A Marriage for Meghan Page 16

  The bishop couldn’t disagree with Paul’s assessment. “I abhor the idea of outside attention, but unless we cooperate with the English police, these criminal acts could easily continue and even escalate.”

  The other elders stared at him with confusion. “What do you mean by cooperate?” asked Paul.

  “The sheriff needs signed complaints by the wronged parties—someone to press charges for them to pursue the matter further,” explained the bishop.

  One frail member struggled to his feet, helped by his grandson. “Would Glen want that on his conscience, when the fire could have been caused by a lightning strike?” He leaned his weight on his cane.

  “A lightning strike?” asked the bishop. “There was no thunderstorm Friday evening. It’s not even April yet. Too early in the season.”

  Paul cleared his throat. “We’ve both lived long enough, Bishop, to witness strange occurrences in nature. God consults no calendar when He orchestrates the events shaping our lives.”

  Again, Gideon couldn’t disagree. In the past he had seen odd flashes of lightning across the sky without the usual accompanying thunderstorm. He bobbed his head to the senior minister and then turned back to his flock. “I believe someone or some group has chosen our community to focus their hostility.”

  “Who would do such a thing?” sang out a voice.

  “Why would they target us in such a way?” asked another.

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s some Englischer we have offended or snubbed in some fashion.”

  “We shouldn’t act rashly based on maybes,” interjected Paul. Many heads in the congregation nodded in agreement.

  In the end a vote was taken on whether or not the Millers and the Yoders should sign official complaints with English law enforcement. But Gideon didn’t need to tally the votes to know that he stood with the minority.

  Eleven

  Meghan had promised Catherine she would think about returning to singings. Truth was, she hardly thought about anything else once the fervor over the Yoder fire died down. Each time she remembered the look on Mr. Yoder’s face she felt terrible. A family legacy had gone up in smoke and ash, no different than last year’s leaves and branches thrown on a bonfire. Whether caused by a malicious person or an act of God, the end result was the same. She took comfort in knowing the district would soon rally together to rebuild the structure, at least erasing the daily reminder of the family’s loss.

  At breakfast that morning, Catherine casually mentioned there would be a singing this Sunday in the neighborhood. She even agreed to attend, as her engagement wouldn’t be announced until the fall. Was it time Meghan faced her fears and rejoined folks her own age? Surely Jacob would be there. He seldom missed an event involving a full dessert buffet. But what would she say to him when their paths crossed?

  I’m sorry I made trouble for you when the FBI came around asking questions.

  I’m sorry I was rude and hateful the day you offered to help with the surly boys.

  I hope you’ll patiently wait for me forever while I prove I’m not the little ninny everybody thinks I am.

  Somehow, she didn’t think so. Maybe she would simply apologize for being impolite and leave it at that. Perhaps he would take her on a moonlight trail ride, or they would stroll to the apple orchard and listen to the nightly serenade—the owls, tree frogs, whippoorwills, and mournful coyotes. She missed her friend. Jacob never criticized her for eating half a pie at one sitting or drinking cider so fast she belched like a cow.

  Once, Jacob had thought she could do no wrong. Wouldn’t it be nice to regain a small portion of that undying friendship and devotion?

  Meghan stopped pacing the porch and tapped on the kitchen window. “Hurry up, Cat. We’re going to be late. I hate it when scholars beat us to school.”

  A harried-looking Catherine glanced up from stuffing schoolwork into a tote bag. “Be right there,” she called. “I need to pack the papers I graded, plus our lunch. I made us chicken salad sandwiches with walnuts and grapes.”

  Meghan rolled her eyes but managed to smile. So like Cat…dicing celery and eggs, chopping nuts and leftover chicken breast, and then tossing everything with mayonnaise and sliced grapes all before work. She had probably baked them an Apple Betty cobbler for dessert, along with a thermos of home-brewed apricot tea. Catherine would make Isaiah a fine wife one day. He wouldn’t stay lithe and lanky once she took command of his kitchen.

