2

Angie rolled over and glanced at the alarm clock. Ten thirty. She jumped up. The last time she’d slept this late was probably in college. She stretched, thankful Will had given her the rest of the week off. He was a considerate and kind-hearted man and boss.

She scooted her feet into her slippers, grabbed her laptop from the other side of the bed, and padded down the hall to the kitchen. She made a cup of coffee and grabbed some yogurt from the fridge.

Deciding to deal with e-mails first, she nestled down into a fleece afghan on the sofa and opened her laptop. She found a few reminders from the school about the upcoming Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays and testing schedules. Some junk. A “save-the-date” notice for the faculty Christmas party. A quick “hope you’re doing better” note from Will.

And…an e-mail from Crescent Bluff Christian School. Crescent Bluff. A little town…someplace around Waco. She clicked on the email.

Dear Ms. Taylor,

We came across your name and résumé through an Internet search for possible assistant principal candidates. We would be very interested in speaking with you about an opening for next semester.

Please contact me at the number below at your earliest convenience. I’ll be happy to address any questions you may have about our school.

The e-mail was signed Isabelle Thornton, Principal, Crescent Bluff Christian School.

As Angie closed the laptop, tears filled her eyes. She’d prayed for wisdom and guidance before she went to bed last night, so why should she be surprised? Maybe because her prayers had lacked expectancy. In truth, she’d prayed mostly out of habit and routine. But even so, her Father was faithful when she wasn’t.

Angie clicked on the link to the school’s website. It was K through 8. No high school. Small, but charming. The children in the images appeared happy and engrossed. Not sitting still in their desks like little robots, but learning hands-on. Many of the images were taken outside. Something about it felt as if she’d stepped back in time.

She took a deep breath and entered the phone number.

“Isabelle Thornton. May I help you?”

Angie hadn’t expected the principal to answer.

“Hello?”

“Yes. Sorry. Mrs. Thornton, this is Angela Taylor. I—”

“Ms. Taylor. Thank you so much for calling so promptly. As I said in my e-mail, our school is looking for an assistant principal to begin as soon as possible. I saw your credentials online and feel your background could be a good fit for our little school. I’d love to talk with you about the position…if you’re interested, that is.”

“Yes.” The same bubbly excitement that had filled her when she’d gotten her first teaching job percolated through her again. “I’m very interested.”

A warm chuckle answered. “Perfect. I thought you would be.”

She thought Angie would be interested?

“Now let’s set up a day for us to meet and for you to come visit the school. And of course, time is of the essence. The end of the semester is just around the corner.”

“Well, I…I mean, I know it’s short notice…but I could come tomorrow. I’m already taking a personal day.” She bit her bottom lip and held her breath.

“And perfect, once again. I’ll e-mail you an application and the school address. So, shall we say nine o’clock? Could you be here by then?”

“Wonderful. Thank you.” The bubbles multiplied. “And Mrs. Thornton?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Your e-mail couldn’t have come at a more perfect time.”

“God’s timing is always perfect. See you tomorrow.”

The principal ended the call, and for a few seconds, Angie stared at the phone. When she was a little girl and disappointments had overcome her, Grammy would always say, “Maybe God has something better in store.” She picked up her mug and breathed in the cinnamon-y warmth of pumpkin-spice. “So maybe He does.”

~*~

Crescent Bluff was nestled amid the undulating fields of central Texas. In mid-spring, the landscape would be covered with the sapphire and gold of Texas bluebonnets. But this time of year, summer grass that had outlived its season carpeted the countryside in golden brown as far as Angie could see. The gnarled silhouettes of leafless mesquite trees gave the landscape a Van Gogh-esque feel. Only the green of an occasional live oak or juniper provided evidence of life.

Her GPS said she should be at the school a little before nine. Even now, the question that had kept her awake most of last night swirled through her mind.

What in the world was she doing?

Spontaneity had never been one of her personality traits. She was slow to make decisions, methodical, evaluating the possible outcomes from all sides. She hated the thought of making a wrong choice. But after yesterday’s phone conversation, an unfamiliar urgency prodded her on.

She hadn’t mentioned this personal field trip to Will. No need to ruffle the waters without reason. Last night when she’d chased sleep, unable to catch it, she’d made a mental list of pros and cons. Two cons pretty much overshadowed any of the pros. Finding a place to live on such short notice and her current teaching contract.

Mrs. Thornton’s words from yesterday swirled through her mind. “God’s timing is always perfect.” Perfect, without flaws, ideal, lacking nothing…perfect.

Following the GPS prompts, she turned off the highway and drove through the quaint town of Crescent Bluff. On the outskirts, she passed a large church campus. Then she made a left turn and pulled into the parking lot of a small, red brick building which, judging from the steeple, was once a church.

“Arrived.” The electronic voice from her phone confirmed what the sign in front of the building stated, Crescent Bluff Christian School.

