Lead Me Home (10 page)

The clarity of the flute solo was so sweet and pure that Shiloh almost wept. She sat at her teacher post in the band room this morning and listened with her eyes closed as Monica perfectly played every note of “Russian Dance,” one of the pieces the girl had chosen for the summer program audition.

When she blew the final note, her best buddy Phaedra erupted into applause. But Monica shushed her. “Be quiet! I want to hear what Mrs. Griffin has to say!”

Shiloh could tell the girl’s nerves were on edge, and truthfully, because she was rooting so hard for Monica, hers were, too. Monica’s life would change for the better if she were selected for this summer program. Both of these girls’ lives could change, because Phaedra had decided to audition, too.

“Wonderful and sassy, Monica. Way to go. I think you’ll nail it. Just stay focused. And keep practicing every day between now and the audition. You will be great.”

Shiloh swiveled her chair to the right to face Phaedra, who was strapping on her saxophone so she could play her audition pieces.

“Show me what you got, missy,” Shiloh challenged her.

Phaedra grinned. With a toss of her head, which was covered in spiky natural curls, she launched into the first of two sax solos that were bluesy and filled with personality, just like Phaedra herself. Shiloh closed her eyes as she listened. Wouldn’t it be awesome if both of these young ladies were accepted? Both were worthy.

“I know Monica plans to turn her love of music into a career; you’re just as good,” Shiloh told Phaedra. “Do you want to major in music in college as well?”

Phaedra shook her head. “No … I’m thinking of sitting out the first semester of college, so I can figure what I love most and where I want to be.”

Shiloh was shocked, and the pronouncement seemed to catch Monica off guard, too. The girls traded stares, and finally Phaedra nodded.

“That’s right—I said it!” Phaedra said. “I’ve been trying to tell you, and my parents, for a while that I need to spread my wings. Why waste money on a year of college when I have no idea what I’ll do with it?”

Phaedra turned to Shiloh. “Aren’t I being wise in doing that?”

Shiloh pursed her lips and prayed that the right words would come. “In some ways, yes, my dear,” she said. “But look at the big picture: If you enter college ready to learn, and take all of the classes you want, not just those that are required, you’ll be arming yourself with information about a variety of subjects and potential career paths that can help you understand yourself better and figure out what you’re passionate about. Sometimes that can happen inside a classroom, on a college campus. Otherwise, unless you’re planning to travel the world or do something else out of the norm, you won’t be exposing yourself to anything new and different to help you figure out what you might want to do long term. Understand what I’m saying?”

Phaedra nodded.

“Well, that’s just my two cents’ worth; I’m sure you and your parents will decide what’s best. You just keep practicing these audition pieces for now so you can get into this summer program. Even that is going to make a difference in how you see the world; you just wait. Don’t rule out college yet, though. It’s definitely not for everyone, but it can be a good path to find your way.”

Phaedra laid the saxophone on a seat next to her and approached Shiloh for a hug. Monica pouted.

“She was mine first!” she said and dashed over to flank Shiloh on the opposite side.

Shiloh laughed and opened her arms to encircle both girls. With the three of them nearly being the same height, it was a perfect Kodak moment.

“My girls,” she said. “I’m going to miss you when I leave soon.”

“We don’t want Mrs. Helmsley to come back,” Phaedra said. “She’s nice and all, but you make this class much more fun. You get us. I don’t even mind practicing.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Shiloh said. She smirked, but inside she was smiling, grateful that in this short time, she had managed to bond with these sweet girls, and make an impact on the students in both of her classes. Several students had told her so after the principal announced last week that Mrs. Helmsley would be returning in time to lead the fall concert.

“We mean it,” Monica said. “You’re the first person who hasn’t laughed at my dream or told me to focus on majoring in a ‘real’ subject so I can get a real job. I’ve begun researching colleges where I can study music, and some of them have great fellowship opportunities just for flutists. I would love to travel abroad and spend a whole summer just playing my flute, and thanks to you, I’ve found programs that could make it possible.”

Monica’s eyes glistened as she ran through the options, and Shiloh’s heart soared and sank.
Please God, don’t let her follow in my exact footsteps.

