Page 3 of Dear Mr. Knightley

Dear Mr. Knightley,

Thank you so much for giving me this opportunity. I submitted my application to Medill this morning. I had to use a couple papers on Dickens and Austen in place of the journalism samples requested. While that may count against me, I felt the rest of my application was strong.

If you will allow, I want to honor Father John’s trust and yours by explaining my “sudden change of heart,” as Ms. Temper described it.

When I graduated college last spring, I had two opportunities: your grant to fund graduate school or a job at Ernst every new social worker tried to help my case; when I was sent back home at twelve, the judge meant to help my life too . . . I’m so tired of help.

“I’m sorry, Father John, you’re right. I want this grant and I asked for it again. I must seem so ungrateful to you, to be questioning again.”

“You don’t, Sam, and I can understand wanting to stand alone. Even in the best of times and circumstances, it’s hard to accept help—”

In the end, Father John believed my commitment. I hope you do too. Here is our agreement: you will pay for graduate school, and I will write you letters that give an honest accounting of my life and school—and you will never write back. That simple, right?

Thank you for that, Mr. Knightley—your anonymity. Honesty is easier when you have no face and no real name. And honesty, for me, is very easy on paper.

I also want to assure you that while I may not relate well to people in the real world, I shine in school. It’s paper-based. I will do your grant justice, Mr. Knightley. I’ll shine at Medill.

I know I’ve said more than was necessary in this letter, but I need you to know who I am. We need to have an honest beginning, even if it’s less impressive than Lizzy Bennet’s.

Sincerely,

Samantha Moore