Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

Marcie

To say my office is modest is an understatement. I inherited the compact room, which is more about functionality than flair. My wooden desk bears the marks of years of service by those who came before me, flanked by chairs that, although uncomfortable, have comforted many a concerned parent and staff member.

I've peppered the space with personal touches—photographs of smiling students, handmade gifts that were tokens of innocent affection, and certificates that speak more of my dedication than accolade. The walls, a gallery of educational inspiration, are adorned with motivational quotes and a well-used bulletin board, its edges frayed with time. A modest window frames a view of the schoolyard and I love watching the kids play at recess. It's one of the ways I combat the stress of a job that pulls on my reserves almost minute by minute.

Amid the simple furnishings, my computer and the stack of well-thumbed policy manuals on the shelf are my silent allies in steering the ship of learning. In this humble office, I chart the course for kids' futures that have yet to be unfurled, my resolve unwavering despite the school's lean budget.

Every day, I face a gauntlet of challenges that stretch my capabilities as an educator to the limits. My heart aches for the children who come to school bearing the scars—both visible and invisible—of abuse and neglect. I navigate the turbulent waters of bullying and violence, a shocking circumstance to have to deal with in children as young as mine. The specter of poverty looms large, with students arriving in class hungry and in threadbare clothing. It is a constant reminder of the inequities that plague our beloved community. My days are punctuated by the complexities of mental health issues, family crises and educational hurdles, each demanding a unique blend of empathy and resolve.

Beyond my office walls, I grapple with staff management, always aiming to uplift the morale of my team despite the ever-tightening budget constraints. Amid all of this, the relentless demands of administrative duties and regulatory compliance never cease, a constant backdrop to the more visible aspects of the job. In the quiet moments of reflection when I stare out my window watching the kids running around, laughing and playing with the delight of innocence, I often wonder how I manage to keep afloat in this sea of challenges.

Yet each morning, I arrive at school, resolve undimmed, ready to face another day because that's what my heart demands I do.

The school is quiet, having emptied of everyone over an hour ago. With no husband or children of my own to go home to, I often stay to chip away at the never-ending mountain of paperwork that each day's crises bring.

I am in the middle of writing a report for social services regarding a very sweet seven-year-old boy who told me that his father whipped him with a belt. My stomach threatened to expel my breakfast this morning when he showed me the welts on his back. My first order of business was to hug him gently, promising I'd help him. The second order of business was to release control to social services, my duty requiring that I involve them. I know tonight's sleep will not go well because I'll worry about him all night.

I take a break from the heaviness of the information before me and nab my phone from my purse, intent on checking my texts and voicemails. I'm surprised to find one from Ethan Blackburn.

I'm not sure why, but the minute I hear his lumbering voice my pulse begins to race. I try to ignore that and instead take note of what seems like desperation in his voice. I call him back immediately.

"Hello, Marcie… thank you for calling me back," he answers when the call connects.

I sit up straighter in my chair and brush my hair back behind my ears. "Yes. Ethan. Hello. What can I do for you?"

He's silent for a moment and then his gusting sigh tells me that something is very wrong. "It's Sylvie. I need help."

I listen while Ethan tells me how things have been going with Sylvie in the Blackburn home over the last several days. I take it all in quietly and intently, not interrupting, saving my questions for later. He seems like a man who needs to get a lot off his chest.

"I'm at my wits' end. I thought she would be settling in by now but if anything, her behavior is getting worse and I'm worried that I'm not handling things correctly. The last thing I want to do is traumatize her, but I also feel like I need to take a firmer hand."

I'm fascinated by the layers of complexity regarding this matter. It's not the first time I've had to deal with a child who has lost a parent and had to go live with unknown relatives. I have helped guide many students through such scenarios. In fact, I've paid special attention to Sylvie since she enrolled at Shelbyville Primary, checking in with her every few days to see how she is doing. I've found the child reserved but not antagonistic. I definitely see sadness, but there are moments when I've observed Sylvie just being a little girl. Usually when I see her on the playground running around with the new friends she's met.

