A Marriage for Meghan Page 4

  “Good evening,” called Gideon when he spotted the deacon coming from the barn.

  Stephen approached, carrying his battery lantern. “What have you got there? Pie?” He peered through the thick lenses of his spectacles.

  “Jah, pie. Any coffee left?”

  “Of course. Come inside, Bishop.” Stephen paused for him to catch up.

  “Nein, my boots are too muddy. I’ll wait on the porch. Bring a knife and two plates and forks besides the coffee.” Gideon headed around the house without waiting for an answer. They both knew each other well.

  A few minutes later Stephen appeared with a laden tray, which he set down on a low table. Two rockers and some plastic lawn chairs completed the furnishings. Gideon had already lit the porch’s kerosene heater. The men contentedly rested their boot heels on the metal ring around the stove. As the deacon filled mugs with hot black coffee, Gideon sliced two large pieces of pie.

  “As I promised you and the other brethren, my daughter Catherine has moved home to help in the classroom.” Gideon accepted a mug and passed over one plate.

  “Gut, gut. Paul will be happy to hear that.” Stephen smiled at the crumb topping and flaky piecrust. “Did I tell you what’s in store for the remaining winter?” The deacon consulted Raber’s Almanac on a daily basis.

  The bishop listened to a forecast of cold temperatures, more snow, and blustery winds—as one would expect—while swallowing his first bite of sweet apples and buttery crust.

  But the neighbor’s other news did nothing to warm the chilly night. “Did ya hear, Gideon?” asked Stephen, sipping his steaming coffee with care. “Someone took a baseball bat to every mailbox on County Roads 72 and 89. Not one house has a box left standing for tomorrow’s delivery.”

  Gideon pulled his white beard and began rocking. “Kids!” he muttered. “Up to no good. If we find out who’s responsible, we’ll make them pay for the boxes and replace every single post. I hope they’re not from our district.”

  Stephen rocked too, closing his eyes. “What are the chances of finding out who they were? But I tell you, folks on those two roads are hopping mad. It’s bad enough to contend with the county snowplow drivers who can’t seem to tell where the pavement ends, but now we have vandals in the neighborhood? Some of those mailboxes had already been replaced this year.”

  The bishop set down his plate and fork. His appetite for the pie had waned. “Such a waste of money, besides the time it takes to replace posts in winter. I’ll ask around in town for information tomorrow. Maybe somebody can point us in the right direction.”

  The two men sat in silence, each deep in thought. Both had abandoned the pipe notion. Instead they rocked in their chairs, listening to the house creak and groan as the wood siding contracted and snapped from the cold.

  One problem solved, while another pops up right on its heels. The Lord never promised us paradise on earth, did He?

  Three

  Catherine had only three days to learn how to teach school before the bottom fell out of their leaky bucket. During those three days, Joanna showed her the lesson plans for the remaining year for all three levels: grades one through three, four through six, and seven and eight. She explained how adjustments were made within those levels to accommodate the individual progress of the students. She went over attendance, grading, and report card procedures, and then she showed the sisters where all materials and supplies were stored in the building and in the shed out back. Before and after class, Joanna enumerated classroom rules and procedures, along with the individual strengths and weaknesses of each child. Catherine had pegged the three eighth grade boys correctly—troublesome, if left to their own devices. Owen Shockley was their ringleader, and the other two followed him like sheep.

  “You must keep a sharp eye on him,” cautioned Joanna. “The give-him-an-inch adage fits that child perfectly.”

  Child? Catherine wouldn’t normally describe anyone five foot eight and one hundred seventy pounds in that fashion, but his maturity level certainly fit.

  Joanna Kauffman was an organized, proficient teacher—a dynamo in action. Catherine and Meghan watched in awe and learned from her. She managed the entire room while seldom raising her voice. An arched eyebrow, a furrowed forehead, or an angry scowl usually brought daydreamers or chatterboxes into line. If necessary, she banged her ruler on the desktop in rare instances.

  Meghan studied Joanna like a bug under a magnifying glass, often with wide-eyed fascination over the woman’s command of each situation. Catherine took note of many tricks of the trade and timesaving shortcuts.

  Joanna delegated one reading group to Catherine on her first full day, and then she added a second the next day, and by the third day Catherine was instructing all three reading groups while Joanna handled the other subjects. Meghan continued to monitor playground activities, but indoors she sat like a mouse on her metal chair, observing everything with her luminous blue eyes. At least she no longer joined in the play. The young woman stood like a mother hen, constantly counting her brood of thirty-five chicks. Given another couple of weeks, the Yost sisters could have developed into capable teachers.

  But life often offers unexpected twists in the road.

