Snowflakes fell slowly through the thin early-winter daylight outside the barn. In the large indoor stall, the three brown horses worked intently on their feed boxes, newly stocked with alfalfa and grain. Liberty’s long black hair bobbed among the horses, sometimes behind, sometimes between two of them, the brush in her hand working over their shaggy coats.
Two of the horses suddenly moved closer together. The girl’s elbows quickly went into action, and her feet danced to avoid their hooves. “Move over, ya big lunks!”
A few minutes later, the door to the barn opened and in stepped a gray-haired man, dressed and groomed as formally as possible while doing outdoor chores.
“Hi, Harold! Pfew, I’m glad I’m not allergic to horse hair!”
“Miss Liberty, I am amazed at how tidy you are keeping the barn and what good care the horses are receiving.”
“Keeps me from getting too bored. No, Chelsea! I like my hair the length it is, thank you!”
The man couldn’t suppress a chuckle.
“There, you guys are brushed, and I’m not going to do it every time you see me! Hand me that can of salve, please, Harold. Penny’s got a scratch.”
“Hmm. We’ll have to walk the fences as soon as the weather improves a
NEBADOR Book Seven: The Local Universe 71
bit, and look for loose wire.”
“Yeah. Doesn’t look like anything bigger than fence wire.”
“By the way, I’ve got the mail. Would you like to do the honors?”
Climbing over the stall fence and hanging up her brush, Liberty replied with routine excitement, “Sure! And I’m starved! What’s cooking?”
“You don’t want to go back to hay and grain?”
She snickered. “You’re going to remind me about that for the rest of my life, aren’t you Harold? I only did it for three days!”
“Actually, I don’t think I’ll need to remind you. I have a hunch that every time you start losing perspective, you’ll remember those days of sleeping in the barn, running barefoot in the snow, and nearly starving to death while chewing on alfalfa. I’ve got a meatloaf in the oven and some potatoes baking.”
They both pulled up their hoods and trudged through the snow toward the stately three-story house. Inside, Liberty plopped down on the couch and began looking at the envelopes. She selected a small one and ripped it open.
With a sarcastic voice, she read aloud, “Dear Mr. Neils. I’m sorry to inform you that we do not accept delinquents into our nationally-acclaimed program . . . ” She grabbed another and opened it. “Dear Mr. Neils. In order to determine if we can provide psychiatric services for Miss Liberty Buchanan, we must have a five-axis diagnosis . . . ”
“Any luck?” the man called from the kitchen.
“Negative, unless dad wants to send me to a funny farm. I’ll add them to the pile.” She placed the letters and envelopes on an already-thick stack, and looked at the mail again. A large blue envelope caught her eye and a wrinkle of curiosity appeared on her face. “For me?” She pulled a letter and a large bound book, a hundred pages or more, out of the envelope, leaned back, and began to read to herself.
Dear Liberty,
I am addressing this directly to you because Lyceum does not accept applications from third parties. I have read the brief description of your background that Mr. Neils sent, and find you an interesting person. I have enclosed a book that describes our facilities and services in detail. If you find yourself interested in membership, please write back, answering the
NEBADOR Book Seven: The Local Universe 72
questions on the second page of this letter.
Sincerely,
Sister Nancy
“Sister Nancy? I’m not going to some lousy convent!” she said with disgust and tossed everything onto the table. When it landed, the letter slid off the book and allowed her to see its cover, an aerial view of numerous ultra-modern buildings, plazas, gardens, play fields, and even some corrals and pastures. “Hmm. Sure doesn’t look like a convent . . .” She picked up the book and opened the cover to the first page.
The snow had stopped and midnight was approaching as Liberty sat at the little desk in her room, and by the light of a small lamp, finished reading the last page of the book. She was silent and thoughtful for several minutes.
Finally, she turned to her computer and started typing.
Dear Sister Nancy,
I read the book you sent me, cover to cover. Lyceum sounds pretty interesting. Actually, it sounds very interesting!
