Dear Mr. Knightley

a novel


By KATHERINE REAY

Thomas Nelson

Copyright © 2013 Katherine Reay
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4016-8968-1


CHAPTER 1

APRIL 2

Dear Sir,

It has been a year since I turned down your generous offer.Father John warned me at the time that I was making a terriblemistake, but I wouldn't listen. He felt that by dismissingthat opportunity I was injuring not only myself, but all thefoster children helped by your foundation.

I hope any perceived ingratitude on my part didn't harmanyone else's dreams. I wasn't ungrateful; I just wanted to leaveGrace House. A group home is a difficult place to live, and I'dbeen there for eight years. And even though I knew graduateschool meant more education and better job prospects, it alsomeant living at Grace House another two years. At the time Icouldn't face that prospect.

My heart has always been in my books and writing, but Icouldn't risk losing a paying job to pursue a dream. Now I'mready to try. Not because I failed, but because this degree givesme the chance to link my passion with my livelihood.

Please let me know if the grant is still available. I will understandif you have selected another candidate.

Sincerely,

Samantha Moore


APRIL 7

Dear Ms. Moore,

The grant for full tuition to the master's program atNorthwestern University's Medill School of Journalism remainsavailable. At the strong recommendation of FatherJohn, and due to the confidence he has in you, the directorof the Dover Foundation has agreed to give you this secondchance. There is, however, one stipulation. The director wantsto receive personal progress letters from you as reassurancethat this decision was the right one. You may write to him asyou would to a journal, letting him know how your studiesare going. He has opened a post office box for this purpose soyou won't feel the added pressure of an immediate connectionto him or to the foundation. Additionally, he will not writeback, but asks that you write to him regularly about "thingsthat matter."

He recognizes that this is an unusual requirement, but thefoundation needs to know that its resources are being used inthe best way possible. Given your sudden change of heart, hefeels it is not too much to ask. To make this easier for you, hewill also remain anonymous. You may write to him at thisaddress under the name George Knightley.

Sincerely,

Laura TemperPersonal Assistant toMr. G. Knightley


APRIL 12

Dear Mr. Knightley,

Thank you so much for giving me this opportunity. I submittedmy application to Medill this morning. I had to use acouple papers on Dickens and Austen in place of the journalismsamples requested. While that may count against me, I feltthe rest of my application was strong.

If you will allow, I want to honor Father John's trust andyours by explaining my "sudden change of heart," as Ms.Temper described it. When I graduated college last spring, Ihad two opportunities: your grant to fund graduate school or ajob at Ernst & Young. In my eagerness to leave Grace House andconquer the world, I chose the job. Six weeks ago I was fired.At the exit meeting my boss claimed I was "unengaged," especiallywith regard to peer and client interactions. I did goodwork there, Mr. Knightley. Good solid work. But "relating" inthe workplace is important too, I gather. That's where I failed.

I'm guessing from your literary choice of pseudonym thatyou are very likely acquainted with another admirable characterfrom fiction—Elizabeth Bennet, Jane Austen's complex andenchanting heroine. At Ernst & Young I tried to project Lizzy'sboldness and spirit, but clearly she had a confidence and charmthat was more than I could sustain on a daily basis. So nowhere I am, back at Grace House, taking advantage of the state'swillingness to provide a home for me till I'm twenty-five if Istay in school.

Nevertheless, Father John still doubts me and couldn'tresist a lecture this morning. I tried to listen, but my eyeswandered around his office: photographs of all the childrenwho have passed through Grace House cover every space thatisn't taken up with books. He loves murder mysteries: AgathaChristie, James Patterson, Alex Powell, P. D. James, PatriciaCornwell ... I've read most of them. The first day we met,right before I turned fifteen, he challenged me to stretchbeyond the classics.

"Are you listening, Sam?" Father John finally noticed mywandering eyes. "The Medill program is straight up your alley.You're a great reader and writer."

"'I deserve neither such praise nor such censure. I am nota great reader, and I have pleasure in many things.'" ElizabethBennet has a useful reply for every situation.

Father John gave a small smile, and I flinched. "What if Ican't do this?" I asked. "Maybe it's a mistake."

He sat back in his chair and took a slow breath. Eyebrowsdown, mouth in a line.

"Then turn this down—again—and find another job. Poundthe pavement quickly, though. I can give you a couple weekshere to get on your feet, then my hands are tied." He leanedforward. "Sam, I'll always help you. But after this, if you're notin school, Grace House is closed to you. This foundation helpsa lot of kids here, and I won't jeopardize that support becauseyou can't commit. So decide right now."

