The schoolhouse was the old barn I’d seen on the drive in, one expansive room with a few salvaged wood tables and chairs arranged throughout. One corner was set up for the preschoolers with mats and pillows and toys to play with. All the dolls were handmade, stitched eyes and mouths, tiny dresses and pants dyed turmeric yellow and beet red. A little city of wood-carved houses sat on a low shelf with matching cars lined up as if at a stoplight.

With windows lining both long walls, the room was filled with morning light. It was relaxed and spacious, a perfect place for learning.

I told Terry as much, and he said, “I’m glad. But you may wish to suspend your praise for another moment . . . Now we let you in on the secret of the supply closet.”

He opened the closet doors to reveal shelves crammed full of typical school stuff—ruled paper and graph paper, protractors and calculators. And unexpected things, too. Sheets of beeswax. More wood toys. A papier-mâché mobile of the solar system with its strings tangled, bins with costumes spilling over their sides.

“One day I will sort through all of this. I told myself I’d do it before you arrived. I told myself I’d do it before Billy and Liz arrived. So much for my good intentions! But anything you need should be in here. If it isn’t, let Julia or me know and we will get it for you or find a good substitute.”

“I’m sure this will be more than enough,” I said.

“We try to always have at least two kids of around the same age so they have someone to do lessons with. For a time, we had Esther along with Lee, but then Esther’s aunt came forward to adopt her. It doesn’t usually happen that way for us—our children usually stay. But there are two girls who may be joining us soon. Eight-year-old twins whose mother’s parental rights were just terminated. We’re waiting to see.”

I nodded.

“All right, enough with the orientation. You read the handbook, yes?”

“Cover to cover,” I said.

“Wonderful. You can help Lee with his equations now. He’s been doing a lot of self-guided work lately and he’ll appreciate having someone dedicated to helping him.”

Lee sat at a table at the far end of the schoolroom with his shoulders hunched.

“May I?” I asked, placing my hand on the empty chair next to him, and he nodded, moving his notebook closer to make more space for me. The notebook was covered with carefully formed numbers and equations and black boxes that confused me until I realized that instead of crossing or scribbling out his mistakes, he had blackened them so no hints of their specific wrongness remained.

“Long division,” I said. “How is it for you?”