April 10th
Dear People at Lyceum,
It’s going to be really hard for me to write this letter. I started to write it back in February, but it just wasn’t the right thing to do yet. I tried again in March, but it just wouldn’t come out right, and I threw it away. Now I just can’t stand holding in the things I’m thinking anymore. I have to tell someone. I hope nothing bad happens because of it. My father would kill me if he found out.
I don’t know how to begin. I guess I have to apologize for what my father did. I didn’t know what to think for a long time. He’s my father. But I’ve finally figured out what I’m feeling. It’s not something I ever expected to feel about my father. The truth is, he made me deeply ashamed.
We arrived there in the middle of the night. I think it was January 22nd.
We were soaking wet and my dad had lost his wallet. Sister Sarah said we could be her guests, and Sister Jean gave us a room with a hot tub. Then Brother Tim helped my dad find his wallet, pulled our car out of the mud, and even washed it for us.
We got there at about 1:00 in the morning, slept through breakfast, and didn’t stay for lunch, and still you gave us plenty to eat. I can’t imagine a more Christian hospitality than you showed us.
And I think my father misunderstood all of it. I’m starting to think he misunderstands lots of things. But since he’s a T.V. evangelist, he has to look like he understands everything about being a Christian. I’m very interested
in theology and what being a Christian means. But I’m starting to think that my ideas about it and my father’s aren’t the same.
Here’s $20. It’s not for the same reason my dad gave you some money just before we left. It’s because I hope you can send me some more information about the place. I have Introduction to Lyceum, and I started reading the Lyceum Visitor’s Guidebook while we were there, until my dad hid it from me. I’d love it if you could send me whatever you have.
Please tell Sister Sarah that I’m really sorry for the way my dad hurt her.
I think she did the right and Christian thing by welcoming us. And please tell her she’s a beautiful dancer.
Sincerely,
Shawn Mitchell
P.S. If you write back to me, I don’t think I’ll get it if the envelope says anything about Lyceum, or is even postmarked from Oregon.
April 25th
Dear Shawn,
Thanks for writing to me! It was kind of scary putting that pen pal ad in that Christian magazine. You’re the first response I’ve gotten. You sound like a nice guy. I like the things you said about being a Christian in your letter. I agree with you a lot, and so does my sister. I shared your letter with her, and she said she’d love it if you’d write to her too. Even though we’re here in New York City, sometimes it feels like we’re out in the woods somewhere, as far as finding other people goes who believe in being Christian like we do.
I found a copy of that book you said you were looking for, and another one I think you’ll like too. Let me know if you’re ready to read them.
Write again soon!
Your
Pen
Pal,
Jacob
May 11th
Dear Jacob,
Or should I call you Brother Jacob? And your sister, I bet, is Sister Sarah! I was really excited when I got your letter. I thought for sure you wouldn’t want to bother with me because it would be so hard to get a letter to me. You really have followed Christ’s teaching to be as gentle as doves, yet wise as foxes! And all the pen pal stickers and stamps and things on the envelope were great too! Thanks for doing it like that.
My father opened it, but then said it was an accident when he gave it to me. I kept my mouth shut, even though it made me mad. I don’t think he’ll do it again, as long as it looks like another pen pal letter. Actually, I do get two Christian magazines, and they both have pen pal ads in them.
I turn seventeen in a couple of weeks, so you can make the books look like a birthday present if you want to. It’ll be great to be able to read about Lyceum again. For months I’ve been wondering if maybe we got stuck in the mud nearby for a purpose. I’ve been wondering if maybe God wanted me to know about Lyceum.
When we were there, I could tell there was something different about the way you guys did things. Now that I know you are willing to write to me, even though it will be kind of hard, I get that feeling again. I have a hunch I’m going to be learning lots of new things about Christ’s teachings by writing to you and reading more about Lyceum.
Thanks
again!
Shawn Mitchell
Dear Sarah,
I was so mad when my father said those terrible things to you. I wanted so much just to walk away from him and give you a big hug. And if it ever happened again, I’d do just that.