A tear rolled down my cheek. Father John never getscharged up, but I deserved it. I should only be grateful to youboth, and here I was questioning your help. But help is hard,Mr. Knightley—even when I desperately need it. Every fosterplacement of my childhood was intended to help me; everynew social worker tried to help my case; when I was sent backhome at twelve, the judge meant to help my life too ... I'm sotired of help.

"I'm sorry, Father John, you're right. I want this grant andI asked for it again. I must seem so ungrateful to you, to bequestioning again."

"You don't, Sam, and I can understand wanting to standalone. Even in the best of times and circumstances, it's hardto accept help—"

In the end, Father John believed my commitment. I hopeyou do too. Here is our agreement: you will pay for graduateschool, and I will write you letters that give an honestaccounting of my life and school—and you will never writeback. That simple, right?

Thank you for that, Mr. Knightley—your anonymity. Honestyis easier when you have no face and no real name. Andhonesty, for me, is very easy on paper.

I also want to assure you that while I may not relate wellto people in the real world, I shine in school. It's paper-based.I will do your grant justice, Mr. Knightley. I'll shine at Medill.

I know I've said more than was necessary in this letter,but I need you to know who I am. We need to have an honestbeginning, even if it's less impressive than Lizzy Bennet's.

Sincerely,

Samantha Moore


APRIL 21

Dear Mr. Knightley,

Each and every moment things change. For the most part,I loathe it. Change never works in my favor—as evidenced byso many foster placements, a holdup at a Chicago White Hen,getting fired from Ernst & Young, and so many other changesin my life I'd like to forget. But I needed one more—a changeof my own making—so I pursued your grant again.

But it's not of my own making, is it?

Father John told me this morning that he was the one whoproposed journalism for me—it was not an original requirementfor your grant. I wouldn't have chosen it myself. Myprofessor at Roosevelt College said I produced some of the bestwork on Austen, Dickens, and the Brontes he'd ever read. I'mgood at fiction, Mr. Knightley. And I don't think it's right thatFather John took away my choice. I'm twenty-three years old;I should be the author of the changes in my life.

I went to Father John and explained all this. I feel he hasarbitrarily forced me into journalism—a field I don't knowand don't write. "You need to undo that," I pleaded. "They'lllisten to you."

Father John closed his eyes. One might think he'dfallen asleep, but I knew better. He was praying. He doesthat—a lot.

Minutes passed. He opened his eyes and zeroed in on me.Sometimes I feel his eyes are tired, but not at that moment.They were piercing and direct. I knew his answer before heopened his mouth.

"Sam, I won't ... but you can. Write the foundation'sdirector and ask." Father John stared into my eyes, measuringhis words. "Don't lie. Don't tell them I've changed my mind. Ihave not. I am wholly against a change in program."

"How can you say that?" My own shrill voice surprised me.

"I've known you for eight years, Sam. I've watched yougrow, I've watched you succeed, and I've watched you retreat.I want the best for you, and with every fiber of my being, I amconvinced that 'the best' is not more fiction, but finding yourway around in the real world and its people."

I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up his hand."Consider carefully. If the foundation is unwilling to alter yourgrant, you may accept or you may walk away. You always havea choice."

"That's not fair."

Father John's eyes clouded. "My dear, what in your life hasever come close to fair? That's not how this life works." Heleaned forward and stretched his hands out across the desk."I'm sorry, Sam. If I could protect you from any more pain, Iwould. But I can only pray and do the very best God calls meto do. If I'm wrong about this, I hope that someday you willforgive me."

"'My temper would perhaps be called resentful.—My goodopinion once lost is lost forever.'" When Elizabeth Bennetdoesn't come through, one can always count on Mr. Darcy toprovide the right response. I shook my head and, quoting noone, said, "I won't forgive you, Father John. I don't forgive."And I walked out.

I don't care if that was ungenerous, Mr. Knightley. Heoverstepped, and he's wrong. So now I'm asking you: Will youlet me decide?

Sincerely,Samantha Moore


APRIL 25

Dear Ms. Moore,

Please forgive me for violating our agreement already, butI felt your question warranted a personal reply.

I understand your anger. It is hard when others hold powerover you. Rest assured, your situation is not unique. There isvery little any of us chooses in isolation.

Through my foundation, Father John has helped five youngadults from Grace House. One attended junior college; another,trade school; one graduated from cosmetology school; and twosuccessfully completed residential treatment programs. Eachindividual has grown closer to whole.

Father John not only fulfilled all the grant requirementsfor your application, but wrote me an additional five pagesoutlining your writing abilities, your gifts, and your determination.His decision to recommend journalism school was notmade lightly, as you well know. Remember that, and rememberwhat he has meant in your life. Don't throw away friendsand mentors carelessly. They are rare.

I trust Father John's prayerful counsel and judgment, andstand with his original recommendation. My foundation willonly award the grant for Medill's master's program.

