Chapter 6
Celia Kate took the last clean plate from the dishwasher and placed it in the cabinet before making her midmorning school
rounds. Sophie preferred to do her work at the kitchen table. By this time each day, she was speed-reading through a literary
classic before writing a few paragraphs on what she had retained. This morning it was Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Secret Garden.
“Mama, would you say Mrs. Medlock is fastidious?” Sophie asked while tapping her pencil on the table.
“I’m not sure what fastidious means, Sophie,” CK answered as she peered over her eleven-year-old’s shoulder at the beautiful penmanship on the notebook
paper.
“What about capricious?” she asked, looking up at her mother with wide, cocoa-colored eyes.
“Sure, baby.” CK tapped her daughter’s shoulder and walked toward the adjoining dining room where she found her nine-year-old,
Tucker, with his head down on the cherry table cluttered with books and worksheets.
“Up and at it, boy,” she said loudly to the fourth grader.
His dark, shaggy head bolted upright, and he sleepily groaned. “Mama, I hate this. I can’t do it.”
Celia Kate sat in the plaid captain’s chair beside him and reviewed the work he’d done so far.
“All of this is correct, Tucker. You’ve done a great job here.” She placed the paper back on the table and gave his shoulder
an encouraging squeeze. “Being unable to do something and not wanting to do something aren’t the same thing. Get this done
and you can go outside for a while, work on your fort in the woods. The rain isn’t going to move in for a couple of hours.”
He argued, “But why do I need to know how to figure sales tax? You and Dad buy everything for me.”
She smiled at him and stood before saying, “The lesson is percentages and decimal places, and your dad and I aren’t going
to buy you another fishing pole unless you finish all your work.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled before the sounds of scribbling filled the room.
She knew that would motivate him because Tucker had a curious and adventurous spirit. She was thankful he would rather be
outside climbing trees or catching fish than spending his free time staring at a screen—unless it was the thrill of an Atlanta
Braves game on the television.
Unlike most little girls, Celia Kate never wrote “teacher” on her “What I Want to Be When I Grow Up” worksheet in elementary
school. In fact, she cried most mornings before her mother dropped her off at kindergarten and struggled academically for
the next twelve years. Her true passion was found on the track or the basketball court, where she thrived as a member of the
1992 Lady Wildcats, the first basketball team in school history to earn the title of 2A Georgia State Champions. CK’s athletic
achievements far outweighed her academic ones.
After barely graduating from Kennesaw State, CK began her career in sports medicine, a job that both paid the bills and brought her happiness. She felt at home being around athletes and never imagined she would leave a career she loved to homeschool her children.
But six years ago she couldn’t ignore the signs to pull her kids from public school. At the time, CK’s oldest child, Silas,
was ten years old and struggling to do the same things Tucker could easily do at the dining table. Silas had severe “testing
anxiety” where he would shut down and his mind would go blank at the very moment a test was placed before him. School nights
in the Stokes’ house consisted of cramming, reading, flash cards, and bouts of crying and frustration—from both mother and
son. And because it was impossible for Silas to excel in the public school system without passing tests, he had to repeat
the fifth grade. It broke CK’s heart that her son was teased by his classmates and called a failure. She mourned watching
her once-happy little boy become self-conscious and depressed.
That same year Sophie was in kindergarten. Her teacher frequently sent home notes complaining that the energetic five-year-old
talked too much during the day, disrupting the entire class. After a loud telephone argument between Celia Kate and Sophie’s
teacher, CK formed the opinion that public school was a rigid environment where children were told to sit down, stop talking,
and conform. She believed her kids were valued solely for their test scores and their ability to be quiet. Without consulting
anyone, not even her husband, Sean, she decided to pull Silas and Sophie out of the same elementary school she had attended
as a child, and that was that.
In the early days of homeschooling, CK felt overwhelmed and uncertain, often questioning whether she could successfully teach her children everything they needed to know.
Sean was supportive, but she sensed that he secretly shared her concerns.
Thankfully, CK gained confidence after dedicating countless hours to watching instructional videos and participating in homeschooling forums. She was grateful to discover a welcoming community of fellow homeschoolers, a group of cheerleaders who provided the support she needed.
Before long, CK’s preconceived notions about homeschooled children were proven wrong. They were not socially awkward; in fact,
they were remarkably articulate and often engaged in richer and more meaningful conversations than many adults. These children
weren’t captivated by screens or hesitant to make eye contact. Instead, they exuded confidence and curiosity. They were leaders
in their own right, bursting with ambition and creativity. CK was inspired by these remarkable kids and knew she wanted her
own children to become self-assured, engaged individuals ready to take on the world.
Seeing Silas happily and diligently working at his desk in the office was the sweetest fruit of CK’s labor.
Now sixteen, he was on the fast track to college to major in graphic design.
His struggles in fifth grade now felt like a distant memory, a forgotten blip on the radar of his academic success.
But feeding himself, taking responsibility around the house, getting a job—those were skills she had neglected to teach him, and his lack of self-sufficiency weighed heavily on her.
By constantly catering to him—making his snacks, cleaning his cluttered room, and purchasing everything he asked for such as new shoes, gaming headsets, and music or movie subscriptions without suggesting that he should work for it—she had created a protective bubble around her older son that now felt difficult to burst.
“How’s it going?” she asked her handsome boy with dark hair and eyes like his siblings.
He swiveled around in his seat and looked at his mother while she sat on the oversized corduroy chair next to the row of windows.
