Restoration: The Lakeville Series, #3

CHAPTER 1

Stepping OntoThe Trailhead

Ushers in sharp tuxedos welcomed latecomers to the wedding of Storm Young and Steven Reiger as delicate music floated across the resplendent lawn. The guests were escorted behind the house toward the decorated gazebo. Once their duties were completed, the groomsmen hurried behind the gatehouse where the wedding party was gathered. The crowd of family and friends hushed when the groom and his stepfather entered and stood beside Pastor Nelson.

Attendants paired off for the stroll up the makeshift aisle when they heard the processional begin. The string quartet repeated its rendition of The Butterfly Waltz as the last of the bridal party, before the bride herself appeared, completed their stroll. When attendants took their places, guests rose from the white wicker chairs and expectantly faced the gate house.

The bride anxiously smoothed her satin gown, the fabric cool against her hand. This was the day she had dreamt about since she was in grade school; the day she met Steven. Her brothers were small boys then. She remembered when they were born; Silas was barely walking when their mother brought Jude home.

Ready? Silas leaned over, whispering in his sister's ear.

Storm fussed with her bouquet a moment, then looked up at him. Tall and lanky, he was all deep brown eyes and dark, unmanageable hair. She pushed a lock off his forehead before adjusting the vivid yellow bow tie. A sheen of sentimental, happy tears clouded her eyes.

You look so much like Daddy. It's like having him here.

She turned to Jude. He shared their mother's light hair and hazel eyes, yet possessed their late father's muscular build.

I know I could have asked Rob, but I really wanted it to be both of you.

Glad to, Jude replied. Just be sure you get tons of pictures of Si. You know how much he hates dressing up.

The invitation of Bach's Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring stalled the round of sibling jests. She linked arms with her brothers before they rounded the side of the house. They paused at the edge of the white runner a moment before leading their sister to greet her groom for a joyfully tearful embrace.

Mom looks tired, Jude muttered halfway through the ceremony. Silas glanced at Sammie. The sight of his stepfather's hand lightly clasping hers eased any concern. The upcoming birth of their new sibling added an element of excitement for the family.

Rob'll make sure she doesn't overdo things, he whispered back.

Pastor Nelson approved the final vow spoken, and the guests applauded when the newlyweds kissed. Ode To Joy burst from the string quartet as Storm and Steven dashed across the lawn to the white limousine awaiting them.

The remainder of the bridal party moseyed to the slick, black car that would follow the couple to the country club. Silas tugged at his collar. This bow tie is history as soon as pictures are over.

I'm starved. Jude chimed, stepping in time alongside his brother. I'm telling you right now, I'm having some good old rock and roll at my wedding.

Fair warning, dude. I am NOT wearing a tux ever again.

Jude chuckled, pausing to watch the photographer click off shots of the couple in the car before it sped away. He turned, his professional eye searching for the next available subject. He spotted the bride's brothers and waved to them. Silas groaned as Jude dragged him along, murmuring about the injustices of formal dress.

Lakeville Country Club was bustling with activities unrelated to the Reiger wedding. Silas and Jude waved to a group of caddies before entering the clubhouse, laughter greeting them as they hurried to the large reception hall.

After dinner, Silas sat at the bar with one of the cooks on break, discussing the ins and outs of catering for large crowds. Denise, a bridesmaid, floated past them on the dance floor, waving to him behind her partner's back. He returned the gesture before resuming their discussion.

How can you sit here talking about ordering enough roast beef, with all these beautiful girls dying to dance? The cook watched the couple dance away, noting the young woman's lingering look at Silas. Especially that one. Hoo-whee.

Easy, he answered with his typical, affable smile. None of them is the one for me.

The man shook his head before he leaned across the bar, anxious to impart his accumulated years of wisdom.

"Si, you're young. Now's the time to get in the action. So when the right one comes along... He winked before downing the rest of his bright green soda. Gotta get back to the grind. Wait till you see the cake!" He kissed his fingers in an exaggerated pantomime of a French chef before disappearing behind swinging doors.

The busy kitchen sounds drew Silas to leave the stool and glance through the window. Men and women in bright white linens hurried about, some scraping remains of the pignoli-crusted chicken into an enormous trash can. Others were stacking dessert plates filled with mini pastries onto a cart. A voice from behind startled him.