Because of you, I already like Lyceum, even though I haven’t been able to see or read much about it yet. Brother Jacob is going to send me some books
soon.
I’ll never forget how wonderful it was to step inside out of the pouring rain and see you dancing in the Main Lobby. You were like a mysterious character right out of a fairy tale. And I still remember how confused my dad looked when you welcomed us in and started making all the arrangements for our room and the tow truck and everything. I think my mom would have gotten sick if we had been out in the cold any longer.
Thank you so much!
Take
care!
Shawn
Chapter 5: The Beat of a Distant Drummer A very pleasant late spring day had dawned after two days of light rain. All of the ivy clinging to the venerable brick and stone walls at North Philadelphia Girls’ Academy looked fresh and bright, both from the rains and from new spring growth. A tall, black-haired girl strode purposefully toward one of the buildings, not in the mood to appreciate the venerable walls or the ivy.
“Note says Sally wants to see me,” she announced to the entire office as she burst through the double doors causing the glass panes in them to rattle, strode to the counter, and propped her adolescent elbows onto it.
A gray-haired, bespectacled secretary slowly rose from her desk. “Have you been skipping classes again, Liberty?”
“No! I haven’t missed a single class this week...” and then, in a more sheepish tone, remembering something to the contrary, “except maybe one on Monday, but you know how nice it was on Monday, and we had already finished finals, and it would have been so boring!”
Looking at the note the student was carrying, the older lady said, “I see.
Let me determine if Mrs. Malcolm is free.” She slowly poked through the schedule book on her desk, then leisurely ambled her way into a back office and out of Liberty’s sight, who immediately plopped into a chair by the door, grabbed a magazine, and was soon deep into an article about the immune system interference modalities of retro-viruses.
The next thing Liberty knew, an ample and well dressed but rapidly graying woman was standing just a few feet away looking down at her. “Miss
Liberty Buchanan?”
She looked up. “Oh, hi Sally.”
“For the umpteenth time, to you I am Mrs. Malcolm, Principal of North Philadelphia Girls’ Academy. Please, step with me into my office.”
Liberty followed the principal into her rather austere office somewhere in the bowels of the building. There were, as Liberty already knew well, three chairs facing Mrs. Malcolm’s desk — two comfortable ones for parents, and one hard plastic one for the student who was, most often, in trouble. Liberty knew which one she would be expected to sit in. She landed in one of the comfortable chairs.
Mrs. Malcolm looked at her askance for a moment, but then, to Liberty’s surprise, said nothing about the chairs. “We have a problem, Miss Buchanan.”
Translation: I have a problem, Liberty thought to herself. “Only one?”
she said aloud. “That’ll make it a pretty good day! Did you know that medical science has only figured out how to counteract six of the nine ways that retro-viruses can interfere with the immune system? I just finished reading about four of them.”
“Yes, well,” the principal began, ignoring the microbiological references,
“let’s keep things simple and refer to it as one problem, shall we? I have been reviewing your grades, and taking special pains to get your final exam scores just as soon as they were available. Your grades stand at... let me see... four A’s, three A pluses, and one A minus. The A minus was in Home Economics.
Not a strong subject for you?”
“Well, I like to experiment with the recipes, and my experiments don’t always come out edible. So... as you can see by my grades, I got a pretty good education here at North Philly, don’t you think?”
“I’ll be honest,” Mrs. Malcolm said, cleaning her glasses with a tissue.
“You are quite possibly the most intelligent student to ever attend our little academy. The only complicating factor is that you have been truant thirteen times and tardy twenty-two times this semester. The Academy Rule Book says that a student can receive credit for a semester only if they have no more than two truancies and no more than six tardies. You are making history, Miss Buchanan, by being the first girl, as far as I know, to flunk while holding
straight A’s in the palm of your hand.”
Liberty was silent.
“Do you have any response?” the principal asked.
“You’re really going to do it? You’re really going to flunk me?”
