Lead Me Home (2 page)

Dayna insisted on paying for breakfast. She laid a bill on the table that covered both the meal and the tip, then held Shiloh in a long hug. They strolled out of the café together, but went in different directions—Dayna striding confidently toward a sea of similarly dressed executives and she, back to her domestic sameness. She was returning home to be the wife of, mother of, First Lady of, but what did that really mean?

Dayna had Warren and two stepsons, but she still got a chance to just be Dayna, to hang out with colleagues and friends, to pursue goals she loved. So did baby-of-the-family Jessica, who routinely spent time with some of the nation’s noted celebrities and always had an amazing itinerary of professional speaking engagements. Shiloh mentally ran down her personal checklist of pluses again—the husband, children, home, community respect—with no change of heart: it was still, as always, middle-child nice. Problem was, it was also middle-child boring. And unimportant.

Shiloh’s thoughts turned to this morning’s secret, predawn commemoration, and she chided herself.
You chose this path, Shi. You gave up your dreams to prove to God that you were sorry. You willingly offered to sacrifice for him. Don’t complain now. Honor your word.

“Yes, Lord,” she said aloud and sighed. “I will. I am.”

But her mood sank further when she remembered the laundry and bills awaiting her, and the closet in desperate need of a summer cleaning. Shiloh stepped out of the elevator, into the parking garage,
and plodded to her van. When she slid into the driver’s seat and cranked the engine, Mary Mary’s latest hit song filled the air:
“It’s your tiiiime. Go get
,
go get
,
go get
,
your blessing!”

She didn’t necessarily have a fancy new blessing awaiting her, but that song made her feel like she’d better try and find one. Shiloh sighed. This attitude was silly. She increased the volume and sang along for the next half hour to the upbeat songs flowing from the radio. By the time she reached North Shore, she was feeling better. She pulled into her driveway and decided that parking in the garage would be a waste of time, since she’d be in and out this afternoon, running errands.

Shiloh stepped out of the van and strolled to the end of the driveway to check the mailbox. Ms. Betsy across the street was engrossed in her weekly weeding. Her floppy yellow hat bounced about her ears when she paused and raised her head to wave at Shiloh.

Shiloh smiled. “I see you’re tending the garden before the temperature climbs.”

Ms. Betsy nodded. “I’ll spend the rest of the day inside, sipping iced tea and enjoying the flowers from the window. You look nice this morning. Coming from a funeral?”

“No, just got a little dressed up to go downtown for a breakfast meeting.”

Shiloh didn’t feel like getting into a long conversation about her sister the successful hospital executive. Better to immerse herself in her chores, until this mood passed.

“I’ll catch up with you later, Ms. Betsy,” Shiloh said. “Tell your husband I said hello.”

“Alright, dear! You enjoy the rest of the day.”

Once inside, Shiloh changed clothes, removed the breakfast dishes from the dishwasher, and began the first of several loads of laundry.

The phone rang the minute she grabbed an armful of Randy’s shirts. She dropped them in front of the washer and dashed for the cordless handset. Her breathless hello was embarrassing. Even more so when she realized that the caller was a member of St. Stephens Baptist.

“Well, hello, Dr. Carter, how are you?”

“I’m doing well, Mrs. Griffin. How is pastor today? And those smart young men?”

“Everyone’s great,” Shiloh said. “If you’re looking for Pastor Randy, he’s not here. He went to the church office several hours ago. If you can’t reach him, just leave a message and he’ll call you back.”

“Actually,” he said, “I’m calling for you.”

“Oh?”

“I know you’ve heard me talk about my work for Milwaukee Public Schools. Well, the school year will resume in three weeks, and I found out yesterday that one of my music teachers will be out until late October. Her mother had a stroke last month and she thought she’d have everything settled before school starts. Turns out she’s going to have to oversee her mother’s care long term, and for now, help her mother transition into rehab. That means we’ll be one teacher short, and I’ve got to fix this immediately.”

Shiloh was intrigued. “How can I help?”

“I’ve seen you play your flute and recorder, and even the piano on some Sunday mornings, and you’re quite talented. You indicated when you and Pastor first arrived that you studied music education. Is that correct?”

Shiloh didn’t realize she was holding her breath until he nudged her. “First Lady … you there?”

“Um, yes, I’m here, and yes, that’s correct. I majored in music education.” Should she tell him she never graduated?

“The two substitutes we usually hire for the music department are
not available right now for long-term positions. I don’t think it’s wise to bring in a sub who doesn’t know music and can’t quickly build a rapport with the students, especially since an official part of the high school calendar is a fall concert for which the students will need to prepare. I was about to place an ad on the school district website when you came to mind. Would you be willing to serve as our long-term sub, until Mrs. Helmsley returns from family-care leave? You would receive a nice daily rate during that period, and if any students ask for private instruction, there wouldn’t be a conflict with you doing that.”

Shiloh was stunned. “You want me to apply?”