The choice to accept it or not is yours, Ms. Moore.

Sincerely,

G. Knightley


MAY 10

Dear Mr. Knightley,

I didn't withdraw my application. I made my choice andnow I sit, waiting for Medill to accept or reject me.

In the meantime I've settled into my old ways and my oldjobs: I resumed tutoring at Buckhorn Cottage (Grace House'scottage for 8- to 13-year-old boys) and I picked up a few shiftsat the public library. I've been working at that library for adecade now, even before I moved to Grace House for the firsttime.

I was about fifteen when I first arrived at Grace House.Father John took me to his office and invited me to sit. No onehad ever done that—invited me to do anything. He chatted fora few minutes, then handed me an Anne Perry novel.

"Detective Huber got your file for me, Sam, and it's full ofreferences to Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, Oliver Twist, and othergreat classics. I think you must like to read. So until I get someof your favorites, would you like to read one of mine?"

The thick hardback had a picture of a Victorian house onthe cover. I slowly turned the pages, hoping if I feigned interestin his book, he'd take me to wherever I'd be staying andleave me alone.

He didn't. "This is one of the first mysteries I ever read.Now I'm hooked. I've got about a hundred titles over there."Father John pointed to his bookcase and waited.

I looked up.

"Come to my office anytime you want a new one. I pickedthat for you because it takes place in England in the nineteenthcentury, about the same time as your favorites."

I put the book down, never breaking eye contact. A showof strength, I thought.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Your choice. I'msure I can get some classics this week. Or you can go to thepublic library; it's on the corner of State and Van Buren."

I wanted to say I knew exactly where the library was, butthat would require speaking to him, so I simply slid the bookinto my lap. I wasn't going to admit, even to myself, that Iliked the man—and still do. In spite of how angry I am withhim at the moment, I know that Father John has always beenon my side.

He welcomed me at fifteen and again at eighteen, afterI tried to move out. And now at twenty-three, despite myheated words, he's opened Grace House's door once more. Sowhile I'm here, I will listen to his lectures and I will try to dowhat he asks. I owe him that much.

I'll even try to play nice with Morgan, my new roommatein Independence Cottage ...

"She's had a rough time, Sam. She turned eighteen a coupledays ago and her foster family ended the placement."

"She can go on her own. Isn't that a good thing?"

"Not without her GED . You know how important that is.She's testing next month, then joining the army." Father Johnstared right through me.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I'm asking you to be kind. Morgan's defense mechanismsare different from yours, and it may be rough going. Pleasedon't make waves."

"I make waves?"

"Like the ocean, kiddo. Then you retreat before they hitthe sand."

Ouch.

So I'm being kind, but Morgan isn't making it easy. Wewere cleaning the kitchen the other day and I told her aboutyour grant. I was trying to be friendly. She was not.

"You're selling yourself for school? I can't believe you'dgive it up for tuition. At least get some money or clothes fromthe deal."

"Morgan, shut up. You're disgusting. It isn't like that. Iwrite letters to an address in New York and I get my tuitionpaid to graduate school."

"I bet a lot of girls start out that way." Morgan stoppedwashing her dishes and stared at me. She smiled slowly, almostcruelly. "Letters will be worse for you anyway. Good luck withthat."

"What do you mean 'worse for me'? I can write a few letters,Morgan. That's what I do. I write."

"Honesty will kill you. You're a coward, and you'll lie.That makes the whole deal a lie." She put her plate down andwalked away.

She's not right. I'm not a coward, and I will be honest inthese letters. Simply because I don't blab my business to theworld like Mrs. Bennet doesn't mean I'm a coward. I'm prudentwhen dealing with people. That's smart. Wouldn't youagree?

But Morgan brings up a good point—her only one so far.Have you read Jane Eyre? There's a part when Mr. Rochestermeets Jane and asks if she expects a present. Adele, his ward,believes everyone should receive presents, daily. Jane isn't sosure. She replies, "They are generally thought pleasant things ...a present has many faces to it, has it not? And one should considerall before pronouncing an opinion as to its nature."

You've led me to believe your gift has one face, Mr. Knightley.I'll leave it at that.

Sincerely,

Samantha Moore


P.S. Okay, I can't leave it ...

If you are truly a "Mr. Knightley," I can do this. I can writethese letters. I trust you chose that name as a reflection ofyour own character. George Knightley is a good and honorableman—even better than Fitzwilliam Darcy, and few womenput anyone above Mr. Darcy.

Yes, Darcy's got the tempestuous masculinity and broodinglooks, but Knightley is a kinder, softer man with no pretenseor dissimilation. Yes, he's a gentleman. And I can write withcandor to a silent gentleman, and I can believe that he will notviolate this trust.


(Continues...)

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