  If Meghan had fixed their lunch, they would be eating peanut butter and jelly on white bread with Little Debbie cakes from the sale rack at the IGA, and drink good old-fashioned water. Pity the man who married Meghan Yost. He would always be eagerly awaiting the next potluck supper.

  “Whew,” exhaled Catherine, exiting the house. The screen door slammed behind her as she handed Meghan a tote bag. “Have you decided on your health lesson?” They set out toward the schoolhouse at a brisk pace.

  “Jah. We’ll talk about the difference between viruses causing colds and flu, and infections caused by bacteria, such as sore throats, earaches, pneumonia, and infected cuts.” Meghan clutched the science text under her arm like a football. “I’ll keep my explanation fairly simple for the little ones, but I have handouts for the older students to read and answer questions. I broke it down into four different levels of learning.”

  “Good idea. I plan to unroll the giant map of the United States in geography this afternoon. I’ll name all fifty states on the map and then show the location of our two oceans, our five Great Lakes, the Great Salt Lake, and the major rivers. The younger ones can color a map of our country to take home, while the older students can label the fifty states along with the major bodies of water.”

  Meghan’s heart swelled with excitement. “What fun we’ll have teaching today. And I hope the students will enjoy learning the lessons just as much.”

  Catherine picked up her pace. “Annabeth Selby has bloomed into our unofficial classroom helper. I’ll bet she has already watered the plants, cleaned the erasers, and hung papers on the bulletin board.”

  “She makes our job that much easier.” Meghan took out her spiral notebook. “How about I give morning announcements, you lead the prayers and songs, and then I put arithmetic problems on the board while you call the attendance roll?” Her suggestion met with Catherine’s complete approval, especially as this had been their pattern every day. Later, as Meghan conducted one reading group, Catherine handled the second and third groups before students completed math problems copied from the board. The morning passed quickly, with few students grumbling about the longer than usual penmanship assignment.

  Promptly at eleven thirty Catherine dismissed the children by rows to wash their hands and retrieve their lunch boxes. They would eat indoors today and go outside after their desktops had been cleaned of crumbs. Meghan took a bite of her delicious sandwich and wandered to the window. As she gazed past the budding trees and rows of yellow daffodils and crocuses along the walkway, her heart nearly stopped. Jacob Shultz was tying his horse at the hitching post. Memories of his last visit to the school came rushing back, bringing a stew of mixed emotions. Meghan slid her sandwich into the plastic baggy on her way back to the teacher’s desk. “I’ll finish this during recess duty,” she whispered, placing it back in their lunch cooler.

  Catherine stared at her curiously. “Why not eat it now?”

  “Jacob has come, and I’d like a private word with him before I’m surrounded by little girls on the playground.” Her head angled toward the students chatting and eating lunch. “If you can hold down the fort without me.”

  Catherine grinned. “I think I can manage if the mountain has come to Mohammed. Go speak to him, and good luck.”

  Meghan knew luck would have nothing to do with it. As she hurried from the classroom with kapp strings flying, birds warbled all around her, the sun shone warmly, and a light breeze carried the fragrance of magnolia blossoms. The ornamental tree planted in the school’s front yard had been a gift from a Wooster
nursery. But she noticed none of the springtime sensory pleasures the moment Jacob turned and locked eyes with her.

  Here was the gentle face of her best friend—the sparkling green eyes that never failed to wink when no one was watching, and the same calloused hands that had held hers as though cradling a baby bird. Meghan had to force her rubbery legs to move, while her breath left her lungs as though kicked by a horse. “Jacob,” she called. “I was hoping to see you.” With great effort she tried to sound natural.

  It took him only a few giant strides to reach her. “Hullo, Meghan. I had a delivery to make in the area, so figured I’d stop by. I thought we might eat lunch together.” He withdrew a squashed sandwich from his jacket pocket.

  She didn’t question why he would make deliveries in his courting buggy rather than the farm wagon. “My lunch is inside, but I’d rather not have the students follow me out here. So why don’t you eat while we talk and I’ll finish mine later?” She pointed to a nearby grove of trees with a shaking index finger.