“Yes,” Dr. Carter said. “And if you’ll take the position, it’s yours. I’m the hiring director—no need for an interview and all that. I’m not sure if you’ve taught a group of students before, but I hear good things about the individual flute lessons you offer in your home. Your ability to play multiple instruments is an asset. We have an orchestra teacher on staff, so you’d primarily be working with the band students, and filling in for Kristina, our orchestra instructor, only as needed.”

Shiloh was honored, but she knew better than to get her hopes up. “What other qualifications are needed? I studied at Birmingham-Southern College for two years, but I didn’t return after my sophomore year. I married Pastor Griffin instead, and not long after, had Lem.”

Dr. Carter chuckled. “Can’t have a better excuse than that, can you? Under normal circumstances, teachers must have a bachelor’s degree and a teaching license, and both of those would still be required. Since you wouldn’t be teaching a core subject, like math or science, the No Child Left Behind mandates don’t apply. I can bring you in under a provisional emergency license, with the understanding that if you plan to sub for the school district in the future, you’ll finish your degree and pursue full certification as soon as possible. To help out in the short term, you’ll need to attend a substitute teacher workshop before school begins. One is scheduled for next
week—Thursday through Saturday, from nine a.m. to noon. Can you make that work?”

“I think so … but my not having a degree doesn’t bother you?”

Dr. Carter fell silent, and Shiloh’s stomach quivered. She didn’t know if this was something she even wanted to do, but the fact that she could be turned down because she lacked a piece of paper made her ill.

“From what I’ve seen, First Lady, your experience makes up for your not having a degree,” Dr. Carter finally said. “And it’s not too late, you know? You could go back to school anytime to finish up the credits you need to graduate. There are some great universities right here in Milwaukee to choose from.”

The door wasn’t closing. Shiloh’s spirit opened up as she considered the possibilities. She had been teaching flute lessons for years one-on-one, and had occasionally taught piano, too. Working with high school kids could be a challenge, but if it was anything like what she’d experienced so far in raising her two oldest boys, it also could be amazing.

“How soon would I need to start after the substitute training next week? And would the state require me to enroll in college right away to work on completing my degree? That’s something I’d need to talk to Pastor about. Also … what would the teaching schedule look like?”

“We’d like to have you onsite before the school year begins, so you’ll be ready to hit the ground running when the students return,” Dr. Carter said. “That means after the training, you could visit the school as early as the following Monday to get acclimated and meet other teachers. You would be working a normal school day, for the most part.

“Our school doesn’t have a marching band, so you don’t have to worry about a band camp or after-school field practices. There are two band periods Monday through Thursday—one just for students who are in jazz band, and a combined class for all band members—ninth
grade through twelfth grade. You’d need to teach each of those, and also be available during students’ study hall periods in case they need help with their instruments, perfecting a piece of music, or help with college applications. During the time you’re not actually teaching, you’ll have plenty of planning time—coming up with strategies to help them learn better or finding new music to consider teaching them. Usually, this time would also be used to schedule opportunities for the orchestra to play in the community, but I wouldn’t worry about that this semester. In fact, since this is a modified schedule, I’d consider having you do the job part-time, and leave by one-thirty each day, if that’s best for your schedule. The most important aspect of the job will be to follow Mrs. Helmsley’s curriculum outline and be a presence for the kids. You’re a mom of four; I think you’ll be great. And I’m not pressuring you to go back to school, but if after the experience at Sherman Park High you decide you’ve enjoyed it, then you’ll be on track to do what you need to get the degree, and stay on our substitute teacher roster.”

A smile coursed through Shiloh until it reached her face. She’d have to talk this over with Randy, but it was short-term and extra income. Plus, it would be helpful to Dr. Carter; how could he object?

“Why not, Dr. Carter? Why not? Sign me up.”

Shiloh was still euphoric over her good fortune when her youngest student, Naima, arrived later that afternoon with her mother, Jade, for a weekly flute lesson.

The striking mother-daughter duo were dressed impeccably as usual, with Jade in a periwinkle blue capri set and wedge sandals, and ten-year-old Naima in a crisp white and blue tennis outfit with a pair of pristine white Keds. Her long, fine hair was secured by a headband and flowed past her shoulders, like her mom’s. If Shiloh wasn’t used to the pair regularly dressing with head-turning fashion sense, she would have questioned whether they’d just left a photo shoot.

Jade had been a walking, talking magazine cover from the day Shiloh met her, in the weeks before she and Randy moved the family to Milwaukee. She quickly let Shiloh know that while she was technically the “second lady” of St. Stephens Baptist, given that her husband Vic had been passed over for senior pastor, in the eyes of many, she should—and would—be treated with the respect of a leading lady in the church.

Shiloh had been surprised when, not long after that conversation, Jade entrusted her precious Naima to her for flute lessons. Was it a peace offering after her diva introduction? Or was Jade simply looking for an excuse to come into the Griffin home each week, to get a firsthand look at what was going on and keep tabs on her competition?