“It’s going pretty well. I need to finish the worksheet on the stuff we went over yesterday,” he replied while stifling a
yawn.
“Do we need to review it again, or do you think you understand it?”
“No, ma’am.” He stretched his long arms above his head, causing the Nirvana logo on his dad’s old T-shirt to become more visible.
“I’ve got a handle on it. Once I finish that, I want to work on some typography stuff for Sophie’s website. I’m not happy
with the layout.”
Sophie had blossomed into a young entrepreneur. With each stroke of her calligraphy pen, she created beautiful handmade greeting
cards and sold them on the website that Silas had built for her. She had already saved up quite a nest egg.
“I’m proud of you, kid.”
“Thanks, Mom.” He nodded and grinned. “Do you think you could show me how proud you are of me by washing the hamper of dirty
clothes in my bathroom? I’m down to one pair of underwear, and I’m definitely not wearing Tucker’s Ninja Turtle Underoos.”
“I wouldn’t let you anyway!” Tucker yelled from the dining room.
“Yes, son.”
While she sorted her grown son’s laundry that was soaked in week-old sweat from the last time he begrudgingly mowed the yard, she thought back to him being that defenseless, premature baby facing a variety of health issues.
During Silas’s time in the NICU, the family endured sleepless nights, anxious doctors, and uncertain diagnoses.
Being in that valley nearly shattered Sean and Celia Kate’s new marriage.
CK leaned heavily on her faith and her mother’s support to get through it.
But it was no surprise that CK was so protective of her miracle child.
While she also worried about Sophie and Tucker, her concerns for Silas had always been far greater.
That same afternoon, while Tucker hammered away on his tree fort, Sophie sat at the kitchen table working on greeting cards,
and Silas took a nap on freshly washed sheets, Celia Kate checked the calendar hanging on the office wall to see if anything
conflicted with Moira’s birthday weekend. On that Saturday, Cumberland State would begin accepting scholarship essays and
online applications. She was hesitant to let Silas handle this on his own. Would he answer the questions in a way that would
guarantee he received more scholarship money? What about the essay? He wasn’t strong grammatically, and he might need her
help. She sat in the office chair, her anxious mind racing.
The reality was that if CK didn’t do things, things simply wouldn’t get done. Several years ago, she had dared to leave for
the weekend to attend her cousin’s wedding in Fort Worth with her mother. When she returned home, her house looked like the
hotel room in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and her cat, Chipper Jones, had nearly starved to death. She’d also stayed at Moira’s place two other times—right after Jeffrey
died and for a weekend two summers ago—and each time she returned to a house where penicillin had begun to grow on the damp
clothes piled at the bottom of the hamper. Removing the green spots that had stained Sean’s favorite work polo was nearly
impossible.
Her thought process went something like this: If I’m not here, will Silas complete his application correctly? If he doesn’t, he’ll be stuck living at home forever, which
wouldn’t be so terrible for me to have my baby boy at home for all of eternity, but I would have to listen to Sean gripe about
cutting cords for the rest of my life. Will my husband, in his usual distracted manner, remember to lock all the doors before
bedtime? Or will the family be vulnerable to bad guys and thieves roaming the neighborhood? What if Chipper Jones slips out
the back door, escapes into the night, and becomes prey for coyotes lurking nearby? Who will oversee the payment and shipping
process if Sophie receives an order on her website while I’m away? Will Sean and the kids get to church on time on Sunday
morning? Who will iron the khaki pants and button-downs? What will they eat that isn’t coated in red dye 40? Does Sean know
not to put plastic in the microwave?
What about other catastrophic possibilities? What if her healthy, active dad, who now lived in Pensacola, became ill? What
if her twin brother, a lineman, fell from a towering electric pole? What if her in-laws— Stop, CK! The flood of worst-case scenarios was too much to bear. The anxiety coursing through her made it painfully clear: She could
not leave.
She continued to ponder these thoughts that evening as thunder rumbled and sheets of rain beat against the farmhouse’s tin
roof. Lightning flashed through the window above the kitchen sink, causing her to flinch as she turned the chicken breasts
sizzling in a cast iron skillet.
“You’re going to go,” Sean said, breaking the stream of panic in her mind.
She looked at him standing beside her, slathering peanut butter on a piece of wheat bread.
“To Moira’s party. I saw the invitation sitting in the junk mail pile, ready to be thrown away, so I know you’re standing there mulling over worst-case scenarios and trying to talk yourself out of going, but you’re going.”
“Sean, why in the world are you fixing a peanut butter and jelly sandwich when I’m frying chicken for supper?” She scowled
at him.
“Appetizer. I’ll save plenty of room for the chicken.”
Please don’t put that same knife into the jelly, she thought right before he put the same knife into the jelly.
“Like I was saying, you’re going to go to Moira’s party and you’re going to have a great time with your friends.” Sean quickly
glanced at her as she poked at the golden chicken crackling in the hot oil. “And David Markowski is not going to have a great time when I beat him at golf that Saturday.”
“Golf? What are the kids going to do home alone while you’re at the course all day?” Celia Kate slapped her hand on her hip.
“Well, as long as I hide the matches, they won’t burn the place down.” Sean scoffed. “Our children are sixteen, eleven, and
nine, CK. You have got to cut the—”
“I’d be more worried about your throat than their cords.” Celia Kate waved the steaming, oily fork at Sean.
He left the peanut butter and jelly jars open on the counter and walked away after saying, “I love you, but I’m kicking you
out, woman. You’re going to have three days of relaxation!”
The thought terrified her.