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More importantly, if they’d even accept her. But by the end of the week, her mother and George had worn her down, and she agreed to enroll at Sweet Briar the following week, with a silent promise to herself to re-apply to Radcliffe the following year and keep on trying until she got in, no matter how hard she had to work to get in, or what it took to convince them. She felt a little better having established that plan, and knew it would be more bearable staying close to home as long as she knew it wasn’t forever.
    And then on Monday, the answer came from Berkeley. They were delighted to inform her that she’d been accepted. And although she wasn’t even sure why, her heart skipped a beat, and suddenly she was excited. She hurried into the kitchen to show Queenie the letter they’d sent. The old woman beamed at her, as though it was the answer to everything, and she had known all along it would come.
    “See that? That’s yo’ answer.”
    “What makes you so sure?” How could she know?
    How could she be certain? But the other options certainly didn’t appeal to her.
    “How do it make you feel?”
    “Good. Actually. Kind of excited and scared … but happy.”
    “And the other schools you been talkin’ about? How do they make you feel?”
    “Depressed … bored … pretty awful.”
    “That don’ sound like a happy solution to me. I’d say this be a better solution. But you think on it, honey. You pray. You listen to the lord, and listen to yo’ stomach. Always listen to yo’ gut … always listen to what you feel inside. You know. We all do. We know it right here.” She pointed to her big belly with a serious air. “When you feel good, it’s the right answer for sure, but you feel kinda sick, kinda squirmy, kinda miserable, then you done make a big mistake, or if you didn’t yet, you going to!” Paxton laughed at the simple wisdom, but she knew Queenie was right, as usual. She always was. The old woman knew. She was a lot smarter than Paxton’s mother, or George, or even Paxton.
    “The crazy thing is I think you’re right, Queenie.” She sat down in a kitchen chair, nibbling on a carrot stick and looking pensive. She was young and beautiful, and there was something very peaceful about her face. She was someone who was at one with herself, and had been for a long time. She was quiet and strong, and whole, which was rare for a girl her age, but since her father’s death almost seven years before, she had done a lot of thinking. “What am I going to say to them?”
    “The truth, when you know what that truth is. And don’t do something ’cause I tell you to. You too smart for that, girl. You do what you want to do, and what you know is right, when you know it. Think about it first. You’ll know when it’s right.” She pointed to her stomach again and Paxxie laughed and stood up. She was tall and lean and lanky, like her father had been, and oddly graceful. She was taller than many of her friends, but she had never really minded. And much to Queenie’s surprise, she had no particular interest in her looks. She was beautiful, but it was almost as though she didn’t know or care. She was interested in other things, matters of the heart, the head, the soul. She was too much like her father to be aware of her looks, and her indifference to her blond good looks frequently irritated her mother. She wanted her to model in Junior League fashion shows, and events for the Daughters of the Civil War and Paxton wanted none of it. She was quiet and shy, and amused by all the pressure and politics that went with those events, but she had no interest in them whatsoever. She liked talking about serious things with the teachers at her school, the recent developments in Viet Nam, the ramifications of Kennedy’s death, Johnson’s stand on civil rights, Martin Luther King and his marches and sit-ins. She had a passion about the important events going on around the world, and their links and ties and effect on