The Final Payment Cleared Before We Raised The School Curtain

Eight months after Cressida announced our marriage was ending, I stood outside a school gym in Augusta County with a clipboard under my coat.

Rain ticked against the loading door.

Tessa checked her watch.

“We have twelve minutes before the teachers come looking.”

“Then let's use eleven.”

She grinned and pushed the first case up the ramp.

My phone buzzed. It was Ruth.

“The final payment cleared,” she said.

Ellis had sold his studio equipment and paid the last $32,000 before his deadline. The full $133,400 had now been collected. Ruth would file the papers showing the judgment had been paid, while the ownership terms stayed in force.

“And the other order?” I asked.

“Certified copy is at your shop.”

Our divorce was final. We had no children, and the signed agreement had settled our property after the required separation. There were no shared accounts left for Cressida to lock.

I thanked Ruth and put the phone away.

Bea waited inside with Moss's coat folded over her arm.

“Good news?”

“The last payment.”

She nodded toward the gym.

“Then he can earn some honest applause.”

I took Moss from his case. His left cheek string had stretched during the wet drive. I tied on a red witness thread and eased the old line loose.

A teacher stopped beside the table.

“Did something break?”

“Just a line that needed replacing.”

“Will he still smile?”

“He'll keep the same one.”

She watched me set the new string through its guide. Then a child called her name, and she hurried back to the folding chairs.

We gave two shows that morning. Owen brought up the lights on cue. Bea slipped Nell's little rain cape over one wooden shoulder. Tessa called the places in her clear, steady voice.

I stood behind the black cloth and felt Moss's weight settle through the bar into my hands.

For weeks after the lockout, I had expected some new demand every time my phone rang. That morning, I heard children laugh at a wooden man trying to charge a moonbeam one penny to cross a bridge.

I nearly missed my next line.

Afterward, we loaded the cases and checked the payment receipt before leaving. The school secretary thanked each of us by name.

I had changed our invoice to include the crew list.

Back in Staunton, Malcolm met us at the small shop. He brought lunch in plain paper bags and three renewal folders.

“All attachments included?” I asked.

“Every one.”

His cuff button had finally been sewn back on. Bea noticed and looked pleased.

The recovered Lexington booking had led to another school visit. Richmond had confirmed its fall dates. Marian's licensed program was using its own puppets, made under the agreed design terms, and its first report had arrived on time.

Our calendar held enough paid work for the crew through the next term. We left open weeks where the funds did not yet support a booking.

No one needed to guess whether an empty box meant a paid day.

Lantern Span's final accounts showed the crew and ordinary suppliers had been paid. Its remaining business property had been sold, and the company had closed. Hearthwake closed too after its bills and the judgment were settled.

Cressida no longer controlled a booking list, a collection account, or permission to use my characters. The corrected ownership notices had gone to the investors and every theater that had received her old packet.

She sent one message asking whether I would attend a farewell reception for the old company.

I answered, “I won't be there.”

There was no second message.

After lunch, I opened Ruth's envelope. The divorce decree lay above the final property schedule. My payment for the touring puppets had been credited in the agreed division. My old tools, early models, and character designs were mine. Cressida had received the property assigned to her. Neither of us owed the other another payment.

I put my wedding ring in a small box and closed it.

The recovered royalties had paid the audit bill, the rest of my legal fees, and the money I had used to keep working. I placed the balance in savings and set aside a modest shop reserve.

Then I paid myself for the week's performances.

Before leaving, Malcolm handed me a new quarterly report. This time, the payment receipt named my account. His ten percent fee appeared on its own line.

I filed it in the flat metal case.

At closing time, Moss hung above my level bench, his small smile even. I coiled the red witness thread into its tin. The kettle cooled beside my hands as a new booking letter slipped through the mail slot and settled softly on the floor.