“I have no choice! If I make an exception for one, then every student will start wanting an exception made for their situation. Surely you can see what that would lead to?”
After a long pause, the fourteen-year-old looked straight at the principal and said, with all the conviction and feeling she could muster, “Since every person is different and unique, and no rule book can ever deal with the wide range of human talents and gifts that are to be found even in this little academy, I believe with all my heart that making those exceptions would lead to more students being happy, less depression, less suicide, less anorexia, and more of the geniuses in our world getting through school without being turned off to learning!” When she had finished speaking and saw that the older lady had no response, but only continued to clean her glasses, she went on, in a much more tentative tone. “And I think it means that I won’t be going to school here anymore.”
It was Mrs. Malcolm’s turn for a long pause. “I have a small gift for you, Liberty. I know you will probably not appreciate it right away, but you might at some time in the future. I have asked your father for his permission, and he has granted it, to leave your grades in your file, but to remove your attendance records, substituting only the fact that you withdrew too early to receive credit.”
Liberty looked at the clock for a few moments, then out the window for several long breaths, then back at the principal. “Is that it?”
“Yes, Liberty, I guess that is it. Farewell. I hope you will be in the audience, formally dressed, at the eighth grade graduation ceremonies tomorrow to help wish your school mates good-bye. Dorm check out is Saturday, as I’m sure you know.”
“Yeah. I know,” the ex-academy student said in a soft voice, rose from the chair that was usually reserved for adults, and slowly walked out of the room.
Mrs. Malcolm took about fifteen minutes finishing the paper work in Liberty’s file and in two other files that needed her attention. It was nearly
three o’clock, and she felt the need for a doughnut and a cup of coffee. But when she got to the front office, she saw something that haunted her for the rest of her life. There, in one of the chairs by the door, was Liberty Buchanan, completely absorbed in finishing the article on the interference modalities of retro-viruses that she had begun earlier.
Liberty didn’t attend her last two classes that day. She had already taken all of her final exams, and the last day of classes was just for wrapping up unfinished business and chatting about the future. She knew she had no unfinished business, and now no future at North Philly. And besides, her mind was still pondering retro-viruses. That was the best way, she knew, to keep her heart quiet. It wasn’t time yet to feel the impact of what had just happened to her.
At 4:30 she was perched on the back of the bench near the dining hall where she and her friends usually waited for each other. Soon students were filtering out of the ivy-covered buildings and heading that way.
“Lib! What’s for dinner?” a well-built blond girl of the same age asked as she approached.
“Probably dog food again. They’re still saving up so they can afford to put on the party tomorrow.”
“It’s pizza, dim wits!” a chubby brown-haired girl informed the others as she landed unceremoniously on the bench. “And I pulled off an A minus in math!”
“WAY to BE!” the blond said. “Who’d you copy from?”
“Jane,” she said nonchalantly, “in exchange for... access to certain chemicals.”
“You sure are quiet, Lib. On the rag?”
“No, asshole.” But definitely bleeding.
“With the party we’re going to tonight,” the brunette said. “She wouldn’t dare be up tight!”
“Pregnant?” the blond prodded.
“Shut up! I was just thinking about the last school I went to. It had a really awesome party at the end of the year.” Which I couldn’t attend.
“Everyone could bring a date...”
Both friends laughed and moaned at the thought. “North Philly wouldn’t let a boy on campus if the human race was just about to go extinct!” the brunette said. “Against the rules.”
The blond was smiling and had a twinkle in her eye as she gazed off toward the dining hall. “The human race won’t go extinct if Paul gets his way tonight at the party. I’m almost tempted to give it to him.” Then losing the twinkle and turning to Liberty, “Who are you gonna screw tonight, Lib?”
“I don’t know. Maybe John.” If he pays me enough. “Maybe I’ll just suck on Schnapps ‘til I’m silly.”
“I
have
never seen you so down in the dumps! You act like you just flunked all of your classes, or your mother just died or something!”
I did just flunk all of my classes.