“See?” Monica tapped her cell phone and pulled up a website featuring a list of colleges and universities with respected music programs. There in front of her, eighth on the list, was Shiloh’s almost-alma mater, Birmingham-Southern, and listed in italics just beneath the
college’s name was the Leake Memorial Fellowship that had afforded her with ten weeks of flute studies in Paris, France. That trip had been life-changing in more ways than one, both beautiful and tragic.

“Which schools do you think would be best, beyond the well-renowned ones everyone knows?” Monica asked. “Where did you go again?”

Shiloh turned away and pretended to sort through the sheets of music on her stand. “The one in Birmingham. It’s a good school, but you don’t want a program that far away from home, do you?”

She hoped her voice wasn’t trembling and that the girls couldn’t see her shaky hands. Shiloh took a few deep breaths, then praised God for allowing the bell that served as a pronouncement of the start of the school day to ring. She wasn’t sure she would have been able to fake her excitement for Monica much longer—not when the dream Monica was chasing was the one that had simultaneously inspired and derailed her life.

Most of the St. Stephens congregation had read the newspaper article or heard through the church “gossipvine” that Sister Jade was back on the beauty pageant circuit by the time Reverend Vic made a formal announcement the first Sunday of October.

He strode to the pulpit after Randy’s sermon and invited Jade to join him.

Shiloh wondered why they had waited until after the Mrs. Milwaukee pageant to share her involvement. Whatever the reason, he stood next to Jade this afternoon appearing proud and thrilled.

“I just wanted to let you all know that my beautiful wife has decided to keep our family on our toes this fall. Many of you know Jade once competed in pageants, and looking at her, we can still see how and why.”

Vic grinned at Jade, who blushed and lowered her eyes. Shiloh stifled a laugh, and for once, wished she were in the pulpit or the choir, so she could see the reactions of the women seated behind her. As much as they doted on Vic, they could barely tolerate Jade. She knew they weren’t being polite.

“After two children, she is still fit and fabulous enough to grace a stage.”

Randy cleared his throat, and Vic got the message to hurry along.

“It is my honor to introduce to you the new Mrs. Milwaukee! She was crowned last Wednesday evening!”

The news was greeted with healthy, but staid applause. Vic accepted it.

“Her ride is not over: The new title will afford her the opportunity
to compete in the Mrs. Wisconsin pageant the weekend before Thanksgiving. If you’re so inclined, please give her your support and your prayers.”

Vic passed the microphone to Jade.

“Good afternoon, everyone. As Reverend Vic indicated, I’ll be representing Milwaukee and our church family in the Mrs. Wisconsin pageant. My talent will be singing and I’ll also do an oratorical speech. It has been a whirlwind, but exciting, journey, since I decided to enter at the last minute. But I’m enjoying meeting other wives and mothers from around the state, and many of them are people of deep faith, so they have been a blessing to me. Please keep me in your prayers, and if you’re interested in coming to the big night, see me after service, and I’ll give you some information about purchasing tickets.”

“Yaay, Mommy!”

Naima’s show of support yielded laughter, and another round of applause—this one much larger than Jade or Vic had been able to garner on their own. Jade blushed and gave the mike back to her husband, before stepping down from the pulpit with his assistance. Shiloh knew Jade was glad Nicholas was in the nursery; otherwise he might have chimed in, too.

Minutes later, when the congregation circulated row by row to the front of the sanctuary to place their gifts in the offering plate, Shiloh felt a light touch on her arm and turned to peer into a set of hazel eyes she recognized. Monica gave her a light hug, and the woman behind her smiled and took Shiloh’s hand. She was tall, thin, and coffee-bean brown, and her features hinted at what an age-progressed, tanned version of Monica might look like decades from now. The man right behind her wore a suit and a bright smile that mirrored Monica’s. His skin was honey yellow like hers, and his wavy, silver hair added to his distinguished aura. He, too, shook Shiloh’s hand and squeezed it gently, as if in recognition of who she was.

Randy blessed the offering, rendered the benediction, and encouraged everyone to spend the week making a difference by showing God’s love. Seconds later, Jade positioned herself near a rear door of the sanctuary with Naima to distribute flyers about the pageant. Shiloh avoided the spectacle by making her way to Monica and her family to officially welcome them.

