Not My Daughter

one of the girls. My parents don't like that.'

The more pensive of the middle school principals weighed in. 'Mine are upset, too. Their own children are hitting puberty. Some are way past it and going to the high school next year. They don't want their kids getting ideas.' She looked helplessly at Susan. 'I'm sorry. This isn't what you want to hear.'

No. But she wasn't surprised.

Phil addressed the other middle school principal. 'You're quiet, Paul. No calls from your ranks?'

Paul shrugged. 'I can ignore some, like from the parent who's on probation for shoplifting or the one whose kids go home to an empty house most days of the week. But there are some calls from parents I admire. They're talking about morals.'

'They read the Gazette,' Phil said.

'It isn't just that. They know how young Susan is and that she's single. They're doing the math.'

Susan had expected this, too. She girded herself for more questions on it, but there were none.

'So the response is overwhelmingly negative,' Phil concluded. 'Okay. How do we deal with it?'

No one replied.

'It's all about information,' he said, and talked about what Susan had done to open discussion at the high school, and what he felt was appropriate at each of the lower grade levels. He didn't consult Susan, though there were times he might have. Nor did the other principals interrupt.

Susan listened quietly, trying to maintain her dignity, though she was dying inside.

When the meeting ended and the others left, she stayed where she was. Phil was sitting back, an elbow on the arm of the chair, a fist to his chin. He was brooding, staring at the desk, then at her.

Finally, he dropped his hand. 'I don't know what to say.'

'Neither do I,' Susan managed. 'I expected this. But I have to tell you. When I stand back and look at the situation, I'm amazed. Three girls got pregnant, but this is a referendum on moms.'

'Not moms, plural. One mom.'

Right, she thought-because it all went way back to what had happened seventeen years before. 'But I had a handle on this, Phil,' she said. 'Everyone at school responded so well to what we did. I had good will on my side. How can one opinion piece change things so fast?'

'It gave people permission to question.'

'Fine. Question me as a mom. But I'm a good principal. Isn't that worth something?'

'You can't separate the two.'

'Sure you can. Come on, Phil. If I was a Perry, I wouldn't be getting this criticism.'

'If you were a Perry, you'd have a husband, and your kids would be younger than Lily. When a Perry gets pregnant at seventeen, she aborts it before anyone's the wiser.'

Something about the way he said it gave Susan pause. 'What?'

Phil seemed to realize he'd spoken out of turn. He waved a hand. 'Oh, one of those daughters a while back. But the fact is that you did have Lily at seventeen. How did your father handle it?'

'My father chose the town over me. I was banished. End of story.'

The silence that followed was as foreboding as any. Phil was brooding again, refusing to look at her now. Suddenly she was back at the school board meeting, sensing that her career was up for grabs.

'No, Phil,' she said softly. 'Don't suggest it.'

He sighed, raised his eyes. 'Not even a leave of absence?'

'I can't. This job means the world to me.'

'Only until the smoke clears?'

'It would be an admission of guilt, when I've done nothing wrong.'

She waited, but Phil was silent.

'Why would I take a leave?' she asked.

'Because certain members of the board have asked for it. I've had calls since the meeting.'

'How many?' There were seven members. Four would make it a majority vote.

'Three. They don't know where this is headed and feel that the town might be better cutting its losses.'

'Losses?' Susan cried. 'Excuse me. What have they lost?' When he began to hedge, she said, 'Their innocence? Their world reputation? Their self-respect?'

'Mock it if you want, but this is a traditional town.'

'Yes,' she said, then paraphrased the editorial, 'with the lowest divorce rate in the state and zero violent crime. But we do have MaryAnne and Laura raising their twin daughters over on Oak Street, and we do have a town meeting moderator who attends AA meetings every night.'

'They don't generate publicity.'

This was true. Susan was over a barrel. 'Are you telling me to take a leave?' If he was ordering her to do it, actually putting her on suspension, she wouldn't have much choice.

He sat straighter. 'No. I'm just suggesting that you might want to consider it.'

'I have. I want to stay. There's too much work still to do.'

He raised a hand that said, Fine. Your choice. You stay.

But there was no victory in it for Susan. On the way back to school, she wondered if she had simply delayed the inevitable.

Chapter 16

Susan was the last one to arrive at the barn Saturday morning. She had overslept after another uneasy night, and might have been sleeping still if Kate hadn't called.

'I'm so sorry,' she said as she hurried to the back. The other three were nursing coffee, together for the first time, really, in over a month. The sight of it did her heart good. For the briefest time, life was normal again.

She took the chair beside Pam and squeezed her hand. 'I've missed us. Oh, wow,' she exclaimed, standing again to study samples of the three colorways that she and Kate had worked out. 'These look amazing, Kate. What do you guys think?'

In a measured tone that Susan guessed had more to do with her life these days than yarn, Sunny said, 'I like them. Vernal Tide and Spring Eclipse are soothing. They're a nice contrast to March Madness.'

'Which isn't as soothing.' Susan had embellished on it since its inception in her attic, raising the temperature of the yellows and greens that lay amid gray and white. Clearly, her own mood had come into play here, strong strokes of color against a calm field. 'Too much?'

Sunny studied the sample. 'I don't think so.'

Susan repeated the question in a look at Pam, who said, 'They're good. When will you do the last two?'

'Today. Kate needs time to dye enough skeins for photos to meet the catalogue deadline. Should we go ahead and book the photographer?'

'Actually,' Pam said, 'I think we should photograph finished items this year, rather than unknit skeins.'

Kate looked startled. 'We've never done that.'

'Other knitting catalogues do it.'

This was true-and heartening to Susan. 'Is it what Cliff wants?' she asked. Clifton Perry was Pam's brother-in- law, and the catalogue was his domain. A staunch voice for the dignity of Perry & Cass, he was an unlikely ally, given Susan's notoriety.

'Well, he hasn't exactly said it,' Pam hedged. 'But he knows I have a feel for marketing, so he listens to me. Once he sees the layout, he won't turn it down.'

'Does he even know about this yet?' Susan asked softly.

'No. I'm going out on a limb for you guys,' she said with a hint of anger. 'It's a good move, don't you think?'

Susan didn't like the 'going out on a limb' part, but at least it was a positive plan, so she nodded. 'Definitely.' She turned to Kate. 'Can we get samples knit in time?'

Kate was doubtful. 'It'll be a challenge, with Christmas so close, and me having to spend every minute dyeing