"Yes, they do. And most of those students go home each weekend."

At least we could see him on weekends.

"Most parents worry that their children will have trouble adjusting to boarding school, but the kids seem to do just fine," she rea.s.sured us.

"It's just that...it would be like a candle flame has gone out for us at home," I said.

"Yes. Yes, that's it exactly," Robert added, nodding in agreement.

The princ.i.p.al turned to look at me, thoughtful for a moment. "I'm sorry. Did you say you were just visiting the Gordons?"

I nodded.

"On a vacation?"

"She's our houseguest," Robert explained. "A long-term houseguest."

The princ.i.p.al's eyes shifted from Robert, to me, back to Robert then she got back to the business at hand. She asked us questions about William and was curious to hear about the correspondence course from the John Tracy Clinic.

"How did you find out about the clinic? It just began last year. Hardly anyone knows about it yet, but I've already heard very good things about the coursework."

"My houseguest has an extraordinary talent for researching information," Robert said, arching his eyebrows. Then, he described how we'd been working on oral communication.

"And the whole family is learning, too?" she asked.

"Yes, we're working on it. Louisa has placed paper pictures all over the house to help remind us to practice sound-to-object a.s.sociation with William. Even in the car."

"Excellent! We believe in complete family involvement." She paused and looked straight at Robert. "Reverend Gordon, how fortunate you are to have such a helpful houseguest. My houseguests eat my food and use up my hot water and toilet tissue."

Chin to my chest, I tried to hide a self-satisfied smile.

"May I ask why you've come to us today?" she asked.

I looked at Robert to answer that question. I still wasn't sure why we were here.

"I know there are different schools of thought about how to help a deaf child communicate. I...we have chosen to try oral communication, and we...well, Louisa, actually, has had wonderful results. But we're...I'm...concerned William might be missing something."

"I can appreciate your concern. This school believes in 'total communication.' That means that what you're doing now with William is perfectly appropriate, and when he comes of school age, he can learn sign language. Most of our students come to us without any sign language ability. And most do need to be in a sign language environment to gain fluency. It would be extremely difficult for him to learn it at home, without any fluent signers nearby." She described the academic and life skill goals of the school.

We listened carefully to her, asking questions, finding answers to concerns. An hour flew by. Then the receptionist interrupted us to take us on a tour of the grounds. We were able to see the residence halls, the gymnasium, the cafeteria, and to observe a few cla.s.srooms. When we went back to the princ.i.p.al's office, William was seated beside her. She was asking him questions and, with great concentration, he tried to respond to her.

"You're back. So soon!" she said with a smile when she saw us standing there, watching them. "Please sit down. Let's have a little talk before you leave."

We sat down in chairs facing her desk. I thought it was interesting that William stayed seated next to Mrs. Powell rather than coming to sit on Robert's or my lap as I would have expected. He was obviously comfortable here.

"Well, Reverend Gordon, to be perfectly honest, with the enriched home environment William has obviously benefited from, you could wait a few years to enroll him as a boarding student."

"I'm just concerned he might need more professional instruction than we can give to him," Robert said.

"Relax, Reverend Gordon. So far, you're doing a fine job. He is a bright boy. I can imagine you're all barely staying just a step ahead of him. But I understood him when I asked him a question."

I took a sharp breath. "You understood him? You really did?"

"I really did."

I looked over at Robert, who had already pulled out his handkerchief, mopping his eyes.

Mrs. Powell smiled, understanding. "I have an idea. One of our best teachers just retired and moved to Bisbee. Mrs. Violet Morgan. She's trained in speech therapy. What would you think about meeting with her a few times a month just to have a checkpoint? I'm sure she wouldn't mind at all. Trust me, on a teacher's pension, I'm sure she could use the income from tutoring. It might give you peace of mind that you're on the right track or answer any questions you might have."

We took down the Bisbee teacher's name and address and shook the princ.i.p.al's hand as we said goodbye.

"Before you go," she said, "if you have time, we'd like to invite you to eat lunch at the school cafeteria. I think you'll find it to be an interesting experience. Food's not bad, either."