The woman who had accompanied Monica leaned toward Shiloh and offered a hug. “Hi, I’m Eleanor. Thank you so much for helping my granddaughter prepare for the summer music camp. She is so excited, and she’s feeling pretty confident, thanks to you.”

Shiloh smiled and hugged Monica. “You are very welcome. You have a very sweet and talented young lady here. I’m sure she will do whatever she sets her mind to, and do it well.”

The man with Monica extended his hand. “I’m Claude, Monica’s dad,” he said. “Thanks from me as well. My wife died about two years ago, and since then, I haven’t seen Monica come home excited about anything until now. You’ve really helped her, Mrs. Griffin, more than you know.”

He looked past Shiloh before she could respond, and when she followed him with her eyes, she realized Randy was standing behind her.

“This young lady hugging my wife must be the student she’s always talking about, and you two must be her lucky parents. Randy Griffin.”

Claude shook his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Reverend. Yes, this is my daughter Monica, and this other ‘young’ lady is my mother, Eleanor Garrett. We were blessed by that message today. I have to admit, we haven’t been here in a while … but we’ll be back.”

He looked at his mother, and Eleanor nodded. Monica looked from one to the other, and still embracing Shiloh, seemed happier than Shiloh had ever seen her.

The month of October flew by, and Shiloh’s countdown to the end of the week was growing more bittersweet by the hour.

In three more days, she would no longer be a faculty member at Sherman Park High. The job she hadn’t thought she was capable of succeeding in would come to an end way before she was ready. These eight weeks had awakened a desire to finish the music education degree she abandoned all those years ago. She enjoyed teaching more than she had expected, and for the first time in a long time, she regretted dropping out of college. Her reasons had made all the sense in the world at the time. She and Randy had finally gotten serious after she returned from France, and he proposed before her summer break ended. When he suggested they get married right away, she decided to give up her studies. Mama and Daddy had been ecstatic. Neither had even asked what that decision would mean for her dreams of playing the flute professionally, or of graduating from her well-regarded college.

Shiloh thought about that now and willed the rising resentment to dissipate. She couldn’t blame Mama and Daddy for the decisions she’d made in an effort to gain God’s mercy for the awful things she’d done over the course of her sophomore year. Did her current frustration with those long-ago choices mean she wasn’t truly sorry for what she had done? She sat at her desk this afternoon and frowned as she mulled over this question.

Maybe the issues she was pining over were the thorn in her side that she’d live with forever, as a reminder that despite God’s grace,
one’s actions always mattered. Everyone faced consequences, good or bad.

She kept returning to the reality that her lack of a degree hadn’t seemed to matter as she helped her students perfect their pitch, learn a particular passage of music, or nail a musical score’s pacing. Passion and practical experience seemed to make up for what she would have learned in a theory or educational instruction course, but to be fair, she was making that judgment on emotion. She had not assessed her skills in relationship to Mrs. Helmsley’s.

Even so, Dr. Carter had assured her that he would keep her on his substitute teacher list. Because she didn’t yet have a bachelor’s degree, she would always be called last, and only to fill in for music teachers, after all certified substitute teachers passed on the opportunity. That was fair, and she was grateful he was willing to work with her. The message she often preached to her older sons was hitting home: Ultimately, that piece of paper did matter, and as much fun as she was having, she’d never be able to do this long-term if she didn’t someday finish college. What would Randy say if she hinted that she wanted to try?

Somehow during her tenure at Sherman High, Shiloh never got around to telling her colleagues about her lack of a degree, and by this point, it didn’t make sense to bring it up. The students raved about her to their other teachers, and Kris and Eva, the two teachers she spent the most time with because of their mutual breaks and downtime in the teacher’s lounge, hadn’t asked or seemed to care.

She hoped her friendship with them would last, and she was excited when on Thursday morning, the day before the end of her tenure, the ladies invited her to dinner.

“We’re going to miss you,” Kris said. “Let us take you out and treat you. Next time you come to sub, we’ll just wave and treat you like nothing special. But your inaugural eight-week stint has made you one of us.”

Shiloh grinned. “That’s sweet, Kris. Let’s see, tonight my sons Raphael and David have Little League football practice … But maybe I can get my husband to take them, just this once. Let me check with him and let you know before lunchtime.”