  On Friday, Catherine’s fourth full day of training, she and Meghan arrived by eight thirty to find Joanna’s horse missing from the small fenced paddock. “It’s not like Joanna to be late,” Meghan remarked as she released the harness and turned their horse out to snuffle his nose in the snow.

  “That’s for sure,” agreed Catherine as a bad feeling took root. They entered the dark building, lit a lamp, and began stoking the potbellied stove that would heat the one-room school. District members provided plenty of split firewood to keep students and teacher reasonably warm all winter. Meghan swept the room with the broom and dustpan, and then she began passing back papers that had been graded the previous afternoon.

  Daylight had begun to flood the room with natural illumination when the first student arrived. A tiny girl in the second grade approached Catherine before she even hung up her coat and bonnet. “Catherine?” she said, peering up from under thick eyelashes. “Joanna lives next door to us, and she asked me to come early to give you this.” The girl extracted a folded note from her coat sleeve. The moment Catherine accepted the paper the child darted back to the outer hall.

  “That can’t be good news,” Meghan said. She hurried to her sister’s side.

  Catherine skimmed the note and then read aloud with a heavy heart:

  My dear fellow teachers,

  I’m afraid I must abandon the nest earlier than I had anticipated. I’ve caught a cold and my husband insists I stay home with the hot water bottle and my mother-in-law’s chicken broth. I certainly don’t want to spread the virus around the classroom. I will say a prayer that your transition into your new positions goes smoothly. When I’m feeling better, I’ll come by at day’s end to review lesson plans and answer any questions you might have. Until then, be filled with the Lord’s grace. I know my two fledglings will soon be soaring with the eagles.

  Your friend,

  Joanna

  The sisters exchanged a terrified look. “Eagles?” said Catherine, pressing the paper to her chest.

  “More like gimp-winged ducks coming in for a wet landing,” said Meghan.

  “On choppy waters,” added Catherine. “I bet we’ll have more than a question or two for her when she returns.”

  Then Catherine shook off her fears, tossed the note into the fire, and hurried to the chalkboard. “After songs and prayers, we’ll start the day with plenty of math problems for the middle and upper grades to copy down and solve. You shall practice reading recitation with the first three grades in the front of the room while I study the lessons Joanna has in her book for today and plan on how to carry them out. I will gather materials and then picture myself doing each task on the list. That will make them easier to accomplish.” Catherine smiled at her assistant with determination sprouting like a well-watere
d seed. “Only when we believe we will prevail do we have any hope of doing so.”

  Meghan returned to straightening the room and wiping down the wide windowsills, looking not quite so confident.

  Twenty minutes later, the room stood ready as they rang the bell to begin the day. Up until the bell, students played in the schoolyard or milled in small clusters, chatting about any news since yesterday in the crisp January air. Older students had swept the playground with giant push brooms and shoveled the steps free of snow.

  Catherine rang the bell a second time to take firm command, although most had already formed a line at the door. The children marched inside in single file, hung up their coats and hats neatly, and removed their outer footwear. Their boots would dry on the rubber mats in the outer hallway until lunchtime. Catherine and Meghan stood as straight and tall as they could, flanking the doorway as the students walked past to their desks. When all were seated, Catherine announced, “We’ll start the day with silent prayers and then two songs. Let’s bow our heads.”

  As everyone complied, Catherine closed her eyes and begged God for help in getting through the day without making a fool of herself. She felt inept and ill equipped to handle thirty-five students in eight different grade levels, despite studying the teacher manuals each evening until the wee hours of morning. She’d believed the accelerated cramming would serve her better than a good night’s sleep at this stage of her career. Meghan tried to do the same, but she usually dozed off sooner with the textbook flattened across the quilt.

  Please grant me the strength, wisdom, and compassion to serve You in this capacity, Catherine prayed silently.

  These are Amish kinner, she thought, just like those I hope to have some day. I’m not Daniel being thrown into the lions’ den by the scheming Babylonians.

  Moments later, the Yost sisters officially began their teaching careers.

  “We will sing ‘Blessed Assurance, Jesus Is Mine,’” Catherine announced. Unfortunately, only a few of the older girls and her sister knew the words to that lovely hymn, but they sang boldly and melodically on the sunny morning. As their voices filled the room with heartening praise, Catherine’s spirits lifted. She chose a more familiar hymn for their second song and received far more participation. Only a few boys in the back row remained silent.

  Upon the song’s completion, she took attendance in Joanna’s black ledger book, calling each name and concentrating on the child to confirm name memorization. Meghan stood at the back of the room, also studying faces along with names.

  When Catherine called “Owen Shockley,” the tallest of the eighth graders said loudly, “Where’s Joanna? She ready to have her boppli?”