"Any girl should be so lucky to be stared at with that sappy, dreamy look on your face. Jude pulled him away to allow a gaggle of wait staff with arms overflowing brush by them. It's only a kitchen, bro."

A great one, Silas sighed as he turned from the view.

Denise was asking about you, Jude said as they settled back at the bar, expecting a benign response.

Silas shrugged. His polite refusals to dance must not have registered. She looks like she's having a fine time with...whoever that guy is. He raised his glass towards the dance floor.

Jude glanced their way. That's one of Steve's friends from Wyeth, he informed his brother. You don't know him?

I'm not one of the jocks, remember? I guess he's on the basketball team? I don't pay much attention, except to football. They had a great team this year. I missed the games, though. I'll catch them in September.

They discussed Wyeth's chances for regionals. Then Jude asked, Did you hear from Baker Street yet?

A worried look crossed Silas’s normally placid face. Not yet. It's still early. They may not let me know until October or later.

But, you want to start in January!

Dude, I know. The outrage on his behalf soothed the anxiety that cropped up in Silas’s mind. He grinned after taking a closer look at his brother. When did you start wearing lipstick?

He exploded in laughter at the shade of red Jude's face became before he swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. He stared at the slight, purple tinted smudge that appeared.

For a shy, serious guy, you sure get around, Silas mused. He recalled more than one occasion Jude was found behind the caddy shed in the company of a particular hostess when they worked there the previous summer.

It's the dancing. Something about dancing makes girls all...romantic. He picked up a napkin and scrubbed his lips. One kiss doesn't make me engaged, you know.

That's all it'll take for me, Silas insisted.

You know I'm not looking for anything serious, Jude countered. No harm in a dance here and there. He was firmly committed to two goals: getting through auto mechanic's school and boot camp.

It can lead to...

Jude stopped the discussion with a slashing motion across his throat. No sermons tonight, Brother Young.

He laughed, as always, when Jude called him that. It was fine they had come to opposite opinions on the mysterious subject of women. He knew Jude was serious about his faith, although he couldn't resist one final warning.

No more kissing, Private.

Jude rolled his eyes. His affection for his Silas curbed his annoyance with his brother's insistent—and frequent—Biblically mandated warnings. It would take much more than Silas’s fervent adherence to God's word to cause a rift between them.

Do you have a date to leave for boot camp?

I report to Phoenixville mid-September.

Silas stared at his brother, stunned. So soon?

Si, I'm not being deployed to Afghanistan. It's the Guard and it's only 45 minutes away. You'll be farther than me when you're in Philly.

I know, but... Silas paused. An unexpected surge of emotion constricted his windpipe. Jude patted his shoulder, a wry grin quirking the corner of his mouth. Nothing would ever come between them.

I think you should dance with Denise, just once. Jude pulled Silas from the bar. It wasn't difficult to get her attention, and in no time, they were off waltzing. He stood to the sidelines as Silas patiently fended off the girl's determined and multiple attempts at a more intimate stance.

He'll miss me, Jude said to himself; the sentiment caused the same physical and emotional response Silas experienced earlier.

––––––––

As Jude stuffed the last of his gear into the duffle bag, his phone rang. He smiled when he saw Silas’s name on the screen; he had returned to school three weeks prior, and Jude missed him sorely. Hey bro.

Just wanted to wish you blessings today.

He snickered at the phrase remix: Silas would never wish anyone 'luck.' Jude sat on the bed, the contents of the duffle bag forgotten. Thanks, bro. How’s it going up there?

It’s going. Football starts next week. We've got a great team this year. You all packed up?

Just finished. Rob's waiting to take me into town for the bus. He breathed deeply and said, Pray for me, all right? I know this is where God wants me to be, but that doesn't make it any easier.

As expected, Silas launched into prayer mode. Jude closed his eyes, solitude gently lighting on his shoulders, easing the stress of the morning. His brother's conversational style of communing with Jesus always soothed him.

Don't let Mom get your uniform all wet, Silas joked when he was through with his supplication. Jude's laugh was tight with emotion.

I'll try. I'll call or text when I can. It's going to be a rough nine weeks. Thanks, Si.

Go with God, Jude. I'll be praying.

Jude flipped his phone closed, holding it tightly in hand as he looked around his room. It's only a few weeks, he confirmed to his stereo. At the sound of light tapping, he turned toward the door. Rob leaned against the frame, a wistful expression on his face.