Six hours later, after preparing dinner for her family and teaching a private flute lesson, Shiloh was sitting in a cozy restaurant in Racine, a nearby suburb, eating a huge plate of pasta and laughing at Kris and Eva’s anonymous stories about their students’ antics.

“I look at the kids I’m teaching, and then at my overconfident four-year-old daughter, and I wonder what happens between those ages that causes us to stop dreaming, to stop trusting that our true
selves are okay, and to put on a mask to fit in with the world,” Kris said and sighed. “I mean, I have at least three intelligent and thoughtful young ladies in orchestra, and a couple of young men, who clearly lack the self-confidence to speak up for themselves when the other kids tease them or put them down. They know their stuff and can run circles around entire classes. If they could believe in themselves, they could go so far. It’s sad, really. Some of them could ace college, but if they stay where they are now, they’ll go, but either limp to a degree or not finish at all. They’ll drop the ball on the blessing that awaits them.”

Kris took a sip of her drink. “Sorry—didn’t mean to get on my soap box, but that kind of stuff just eats away at me.”

Shiloh and Eva shook their heads.

“No, sista, we are with you!” Eva said. The “sista” sounded quirky in her Vietnamese accent, but she said it with such passion that Shiloh wanted to hug her.

“I see it with my history students, too,” Eva said. “They don’t live up to their potential, because it isn’t cool to excel academically or to go the extra mile in other ways. Even at this magnet school. It’s troubling.”

She furrowed her brow. “Then, three nights a week, I go over to the local community college and teach English as a second language and see immigrants from Myanmar, the Sudan, Nepal, and other places working two or three jobs, going to school, and taking my class so they can succeed. It perplexes me!”

Shiloh didn’t have school stories to relate, and in truth, the conversation led her back to her own youth, and to the summer she had given up her flute scholarship and her degree program and settled for the role of wife and mother. She had gotten pregnant with Lem soon after she and Randy wed, and that was the way both of them had wanted it. Listening to her colleagues, she wondered what they would
think of her choices, especially if they knew what had led her to them. She sipped her tea and fixed a smile on her face.

It was so easy to make judgments, from the outside looking in, she thought, and become frustrated with others’ actions or lack of action, especially when one wanted so much for them. But what if those students who seemed on the verge of greatness were dealing with a dying relative, an abusive home life, or a secret illness? From her own troubling experiences, Shiloh had come to understand that smiles could hide a lot, and so could seemingly perfect choices.

She decided to chime in on the conversation when she realized there was an awkward silence that Kris and Eva were waiting for her to fill.

“I can’t say much about the school setting since my students are so new to me, and I love them all,” Shiloh said, “but raising four sons with four different personalities and sets of needs has been my own mini-classroom. So has working with my private flute students one-on-one. Some of them come to me bringing nothing but their eagerness and determination to learn to play. A few seem to have this natural ability, and can even play a little by ear, but their motivation is mediocre. If I could get my naturally talented students to practice and to care as much as my hard-working beginners, they would amaze themselves. And make me look like a rock star instructor!”

The women laughed long and hard.

“Tell me about your husband’s church,” Eva said and leaned forward. “St. Stephens is a pretty big congregation, right? I attend the Korean Christian Church around the corner from where your church is located; I should come and visit sometime.”

Shiloh graced Eva with a “yeah, right” stare. This was one of those times she had to take the risk of offending, to gain some clarity.

“The Korean Christian Church? I thought you were Vietnamese, Eva. Did I miss something?”

Kris and Eva looked at each other and erupted in laughter again.
Shiloh shrugged and joined in, certain they’d fill her in on the punch line in a few minutes.

When Eva caught her breath, she sat up and reached for Shiloh’s hand. “It’s alright, Shiloh. You are right. I am Vietnamese—born and raised. But when I moved to Milwaukee, I stumbled upon the Korean church, two days after moving into my new neighborhood. I decided to worship there until I got connected to the local Vietnamese community. They gave me some strange looks when I walked in and explained as best I could that I couldn’t understand a word of the Korean they spoke to welcome me. But they accepted me anyway. That day I got so ‘connected’ that I fell in love with the members of that little church, and with their style of worship, and I never left. I was a duck amid a lake of geese, and I was happy as a lark.”

She grinned and shook her head.