We walked over to the school cafeteria, holding William's hands between us. The princ.i.p.al was right. It was fascinating to watch animated children, eating their lunches, talking to each other in sign language.

William's face was a sight to behold. He couldn't stop watching the children interacting with each other. For one of the first times in his life, around a group of children, I think he felt he belonged. Always before, even in his father's church, he was an outsider.

The car ride back to Copper Springs felt like a gray cloud looming over our heads had dissipated. "William, did you like the school?" I asked.

"Good," he answered, nodding his head. Soon, he leaned against the car door, eyes struggling to stay open, tired after such a full morning.

Thank you, Lord, for answering our prayer so clearly, I prayed as I watched him fall asleep.

When we arrived back in Copper Springs, Dog was sprawled out on the front porch. As soon as Dog saw the Hudson pull into the driveway, he barked and raced out to the car to greet us. William woke up and scrambled out to play with him. As I reached for the door handle, Robert said, "Louisa, wait one moment. I wanted to say..."

"It's all right, Robert."

He sighed. "Do you realize that this is the third time in one week that I have tried to apologize to you and you have interrupted me? Could you please let a man finish a complete sentence?"

I turned toward him, a little surprised by his exasperated tone.

"I wanted to say I'm sorry I doubted your ability to teach William. I'm sorry I let Mueller get under my skin. And I'm very appreciative of the help you've given to my son."

I waited. "Finished?"

"Yes," he said.

"I think you were right."

"Excuse me?" Robert said, stunned.

"I said I think you were right."

"Would you mind repeating that?"

I rolled my eyes.

"So what was I so right about?"

"I actually think it was a good thing for us to go see the school and have confidence that we're doing things correctly for William. Just to be certain. It made me feel better to see it. It's a good school. A very good school. The children are happy there. But..."

He looked at me.

"There will probably come a day when William should be there."

Turning back to face the dashboard, he said under his breath, "I know." Then he turned back to me. "But not just yet."

Chapter Nine.

Later that week, Ernest came over to the house one morning to deliver a telegram. It was from Ada, a cousin of the Gordons', with news that her husband had pa.s.sed away suddenly and she needed Martha to come to Phoenix immediately. Miss Gordon promptly packed up, Robert took her to meet the afternoon train in Tucson, and instantly, the house's spirits lifted.

For the first time, I was allowed to use the kitchen without asking permission. I cooked my first meal for William and Robert. It was a complete disaster. The meat tasted like cardboard. William spit it out and jumped up to make himself a peanut b.u.t.ter, banana, and potato chip sandwich. Robert was gallant enough to try to eat it, chewed the meat-turned-leather for a few minutes, and finally gave up.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I really don't know how to cook. I never learned. Father and I ate out or took sack lunches because he worked in the evenings." I felt more than a little guilty. Meat was rationed; it felt like a crime to waste it.

Robert only laughed. "Finally! Something you don't excel in." He got up and looked in the cupboard. He pulled out a blue box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. It was a fairly new product that made a big hit as a subst.i.tute for meat and dairy products. And best of all, two boxes required only one rationing coupon.

Typically, Miss Gordon jumped up as the last bite was eaten and started cleaning up the dishes. In her absence, we lingered at the table. After dinner, Robert played the guitar, and I played the piano. I showed William how to feel the vibration of the strings when I hit a piano key.

I tucked William into bed, turned to say good night, and noticed a framed picture of his mother had been placed on his bureau. Nice touch, Robert, I thought to myself. William pointed to the picture and said, "Girl." It sounded like "grrrr."

"Girl! Yes, William! Girl," I repeated the word very clearly. Then I pointed to him. "Boy," I said, and he repeated a sleepy attempt for "boy." I smiled and kissed him on the forehead.

I turned on the radio while I washed up the dinner dishes. Robert helped me dry and put them away. I was eager for the evening news. The war reports were quite encouraging of late. Tonight, the national news broadcast reported that Hitler's armies were starting to get backed into Germany. The reporter announced that Hitler, knowing he was losing the war, had recently created a new militia, requiring all men aged sixteen to sixty to serve.