  He nodded as they walked in step to the solitary picnic table. For a moment it felt as though everything was how it once had been—relaxed, casual, and comfortable. Then Meghan saw uncertainty on his face and knew that wasn’t the case.

  “What’s new with you?” she asked. “Did you get your corn in yet? I’ll bet you’re busy sharpening everyone’s blades for the first cutting of hay.”

  Jacob took a huge bite of what looked like eight slices of bologna on his sandwich, chewed, and then swallowed before speaking. “Seed corn is in, but this isn’t the day for small talk. I’ve been thinking about the things you said the last time I was here. Fact is, I haven’t been able to think about much else.” He set down his sandwich. “I understand about your wanting to become a schoolteacher—to prove to yourself you can do it. Believe me, I’ve had things to prove over the years and couldn’t relax until I did.” He met her gaze and then glanced away. “You’ve done it, Meghan, what you set out to accomplish. Both of my sisters have kinner in your class. They told me you’ve improved one hundred percent since January. They like how you’re using phonics to help the little ones learn to read instead of just memorizing the way words look.”

  Meghan exhaled her pent-up breath. “Thank you for telling me, and thank your schwestern too. It does a heart good to hear positive feedback. But don’t worry. I won’t let myself grow bigheaded.”

  “But like I said, this isn’t the day for small talk or boosting your confidence. I came to say one thing—I love you, Meghan Yost. I love you more than I thought possible. I don’t want to just court you; I want us to marry in the fall. You’ve proven what you set out to do. Now it’s time to become my wife.” He gazed at her with eyes filled with tender passion.

  Meghan thought she might drop dead on the spot.

  How could he say he understood her and yet arrive at this conclusion? She blinked several times to make sure this wasn’t a dream. “The school board hasn’t offered me the full-time job,” she said softly. “And I still have so much more to learn.”

  “Why would you want the full-time job? If we get hitched, maybe God will give us lots of little ones to teach to your heart’s content.”

  A spark of anger flared. Why doesn’t he pat me on the head like a beloved pup? “I’ve really not proven anything yet. Catherine is still head teacher, and I am only her assistant. I want to show my family I can do this.”

  “That’s what’s important to you, Meghan? Some pats on the back? Your family loves you the way you are. You don’t have to show them anything.”

  The noon sun’s glare made her eyes water, while her head began to ache. “And what way is that, Jacob?”

  He squinted, cocking his head to one side. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Silly-little-Meggie who locks folks in the outhouse when their backs are turned?” She shook off her irritation. “I need to live down my reputation.”

  “And that’s more important than me? Than us?”

  Her brain suddenly felt as though it might explode. “For the time being, yes.” She crossed her arms and leaned back. The distance between them grew from a few feet to light-years away in that instant.

  He sucked in a deep breath and hunched his massive shoulders. Then he quickly rewrapped his flattened sandwich and jammed it back into his pocket. “I poured out my heart to you, my soul, and yet it didn’t change a thing. You are the most stubborn woman in the entire state!” After a long painful glare, he stood, walked back to his buggy, and drove away.

  “As though you’ve met all the women in Ohio!” she yelled with equal vehemence into the emptiness around her.

  At that moment kinner poured into the schoolyard. Lunch was over; recess had begun. Meghan’s adoring pupils soon surrounded her so that they could walk the playground together, telling her stories of new barnyard babies and recently planted gardens.

  Yet somehow the little girls’ devotion no longer felt so precious to Meghan. Within those few brutal moments, everything in her life had changed.

  Spring arrived in full glory to the rural countryside of Wayne County. Everywhere Gideon looked new life abounded. Flowers lined the walkways to each home and business. Robins industriously built nests to shelter their precious blue eggs in trees and shrubbery. And flocks of geese and ducks landed on his pond’s clear water, pausing on their journey north to Canada.