The complexity comes because of this underlying feud between Sylvie's current family situation with the Blackburns and her history with her mother's family. I don't really know why the feud exists or how deep it runs. I assume it's due to intricate business ties that may have soured at some point in the past and I only assume this because the Blackburns and Mardraggons are the two wealthiest families in the county and probably the entire state. It only makes sense that their bitterness stems from some sort of rivalry, although I don't understand how that could be so as the two businesses—horses and bourbon—are very different. Still, those two stalwart industries are synonymous with the great state of Kentucky.

Ethan keeps talking. "She's up in her bedroom now and I don't know what to do with her. We've gone back and forth between giving her space and forcing her to spend time with us. I've given her freedoms as well as rules. I just don't know what the right answer is anymore."

"I'm very glad to help out in any way you think I can," I start to offer before Ethan pounces on my willingness.

"Can you come over right now? She needs someone to talk to who she doesn't see as an enemy."

My gaze cuts to the computer and the report I need to finish. "I could probably be there in an hour."

"Perfect. You can join my family for dinner and tell us what to do."

"Mr. Blackburn—"

"Ethan," he says.

"Ethan… I can't promise you any solutions. But I'll be glad to talk to her as well as offer some advice."

"That's way more than we have right now. Dinner is at six. Come hungry."

And with that, he hangs up.

I don't even think to be miffed by the abrupt way he ended the call. I can tell he is a man at the end of his rope and was probably more afraid I'd find some way to decline the invitation. I'm actually amused, which immediately makes me feel guilty. Ethan is clearly tortured and in need of help, but it's fascinating to see a man who I consider to be in absolute control of everything so out of his element. My heart bleeds for him, but it bleeds more for Sylvie. My willingness to help has everything to do with her and not the shockingly handsome yet brooding horse farm owner.

?

When I pull up to the Blackburn mansion, the redbrick is aglow with the waning rays of the day. I'm not nervous to be stepping into this situation because I was born for things like this. Any apprehensions I have are in dealing with Ethan Blackburn. He is a powerful man who has no experience with children and it's obvious he's operating on frustration. I've had my fair share of dealing with difficult people and so far, Ethan seems to have it together as much as could be expected for the issues he's faced with.

Still… there's something about him that makes me uneasy. Not in a negative or scary way, but maybe because he intrigues me just a little too much.

I banish those thoughts and exit my car, locking it behind me. As I approach the top porch step the door swings open and it isn't Ethan who greets me but a woman who must be his mother. She doesn't have the same raven hair, but those green eyes are definitely his.

"Ms. DeLeon," the woman says with a beautiful Irish lilt, offering her hand. "I'm Fi Blackburn. Sylvie's grandmother."

"Please, call me Marcie. It's a pleasure to meet you." She welcomes me into the grand foyer and I take a moment to look around with appreciation at the beautiful woodwork, marble flooring and antique furniture. I love old homes and the history within them. I know the Blackburns have been in Shelby County since its formation. "We're all back in the kitchen, nearly ready to sit down for dinner. We don't be using the formal dining room too much."

I follow as we pass the sweeping staircase into the rear of the house where I enter a large kitchen filled with people. I didn't know what to expect when I was invited to dinner but it's surprising that Ethan's whole family is here. I know his siblings—Kat, Trey and Wade—just from the years Carmen has been riding at their barn. Kat is one of Carmen's instructors.

Introductions are made and Kat gives me a hug, murmuring, "I'm so glad you're here. We need major help."

I smile at her. "I'm sure everything will be fine."

I notice that Ethan and Sylvie are both missing. The kitchen smells delicious—roasted chicken and potatoes. The table is already set with piping hot food and Tommy Blackburn hands me a glass of ice water after asking what I'd like to drink.

"Where are Ethan and Sylvie?"

"He's upstairs trying to talk her into coming down to join us," Trey says. "He's been up there for about fifteen minutes."

I don't hesitate in my action. "Do you mind if I go up?"

Fi shakes her head with a smile that brims with gratitude. "Top of the stairs and to the right, first door on the left."

I set my purse down on the kitchen island next to my glass of water and head up the stairs.

I hear the argument when I reach the landing.

"I'm not hungry. How many times do I have to tell you? Can't you get it through your thick skull?"

"I would really appreciate it if you would try to speak respectfully. I know you have that much in you, Sylvie."

