Samuel Peterson's Arc

Chapter 4 of 4

Samuel set the binder on the kitchen table beside the phone. Katherine stood at the sink with her hands in dishwater. He dialed the number the county woman had left. It rang four times. A recorded voice told him the office closed at noon on Fridays. He looked at the clock. Twelve-eighteen. "They're closed," he said. Katherine dried her hands. "Until Monday." "Monday is when we open. If I don't reach them before then, they can bar the doors." She pulled a chair out and sat down. "Then you drive to them." "It's an hour to the county seat." "Go to city hall first. Somebody there knows who to call at home." He looked at her. She had already opened the binder to the first tab. "I'll copy the front pages while you drive," she said. "Reading list. Weekly plan. You hand them something on paper." "They'll want credentials. Casey isn't licensed. Father Johnson isn't licensed." "Bring what they have. Sunday school certificates. Seminary papers. Let the county tell you no in writing." He took his keys. Marshwood City Hall sat quiet in the afternoon. A janitor pushed a mop across the lobby tile. Samuel asked at the desk for the mayor's office. The clerk looked at him, then picked up a phone. Blake Pitch came down himself in shirtsleeves. He shook Samuel's hand once. "You've got about ten minutes of my day," Blake said. "Talk fast." Samuel told him. School opening Monday. Eleven children. A county officer waiting on a curriculum filing that couldn't reach a closed office. Blake listened without interrupting. When Samuel finished, Blake walked to a receptionist and asked for a name and a home number. He wrote both on a slip of paper and handed it over. "She owes me a return call from two years back," Blake said. "Tell her I said to pick up." "Why help me." "Eleven families off the public rolls is eleven families off my complaint pile." Blake shrugged. "Call her from the courtyard. Reception's better." Samuel stood by the statue in the courtyard and dialed. The woman answered on the second ring. He gave Blake's name. Her voice shifted. He read the tabs from Casey's binder. Reading. Arithmetic. Bible. Handwriting. Hours per week. He said Casey McAdams was the primary instructor with a homeschool record for her own children. He said Father Johnson would teach scripture. He said he'd send the paperwork Monday morning by hand. She was quiet for a long moment. "File Monday by ten," she said. "I'll note the call. You are provisionally cleared to open. Provisional means I can pull it in ninety days if the paperwork doesn't hold up." "Understood." "Mr. Peterson. Your teachers aren't credentialed. Ninety days is generous. Fix it." She hung up. Samuel stood in the courtyard with the slip in his hand. The doors would open Monday. He had ninety days to put a real license behind Casey's name, or the county would close what he'd just built.