I remember the day I went off to boot camp. It was a different time then. I'm sure it's just as daunting now.

Unable to confirm the sentiment aloud, Jude nodded. Rob stepped forward, picking a stuffed elephant up from Jude's desk. He looked it over, then replaced it with care. In the short time Rob was involved in his life, the boy had become a man.

If you need anything, you call. Any time of the day or night.

Jude stood, crossing the room to the abandoned bag. He tugged the drawstring closed. I will. Thanks. Where's Mom? He prayed Rob missed the way his question caught in his throat.

Putting a cold washcloth over her eyes, so you won't know she's been crying. 

Gathering his apprehension and commanding it to cease, Jude managed a half-smile. His mother needed to see him leave strong.

Are you ready, Private Young? They nodded to each other, and Rob found himself enveloped in a quick, yet sturdy hug before he left the room.

After a last look around Jude hoisted the bag to his shoulder. I’m ready, Lord. Let’s go!

From: Silas Young <[email protected]> 

To: Jude Young <[email protected]>

Dude! How's it going?

It's been 2 weeks, I thought I'd shoot you a quick email. Hope all is well, and you're not in the infirmary with something broken ;-)

Wyeth won the first game and got trashed in the second. You may be able to catch it on the radio, it's 899AM, WYTH. Kinda cruddy reception, but it's a small college station.

I heard from Baker Street...start date January 5! I'm marking off the days! Home to see family end of October, then going into Philly to scope out apartments and churches in relation to the school. Semester ends first week of December.

When are you home?

Send me some pix.

Love ya, Si

CHAPTER 2

Eating, sleeping, and learning the military routine absorbed all of Jude’s energy during his first weeks at the Phoenixville camp. His unit commander was stern, fair and (as Jude was happy to discover) from Lakeville. That gave him a touchstone to curb the slight homesickness he felt at the beginning, especially at night.

He got along well with most of his barracks mates. One man projected a wall of defense from day one. He enjoyed gibing the others, his shenanigans bordering on hazing. Jude seemed to attract an unusual amount of his energies.

Week five brought the situation to a head. Ready to enjoy a rare few minutes to read before evening mess, Jude opened the footlocker and plucked his Bible from the top of the pile. He sprawled on his bunk, noticing a different feel to the pages as he flipped through.

He paused in the middle of the book titled Job, where he'd stopped reading the night before. Inserted between the lightweight paper was a glossy page cut from the type of magazine he held no interest in viewing. He carefully extracted it, thankful that whoever defaced the book did not use glue or tape.

Sitting up, he held the book on his lap and began leafing through from the beginning. He worked well into the dinner hour, removing the insertions, to be certain he didn't miss one. He gathered them up, taking the galling pile to the mess hall. He located his unit and stalked down the aisle toward them. The men looked up when he stopped by the end of the table. He tossed the handful of clippings in the middle of their trays.

Very funny. Hilarious. Good to know that someone in the unit has no respect for the privacy of others. While the statement was generic, his eyes settled on Private Mitchell. Part of boot camp is to build a foundation of trust. The person who thinks this sort of nonsense is necessary is not someone I trust.

Lighten up, Young. Don't you like girls? A few of the others chuckled along with the perpetrator of the prank.

Not the kind that would consent to that type of exploitation.

The private’s laugh was loud and crude. Wow, you use big words, Young. There's nothing wrong with a shot of a beautiful girl in her all-together. Isn't that how the good Lord you read about made her?

I know this is going to be a dead end argument, so I'll end it with this. Keep away from my stuff and me, Mitchell. Stop being a bully and learn how to work together.

The man rose, stepping from the bench in a swift movement. You have some way of making me, Young?

"Whaaaaat seems to be the problem here?"

Jude spun toward the massive man bearing down on them. Sergeant Jeremiah Ellison's round mahogany face advertised his annoyance. A skinny private behind Jude attempted to gather the offending photos before the drill sergeant noticed them.

No problems, Sir. Jude answered, snapping to attention. The sergeant paced up one side of the table and back down the other, stopping next to Private Mitchell.

Problem, boy?

Sir, no, Sir. There was an underlying tone of disrespect in the forced answer; he did not wilt under the man's iron gaze.

Then why aren't you sitting down and keeping your jaw busy with that fine mess instead of standing up yammering at Young? Wha'chyou got there, Daniels?