Robert took the dish towel out of my hands to hang it on the rack to dry. "Can you imagine, asking a sixty-year-old man to be a soldier? There must not be any men left in Germany," Robert said.

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Doesn't that bother you?"

"No! I pray every day that Germany will lose this war! And soon. Hitler must be stopped!" I said it with such severity that Robert looked taken aback. I turned back to the sink, embarra.s.sed, my face flushed.

He turned off the radio. "Enough news for tonight." He filled up Dog's water bowl and put it by the door before leaving to go to his office. "The end of the war will come, Louisa. Try to be patient."

In the middle of the night, I woke myself up, gasping for air, crying out, trembling in fear.

Robert stood at my door, looking stricken. "Louisa, what is it? What's wrong?"

I was so frightened from my nightmare that I couldn't talk.

He turned on the light next to my bed. "Would it help to tell me about the dream?"

I shook my head.

"Try."

"Der Alptraum. Ebenda.s.selbe!"

"Wait, slow down. English, Louisa. You're speaking in German."

"It's the same nightmare I've had before." My heart raced. I tried to speak between sobs. "I'm in Dachau. In Germany. It's a terrible place. It's a relocation camp for Jews and Gypsies and anyone else the n.a.z.is want to get rid of. It has high fences and barbed wire. And gas chambers. And tall chimney stacks for the crematorium. And the evil there, it's palpable."

I paused to take deep gulps of breaths. "Standing at the fence is my father, my mother, my aunt, and my little cousin, Elisabeth, and Deidre, and Mrs. Steinhart, my other friends, and all of the Bonhoeffers. Everyone I knew and loved in Germany. They're all in the camp, faces pressed against the wire fence, barbed wire above us, and they're reaching their hands out for me. Through the fence, their hands try to grab on to me. Begging me to help them. Asking me for food and water." I gasped for air. "And I just keep walking past."

"It's just a nightmare. It isn't real."

"But it is real! Dachau is real! All of those camps are real!"

"But you're not there. You're here in Copper Springs, Louisa, not in Dachau. You're safe. It was just a bad dream."

"You don't understand. I should be there. It isn't right I'm here and they're there."

"No, sweetheart, it isn't right that they are there."

William's head poked around my door. The light in my room must have woken him. Seeing his innocent face helped me shake off that feeling of dread from my nightmare. I motioned to have him climb up on the bed. He scrambled up, wiggling under the covers. Calmer now, I asked Robert, "do you mind if he stays?"

"Sure. Will you to be able to sleep?"

I nodded.

Robert turned off the light. "Night," He said before closing the door. I snuggled William close to me. Just as I was drifting back to sleep, my eyes flew open: Robert had called me sweetheart.

My holiday from Miss Gordon only lasted a week. Robert received a telegram from her, telling him she would be returning on Sat.u.r.day. Miss Gordon wouldn't use the telephone; she didn't trust it. She thought everyone in the county would listen in to her conversation.

Having her away for the week had been such a nice change of routine. William and I galloped our way through correspondence lesson number ten. Robert didn't go out in the evenings as he customarily did. I played the piano whenever I had a whim, which was often. I wondered, a little wistfully, if this was what it would be like to have a family of my own.

Winter, even in a desert, meant the nights grew cold and long as days grew shorter. My garden was winding down. I was outside gathering the last of the broccoli, onions, and carrots into a basket as Rosita and Esmeralda strolled past, Ramon pushing the wheels of his wheelchair beside them.

I had a great admiration for Ramon. I never saw a shred of self-pity. He was proud to have served his country, even if that sacrifice cost him his legs.

"Your Victory Garden looks good, Louisa."

"Thank you!" I replied. "Here, Rosita, take some of my vegetables. I have too many." I put some large onions in her hands and handed Ramon some carrots and broccoli to hold on his lap.

"Louisa, I been thinking. How about you teach my Esmeralda to play on that piano?" Rosita asked.

"Hmmm. I hadn't even considered giving piano lessons. I'll have to ask Miss Gordon when she returns home. She says that a piano sets her teeth on edge."

Rosita laughed. "You think about it and let me know. I think Esmeralda has much talent. I pay you, too."