Liberty smiled, wondering if Sister Nancy really was fat and wore nun’s clothes, like she imagined. Not yet sure what else to say, she looked at the questions on the second page of the letter. A number of expressions visited her face as she considered the first question. Finally, with a mental deep breath, she began to type.
I would be happy if I had people to talk to about all the things I learn on my own. School is always so boring because everyone else is struggling to learn things I knew years before. Mr. Neils wrote to lots of places for gifted kids, but they won’t take me because . . . sometimes I do things that get me in trouble.
Liberty answered several more easy questions, then nearly bristled when she read the last one. She breathed for several minutes, debating with herself
NEBADOR Book Seven: The Local Universe 73
how to approach it.
I have friends in the city who have a lot less than me of everything, and I’ve always tried to be kind to them . . . but I have to admit I don’t always succeed. I’m very kind to animals, all the time. The only people I don’t know how to be nice to are people who are trying to force me to be like them for no good reason.
Please let me know if I’m the kind of person you might consider for membership at Lyceum.
Sincerely,
Liberty Buchanan
After another month of light snows that usually melted quickly, a day came when the flakes fell rapidly and promised deep drifts. Liberty dashed in the front door, wearing only a sweater and clutching a bundle of mail to her chest.
“How deep does it get, anyway?” she asked while trying to brush the snow from the knees of her pants.
At the large desk in the corner of the room, Mr. Neils glanced up from his work. “Two or three feet.”
Liberty whistled. “What do the horses do when the snow’s that deep?”
“Same as you — pace. But as soon as it stops, they’ll have the corral packed flat in no time.”
“I’ll sort the mail,” she said, sitting down on the couch.
“Anything from that school up north that looked promising?” he asked without turning around.
“I’ll see.” She began making piles of mail. “Dad, dad, you, dad, junk, you, dad, bill, dad . . .” Then she held up the last envelope, large and blue. “And another one for me! Several things for you, Harold, but nothing from that school. I’m gonna look at the magazines and stuff.” She skipped across the living room to a cozy chair, curled up and ripped open the one piece of mail addressed to her.
Dear Liberty,
It has been such a pleasure getting to know you, that I was very happy to
NEBADOR Book Seven: The Local Universe 74
receive your request for more information about membership.
Your question about world-class standards is right on the mark. In order for Lyceum to be of service to a wide variety of people, organizations, and governments who are involved in important work, we have to keep our standards at an extremely high level.
I could really relate to the thoughts you shared about your changing values. I think you and I are very much alike. I too once prowled the back streets of a major city, until one day I realized it wasn’t taking me where I wanted to go.
Sincerely,
Sister Nancy
A few minutes later, she joined Mr. Neils at the couch and pretended to pay attention as he described a reform school that looked like it might accept her, but for several reasons, Liberty just couldn’t get excited about it.
To begin with, she didn’t feel she needed reforming. And equally as important, she no longer felt the desperate need to find a school, any school, that would take her. She had gotten used to life at the Buchanan country house, and no longer dreaded the thought of just reading books and taking care of the horses. And besides, someone in the world already believed in her.
Dear Sister Nancy,
The more I learn about all the things you people do there, and the ways you do them, the more I can picture myself being there. And the longer I’m out here in the country, the farther away the city streets are starting to seem
. . .
Liberty gazed out one of the large front windows at a light spring rain. She was almost sad that the last patches of snow were beginning to melt. But it had been a long winter and she welcomed the coming of warmer weather and the new shades of green that were emerging everywhere.
“Here’s something for you. A magazine, I think,” Mr. Neils said from the couch where he was going through the mail.
With a dreamy, far-away look in her eyes, Liberty received the large blue
NEBADOR Book Seven: The Local Universe 75
envelope and sat down in a chair by the window.
She tore it open and extracted the contents. There it was, in her hands, just as she had requested in her last letter to Sister Nancy. After quickly reading the letter, Liberty clutched the membership application forms to her chest like a valuable treasure as she gazed out the window at the falling rain.
