It was mid-morning when the Gazette arrived. There was no scathing editorial this week, actually a pleasant one about the holiday spirit that Evan Brewer should have read before suspending a boy with psychological problems. But the page opposite the editorial was a horror. This week, too, George Abbott had held off on running a story on the pact, but he made up for it with negative letters on the subject. They practically filled the page.

Susan called Kate. "Anonymous? Anonymous? Since when does the Gazette print anonymous letters?"

"Since our daughters got pregnant and George became the arbiter of moral judgment," Kate replied in a shaky voice.

"But there's no credibility if letters aren't signed!"

"The positive ones are signed."

"All two of them," said Susan. "But twenty negative and two positive? If this honestly represents the sentiment of the town, I might as well throw in the towel."

"Don't you dare! The only thing this page represents is George Abbott's attempt to impose his views on the rest of us."

"And succeeding."

"We don't know that."

No. They didn't. Rick might; he had good instincts on things like this. But Susan decided not to call. He had been a saint coming to the funeral-John Tate hadn't been particularly nice to him, either-but he was in Ecuador now, doing a piece on oil pollution. And this was her mess.

She had just put down the paper when Sunny called. "I don't understand it," she cried, sounding close to tears. "They're fixated on us! Did we tell our girls to get pregnant?" She began reading. "'Not all mothers are like this. Don't these mothers set rules? What are these mothers thinking?' I give up. What am I thinking? I'm trying to hear what you said, Susan. I'm trying not to make the mistake your parents made. But all this makes it hard."

"Not all the letters are about mothers," Susan mused. "Two don't mention the word at all."

"Those two talk about the breakdown of values. That's code for Bad Mothers. They're referring to us."

"With that talk about the school clinic encouraging sexual promiscuity? No, Sunny, they're referring to me."

Susan called Phil, who, to his credit, did ask about the funeral. "I'm sorry you have to come back to this," he said with what sounded like genuine regret. "George must not have known why you were gone."

"Either that or he did," Susan said. "I'm sorry to be cynical, but I don't think it would have made a difference. This has become George's crusade."

"Bah. People take what he says with a grain of salt."

"Not according to those letters. To read today's Gazette, you'd think the whole town agrees. Honestly, Phil? I'm shocked. I always thought Zaganack was an understanding place."

"It is. But three pregnancies frighten people. They wonder if their daughter's next."

"So they attack me? Does that make them safe?"

"They think it does."

"Because I haven't suspended the girls?" she asked, but calmly now. With Phil determining her future, she had to take a page from Evan Brewer's book and project authority. "Because I support a school clinic that gives condoms to boys who would otherwise have sex without protection? Because I believe in constructive punishment-which brings us to Michael Murray. You know I've been working with his family. Evan says you okayed the suspension."

"You weren't there. Something had to be done."

"I was gone for three days, and I wasn't playing golf. I've worked so hard with that boy."

"Maybe you need to take a different approach."

Susan was startled. It was a minute before she managed to ask, "You agree with him, then?"

"I don't know. I'm trying to keep an open mind."

An open mind about whom-Michael Murray? Evan Brewer? Susan Tate? Not knowing which, she was silent.

Phil sighed. "See, I would rather George had not printed those letters, but he did. Now I want to think it's over. The naysayers have had their day."

"Then you think this is just a blip in the scheme of things?"

"I think," he cautioned, "that if you're still adamant against taking a leave, you'll have to be proactive. Call Pam Perry, and get her to lobby on your behalf, because if the school board insists I take action, I'll act."

Pam was cool, though whether from distraction or frustration, Susan didn't know. "I'm already doing what I can. I talked with several of the men. I explained why you were away. I said your father's death was unexpected. They have to be thinking George is kicking you while you're down."

"Would you tell them that?" Susan asked, afraid to leave it to chance. "Spell it out?"

"Bad idea," her friend warned. "I'm the youngest member of the board. I'm the newest member. I can't tell them what to think. No, they'll get it on their own."

"Duncan Haith? Carl Morgan? I'm worried, Pam. This is one more week with just one side of the story in the paper."