The thin soldier's Adam's apple bobbed. Sir?

Without breaking eye contact with his surly charge, Ellison's arm shot out in the other private's direction. Daniels placed the pages in the wide hand, then stared at his tray. Each picture was examined thoroughly, as though it were instruction torn from the field manual. He looked back to Private Mitchell.

Who provided this provocative dinner reading?

Young, Sir. The glee with which the answer was provided seemed lost on the sergeant. He swept a look over the table one more time, then back to Mitchell.

Sit down and finish your meal, Private. Young, with me. Double time!

Jude hustled behind the man, praying for wisdom in how to handle the false accusation. Private Daniels turned in his seat and looked toward the end of the table in disgust. That was plain wrong, Mitch. I don't know much, but I know those pictures are yours!

Shut up, he snarled. He put his head down and shoveled the balance of his meal down his gullet. Others at the table followed the example.

The little office seemed smaller with the Sergeant's large frame occupying it. Jude stood still and quiet when he waved the pictures in front of him. Your idea of fun, Young?

Sir, no, Sir.

No, I didn't think so. Whose are they?

I found them, Sir.

Where, Private, did you happen across them?

In my footlocker. Sir.

He circled Jude, then walked behind his desk. Young, I appreciate that you don't want to cause a rift in your unit. Commendable! But this kind of trash borders on intolerable! He plunged the handful into the can next to the desk. Pornography is not allowed on this base. Nor, in any unit of mine! Your usual Sergeant agrees wholeheartedly with me. Tell me, boy. Who put those in your locker?

Jude stared at the wall behind the desk. He knew Private Mitchell did it, but was there proof? He swiftly thanked God before he answered the irate man with all honesty. I can't say, Sir.

Expecting his ears to be chewed off at the very least, he was surprised when the sergeant ordered in a quiet voice, Dismissed, Private.

He saluted before hurrying from the room, breathing a large sigh of relief before heading to his bunk. Private Daniels was waiting for him to come in. He jumped down from his bed when Jude entered.

Is everything okay?

Picking up the lock he'd forgotten to check in his pique, Jude examined it carefully for evidence of tampering. He snapped it shut and worked the combination; it opened easily. He shrugged and tossed it on his bed. Everything is fine. Thanks for asking. What's this? He motioned to the bundle Daniels was handing him.

I work the breakfast mess, so I know the kitchen staff. It's not much, just a sandwich and an apple, but I knew you didn't eat. He turned to shuffle away, slightly embarrassed.

A tuna fish sandwich, no doubt leftover from lunch, and a larger than average apple sat in Jude's hand. He grinned, sudden hunger growling to alert him of its need to be sated. Thanks, Daniels.

Ray, he called from the bunk. Call me Ray.

Jude toasted him with half the sandwich before he bit into it. He sat reading his edited Bible while he ate, praying about how to deal with Private Mitchell from this point on.

––––––––

Carried by long legs encased in skinny jeans, two large boxes floated down the dorm stairs, seemingly of their own volition. Carefully stepping from the last riser onto the floor, Silas put the cartons down. He walked to the door, looking for the elastic strap that usually hung on a nail in the wall. Someone must have taken it to bungee their trunk closed, he mumbled.

He pushed the door open and rolled a large stone over to prop it in place. His mind filled with thoughts of holiday celebrations, then his move to Philadelphia; an apartment was secured and his tuition to Baker Street paid in full. While jogging to the parking area, he praised the Lord for Rob's sound financial advice regarding savings accounts and high yield CD's.

Silas backed his hybrid car up to the curb. He pressed the trunk button before he got out, then pulled the hatch up before heading back into the foyer. Practically giddy to get home, he began to heft the top box when a most familiar voice stopped him.

Do you really think all your stuff will fit in that rat trap?

That's how it got here, dude.

The brothers met in the middle of the foyer, laughing and back slapping and talking over each other as always.

Why didn't you call?—You can't seriously think all your junk will fit!—Let's pack up my room and go grab a bite, there's a great little restaurant in the town.—Is this everything?—Seriously, the cheddar and broccoli soup is golden!—What's left upstairs?

Boxes were secured in the back of the enormous truck, a suitcase and laptop in the trunk of the car. Jude followed his brother across the campus to the admissions office. Silas hopped from his car and walked to the driver's side of the truck.

I'll only be a minute.

