh, yeah," Trey said. "Just being the eager student assistant trying to help out, at least as far as the college is concerned."

"That officers and troops business?"

"Yeah," Trey sighed. "Probably just as well at this point. I'm trying to keep it down. I have to keep an eye out for her. They are a little sticky about it here, especially Dr. Hamilton, but it's kind of the custom here. You noticed all that Mr. this and Ms. that stuff he hands out? He is a little stiff."

"Nothing wrong with that if you're used to it," Randy said. "I sort of got used to formality from being around Myleigh, but yeah, that is a little stiffer than I'm used to."

"My, my, are we about finished?" Myleigh said, joining the conversation.

"Pretty well wrapped up, Dr. Harris," Trey said. "I'm not going to try to clean this place up, but I've got the sound system put away and the lights back where they belong. Duane came and got his bass guitar. Randy, he said you pound the living hell out of it, he wishes he was half as good."

"Too bad he didn't stick around," Randy replied. "I'd have liked to thank him."

"Well, you were busy signing autographs," Trey said.

"That feels kind of strange, you know?" he said. "I mean, hell, Myleigh's the star, I just do background."

"Enjoy it while you can," Myleigh grinned. "It is back to the snow country for you tomorrow evening. If things are completed, I suppose we should be leaving. Trey, I should like you to join us, for I should like to take my friends out for a quiet libation to celebrate a successful evening, and you were a great part of the success."

"Sure thing, Dr. Harris."

Trey had already found Myleigh's jacket; he picked up her harp case, and the four walked across campus to Myleigh's apartment, where she changed out of the formal gown into something a little more casual, at least for her. The four of them piled into Randy and Nicole's big rental car, and drove to a nearby spot -- just a quiet little bar, it turned out. After some discussion, they decided to share a bottle of good wine, just to have something in their hands. "I must say, I thought the evening went rather well," Myleigh said while they waited for the wine to arrive.

"Except for that bozo on the bass guitar," Randy snorted. "Myleigh, you could have at least given me a heads up rather than letting me stand there like an idiot."

"Oh, that was the fun part," Myleigh snickered. "I must say, you did exceedingly well. Once you got the sunglasses on, you looked like a serious rocker. You must consider that in future performances."

"Yeah, maybe," he said. "I suppose there'll be a next time at this rate. Blake was telling me the other day that he and Jennifer would like to take the band on some dates this summer. The way the summer is stacking up I don't know how much I'll be able to get away, so I guess we'll have to wait and see."

"It would be fun," Myleigh said. "I confess I'm looking forward to the little excursion Trey and I plan in a few days. I admit it is to a degree testing the waters before crowds where I am not already known, but I do believe that I shall have a better feeling for the reactions that way. Trey, I must ask, how did the album sales go? I confess I did not see you carrying extras out."

"No extras," Trey said. "A clean sweep. I think we could have gone through at least a hundred more of each album."

"Randy, I must confess something," Myleigh grinned. "Blake and Jennifer were aware of our little prank, although I asked them to say nothing. That is why they sent the Saturday Night CDs. Otherwise they would not have done so. We do not plan to take the Saturday Night albums on our little excursion."

"We're taking a bag apiece, Blue Beauty, an amp, a couple speakers, and a potload of CDs," Trey explained. "We're going to take the Cougar; it's a little bigger than Myleigh's Neon."

"The trip has grown a little since I talked to you about it last," Myleigh said. "Blake and Jennifer were able to come up with a few more shows once we confirmed we would be going by ground. I frankly do not expect great crowds of people, even trading somewhat on the Boreal String Band for publicity, but as long as we are in the neighborhood, we might as well play them. I shall not be disappointed if we wind up with the size of crowds we anticipated when Trey originally suggested I entertain at Marienthal. Should I decide to pursue this more intensively, I hope for good word of mouth. In any case, the fees alone should cover the expenses and then some. Extra album sales will be welcome, even though we have to cover the wholesale cost of them."