Three days later, she sat in her dormer window reading a book and waiting for her father to arrive. Outside, mottled late afternoon sunshine warmed the grasses and buds that were appearing everywhere. Tiny patches of snow only lingered in the places of deepest shade. All three horses roamed the pasture, happily nibbling at the new shoots of grass. The long white car, a little muddy along the bottom edge, crunched through the gravel just about when it was expected.
For as long as Liberty could remember, the most important events in her life could not be shared with any adult — especially her father. Now, for the first time, she was anxious to tell him what she was considering.
She hopped out of the dormer and paced nervously, wondering what to wear for the occasion. When she finally decided, quickly dressed, and pranced downstairs, Mr. Neils was about to serve dinner and her father was sitting at the dining table, sipping tea and talking. She quietly sat down and listened.
“. . . so the hearings on the nuclear weapons treaty will probably go through summer, and then we should be able to bring it up for a vote. It’s going to be the issue of the decade, and there are powerful forces on all sides.”
“I’m
glad
you’re the senator, and I’m the caretaker!” Mr. Neils said, taking a covered roasting pan out of the oven.
Senator Buchanan smiled. “But now that Liberty’s here, let’s talk about the project you two have been wrestling with. What kind of luck have you had?”
As Mr. Neils brought out serving dishes brimming with baked ham, buttered mashed potatoes, and a vegetable medley with hollandaise sauce, he began to list, as best he could from memory, the many places he had written to, and the kinds of responses they had received. As father and daughter served themselves, he got his notes so he could give a more complete
NEBADOR Book Seven: The Local Universe 76
accounting. Finally, he sat down at his place and served himself while summarizing.
“So as you can see, there have been many negative responses for a variety of reasons. And there were a few fringe operations that had placed misleading ads, which I was able to spot as soon as their literature arrived. Liberty has grown immensely in patience and perseverance. The best outlook so far is that reform school that can evaluate her next summer, with the girls’ school up north a contingency plan for the following year.” He fell silent and began to eat.
“Wow, I didn’t realize we’d come up with such a short list!” Senator Buchanan said.
Liberty gathered her courage, and then spoke without looking at the adults. “Except there’s a place I’ve been writing to that’s invited us to come and visit, and they have an evaluation week in early summer.”
Both of the men looked at Liberty with confusion for a long moment.
“This is news to me!” Mr. Neils declared.
“They don’t take applications from third parties,” Liberty explained, “so I had to be the one to write to them. Sorry. At first I didn’t think it would come to anything, and then I just got used to writing to them myself. But they do have the history sheet about me that Mr. Neils sent everyone.”
“Let me guess,” Mr. Neils began, “those blue envelopes that kept arriving for you?”
Liberty grinned sheepishly. “They sent me detailed information, and I’ve read every page of it, most of it twice. It sounds really good.” She looked at her father for a reaction.
He finished chewing a bite of food, wiped his mouth slowly with his napkin, and gave her a long look. “Well . . . I presume you still have everything they sent you?”
“Yep.”
“Okay. Stack it all up, and I’ll take a look at it tonight.”
“Thanks,
Daddy!”
During the remainder of the meal, Mr. Neils described the reform school and a couple of other remote possibilities. Then the discussion turned to springtime chores around the estate and other light topics.
NEBADOR Book Seven: The Local Universe 77
Right after dinner, Liberty delivered the entire pile of books and letters to her father in his bedroom, where he was already at work at his big roll-top desk. Her stomach was tied in knots as she headed for the barn to do her evening chores. She busied herself for almost two hours, knowing she would just pace in her bedroom otherwise.
The following morning, Senator Buchanan finished reading everything Liberty had given him, then leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for several minutes.
As soon as he sat up, he tapped a number into the telephone. “Good morning, this is Senator Michael Buchanan. I’d like to speak to Senator Giles
. . . Yes, I’d like to speak directly to the senator . . . Thank you.”
