Free Heart of the Matter by Marta Perry Page B

couple of eager high school volunteers were teaching crafts under the benign gaze of the elderly black woman who’d spearheaded the fight to provide this program for the poorest of the city’s children.
    “I hope so. There’s plenty more I’d like to say about Miz Dottie, but we’re going to have limited column inches for this story.”
    That fact annoyed her. In her opinion, Miz Dottie was a true hero—a woman who’d dedicated her life to her community, sturdily walking over the forces that would have stopped her.
    But the paper, in the person of Ross, wouldn’t spare precious space for what he’d dismiss as a “feel-good” story. The old newspaper adage that “if it bleeds, it leads,” seemed to be his motto.
    She lifted damp hair off her neck. The stifling heat didn’t seem to bother the kids, but she was wilting. “Let’s head back to the office and pull this together.”
    They walked across the playground together, Amanda mentally composing the lead to the story.
    “So if I learn to use a camera, I should put that on a résumé.” C.J.’s mind was obviously on her future, not the current story, but Amanda didn’t blame her for that. This internship ought to prepare her for a career.
    “Definitely,” Amanda said. She hesitated, knowing the intern was prickly on the subject of higher education for herself. “You know, there are still plenty of loans and scholarships—”
    “Not for me,” C.J. cut her off. “You don’t get it. I have my grandmother to take care of. She took me in after my mamma died. Now it’s my turn.”
    “I understand. Really.” Wouldn’t she do the same for Miz Callie, if she were in C.J.’s situation?
    They got into the car, and she turned the air to high, the movement reminding her again of C.J.’s problem with her landlord. But this time Miz Callie’s opinions on that subject came to the forefront of her mind.
    Miz Callie thought she was meant to tackle this issue. If so, she’d have to risk disobeying Ross’s orders. And now was the time.
    Come on, Amanda. Are you a woman or a mouse?
    She glanced in the rearview mirror and pulled out into traffic. “Is the situation with your hot apartment any better?”
    C.J. concentrated on fastening her seat belt. “Not much. I bought a fan. Gran sits in front of it and works on her baskets.”
    “Baskets?”
    “She makes sweetgrass baskets for the Market.”
    “I didn’t know that. I wonder if I’ve talked to her there. I’ve been collecting interviews and photos to do a piece on the sweetgrass basket weavers.”
    C.J. glanced at her, lifting her brows. “D’you actually think he’ll let you run it?”
    There was no doubt in Amanda’s mind as to who that “he” was. She probably shouldn’t encourage C.J.’s attitude toward Ross, but she had to be honest in her answer.
    “I don’t know. But I want to try. Preserving that heritage seems important to me.” The Gullah people of the islands had brought their basket-weaving skills with them from Africa generations ago. Without the dedication of the few who remained, the art would be lost, just another beautiful thing swept away by changing times. “Would your grandmother talk to me about the craft?”
    “I guess. Long as you’re not going to make her look like an ignorant old woman.”
    She gave C.J. a level look. “Do you think I’d do that?” C.J. returned the look, seeming to measure her. “No,” she said finally.
    The level of trust contained in the word pleased her, but now she had to ask the more challenging question.
    Please help me, Lord, to do the right thing for the right reason. That was the tricky part, wasn’t it? Miz Callie would say that the Lord expected not only the right actions, but the right heart.
    “I was thinking about what you told me about your landlord. Would your grandmother and some of the other tenants talk to me about it? Maybe—”
    “You can’t put them in the paper.” C.J.’s voice rose. “He’d kick us out for