Lead Me Home

by Stacy Hawkins Adams

  Dayna and Shiloh watched her disappear around a corner, her purple dress swaying with her shifting weight.

  “She seems nice, and she looks cute pregnant.”

  “Yeah, she does,” Dayna said. “She got married seven months ago to a great guy who works in my office. This baby is her and Chas’s honeymoon gift. First child for both, and they’re thrilled. I’m thrilled for them, too. She’s getting big, but as you see, she’s not letting it slow her down.”

  Shiloh smiled. “That’s really nice. Still don’t want any babies yourself?”

  Dayna raised an eyebrow. “Thanks, but raising Michael and Mason is job enough, with girls calling, sports practices every day, and all that. My hat goes off to you, having four! Plus, I’m sure I’ll have my chance to babysit for Audrey and Chas; that will fix any maternal longings that sneak up on me. Any more for you?”

  Now it was Shiloh’s turn to look incredulous. “David is nine, girlfriend; if it ain’t happened by now, it ain’t gonna happen. He will remain the youngest child.”

  They laughed and settled into an easy silence while they finished what was left of their meals. Her initial twinges of jealousy had dissipated, and Shiloh was enjoying this time with her sister. She and Dayna hadn’t been this comfortable with one another in a long time—longer than she could pinpoint. She wasn’t sure if it was because Dayna was in such a happy place with Warren and her stepsons, or because they were away from their parents’ critical eyes. The resentment that usually emanated from Dayna for reasons she didn’t understand wasn’t palpable this morning.

  “We’ve got to bring the boys to Disney World. I keep saying that, and I mean it. Lem will be a senior next year, and I want to come before he goes off to college, while all of my boys are at home.”

  “Definitely,” Dayna said. “The house should be ready in a couple of months. Maybe you all can come for Christmas? Or the boys’ spring break? Michael and Mason want to know their step-cousins better—the soul side of their family.”

  They laughed.

  “How have they adjusted to introducing you as their stepmother? Do their friends think they’re joking?”

  Dayna smirked. “Their friends seem okay with it; it’s the friends’ parents who struggle with this tall black woman showing up to cheer them on or pick up two blue-eyed, freckled-faced Caucasian teenagers. More than once, I’ve been asked if I’m the housekeeper or the family’s driver, since the boys are too old for a sitter. Michael and Mason seem to take it in stride, though. They love me, and I love them. Warren has done a good job with them.”

  “And the whole interracial marriage thing—that hasn’t caused any issues?”

  She and Dayna had never been the kind of sisters to dish like this, but for the first time ever, Dayna seemed open.

  “Let’s be for real, Shiloh; marriage is hard work, period. We’ve had to adjust over the past two years to living together, co-parenting, merging our finances, and learning how to keep communicating when we hit a rough patch—all those kinds of things. That needs to happen in any marriage. Add race to it, and it’s just another bridge we’ve decided to cross together. We don’t let it become an issue between us. Warren and I know that Mama and Daddy aren’t comfortable with him being white, so we don’t go to Alabama that often. We also don’t hold a grudge. His parents, on the other hand, have embraced me, so we see them regularly.

  “We just deal with life as it comes. The most important thing we’ve decided is to do it together, and I can honestly say that the work and the challenges that have come with this new role have been worth it. I’m very happy. No—I’m very blessed. Great husband, who happens to be fine, too; great kids who love me; a career I love …” Dayna sat back and smiled.

  Shiloh leaned forward and mirrored her sister’s expression. “You are glowing. I’m happy for you, Dayna. You deserve it.”

  Those sentiments were heartfelt, so why were they accompanied by a swell of resentment? She had her own handsome husband, four loving sons, plus a beautiful home and no need to work outside of it. What gave?

  Struggling for an answer right now would be a waste of brainpower, she decided, as would comparing herself to her superstar big sister.

  Despite the devastation of a long-ago divorce and their parents’ reservations about her interracial marriage, Dayna clearly was choosing to live on her own terms. Shiloh’s heart quivered. Did this mean her own existence could be considered little more than tracing the dots of a pattern someone else decided was her best fit? She fixed a smile that she hoped looked more authentic than it felt. Pretending to be content continued to be hard work.

  four

  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 sh
e 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.”

  five

  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.”