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before him.”
    “I see.”
    “And his state of mind,” she continued, “it never varies. He is but the same man I have always known, only there are moments when I fear he gives voice to thoughts he might have left in silence in years past.”
    The reverend nodded. “Indeed I have seen this.” He stopped abruptly and reached for Emilie’s arm, a look of alarm on his wrinkled face. “Has he perhaps said something that was harmful to you?”
    “Harmful?” She thought a moment. “Nothing beyond his disdain for my calling to teach.”
    “And nothing further?” When she shook her head, his expression relaxed. “   ’Tis a relief indeed. That you’ve been spared the brunt of his ill temper.”
    Odd his sudden concern for her feelings. Surely Hezekiah Carter, oldest and dearest friend to her father, knew that sparing feelings had never been something with which Jean Gayarre concerned himself. This he owed to his temperament, although often Papa was just too far into his cups to care.
    “I fear I cannot remain indefinitely, Emilie,” he said without breaking his stride. “I’ve word my congregation is suffering from my absence, as, I hope, is my wife. I fear I must make arrangements to leave within the week.”  
    “I understand.” Truly she did. Would that she, too, could pack her bags and step aboard a Florida-bound ship. “You are a good friend for accompanying me on this voyage. I shall not hold you here any longer.”
    “Then ’tis settled.” He sighed. “I would beg you to join me, but my old friend tells me he requires your attendance at his bedside.”
    She walked on in silence for there was no need to respond.  
    Together they turned the corner at Royal Street. Up ahead, the Gayarre home loomed. “You do not have to remain here,” Reverend Carter said. “You’re a good daughter to him, Emilie, but he will not suffer in your absence. I warrant Delilah will see that he is well taken care of.”
    “He needs me.”
    “Does he now?” The pastor shrugged. “Or perhaps it is you who needs him. Perhaps,” he said before pausing to allow a well-dressed couple to pass, “you are afraid if he dies you will not have answers to the questions you surely seek.”
    “Questions?” Anger flared white hot, and then on its heels came the guilt. He must have discerned her quest for funding for the school. “Do you assume I have come back to New Orleans only for my own purposes?”
    “No,” he said quickly, “although I do know there is some issue about funding our Fairweather Key school that might be resolved should your father contribute.”  
    “Yes,” she said slowly, guilt now dogging each step toward home, “this is true. I wish desperately not to separate children from parents in order for the students to receive an education, but the situation seems to be one that cannot be changed without a proper school for the children. If only the judge would. . .”  
    Emilie clamped her lips shut. Nothing good would come of further complaints. Judge Campbell was a man who would never waver once he made up his mind.  
    “Indeed, Judge Campbell seems to have a particular bent toward keeping the Fairweather Key coffers full to the brim,” Reverend Carter agreed. “We’ve petitioned the Lord to deal with him, Emilie. What else can be done?”
    She straightened her spine and bit back on the comment begging to be spoken. “Reverend, while I’m sure the families are doing their part in praying, I can’t help but think that without action there may be nothing done.”
    “Dear girl, don’t you understand prayer is action?” He shook his head. “Ah, the impetuousness of youth. There are situations where waiting is but the only solution.”
    “Waiting is not an option. If I cannot produce a school in three months’ time, families will be praying over the decision of whether to send their children away or allow them to remain uneducated.”
    “And if you continue as you have teaching the children