I trust Father John’s prayerful counsel and judgment, and stand with his original recommendation. My foundation will only award the grant for Medill’s master’s program.
The choice to accept it or not is yours, Ms. Moore.
Sincerely,
G. Knightley
MAY 10
Dear Mr. Knightley,
I didn’t withdraw my application. I made my choice and now I sit, waiting for Medill to accept or reject me.
In the meantime I’ve settled into my old ways and my old jobs: I resumed tutoring at Buckhorn Cottage (Grace House’s cottage for 8- to 13-year-old boys) and I picked up a few shifts at the public library. I’ve been working at that library for a decade now, even before I moved to Grace House for the first time.
I was about fifteen when I first arrived at Grace House. Father John took me to his office and invited me to sit. No one had ever done that—invited me to do anything. He chatted for a few minutes, then handed me an Anne Perry novel.
“Detective Huber got your file for me, Sam, and it’s full of references toPride and Prejudice,Jane Eyre,Oliver Twist, and other great classics. I think you must like to read. So until I get some of your favorites, would you like to read one of mine?”
The thick hardback had a picture of a Victorian house on the cover. I slowly turned the pages, hoping if I feigned interest in his book, he’d take me to wherever I’d be staying and leave me alone.
He didn’t. “This is one of the first mysteries I ever read. Now I’m hooked. I’ve got about a hundred titles over there.” Father John pointed to his bookcase and waited.
I looked up.
“Come to my office anytime you want a new one. I picked that for you because it takes place in England in the nineteenth century, about the same time as your favorites.”
I put the book down, never breaking eye contact. A show of strength, I thought.
He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Your choice. I’m sure I can get some classics this week. Or you can go to the public library; it’s on the corner of State and Van Buren.”
I wanted to say I knew exactly where the library was, but that would require speaking to him, so I simply slid the book into my lap. I wasn’t going to admit, even to myself, that I liked the man—and still do. In spite of how angry I am with him at the moment, I know that Father John has always been on my side.
He welcomed me at fifteen and again at eighteen, after I tried to move out. And now at twenty-three, despite my heated words, he’s opened Grace House’s door once more. So while I’m here, I will listen to his lectures and I will try to do what he asks. I owe him that much.
I’ll even try to play nice with Morgan, my new roommate in Independence Cottage . . .
“She’s had a rough time, Sam. She turned eighteen a couple days ago and her foster family ended the placement.”
“She can go on her own. Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Not without her GED. You know how important that is. She’s testing next month, then joining the army.” Father John stared right through me.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I’m asking you to be kind. Morgan’s defense mechanisms are different from yours, and it may be rough going. Please don’t make waves.”
“I make waves?”
“Like the ocean, kiddo. Then you retreat before they hit the sand.”
Ouch.
So I’m being kind, but Morgan isn’t making it easy. We were cleaning the kitchen the other day and I told her about your grant. I was trying to be friendly. She was not.
“You’re selling yourself for school? I can’t believe you’d give it up for tuition. At least get some money or clothes from the deal.”
“Morgan, shut up. You’re disgusting. It isn’t like that. I write letters to an address in New York and I get my tuition paid to graduate school.”