"You know," Nicole observed. "You already seem to be getting a little professional about this. You've got a road manager, booking acts, looking at the financial side."

"I suppose so," Myleigh admitted. "It is a little more involved than just sitting down in a nice dress and playing Blue Beauty for a while. Fortunately Trey has been willing to assist with many of the practical details. I confess I should not have considered such a prodigious tour without his proffer of assistance."

"It's nice he's been helpful to you," Nicole said, trying to change the subject a little. "So, how do you like the new harp you got in Chicago?"

"Brown Bess is a fine instrument," Myleigh replied. "Indeed, probably a finer one than Blue Beauty, but in some indefinable way she does not talk to me like Blue Beauty does. I presume it's merely not being used to a new instrument, a psychological problem on my part, but I cannot help but believe that Brown Bess doesn't have the soul of Blue Beauty."

"You know," Randy said thoughtfully. "It felt a little different playing that strange guitar tonight without a bit of practice. They are different, even if they're supposedly the same. It went all right, but it just didn't feel right." He stopped for a second, thought about it, and continued, "I suppose it's possible to say that you have to put the soul into the instrument. It takes a while. You've spent what, thirteen, fourteen years putting soul into Blue Beauty? You've had more like thirteen days with Brown Bess. Of course she doesn't have the soul yet."

That caused Myleigh to cock her own head and think for a moment. "Randy, dear," she said. "In all the years I have known you, I had never conceived of you being that mystical, but I do not doubt that you are correct." She sighed and went on. "Still, I do hope that I never have to go through the trials and tribulations with Brown Bess that I experienced in putting Blue Beauty's soul into her. When she disappeared January last, I feared that I had lost most of my own soul, and for hunting her down and recovering her, I owe my hero my eternal gratitude. Brown Bess is a fine instrument, and I shall work with her, even though I feel like something of a traitor to put my fingers upon her strings. But, if Blue Beauty does indeed have a soul, I should hope that she realizes that Brown Bess is there for her protection."

They sat and talked in the little lounge until late. Eventually Randy and Nicole dropped Myleigh and Trey off at her apartment, and they watched as he got in his Cougar and drove away. There was a few minutes more talk with Myleigh, about nothing in particular except the plan for the Grand Canyon trip in two months. Finally she waved goodbye, and climbed up the stairs to her apartment as Randy and Nicole drove off into the night.

They were halfway back to their motel before Nicole said, "I wish we'd worked it out to stay over another day. We hardly got to see her without Trey around."

"Yeah," Randy agreed thoughtfully. "It would have been nice to get her alone for a while, but I think my main worry about her is over with. I didn't pick up any sign that she and Trey were getting it on or what. But then, under the circumstances I wouldn't have expected it. We mostly were in a situation where they had to be on their good behavior."

"True," Nicole agreed. "But I never picked up any of those lovers' things, you know, the sly glances, the holding hands, like that."

"Wouldn't expect it from Myleigh. She doesn't work that way," Randy explained, remembering back. "I mean, we were never that way. Oh, once in a while a little, when we were alone. She sort of showed off for Paula once, when I took her to Cornell. But, that was more establishing relations with Paula than it was anything aimed at me, since right then we weren't sure we were going to see each other again, ever."

"I heard 'my hero' a few times, but not a lot," Nicole noted.

"Yeah, but again, we were mostly in a situation where they had to be on their good behavior. I never heard it while we were on campus. You notice she was 'Dr. Harris' to him on campus, and 'Myleigh' off?"

"I caught that," Nicole grinned. "I wasn't sure if it meant anything. Weatherford was a little more formal than you told me Northern was, but not like that, so I really couldn't tell."

Randy shook his head, as if Nicole could see it in the darkness of the rental car. "You know what? I really don't care if they're getting it on or not. She's got a friend, a supporter. That's what she really needed, anyway."

"And, one she found on her own," Nicole agreed. "I think that says something good about our little harper."

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