Empha's Children

Meeting

“How was your day?” David’s mother asked. She was always chipper and bustling and this day was more of the same. “Strange.” He said, after a healthy pause to choose the correct word. He had only opened the envelope himself a few minutes before, and handed it to his mother, who read it with her face puckered in curiosity.

“What in the world is all this?” She finally asked him, “Did you apply to a new school?”

David shook his head and recounted his day, beginning with the man named Mr. Conway inviting himself into his class at Saint Mary’s, and ending with the invitation.

“And this was inside? This plaque?” She said when he’d finished.

Inside the envelope was a flat piece of wood, dark red with a grain that looked almost white, backed by a layer of silver. It was engraved with an invitation to join the Order of the Sun, made out to David Cromby.

David’s mother put the tips of her fingers together and smiled to herself, “My, how exciting.” She held the invitation in her hands, turning it over and examining the blank back, then placing it on the table in front of her. And I presume this is the school?” She took the small brochure that was tucked in the back of the envelope into her hands. “Horseback riding, archery, math, philosophy, biology; it’s almost classical.”

Something in the brochure had uncorked his mother’s usually reserved enthusiasm and David knew that she would be reminiscing about college until Bill got home, but at least she was happy to let him go. It didn’t take long for him to know that this school was exactly what he wanted — and that Bill would say no.

David’s father died when he was too young to truly know him, one of three killed in a convenience store robbery gone wrong. His parents had met in college, his mother an English major and his father with one leg in History and the other Science. They found love and married shortly after his mother graduated. David was born to Margaret and Peter Cromby six months later, and his father graduated and continued on to study further, only to be shot down by a teenager too stupid to know the difference between right and wrong.

Margaret Cromby raised David alone until he was five, with the occasional help of old college friends. It was through the urgings of those friends that David’s mother finally began to consider remarrying, and Bill was the obvious choice. Peter Cromby had put endless trust in the man, and he was David’s Godfather already. Most of all, David knew and loved Bill.

When they were married, Bill Mitchell changed his name to Cromby and they had been a family ever since.

“What’s all this stuff?” Bill said as he dropped his shoulder bag next to the television and picked up the shining invitation that sat atop the stack of unfolded school brochures. “You win another prize, kiddo?”

And so David explained again, this time delving deeper into the strange man and the test he put David’s class through that morning, and Bill listened as he always did, nodding, with his eyes closed. When he had finished the tale, David waited for his stepfather to speak. Bill chewed on his lip as he flipped through the introduction letter, read about the horse stable, the pastures, the mountain streams and the annual sports tournament. He looked at the tiny booklet that described the school’s history, and the greater history of the Fellowship of the Orders of the Sun, Moon, and Earth. He glanced at David’s mother as he passed over the curriculum listings and then down to David when he reached the end, where the school claimed to cater to leaders and leaders only. He placed the material down on the table and removed his reading glasses.

“I’ll be dropping by Saint Mary’s tomorrow. Can’t go in the morning — I’ve got a meeting — but I’ll be there before your lunch.” He reached down to pick up the plaque once again and turned it over in his hands, “Madge, do we have dinner going?”