The Color Of Light. Emilie Richards
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Because you’re much too smart not to get a good education. And Dougie is, too.”
“We’re homeschooling.”
The girl was trying so hard with so little. She tried to think of a way to say what she was thinking without alienating her, never easy with a young teen.
“We have parents in our church who homeschool their children. I’ve seen it work two ways, Shiloh. One, the family is conscientious and partners with others to offer their children a well-rounded education with the chance to socialize and be involved in sports and other activities. Two, the family just lets their children do whatever they want. The second doesn’t work very well, and those children suffer.”
“I’m not a child.”
“I’m guessing you’re thirteen?”
“Fourteen going on fifteen.”
Answered like a child. Analiese guessed fifteen might be eleven months away. “That means you should be in eighth grade?”
“Ninth. I skipped a grade.”
And these days she was skipping a lot more. Analiese decided it was time to go right to the heart of the bad news.
“You had a difficult time at school in Atlanta. But, Shiloh, you saw how much trouble that caused your parents. So as smart as you are, you must see you have to go to school while you’re in Asheville, and so does your brother. If you don’t, you’ll get them into the same trouble again.”
“I’m not going, and neither is he.”
“It was that bad, huh?”
The sympathy seemed to take her aback. “I hated it.”
“Can you tell me why?”
“I was in gifted classes in Ohio. When we got to South Carolina they said they didn’t have gifted classes unless my parents could pay to have me tested again, and then they put me in with dumb kids because that’s where they had room for me. In Atlanta they looked at my South Carolina records and put me in dumber classes. And the kids were awful.”
Analiese heard two things. One, this girl was so unhappy with the way she had been treated that she was willing to share her story with a stranger. Two, that Shiloh’s self-esteem had suffered and getting her back into school was going to require every bit of skill Analiese possessed.
Actually, there was a third, and she tested her conclusion. “Your parents let you stop going to school?”
“Nobody can make you go if you don’t want to.”
Especially parents who were exhausted, depressed, and otherwise occupied trying to keep their family together.
Analiese gathered her strength for the battle. “Okay, let’s start with the facts. You’re a smart girl. And as a smart girl you know that sometimes the world doesn’t work the way you wish it would.”
“You said it, not me.”
“So that being true, we also know that sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to because the consequences of not doing them are worse than doing them.”
Shiloh obviously knew where this was going. “Not this time.”
“So these are the consequences,” Analiese said. “Just so you’ll know. One, your parents will get into serious trouble with the authorities again. And as a side note to that, I think they’re already worried about the family being split up, and this will only heighten their fears. For good reason.”
She overrode Shiloh’s attempt to interrupt. “And two, the church will not let you stay in the apartment if you don’t go to school. Our leadership won’t court trouble with the authorities.”
“I can pretend to go.”
“No, you can’t.”
Shiloh fell silent.
Analiese let her message sink in before she spoke. “We have good schools in this county, and there are other kids—you’d be surprised how many—who don’t have a permanent address. You won’t be alone, I promise. Asheville’s filled with different kinds of people, and I think you’ll be surprised how comfortably you’ll fit in if you give school a chance.”
“I’ll never fit in anywhere.”
“I know that’s how you feel, but I can guarantee you’re not the only girl your age who feels that way.”
“It’s not just me. They always put Dougie in with the dumb kids because he can’t sit still, and that’s not good for him. He’s not dumb, and he’s not mean, like some boys are.”
“We can talk to the people in charge and tell them everything you’ve been through. They’ll listen.” Analiese hoped it was true.
“Why bother? We won’t be here very long. Daddy isn’t going to find a job.”
“You have a place to live, and we’re going to try to find you a more permanent one. Your mom’s seen a doctor. With those problems out of the way your father can look for work without distractions, and he might find something right away. But you need to go to school so he’ll have even fewer worries, Shiloh. You do get that, right?”
“I hate this.”
Analiese reached over and squeezed her hand. She thought she had won this battle, but probably not the war. Still, the conversation had begun.
FOUR HOURS OF sleep was not enough. Not nearly. But after settling the Fowlers into their temporary home, making calls to parishioners asking for bedding and kitchen supplies, and finally settling down to wrestle with an entirely new sermon, four hours had been all Analiese could manage.
The fact that her computer’s spam filter had logged an automatic response informing her that Isaiah’s email address was no longer valid hadn’t made it easier to sleep, either.
Despite her exhaustion the first and smaller service, which was always more intimate and informal, had gone well enough. A local bluegrass band had provided the music for hymns, and communion in the pews had featured homemade bread supplied by congregation hobby bakers. No one had approached her afterward and asked if she had lost her mind, but no one had really had the opportunity. She had shaken hands at the door, which was never a good place for confrontation, and escaped immediately to her study after the last person filed through. She wasn’t afraid to discuss her decision with her congregation. She just wanted to pick the time and place.
Now sipping a cup of tea as she waited to robe for the second service she stood at her study window. She loved this space with its blue-gray paneling and courtyard view. The courtyard was surrounded by three walls, and the fountain in the center was flanked by concrete benches, where she often sat to write sermons on her laptop.
In some ways the courtyard was a secret garden and rarely used. Today was an exception. Dougie was fishing in the fountain, pants rolled up to his knees and lily pads swishing against his calves as he waded the perimeter with an old stick that flaunted a length of string and most likely an open safety pin. Never mind that there were no fish in the fountain. Dougie, like a modern-day Huck Finn, was determined to live off the land.
The sight might dismay the church building and grounds committee, but she found herself laughing, her first genuine laughter of the day. “Okay, Isaiah,” she said to the empty room. “I get it. You always said God comes to us in disguise. So now She’s a nine-year-old boy with a fishing pole?”
Someone knocked, and she tore herself away from the window, straightened her shoulders, as her laughter evaporated. She crossed the room to what she was sure would be trouble. Instead, when she opened the door she found Ethan, in a sports coat and no tie, and she grabbed his arm and pulled him inside, closing the door behind him.
“I can leave,”