Angie turned off her car and took a deep breath. She picked up the envelope containing her completed application and a copy of her résumé. This whole thing was so out of her comfort zone. As she walked toward a pair of glass doors, her heart whispered, Father, Your will be done.

Following the instructions on a sign next to the door, she pressed the doorbell and waited. A grandmotherly woman, short with gray curly hair, opened the door and smiled. “Angela?”

“Mrs. Thornton?”

“Please, call me Isabel. There are no children around.” The principal offered her hand.

“And please call me Angie.” They shook hands.

“I’m so glad you could come today. I’ve arranged for you to observe in one of our first-grade classes this morning. Then two of our school board members would like to meet with you, and after that, I’ll treat you to lunch, and we’ll talk.”

Angie followed Isabel down the hall. Prints of classic art hung on the walls, encircled by what were obviously student reproductions. Angie paused at one she recognized—Monet’s Japanese Bridge. The reproductions were primitive, but the students had captured the essence of the original.

Isabel slipped up beside her and stood in silence for a few seconds. “Aren’t they lovely?” Her tone was hushed, almost reverent. “Our kindergarten reproductions from one of their picture studies.”

“Beautiful,” Angie whispered back.

They moved down the hall, and then Isabel stopped and tapped on the door labeled “Mrs. Clark’s First Grade.” She opened the door.

As they stepped inside, Mrs. Clark stood. “Class, this is Ms. Taylor, the visitor I told you about. Please welcome her.” The children spoke their greetings.

“Boys and girls,” Isabel responded, “Ms. Taylor has come to learn about our school. You’ll have to show her all the things we do.”

Mrs. Clark gestured toward a chair in the back of the room, and as Isabel left, Angie settled in. The students gathered on the floor around the teacher, while she opened a copy of The Velveteen Rabbit and began reading aloud. After a passage, she stopped and asked some of the students to tell back what she’d read. Their recall amazed Angie.

Then they discussed the ideas expressed in the passage they’d read. These children were actively listening, thinking, and commenting. They weren’t simply putting letters together to make words, but they were drawing ideas from the words that were being read. Their minds were engaged, and they loved it. Angie loved it.

One little girl raised her hand. “You know, Mrs. Clark, just because something’s old doesn’t mean it’s bad, does it?”

Mrs. Clark began discussing what makes something valuable and where people find their value.

A lump rose in Angie’s throat. Something about this place beckoned to her. She was home.

~*~

Angie studied the classic books on the shelves in Isabel’s office. The cherry furniture and Winslow Homer prints on the walls gave the room a traditional, homey feel. Not the cinderblock and linoleum coldness of Hope Christian School.

During the interview, the school board members had been warm and their questions thorough.

Isabel stepped into the office and sat in the chair next to hers. “Well? Your thoughts. Questions?”

Angie pressed her lips together and took a deep breath. She would not cry. “This is what I’ve always believed education should be but never knew such a place, a philosophy, existed. I loved it.”

“The board members were very impressed with your résumé and your answers to their questions.” A smile warmed Isabel’s face. “We’ve been praying for guidance since our assistant left last summer. And we believe you may be an answer to those prayers…”

Isabel picked up an envelope from her desk. “Pending the results of your background check and responses from your references, we’d like to go ahead and present you with an offer.

“And now the hard part.” She handed Angie a sheet of paper with a salary proposal printed on it. “We’re a small private school, and even though we’re well-endowed, our salaries can’t compete with those of larger schools. Most of our teachers work here not for the money, but because they feel called and are willing to make financial sacrifices to serve the children and their families.”

Angie reviewed the proposal. The figure was about two-thirds that of her current teaching salary and half what she would have made as an assistant principal. Her budget was already tight, and even though Crescent Bluff was a smaller town than Fort Worth, the cost of living here couldn’t be low enough to make up the shortfall. Disappointment settled over her. No matter how interested she might be, this arrangement could never work.

Out of politeness, she continued scanning the rest of the offer including retirement and insurance benefits, and then she came to a line item labeled “housing package.” She rested a fingertip on the words and looked up at Isabel. “Housing?”

“Yes, the salary package includes housing. The school has access to a small house. Furloughing missionaries have used it over the years. And we’d like to offer it to you…including utilities and maintenance…if you need it and are willing. It’s less than a mile from the school. You could even walk or bike to work.”

Angie did some quick mental math. She added the cost of her rent and utilities. Now the salary the school was offering exceeded her current income. She took a deep breath. “I’m interested. Very interested. I certainly want to pray about it, but I think this might just work.”

“Of course. But before you decide, I’ll give you the address of the house, and you can run by and take a look at it. Adam’s there today doing some painting and routine maintenance. I’ll text him and let him know to expect you.” She picked up a canvas bag and held it up. “Here are some books about the educational philosophy we follow. I hope you’ll glance over them before you make your decision. And, please let me know if you have any questions.”

Isabel stood. “Now, let me treat you to a delicious school lunch, and we’ll discuss what you observed.”