The Removal Notice Reached Her Before The New Posters

"I haven't withdrawn," I told Ruth.

"I didn't think you had. But my board needs that in writing."

I wrote four plain sentences. I was ready to perform. I had not authorized a cancellation. The replacement agreements were signed by the venues and me. Ada would confirm the company's authority before the agreement took effect.

Ruth replied, "Keep building."

I pinned those two words above my bench.

On Monday, Ada delivered my signed notice removing Marlene's management and signing authority under the agreement. She attached the demand, proof of delivery, payment records, and Marlene's reply about the growth draw.

I didn't remove her forty percent ownership. I didn't pay myself her share. The notice took away the authority she had used to move money and speak for us.

Paul disputed the removal at first. Ada requested a prompt hearing to confirm it and showed him the exact clause again.

By afternoon, he agreed to an interim order recognizing me as the sole manager while the money claims continued. Marlene kept her right to contest the final result.

"Get it signed," I said.

Ada did.

I used that order, the agreement, and the notice to change the bank's authorized signers. The branch manager checked each page and had me sign new forms. It took an hour.

I had spent longer choosing button eyes.

The same day, the court approved the agreed refund plan and the release of the remaining $2,400 to the company. Paul sent transfer confirmations. Each venue received $3,000, and Ada sent Ruth the documents confirming my authority.

I signed the company portions of the new agreements. All three took effect.

Our company balance rose from $1,840 to $4,240.

I paid June's $450 invoice, ordered $280 in repair parts and teaching supplies, and paid Soren the $600 we already owed him.

He studied the payment notice.

"An excellent special effect," he said. "Money appearing."

We changed passwords together, checked recovery addresses, and made a list of every booking contact. I sent a short notice naming me as the company's sole authorized manager. Ada approved the wording.

I didn't attach Marlene's bank statement for people to whisper over.

When the local paper called, I said the show would go ahead under corrected agreements. Ruth confirmed the date and the workshop.

Then I returned to the part of my job no order could do.

Moss's jaw needed to close on a soft breath. If the leather was too stiff, he looked angry. If it was too loose, his mouth fell open when I turned him.

I cut three hinges before one worked.

The bad ones went into a saucer, not the trash. I labeled each with what had failed: too thick, wrong grain, hole too close to the edge. A mistake could save time later if I kept a useful record of it.

"You could buy a hinge," Soren said.

"For a cabinet."

"He does have a drawer-like quality."

I gave the blank practice head a grand voice.

"Sir, my family has been furniture for generations."

Soren laughed so hard he dropped a washer. I marked that head's jawline while I remembered the sound.

Our second puppeteer, Tess Boyd, came after her day job. Marlene had told her the company was switching to recorded voices and wouldn't need her.

I showed her the signed show agreement and the pay sheet.

"Three Saturdays," I said. "Same rate we agreed before all this."

She set her bag down.

"Then give me the cricket."

We rehearsed until Nell's paper lantern caught Aunt Slate's shell and tore.

For a moment, none of us moved.

Then Tess made Nell sigh.

"I shall submit a claim to the moon."

It wasn't in the script. We kept it.

On Thursday, Ruth sent the new poster proof. My name appeared under Puppet Design, Story, And Voices. Soren had a credit for stage work. Tess had her own line.

Marlene's name wasn't listed as booking director. There was no booking job left for her to do.

I approved the proof after fixing a misspelled word.

Friday night, my mother brought soup to the shop. We lit two small candles on a clear shelf, far from the fabric. For a few minutes, I left the tools alone.

"Your grandmother would have kept three copies," she said when I told her about the binder.

"I have four now."

"Good. Eat."

Saturday morning, we drove out with the puppets strapped into their padded crates. The hills beyond town held the first dull patches of fall color.

At Fern Hall, Ruth checked our inventory and signed for delivery. Tess carried the teaching case inside. I put the new hinge through ten slow mouth movements.

Then I heard Ruth speaking near the lobby.

"Your name isn't on the authorized list."

Through the loading-door window, I saw Marlene in her cream coat, holding her old company badge.