  Gideon loved this time of year before the heat, humidity, mosquitoes, and houseflies arrived to devil man and beast alike. He inhaled a lungful of sweetly scented air—sweet because the breeze blew from the south today. To the north, his sons were turning composted horse manure into freshly tilled earth. He couldn’t wait to help John plant seeds in the new furrows cut by James’ plow. Hard work was good for a man’s body and his soul. He longed to feel the dark rich soil between his fingers, having spent too much time recently with his books and the Ordnung.

  But Bob Strickland apparently had other plans for him on the otherwise perfect spring morning. Gideon watched the police cruiser pull slowly up his driveway with a growing sense of doom.

  “Good morning, Bishop Yost,” greeted the sheriff, exiting the vehicle.

  “We’ll see how good it turns out.”

  The wry response produced a smile from Strickland. “Could you take a drive with me, sir?” he asked, removing his wide-brimmed hat. “I’m afraid I have more bad news.”

  “You want me to leave my farm? But I just changed into chore clothes.”

  “I’m afraid this is important.” Strickland rubbed a hand across his brow. “There’s something you need to see.”

  Gideon sighed wearily. “Give me a moment to change again and tell my wife. Then I’ll go with you.” He trudged up the steps on legs that felt as though they had turned to wood.

  A few minutes later Gideon strapped himself into the front seat of the sheriff’s car and they left in a cloud of dust. Strickland drove fast enough to bring the bishop’s breakfast up his throat more than once. Do Englischers have to take bends in the road so fast? Who knew what lay around the next blind curve? Houses, farms, barns, and telephone poles flew by at a dizzying speed. What about the English expression “Slow down and smell the roses”? Maybe it was a saying on coffee mugs that nobody actually followed.

  When the sheriff paused at a stop sign, the bishop looked left and right to gain his bearings. “Where are you taking me? This is beyond the boundaries of my district. I’m not the bishop here.”

  “Yes, I realize that, but there’s something you still need to see.”

  After another five minutes, the police vehicle turned up a shady lane, flanked on one side by pine trees. Strickland parked in front of a cabin-style building.

  “A quilt shop?” asked Gideon. “You brought me to a quilt shop when I need to be planting corn?” He didn’t hide his annoyance. His wife had dragged him here in a hired van with other district members a couple of years ago. The ladies had attended a giant needlework show that had drawn shoppers and tourists f
rom hours away. Why Ruth had thought he needed to see such a display still remained a mystery.

  “Yes, sir. That’s what this place is. I responded to a call here after first light. I told the folks I’d come back and would be bringing you. And that they shouldn’t touch anything till the detectives had a chance to gather evidence.” He squinted his eyes toward a vehicle parked in the back. “Ah, I see their car is still here.” As he spoke, two young men in fancy suits exited the shop carrying cameras and leather cases. The sheriff joined them and talked for a short while before they nodded and left.

  Gideon waited on the path, uncertain of his role in these goings-on. He recalled that two elderly sisters owned the shop, both widows for many years. Located on a seldom-traveled back road, the shop had a reputation for exquisite needlework. Tourists learned about the sisters through local innkeepers and then made the trip with hand-drawn maps to the unadvertised location.

  The bishop followed the burly sheriff through the doorway and then stopped in his tracks, paralyzed by the sight before him. In an instant Gideon’s mouth went dry, while his stomach lurched worse than during the hairpin turns along the way. His focus scanned the shop’s whitewashed walls with horror. Someone had spray painted vulgar words across the walls. Foulmouthed epitaphs blazed from each of the painted surfaces. What kind of evil person even thinks such things, let alone writes them where his fellow man can see?

  Gideon pivoted in place, taking in the full measure of vandalism. At least twenty quilts had been slashed to shreds and left in sorrowful heaps on the floor. Paint had been sprayed across the top of the piles. Wooden display tables had been overturned and broken. The debris from smashed cuckoo clocks, birdhouses, and bird feeders littered the store wall-to-wall. With his jaw hanging slack, Gideon found it difficult to articulate his question. “Who would do such a thing?” he rasped. He tried to step back, but he nearly tripped over a hand-carved children’s train set with movable round wooden wheels.