“Miss Liberty Buchanan flunk? Impossible!” the blond pointed out. “And her mom checked out years ago. Got your class list for next year?”
“Mine’s
perfect!” the brunette said. “All easy things.”
Mine’s blank, Liberty thought.
“I’ve got algebra and other hard stuff,” the blond said unenthusiastically.
“Got to do it some time if I’m gonna be a doctor like my mom wants.”
Wish I had a hope in hell of being something. “Let’s go eat pizza, assholes.”
By that evening, Liberty’s spirits, as far as she would let anyone see, were returning to normal. At the three parties they floated between, all of which were off campus, they consumed vast amounts of junk food and drank rivers of soda pop, which ranged from zero to about seventy-five proof. Liberty stuck with the higher numbers. They also kissed more good-looking boys than they could remember the names of, but as the hours passed, the boys ceased to be good looking, and Liberty and her friends ceased to care.
Somehow she was delivered to her dorm room before the sun rose.
Friday morning didn’t happen for Liberty until about noon, but by the time the graduation ceremonies were scheduled to begin at three in the afternoon, she had eaten, dressed formally, skillfully put on a small amount of make up, and selected a seat in the very back row of the auditorium.
The eighth grade graduation ceremonies occurred without the active
participation of Liberty Buchanan. It was a situation with which she was very familiar, as she had so far attended, and for one reason or another not continued to attend, just about every public and private school in Pennsylvania and New Jersey. North Philadelphia Girls’ Academy would be just one more to add to the list. She said silent good-byes to her friends as they received their certificates and shook hands with the various administrators of the school. She had her plans made, and she wouldn’t be seeing any of them again. They were going on to the ninth grade at North Philly. She wasn’t. They were going to attend the formal dinner party right after the ceremonies. She couldn’t.
She slipped away from the auditorium during the closing speeches so she wouldn’t have to run into anyone. While walking through the empty campus toward her dorm, she comforted herself with the knowledge that she had probably learned more during her semester at North Philly than Mrs.
Malcolm, in her wildest dreams, would ever imagine. And so often, Liberty reminded herself, the most important things she learned weren’t part of the curriculum. So, she decided, it really didn’t matter if she got credit or not, attended the graduation or not, received some piece of paper or not. She was getting an education, her own education, in spite of all the schools she had been to... and been rejected by.
Liberty never had trouble packing. She had done it so many times that she had gotten used to keeping all the boxes and remembering what went in each one. She leafed through her photo album before slipping it into its box. In it was all she could take with her of the people she had become close to that semester. And somehow she knew it was best that way. Somehow she knew that they had little in common, except their love of parties, and that if an extended friendship was attempted with one of them, little would come of it.
But another part of her wished that she could stay, and someday have friends that she had known for years and years...
As she packed her books, even she was amazed at the number of volumes she had devoured during the last few months. As she held Calculus of Transcendental and Imaginary Numbers, she chuckled to herself for a moment, picturing her blond friend struggling through Algebra to try and get
into med school. She added it to the box, and promised herself that she would sort them out when she got home so she would have room for new ones.
Her cosmopolitan wardrobe went into suitcases as she began to think about all the things she wanted to do during the summer. Smithsonian seminars? New England tour? NASA space camp? A week at Disney World?
She wondered if maybe this was the year she should ask her father for the money to tour Europe. Maybe not, right after flunking the eighth grade.
The transfer van arrived right on time, and the twenty-year-old guy was so helpful with her things that she was sure it was his way of flirting with her.
She was as sweet in return as the fifteen minute drive would allow, and when they arrived at her father’s apartment building and old Matthew the doorman was unloading her stuff, she added a twenty dollar tip to the bill as she signed for it. The transfer van headed reluctantly for its next destination.
“Your father told me you’d be home tomorrow, Miss. He doesn’t expect to be getting in tonight, I don’t think,” Matthew said as he followed her into the elevator with an armload.
“I got cleaned up early and didn’t want to have to say good-bye to all my friends twice,” she said, setting down what she was carrying as the elevator door closed.