"You don't know anything about me at all. And I don't want you to know anything about me."

"Sylvie… When are you going to accept—"

"I'm not going to accept anything," the little girl yells, and I hear a distinct stomping of her foot.

It's time for me to intervene. I move quickly into the open doorway and Sylvie sees me, her eyes widening. "Ms. DeLeon… what are you doing here?"

Ethan turns and levels a bewildered look at me, although he speaks to his daughter. "I invited her over for dinner. Now, would you please come down and join us?"

I step farther into the room and say to Ethan, "Actually… do you mind if I have a moment alone with Sylvie?"

Ethan shakes his head. "Take your time. We'll hold on eating until you come down."

He leaves the room, softly closing the door behind him. I pin my gaze on Sylvie who looks slightly abashed. She most certainly knows I heard their conversation. "Having a tough time?"

Sylvie looks away and doesn't answer.

I don't press her and instead walk around the room, taking in the décor. "Your room is lovely. I can see why you enjoy spending time in here."

"The only place I can have privacy," Sylvie mutters.

I turn to face the little girl, clasping my hands before me. "It seems to me the Blackburns are making great efforts to give you the things you need. Privacy, a safe beautiful space, a lovely home, good food."

"They're not my family."

I lift my shoulder, considering her words. "Maybe not in the traditional sense. At least not right now. But families can be built. If you only give it a chance."

"I don't want to give it a chance. I want to go back and live with Lionel and Rosemund."

I don't respond right away and instead move to the edge of the bed where I sit. I pat the spot beside me and Sylvie reluctantly moves to climb up. She fiddles with the edge of her shirt, her eyes downcast.

"I'm not even going to say how much I understand what you're feeling, because I don't think anyone can. This might be the hardest thing you'll face in your lifetime and it's definitely not fair for a girl your age to be going through this. But your father—"

Sylvie's head whips my way and she glares. "He's not my father."

"He is." I stare her down until her gaze falls away. I reach out gently, placing my fingertips under Sylvie's chin and force her to look at me. "He is. By science and by law. Maybe not in your heart, but he is your father in all the ways that matter right at this moment."

"I hate him."

My hand falls away and I smile at Sylvie. "Good to know. Did you know the word hate is an old English term that means to regard someone with extreme ill will or someone you have a strong aversion to?"

Sylvie makes a scoffing sound. "That sounds right."

"Also, rooted in sorrow," I say. "And I think you know a little something about that."

Sylvie remains stubbornly silent.

"Do you know who Nelson Mandela is?"

Sylvie frowns, thrown off guard by the history lesson. She shakes her head.

"He was the former president of South Africa and is widely regarded as one of the wisest, kindest men. He basically said hatred was taught but that if people are taught to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite."

Sylvie looks away and I can tell she understands what I'm saying.

I take her hand in my own and pat it. "You don't know anything about Ethan Blackburn or his family, and by all appearances they seem to be lovely people. I would only ask you to consider the basis of your hatred. What have you personally observed about them that would warrant that? Think about all the horrible, mean things they have done to you. The ways in which they abuse you. The ways in which they deprive you. If you can latch on to those and give me solid examples of why you feel this way, Sylvie… I will do whatever I can to help you out of the situation.

"But if you look inside yourself honestly and say that the reason you hate the Blackburns is because of what other people have told you, I'm going to implore you to think carefully about whether your feelings are justified. I'm also going to tell you there are two sides to every story. So whatever you may have heard, please at least be open-minded that it could be wrong. Or even semi-wrong. We all know the truth typically lies somewhere in the middle of two opposite lies."

I wait a pounding heartbeat to see what she does. I fully expect her to dig her heels in deeper and dismiss everything I've just proposed. Instead, her green eyes fill with tears and her lower lip trembles. "I'm just so angry all the time, it's hard for me to feel anything else."

My heart shreds for this little girl and while I bear tremendous sympathy for the family downstairs, my loyalties lie with Sylvie. "I have an idea… Would you like to leave with me right now? Let's you and me go get some dinner by ourselves and maybe talk about this some more?"

"Ethan won't like that."

"Oh, I think he'll be just fine with it."