Jude looked out the window, taking in Silas’s new look. They were so involved with catching up and getting things down the stairs, he hadn't noticed the longer hair wrapped in a short pony tail, or the tie-dye belt that matched his Vans.

Did you pack your board?

My what?

You know, Jude held his hand up in the universal surfer sign. Your board, dude.

Silas laughed, shaking his head as he walked away. You make a lousy hippie, Private.

Forty minutes later, they were enjoying bowls of hearty soup and crusty French bread. A petite waitress placed a plate of bacon-laden potato skins on the table next to Jude, laid the receipt by Silas’s water glass and scurried off to the kitchen.

Tell me about the job at Vince's. Silas looked at the tab, then set it aside.

Jude ate two of the crispy skins before he gave an answer. It's good. He's got a steady stream of work, and he contracts to Lakeville, Westtown, and he also handles some county work. He also does work for The Tabernacle. The guys are all easy to work with.

A thumb was held in the air before Silas countered, I can work the country club through the holidays. The apartment is furnished, but I think I may buy a cheap new mattress. We can move my stuff on New Year's Day if you have no plans.

Nothing on my calendar. How much are you taking?

They finished lunch while discussing logistics, ownership of certain CD's and who would get the video game system.

To: Silas Young <[email protected]> 

From: Jude Young  <[email protected]   attachment 354 kb

Hey Si, how's cooking school? Have you added any recipes to that folder yet?

I think I made Corporal! I'll find out next time I'm on rotation. My unit is great, and my Sarge is from town, in fact, he's a cop here. Funny how you can grow up in one place and not know everyone. Still having issues with Mitch. It's hard to work with someone you don't trust. Weekends aren't so bad, it's the week-long tours that get tedious.

Things in Lakeville are the same. Except that Sunnie is always here. It's so weird. She goes to The Tab with Vic and George, and she's really changed, but she's still Sunnie. Speaking of sisters, sending you a new pic of Aina. She's way cuter than Sunnie ever was.

When are you coming home?

Love, J

––––––––

To: Jude Young  <[email protected]> 

From: Silas Young <[email protected]>

Congrats on the promotion! I'll practice my saluting. ;-) I'll pray about that Mitch guy. Remember, no matter how annoying he is, he needs Jesus. You may be the only person to show him that.

My first break is February. I'll be home three days, and I'm sure Mom will try to get me to cut my hair every day. Hey, I found a great church, it's about 4 miles away, it's similar to The Tab. They even have a ministry to feed the homeless. It's a good place to call home.

Great news about Sunnie! Is she still living by the Reigers? I thought she didn't like Cadfael much. He was a great dog.

Thanks for the pic! She is adorable! I can't wait to have a houseful of my own. I guess I'd need a wife, first. ;-)

Be Blessed and see ya soon,

Luv, Si

CHAPTER 3

The daily struggle with his hair won, Silas picked up a bright yellow bandana. He quickly covered his head and secured it pirate-style. He plucked a blue chef's coat from the kitchen chair on his way out the door. His new track started today, and he did not want to be late.

Maybe we'll have a chance to get our hands on some real food today, he said hopefully, rounding the landing to the last flight of steps. Not until his hand was on the burnished finish of the door handle at school did Silas remember that he did not have a sanctioned head covering. He prayed quickly, rushing to the Galley to persuade Margaret to supply him yet another of Professor Black's preferred uniform addition. It wasn’t the first time that he went to beg her on his own; it was a better alternative to being sent.

True to form, Margaret harangued while getting the hat, vowing to charge him for this one and the last three. She swore on the heads of all previous students that never did any plague her as much as he did. Before dashing off to the elevator, Silas gave her a quick peck on the cheek and promised to bring her a check the following day.

Hustling into the auditorium, he plunked into a seat near the front, ready for the upcoming lecture. Soon after he settled, a small crowd of students arrived; Doug, Ben, Dave and Sarah. An invitation to Kildare's Pub on their first day of classes sealed their friendships for the duration. The loud and crowded sports bar provided excellent food and a relaxing atmosphere. The group bonded over the course of a few weeks and many plates of crab dip and buffalo wings.

Doug's family owned a large and exclusive restaurant in upstate New York, and he was expected to take his place there. Having been raised in the kitchens of The Pointe, Doug felt he had experienced all the training necessary to inherit the establishment and regarded his formal education with a cavalier outlook that boggled Silas.