“Was it a good experience for you? Will you be going back in the fall?”
“Very good, but I think one semester was enough of that place for me.”
And enough of me for that place.
He chuckled knowingly as the elevator door opened. “I take your meaning, Miss. And with you inheriting your father’s brains, I can’t imagine a school that could hold your interest for long.”
“Sometimes I wish they held my interest a little longer, Matthew. One more load?”
“One more trip should do it.”
When all of Liberty’s belongings were finally inside the spacious and comfortable apartment and she had given Matthew a generous tip and shared a few more pleasantries, she closed the door and felt safe for the first time since being called to Mrs. Malcolm’s office the day before. As she wandered around to reassure herself that everything was about as she remembered it
from her visit during spring vacation, the tears started forming in her eyes. As she moved her suitcases and boxes from the front room to her cozy and well decorated bedroom, those tears began to silently find their way down her cheeks. And when she sat on her bed and hugged the big stuffed unicorn she had had since she was seven years old, the tears finally fell from her chin and nose onto the unicorn’s well-worn fake fur.
She let the tears flow for as long as they would, thinking of North Philly and all the things she loved there, all the things she would miss. And she thought of the last six or eight schools she had attended, and all the things she missed about them. She imagined the tears falling on a great wound in her heart that Mrs. Malcolm had made with a huge knife that had Rule Book engraved on the blade. And not only did her tears heal the wound, but they also soaked the rule book and made it dissolve and disappear.
Twenty minutes later the tears had stopped and she laid the stuffed animal lovingly back onto her pillow. A hot shower, a fuzzy bathrobe, and a tasty snack from the well-stocked refrigerator brought her spirits back to life. She found herself looking through her closet, and when she came to her belly dancing outfit, she giggled out loud, and a plan for the evening began to form in her mind.
By the time eight o’clock rolled around, and the night life in downtown Philadelphia was just getting started on that pleasantly warm Friday night, Liberty Buchanan had put up her hair in falls that were more than attractive, coordinated an outfit from her belly dancing stuff and a skimpy leather jacket, and tucked fifty dollars into a hidden pocket. Evening colors were still in the sky as she headed down the sidewalk toward the part of town that had the most night time activity and where many of her old street friends worked and played.
As she passed the first night clubs, the rhythm of the music coming from within was so infectious that she couldn’t keep her feet from starting to dance as she continued on into the heart of the city. On the next corner she pranced to the music into a fast food place she knew well, and danced circles around several tables of young people who smiled or clapped as they watched, feet tapping to the music.
“Hey, everybody, it’s Liberty!” the eighteen-year-old boy at the cash register announced to the rest of the crew.
Liberty shimmied up to the counter. “Hi, Sam! I’m free at last!”
“Hey, Lib! How’s boarding school?” a red-haired girl said from the French fry station.
“Same, and history. Still got those awesome taquitos?”
“Of course, Liberty Bell!” Sam teased.
“Sam,
you
know I draw blood at that particular joke,” she warned in her sternest tone as she tossed a five dollar bill onto the counter.
He waved the money back toward her. “It’s on me, and you can draw my blood any time you want, sweetest one,” he said in a loving voice and leaned toward her. Their lips met and didn’t part for a time.
“You’re lucky I’ve been going to a girls’ school. When do you get out of here?” she whispered while their heads were still close together.
“Eleven.”
“See you soon!” she said, collected her taquitos, and pranced toward the door in time with a disco beat that had just started.
Outside two cafes, a movie theater, and a music store Liberty found cute boys of about the right age, with no girls at their sides, and shared with them bites of her taquitos, snuggles, kisses, and hints of future meetings. The music kept her feet moving, and each night spot seemed to contain a boy more handsome than those who had come before.
Taquitos finished, she bought chocolate kisses at a candy store and began passing them out freely as she danced and wiggled, sharing more than chocolate with those whose eyes sparkled at her movements. An antique horn sounded and the finest blond guy she had ever seen screeched to a stop at the curb. She gave him a double portion of chocolate and skin, but when he tried to coax her into the car, she pranced away to a new song that throbbed from the espresso bar.
