talk to some other Fishers,” she said. “I’m sure we can find you something.”
Dorry blinked and leaned toward Angela. “Really?”
“Sure.” Angela made another note on her paper. “Anything else?”
A thousand potential, small sins flitted through Dorry’s mind, but they all seemed more embarrassing than sinful. “No,” she said.
Angela looked at her watch. The lunch period was almost over, and the tables around them were clearing out. “We’ll have the next discipling session on Saturday, right before Bible Study.”
“Bible Study?”
“Didn’t I tell you? You’re ready for that now.You’ll go into a Saturday afternoon session, to start with.”
“Don’t I get a choice?”
“Well, sure, but I know all the Bible Study groups, and I know this one is best for you.” Angela’s voice held a slight note of impatience, as if Dorry shouldn’t have questioned her.
“Okay,” Dorry said obediently.
“Now let’s pray together,” Angela said.
Dorry looked around, hoping no one was watching, before tardily bowing her head. Angela was already praying. Dorry only half listened, because she was trying to figure out what to say when Angela’s smooth flow of words stopped and it was Dorry’s turn. She wanted to pray for forgiveness, for resenting the way Angela took charge of everything, but she couldn’t say that in front of Angela. And, Dorry reminded herself, Angela was going to get her a job. She was only trying to help. She knew a lot more than Dorry did about being a Fisher.
Chapter
Twelve
TWO DAYS LATER, DORRY STOOD ON A wide brick porch and tentatively lifted and dropped a heavy brass knocker. It thudded gracelessly against the door.
“Nervous?” Angela said beside her.
“Sort of,” Dorry said. “I mean, I’ve baby-sat before, so I know I can do the job. But I’m not really good at meeting new people.”
“You’ll do fine,” Angela said.
They were in one of the nicest neighborhoods in the city—at least it looked nice to Dorry. All the houses were big and widely spaced, with generous yards and large trees. Someone from Fishers—Dorry wasn’t sure exactly who—lived one street over, and knew that the woman who lived here, a Mrs. Garringer, needed a baby-sitter three or four afternoons a week.
“Okay, okay, you can watch, but you have to turn it down,” someone was shouting inside as the door opened.
Dorry straightened up and smiled, trying to look presentable. The woman on the other side of the door was young and exotic looking, withshort, dark, curly hair and kohl-lined eyes. She was wearing green leggings and a white T-shirt, and had a baby balanced on her right hip. A little girl clung to her left leg, alternately hiding and peeking out. The sound of Big Bird singing the alphabet welled from another room. The woman winced.
“Jasmine, I’m not joking. Turn that down, right now, or I’ll turn it off,” she yelled.
Big Bird got about a half a decibel softer.
The woman turned back to Dorry and Angela and made a face. “Welcome to the madhouse,” she said. “I told the kids they needed to behave, so they wouldn’t scare the new baby-sitter, but that didn’t work. Come on in. I’m April Gar-ringer. This fat guy is Seth, and the one pretending to be shy is Zoe. Which one of you is Dorry?”
“I am,” Dorry said, as Angela explained, “I’m just a friend who brought her. Just tell me where to sit to be out of the way.”
Mrs. Garringer laughed. “If you like Sesame Street, the family room is open. If you want to be able to hear yourself think, you can come into the living room with us.” She bent down to the little girl. “Zoe, are you sure you don’t want to go watch TV with Jasmine?” The little girl shook her head and clung tighter. Mrs Garringer shrugged. “Okay, but you’re going to think this is dull.”
Mrs. Garringer led the way into a large, airy room full of what Dorry was sure had to be very expensive furniture: Queen Anne tables,
Dorry blinked and leaned toward Angela. “Really?”
“Sure.” Angela made another note on her paper. “Anything else?”
A thousand potential, small sins flitted through Dorry’s mind, but they all seemed more embarrassing than sinful. “No,” she said.
Angela looked at her watch. The lunch period was almost over, and the tables around them were clearing out. “We’ll have the next discipling session on Saturday, right before Bible Study.”
“Bible Study?”
“Didn’t I tell you? You’re ready for that now.You’ll go into a Saturday afternoon session, to start with.”
“Don’t I get a choice?”
“Well, sure, but I know all the Bible Study groups, and I know this one is best for you.” Angela’s voice held a slight note of impatience, as if Dorry shouldn’t have questioned her.
“Okay,” Dorry said obediently.
“Now let’s pray together,” Angela said.
Dorry looked around, hoping no one was watching, before tardily bowing her head. Angela was already praying. Dorry only half listened, because she was trying to figure out what to say when Angela’s smooth flow of words stopped and it was Dorry’s turn. She wanted to pray for forgiveness, for resenting the way Angela took charge of everything, but she couldn’t say that in front of Angela. And, Dorry reminded herself, Angela was going to get her a job. She was only trying to help. She knew a lot more than Dorry did about being a Fisher.
Chapter
Twelve
TWO DAYS LATER, DORRY STOOD ON A wide brick porch and tentatively lifted and dropped a heavy brass knocker. It thudded gracelessly against the door.
“Nervous?” Angela said beside her.
“Sort of,” Dorry said. “I mean, I’ve baby-sat before, so I know I can do the job. But I’m not really good at meeting new people.”
“You’ll do fine,” Angela said.
They were in one of the nicest neighborhoods in the city—at least it looked nice to Dorry. All the houses were big and widely spaced, with generous yards and large trees. Someone from Fishers—Dorry wasn’t sure exactly who—lived one street over, and knew that the woman who lived here, a Mrs. Garringer, needed a baby-sitter three or four afternoons a week.
“Okay, okay, you can watch, but you have to turn it down,” someone was shouting inside as the door opened.
Dorry straightened up and smiled, trying to look presentable. The woman on the other side of the door was young and exotic looking, withshort, dark, curly hair and kohl-lined eyes. She was wearing green leggings and a white T-shirt, and had a baby balanced on her right hip. A little girl clung to her left leg, alternately hiding and peeking out. The sound of Big Bird singing the alphabet welled from another room. The woman winced.
“Jasmine, I’m not joking. Turn that down, right now, or I’ll turn it off,” she yelled.
Big Bird got about a half a decibel softer.
The woman turned back to Dorry and Angela and made a face. “Welcome to the madhouse,” she said. “I told the kids they needed to behave, so they wouldn’t scare the new baby-sitter, but that didn’t work. Come on in. I’m April Gar-ringer. This fat guy is Seth, and the one pretending to be shy is Zoe. Which one of you is Dorry?”
“I am,” Dorry said, as Angela explained, “I’m just a friend who brought her. Just tell me where to sit to be out of the way.”
Mrs. Garringer laughed. “If you like Sesame Street, the family room is open. If you want to be able to hear yourself think, you can come into the living room with us.” She bent down to the little girl. “Zoe, are you sure you don’t want to go watch TV with Jasmine?” The little girl shook her head and clung tighter. Mrs Garringer shrugged. “Okay, but you’re going to think this is dull.”
Mrs. Garringer led the way into a large, airy room full of what Dorry was sure had to be very expensive furniture: Queen Anne tables,
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