Upon discovering Silas’s outgoing faith, Ben invited him to church. An opportunity to work with the soup kitchen outreach excited him. Ben also made mention of his cousin's traditional church which was closer to Silas’s apartment, but Silas found the former a perfect fit for his charismatic worship style.

Sarah and Dave seemed destined to be the tagalong couple of the group, although their romantic status was hard to discern. They seemed at times to be involved, then alternately good friends. Silas did not feel the need to ponder their personal situation as often as Ben and Doug. He was more concerned about passing classes.

Ben unceremoniously dropped Silas’s bag on the floor, taking the seat beside him. The sound of the heavy item hitting the floor attracted the professor's attention. Their introduction to the daunting professor came during orientation on the first day. The school's owner, Chef Bonnie, welcomed new students, gave a brief history of her career and Baker Street Culinary Academy's roots, then turned control of the podium to Professor Black.

He awaited the polite applause to die down. The man was clearly a force in the school; his very stance spoke of it. Silas recalled his first ominous words.

You will all know, after the end of eight weeks, if you belong here or not. He glared at the students. Your first classes will not involve food at all, rather the theory and history of what made the culinary arts what they are today. Man has had the need to both eat to sustain life and to create from the time our earliest ancestors sat around a fire with grumbling stomachs. We will walk through history, we will examine cultures, and we will feast upon knowledge before we get our hands dirty.

The professor spoke for what seemed like too many hours as Silas filled the blank pages in the student handbook with notes. He especially stressed proper student uniform attire and demanded nothing less than professionalism and perfection from his students. There were days when Silas alternately thanked the Lord for Professor Black’s confidences and wished the man would ignore him altogether.

His voice cut through the silence in the auditorium. Silas quickly stuffed his favored bandana into the large pocket of his baggy chef's pants and donned the hat. Mister Young, pay better attention to your schedule, and you will not end up owing more on your head gear than you paid in tuition. He turned a frown on Ben.

Mister Coletti, CLEAN shoes by tomorrow or you will be suspended from classes until such time as you have them. The rest of you, take out your student handbooks, notepads and pens. You will be embarking on the Chef’s Track. It will take eighteen weeks to complete, and most of you will be competent to either graduate or move into the Pastry Chef Track following a week off.

Ben couldn’t resist a small cheer, bringing Professor Black’s disapproving glare back upon him. Or, as in Mister Coletti’s case, you’ll be able to adequately flip burgers at the local dive.

Doug chortled. Ben clamped his mouth shut, and flipped Doug a one-finger salute before slouching in his chair. The Professor droned on for two more hours about kitchen safety, cleanliness, professional appearances–sparing a pointed look at Silas’s head–and several other things that Silas’s quirky, handwritten notes reflected. Throughout the entire lecture Doug examined his fingernails, stared at the tin tiled ceiling, or gazed at the available female student body. Once the lecture was finished, Ben let out an enormous breath.

Silas turned an amused look on his friend who was brilliant, but not terribly focused. He was certain Ben had what it took to make it in this school and business. Doug, alternately, didn’t bother to hide the fact all of this bored him.

As if punctuating Silas’s silent musings Doug rose, stretched and yawned widely before turning toward him. Email me notes?

He shrugged, placing his notebook in his duffle bag. Doug cracked a smile for Sarah’s benefit, continuing to cajole. C’mon, Young! No one can read that chicken scratch you call handwriting. Who’s up for Kildare’s tonight? Dollar pints, first one on me.

One of the girls Doug had been ogling slid past the crowd, waving to Silas. Doug reached over and punched his arm. Why do all the chicks go crazy for you? I’m starting not to like you. His taunt revealed envy in its tone; in all his lifetime, he was always the handsome center of attention.

Many of the female student body were attracted to Silas's friendly manner. It never transformed into relational interest. Most caught the hint, quickly turning their consideration to Doug or Ben. Dave was too painfully shy around the opposite gender, save Sarah.

Get real, Doug. You won’t graduate in eighteen weeks without my notes. That’s undoubtedly why you love me.

The small crowd of friends laughed before breaking for classes. Silas and Ben headed to the Child Kitchen, Sarah and Dave to the Beard Kitchen. No one was quite sure where Doug spent the balance of his days, but he rarely entered any of the required labs. Silas wondered how he