As she enchanted yet another block of neon and night life, cars started cruising and calling for her, boys leaning out of every window. She fed them with candy and wiggles, hints and kisses. They walked with her, they danced with her, they honked and pleaded. She drew them close, then twirled away.
When she came to the end of the fun part of town, she headed back toward
the music and lights. The boys whistled and howled, and she boogied and swiveled. They gave her bites of whatever they were eating, totes of whatever they were drinking. The neon lights were flashing now as the evening was in full swing. Her feet kept moving to the music, and her heart danced along in time. She was almost back to the fast food place, where Sam waited at the end of his shift, when flashing blue lights surrounded her and all the boys slipped away into the shadows.
Liberty fidgeted in the vinyl upholstered chair that kept sticking to her bare legs. The floor was hard and cold, and not very clean. The walls were barren of anything interesting to look at, and the old clock above the door, with the hands on its expressionless face just passing 1:30, didn’t qualify as interesting. All the desks and filing cabinets in the room were plain, old, and ugly. All of the sounds were harsh: the telephones didn’t purr, they buzzed, and Liberty was sure that the shoes everyone wore were specially designed to make as much noise as possible on the hard floors. And there was absolutely nothing to do... they wouldn’t even let her look at a magazine.
Suddenly she heard a familiar voice. “Daddy!” she screamed, hopping up.
The police woman sitting at the desk facing her cut her off with the most commanding finger Liberty had ever experienced. “YOU, sit DOWN!”
Liberty fell back into the sticky chair, humiliated.
“Yes, Senator, she’s right over there with Sergeant Thames,” a male voice that Liberty couldn’t see was saying.
“Thanks,” her father’s voice responded.
As her tall, dark-haired father came around the corner into her sight, a genuine smile appeared on her face for the first time in several hours. “Hi, Daddy!”
He ignored her completely, like one might ignore a drinking fountain or a magazine rack. The police woman rose and extended a hand. “Hello Senator.
I’m Melissa Thames. I talked to you on the phone at about eleven thirty.”
Although he was tired, had obviously dressed hastily, and it was the middle of the night, his social graces were intact. “Good to meet you, Sergeant. I’m very proud of the Philadelphia Police Department. I’ve read reports that say it’s one of the finest in the country. And I certainly do
appreciate you putting your time into this matter, when I’m sure there are much more important things the Department could be doing with its resources...”
Liberty
cringed.
“...and I am completely in your debt for your willingness to handle this in as private a manner as possible.”
“No problem at all, Senator. Since she’s a minor, the limitations on public disclosure are strict, as I’m sure you know.”
“Review the charges for me again, please. I’m a little more awake now than I was earlier.”
She stepped to her desk so she could read it directly from her report.
“Loitering, solicitation, causing a public nuisance, resisting arrest...”
“I am NOT a prostitute!” Liberty complained loudly.
Both adults looked at her disbelievingly.
“Well, not much of one,” she said in a small, sad voice.
They still didn’t look satisfied.
“I only do it with boys I already know who are clean!” She was on the verge of tears as she paused for some kind of reaction from her father.
“Really, Daddy!”
Senator Buchanan turned back toward the sergeant. “Do you have enough evidence to put her in juvenile detention for awhile?”
“I think so,” the police woman said with a gleam in her eye and a slight curling of her mouth that Liberty couldn’t see.
The senator turned and looked right at his daughter, hands on his hips. “I thought about it very hard on the way over here, as well as anyone can think at one a.m.” He paused to gather his thoughts again. “I am very tired of all this, Liberty. It’s something new every month, sometimes every week! I just got a call from your last school... straight A’s, for God’s sake, and no credit!”
Liberty wanted to crawl into a hole, but none was evident. She sat there, not daring to take her eyes off her father.