"Maybe you could write a rebuttal."

"And give credence to George Abbott's accusations? Maybe you could."

"No. Not with my position in town."

She could if she wanted to. But she didn't. Hurt, Susan asked, "Do you think these letters represent the town's feelings?"

Pam was silent a few seconds too long. "I don't know."

"Do you agree with what they're saying? Am I less of a mother for what Lily did?"

"No, but I can't control public sentiment."

"What about Tanner? When he talks, people listen."

"I can't involve Tanner."

"You know what this job means to me, Pam."

"Hey," her friend said lightly, "I don't imagine anything will happen because of the letters. You just have to hang in there a little longer. School break starts next Wednesday. By the time the holidays are over, everyone will have forgotten about this."

Susan didn't think so. She wasn't sure Pam believed it either, but clearly she didn't want to do anything more. That cut deeply on a personal level. On a professional one, it made Susan very, very nervous.

It was all she could do to get herself to go to the basketball tournament that afternoon. She would much rather have stayed holed up nursing her wounds. But her concept of a principal entailed being a leader in good times and bad, which meant showing up to root for the home team, even when she was the biggest underdog around.

In hindsight, she was glad that she did. Sporting events were a good place to talk with parents. Some came over to express condolences on her father's death, others to discuss the Gazette. The latter were dismayed by the letters and supportive of Susan's position.

Then came Allison Monroe. She reported that she had overheard Evan Brewer in the faculty lounge that morning making arguments for why his approach to discipline was the best. Furious, Susan pulled out her BlackBerry and sent him a note. My office. Seven A.M. tomorrow.

On Friday, too, he was five minutes late, and then he walked in with coffee from Starbucks-only one cup, clearly for him. Not that Susan wanted coffee. But if she sensed she had done something her boss didn't like, she would have brought a peace offering. Not Evan Brewer.

Acting the mature professional with Phil was important, but Evan wasn't Phil. And Susan was pissed. "Are you bad-mouthing me in the faculty lounge?" she asked with little preamble.

He gave her an odd smile. "Am I what?"

"Bad-mouthing me. You were discussing Michael's case with other teachers."

"Who said this?"

"That's not the point. Your discussing it is a violation of Michael's privacy-and totally unprofessional. You were basically saying that your way of disciplining Michael is better than mine."

"No, Susan. It was a philosophical discussion."

"With you taking the opposite position from the one that your boss takes?" Really pissed, she said, "Would you have appreciated your faculty second-guessing your decisions when you were the headmaster?"

"I'm sure they did. A head can't control what his faculty does. But in this case, I was only trying to help."

"Help how?"

He shrugged. "This may be the last thing you want to hear right now… but there's been a lot of talk about the lack of discipline here. I presented my argument in a way that suggested you do consider all possibilities. In that sense, I was standing up for you." He arched an arrogant brow. "Look at it this way. I'm older and have more experience. My being more visible isn't a bad thing."

Susan could not have disagreed more. "You aren't principal here, Evan. Assistant principal isn't even part of your title. It's bad enough that I asked you not to act on Michael's case and you went ahead and did it. But now to talk up the issue behind my back?"

He made a dismissive sound. "They were already talking. I wasn't saying anything they didn't want to hear."

"You think so? For the record," she said quietly, "I was hired because the parents here wanted a different approach to running this school. I've had no problem with the faculty." Legitimately puzzled, she frowned. "I don't understand, Evan. I hire and fire my staff, which means that your job is in my hands. Doesn't that worry you?"

He stood up, even though she hadn't ended the interview. "Hey, I was just trying to help."

"Please don't."

Susan was itching to vent when she reached the barn Saturday morning, but something stopped her. It might have been the power of this place imposing its own kind of calm. Or the fact that Sunny and Pam were no-shows. Or the lure of spending the entire day dyeing wool, which, once they finished the last of the formulas, was what she and Kate did. Kate had staff to help get PC Wool out in quantity. But like knitting itself, dyeing was therapeutic.