While waiting, he organized the Lyceum materials on his desk.
“Bill! This is Michael Buchanan! How are things out west? . . . Good to hear it! You still with me on the nuclear weapons treaty? . . . Good, good, and you’ve got me in your pocket on that timber bill, you know, and all those I can drag along . . . Excellent! I’m calling because I need a reference about a place in your neck of the woods. It’s called Lyceum, and its address is in a little town . . . You’ve heard of it? Wonderful! . . . Well, that’s even better! Fifteen or twenty times? Tell me about it, please.”
Senator Buchanan listened to his colleague for a couple of minutes. “Wow, it sounds almost too good to be true. No skeletons in the closet at all? ”
At that moment, Mr. Neils poked his head into the bedroom, and motioned that he would come back later, but the senator waved him on in, and punched the speaker button on the telephone.
“. . . only thing I can think of that even approaches weird is that they’re very strict about confidentiality — for their own people, and all visitors.
Reporters go out to scrape up a story about some famous person who’s been spotted there. They grab the nearest staff member, and can get any general question answered. But the only name they can ever get is Brother John or Sister Jane or whatever, and never a whisper about the person they’re trying to write about.”
“Well, that sounds pretty nice from my point of view.”
“That’s why I like getting out there fairly often. I know that if I don’t
NEBADOR Book Seven: The Local Universe 78
spread who I am, no one else will either. And they’ve got places you can go to get totally out of the public eye.”
“Well, thanks, Bill. If there’s nothing else you can think of, I’ll let you get back to work.”
“Their literature is totally up front. Have you got it?”
“Yes. My daughter wants to go out for a visit.”
“I see. She’ll love it! See you next week, Michael!”
“Yes, see you then. Bye!”
The senator looked at Mr. Neils. “Did you find out anything?”
“They do indeed have an office in every major city . . . in the entire world.”
“Interesting. Thanks, Harold.”
The caretaker left and the senator sat for a minute thinking. Then he grabbed a note pad and began jotting down thoughts as they came to him.
Father and daughter, wearing warm sweaters and windbreaks, walked side by side as they neared the top of a grassy hill that was just beginning to turn light green with new spring growth. Both wore serious faces.
“This place is not your usual private school, like the ones you’re familiar with, I hope you realize,” he said.
“I know, Daddy.”
“So . . . tell me what about it attracts you.”
“Well . . . from everything I can tell, it would really challenge me to be grown up and do my best.”
“Uh huh . . .”
“And remember that world-class feeling I’ve always liked? This place has it.”
“I can see that.” He walked in silence for a moment. “Part of being a member is being assigned work and projects. At your age, I believe it was sixteen hours per week. Whatever you’re told to do. No back talk, no sneaking off. Can you handle that?”
She thought for a moment. “I think so . . . if I like the place. I wanna try.”
“I’m sure you’ve noticed that they call each other Brother and Sister there.
Know why that is?”
“N . . . not really.”
NEBADOR Book Seven: The Local Universe 79
“The basic economic and social arrangement of the place, as far as the members are concerned, is most similar to a religious monastery.”
“Doesn’t seem like one when you look at the pictures, does it?”
“No . . . it doesn’t. And yet, it’s designed to provide its members with a contemplative, service-oriented life. That doesn’t sound like you, Liberty.”
“I know.” She looked at the ground for a while as they walked. “But you know how I love to read and learn new things. And look how happy I’ve been out here, once I started taking care of the horses!”
They walked in silence for another minute. “I don’t know exactly why this place feels right. I just know it does. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll go and be evaluated at that reform school, I guess.”
They walked through a short patch of woods without speaking.
“So . . .” Senator Buchanan said, “see if you can coordinate a visit with the senate’s spring vacation. We’ll fly out together, spend a day there, and if I like what I see, I’ll go on alone.”
She stopped and wrapped her arms around him. “Oh, thank you, Daddy!”