“I have decided that it WILL end this time, Liberty! With the sergeant’s permission, I am going to offer you just ONE other option besides juvenile detention. You can go out to the country place to live, and Mr. Neils will start looking for a boarding school or camp or something that will take you, one
that is FAR from any city life.”
“The
country place!” Liberty wailed, incredulous. “There’s nothing there but cows! It’s the most boring place on the PLANET!”
“It sounds like you’ve made your choice, so I’ll just go home to bed and let the good sergeant start processing you.” With a quick but respectful nod to the police woman, he added, “Good night, Sergeant.” And with those words, he turned and began to stride away. He almost made it to the front desk.
“DADDY!”
The long, white luxury car cruised quickly along Interstate 95 amongst light Saturday morning traffic, heading south toward Baltimore and Washington. The steel girders of the huge bridge over the Susquehanna River caused the sunlight to flash on the tinted windows as Senator Buchanan punched a number into the mobile telephone. As an older male voice with an Australian accent answered, the senator touched a button on his door to completely close the car windows so he could hear the other clearly.
“Good morning, Senator Buchanan residence...” the speaker said.
“Hi, Harold. Michael.”
“Senator! It is good to hear from you. How did your daughter’s ceremony go?”
“It didn’t. They booted her for truancies. Then she got picked up by P.P.D. for looking like a prostitute. I had to go to the station, got home about two in the morning, got about four hours sleep. Anything interesting happening there?”
“Nothing compared to the problem you are having. Fences have been mended and Mr. Caleb brought in his cows two weeks ago. The vet found no problems with the horses except one small cut from a nail that I was able to locate. The rototiller was successfully repaired and the garden is growing nicely. You sound like you are in the car. I trust Liberty is not alone at home...”
“Not a chance! Mrs. Willis is watching her, and you know how Liberty feels about having a baby-sitter. But her mood is more humble after last night than I’ve ever seen before, so I’m going to try to make use of it. I’m on my way to D.C. now, and I have a hunch I’ll be eating, sleeping, and breathing budget
amendments for the next month. I need your help, Harold.”
“Anything that is within my abilities.”
The large white car passed the exit to Churchville and several other small towns.
“Mrs. Willis is getting her ready today, and will bring her out tomorrow, if you feel comfortable with the plan. I’d like her to live out there, for as long as this problem takes to solve. And what I’d like you to do is to write to every boarding school, every long-term camp, every private reform facility, and anything else you can think of. I’ll dictate an academic and behavioral history and get it faxed to you soon.
“I would be happy to help in that way. Do you want me to look into any state sponsored social programs?”
“No, I want to keep it strictly private, confidential, and of course completely out of the papers.”
“I understand. And you want some place that’s prepared to deal with her behavior problems...”
“Yes, but it’s got to be in a completely respectful manner, and be challenging to her, or she’ll run and we’ll never see her again, and that WILL
get into the papers.”
“Perhaps some kind of gifted children’s camp.”
“Right. Something long-term, full-time, and far from any urban temptations. Make sure it’s well staffed and reputable... nothing fly-by-night or cult... you know what I mean.”
“Nothing on the fringe.”
“Exactly.”
“And what would you like her to be doing while she’s here?”
“As close to nothing as possible, Harold. She needs to start thinking about her life. And absolutely NO excursions to town with you or anyone else. Keep the keys to all the vehicles well secured. I don’t think she’d try getting away on a horse.”
“As I remember, horses are the one thing for which she holds some fear.”
“But maybe you can work her into helping with their feeding, cleaning the barn, stuff like that.”
“Yes, excellent idea. And what about school?”
“She’s years ahead now, and she’ll probably read everything in the house, including the unabridged dictionary if there’s nothing more interesting. Let’s not worry about that aspect. We need to find some place that will challenge her enough to make her want to play by the rules.”
“With the head she has on her shoulders, she could have such a promising future.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Harold.”
The outskirts of Baltimore, Maryland were soon evident, as Senator Buchanan turned his mind to the upcoming budget legislation that needed several more amendments before it would be acceptable to him and his party colleagues.