“Even after I settled into the Vietnamese community, I stayed at my new church. It offended some of my new friends, especially the older Vietnamese folks, but I decided it was home. So yes, as odd as it sounds, I am Vietnamese American, worshiping a Christian God who was born a Jew, at a Korean Baptist Church, located in a predominantly black neighborhood in a Milwaukee suburb. Welcome to America.”

Shiloh was speechless. In two minutes, several ingrained stereotypes had been shattered. It was a wake-up call that she might need to step outside her comfort zone of accepting a segregated Sunday worship experience. Even with Warren as a brother-in-law, she hadn’t shaken that notion.

Shiloh raised her palm and held it out to Eva, who responded with a light slap. “Amen, my sister,” Shiloh said. “When you visit St. Stephens Baptist I want you to stand up and repeat that story word for word.”

“Deal,” Eva said. “I’d love to visit soon. Especially since I won’t get to see you at school on a regular basis anymore. It will be great
to have Thelma back, and I’m so thankful that her mother is doing much better, but you will be missed, Shiloh.”

“Aw, thanks, Eva. Thanks to both of you,” Shiloh said, including Kris, who sat there and nodded in agreement with Eva’s sentiments. “You guys are so kind and smart and open. I’ve learned a lot about teaching and about education and how to care for students by getting to know you. I’m nowhere near as good as you are, but you still accepted me, and I thank you for that.

“I would love for you to visit me at St. Stephens Baptist. You both are welcome anytime. Kris, I don’t know anything about your background, but Eva, I’ll warn you that a black Baptist church is totally different from what you’ve probably experienced.”

Eva nodded. “I watch T. D. Jakes, though; I have some idea.”

Kris shook her head and her dreads flew in both directions.

“Unh unh, honey. Watching T. D. Jakes ain’t shown you nothing. You’ve had tip-of-the-iceberg exposure. Go to a service in person if you want to see God’s people get their shout on, dance in the aisles, or sing at the top of their lungs, as if God is hard of hearing.”

Shiloh pursed her lips. “Don’t you think that’s a little stereotypical?”

Kris shrugged and perused the dessert menu. “I haven’t been to church in five years, but I could tell you like it had been yesterday what all goes on. My grandfather was a church trustee, my dad was a deacon, and one of my uncles was an evangelist. I grew up around all the pomp and circumstance and finally decided to have some quiet time with the Lord on my own terms, without pastors, or busybody parishioners who want to run the church and everybody’s lives.”

Shiloh picked up her dessert menu and pretended to scan it, unsure of how to respond on such a serious matter of faith with someone who was a coworker. Regardless of Kris’s perspective, she wasn’t going to judge her, nor did she feel it was her place to make her friend
feel uncomfortable about her position. When conversations like this arose out of the blue, Shiloh always took it as a sign that God was stirring a pot for whatever reason, and in his time, the seeds that had been planted today would be watered as he saw fit.

“Is dancing and shouting all you got?” Eva’s fifty-two-year-old attempts at swagger were killing Shiloh.

“Please stop, Eva,” she said and held up a hand. “I can’t take anymore. The kids at Sherman Park have ruined you!”

Eva’s eyes twinkled. “Just picture me going home and translating all of this American slang into Vietnamese for my parents,” she said and laughed. “It makes for some very interesting conversations!”

By the time the evening ended, with all three ladies enjoying the largest slices of chocolate cake Shiloh had ever feasted on, they were satisfied and mutually sleepy. It was half past eight, and each of them needed to get children settled at home, so they could be up and at it again tomorrow.

Kris, Eva, and Shiloh agreed to not let this be the last time they hung out, and Kris even agreed that their next meet up could possibly be at a St. Stephens worship service.

“If Eva’s woman enough to come, I’ll join her,” Kris said.

Shiloh left the restaurant certain about one other thing: This was an experience—from teaching to forming friendships outside of her role as First Lady—that she didn’t want to become little more than a memory. Based on the cursory online research she’d conducted this afternoon, she had at least eighteen months of study plus a student teaching assignment before she could officially become a teacher.

Is this where you are leading me, Lord?

He seemed to be saying yes, because the desire to return to school and eventually obtain her teaching license was mushrooming. Now God had to do just one other thing: Let Randy in on the plan, and maybe even allow him to think it was his idea.