Despite Randy’s insistence that she was paranoid, Shiloh continued to believe the latter, which meant she didn’t trust Jade for a
minute. Randy was a loving and faithful husband, but he had eyes: Maybe he was unintentionally blinded by Jade’s face and figure, like other men in their congregation, regardless of whether they’d admit it. Or maybe the coy innocence Jade had perfected really had him fooled. Still, Shiloh had never turned away a child who expressed an interest in music and was willing to practice. She wouldn’t begin now, even if that child’s mother challenged her patience.

Shiloh had to admit it, though: Jade had reasons to always bring her “A” game. Reverend Vic wasn’t hard on the eyes, and a fair number of women at church fluttered about him and flirted with him every chance they could. Whatever Jade’s motivation, seeing her today in full diva form deflated some of Shiloh’s joy. She knew she’d have to spend the next forty-five minutes listening to sweet little Naima practice while being forced to eavesdrop on Jade’s cell phone conversation about some aspect of her fabulous life. Or, instead of making a call, Jade would try to carry on a conversation with her about someone in church, while Shiloh sought to instruct Naima and listen to ensure the girl hit the right notes.

Today, however, it seemed Shiloh might be spared. Jade didn’t give the house her usual sweeping glance or graze any surfaces with her fingertips, as if checking for dust. Surprisingly, she remained in the foyer, without inviting herself to roam into various rooms.

“Would you mind if I run out for a little bit while Naima’s with you?” she asked. “I should be back by the time she finishes; I just need to take care of one thing I didn’t get to earlier today.”

Shiloh hoped her expression didn’t reveal her relief.
Two blessings in one day? Thank you, Lord.

“Take your time! Naima is good with me,” she told Jade. “I’ll listen to her practice, then introduce a new song I’d like her to begin learning. By the way, where is little Nicholas?”

Jade tossed her loosely curled dark brown hair over one shoulder,
gave Shiloh what Shiloh secretly called the Jade Smith TV Personality Smile, then sauntered out of the front door, down the steps, toward her shiny black SUV.

“He’s home with Vic this afternoon. They’re having some daddy-son bonding time!” she said and giggled. “Can you imagine Vic changing diapers? He wants to know when Nicky will be potty-trained. I told him that at two years old, that’s still near the bottom of Nicky’s list of ‘firsts’ to accomplish, unlike when Naima was that age. Boys just aren’t ready to learn as quickly as girls—you know from having four of them.” Jade slid behind the wheel of the SUV, covered her eyes with a pair of oversized shades, and waved before driving away.

Shiloh wanted to roll her eyes, but was mindful that Naima stood beside her, taking it all in. She pasted a smile on her face and turned toward the girl. “Now, young lady, tell me how often you practiced last week.”

They chatted for a few minutes, and as usual each time this week, Raphael strolled past the sunroom on his way outside. Shiloh had been waiting. He didn’t have football practice on Mondays, and once he’d figured out that was Naima’s day to come for lessons, he always made a point of being seen. Any other time Shiloh’s students were around, the soon-to-be seventh grader disappeared, but this particular “client” yielded the opposite reaction.

Each time it happened, Shiloh suppressed a laugh. Yet the thought of her twelve-year-old expressing an interest in girls pricked her heart. She wasn’t ready for him to grow up. It was cute, however, to consider that a “younger woman” had caught his eye, and to watch his efforts to make the crush mutual. Naima was indeed gorgeous, but unlike her mother, she didn’t yet seem to understand her effect on the opposite sex.

The girl played a few scales without missing a note, then sailed through a youthful version of “Zelda’s Lullaby.” When Shiloh handed her sheet music for a longer composition, Naima’s eyes grew wide.

“That looks hard.”

Her soft voice made her sound more vulnerable than Shiloh knew she was. Shiloh patted her shoulder.

“That’s only because you haven’t heard it yet, or tried to play it. That’s not unusual, though. Sometimes we look at a mountain in front of us and convince ourselves we’ll never get to the top. The key is to take it hill by hill, and before you know it, you’re there. It’s the same with music. We are going to take this section by section, and as you learn each section, you’ll move on to the next one, until you’re ready to play the whole song. You’ll have it down by recital time, okay?”

Naima mustered a hint of a smile. “Okay.”

Shiloh removed her flute from its case and walked over to the stand Naima and her other students used. She played the song all the way through, with Naima standing next to her, reading the music and listening.

“That’s so pretty,” Naima said. “I’m gonna be able to play that?”

“Yep,” Shiloh said, “you’ll be able to play it and leave your parents and the audience feeling great and saying, ‘Wow.’”

She leaned over and hugged Naima. She was a sweet little girl. Hopefully Jade wouldn’t guide her to become so focused on her appearance that Naima forgot the importance of her inner beauty and her relationship with God. Shiloh knew she had no right to judge Jade and that worrying was sinful. She would plant seeds about discipline and hard work while she had Naima for forty-five minutes each week, and trust God to water what he saw fit for Naima’s life. Despite what Jade did or didn’t do, God had the final say.