  Thirty-four students and two teachers gasped. It was unheard of for a male fourteen years old to broach such a delicate subject.

  With a red face Catherine spoke in her sternest tone. “That will be enough of your rudeness, Owen Shockley. The reason for Joanna’s absence is none of your business. But to the rest of the class, I do believe I owe some explanation.” She paused a moment and then continued. “Joanna has a cold today and asked us to take over. I will be the head teacher for the rest of the year. My schwester Meghan will be my assistant. You shall show her the same respect I know you will show me.” Her tone indicated the matter wasn’t negotiable.

  One could have heard a pin drop in the room. Several first graders looked wide-eyed and teary.

  “But don’t you fret,” Catherine continued. “You will still see Joanna at preaching services and be able to talk to her. You can update her on your progress.” Assuming that progress continues to be made, she thought glumly. “Now, let’s finish the roll call without further interruptions. As you can see, we have plenty of math problems to start our day.”

  When Catherine called Annabeth Selby, the girl turned on the bench and looked at Meghan. “Did your schwester have to come to help ’cause you didn’t grow tall enough?”

  The room erupted into laughter. Meghan looked like a deer caught in the crosshairs by a hunter.

  Catherine knew this would be the longest day of her life.

  Meghan watched in awe as her older sister accomplished the morning activities with dignified grace. She truly sounded in complete control of the situation, but Meghan knew that Catherine’s knees were knocking beneath her skirt. Meghan read aloud in the primer while the youngest scholars followed along in their books, their tiny fingers touching each word.

  Memorization and sight recognition were the common method for Amish kinner to learn to read. Only a few teachers had branched off into phonetic sound pronunciation to unlock unfamiliar words, although Meghan didn’t rule that out for her future classroom. During the reading group, the first three grades were exceptionally subdued, asking no questions. While Catherine pored over Joanna’s lesson plans and formulated a list for the day, the older students copied and completed the arithmetic from the board. Most worked quietly, but the older boys, the three Meghan knew presented a problem for her sister, gazed out the window and whispered back and forth.

  At one point Catherine rapped the ruler on the desktop, startling everyone but those for whom the gesture had been intended. “Let’s have more work and less chatter, you boys in the back row.” That did the trick for two out of the three, who began copying problems onto their papers. But Owen Shockley crossed his arms over his shirt and continued to stare at the lightly falling snow outside.

  Meghan returned to her reading group, but fifteen minutes later she caught the motion of something out of the corner of her eye. A moment later a small paper wad sailed through the air to land next to, but not inside, the wastebasket. The missile had captured her sister’s attention as well. Catherine rose to her feet and smoothed the folds of her skirt. With her head held high, she left the teacher’s desk and marched to the back of the room. Meghan noticed she didn’t carry the ruler, as she would have done. Owen slouched against the desk, bracing his head with one large hand. Catherine leaned down and whispered something in the boy’s ear. Owen looked up, surprised and confused. Catherine bent close and whispered a second time. With a deep scowl, he picked up his pencil from the tray and began to write. He glanced back and forth from the board to his paper with exaggerated movements while he copied. Meghan blinked in disbelief. What had she said to make the boy comply?

  After twenty more minutes, Catherine announced the reading assignment for the oldest scholars and instructed Group B to take out paper for the week’s spelling test. Then she strolled to the next reading group as though on a summer picnic. “Meghan, why don’t you review alphabet cards one by one with your students and have them write each letter on their own?”

  Her students. With growing excitement, Meghan passed out paper to the first row and then sat holding up each letter card in her lap. The pupils did their best to stay within the designated lines as they printed the letter. Her seven students worked eagerly, holding up their work frequently for praise or correction. She truly felt like a teacher as she guided a child’s hand to draw the j with a left hand loop. Later, while Catherine administered the third group’s spelling test and the middle level completed their reading assignment, Meghan and the primary grades colored a winter scene of ice skating on a frozen blue pond. In the pictures, all kinner wore black coats and used brown skates, while all of the surrounding pine trees were green.

  At midday, because the earlier light flakes had grown into heavier flurries, the students stayed inside and ate lunch at their desks. But Catherine decided a half hour of outdoor play might expend some pent-up energy, allowing for a less restless afternoon.

  “Meghan, please take the students who have cleared their desktops outside for recess. But everyone must remain on the blacktop or graveled areas—no one on the ball field today. It will be too wet in the grassy areas.” Catherine spoke in the firm, clear voice they had heard Joanna use all week.

  Meghan shuddered inwardly, remembering her first session of playground duty. She’d organized a fun-filled kickball game th
at the kinner enjoyed, but their skirts and pants had become woefully wet. Many girls complained they were cold, and she’d heard more than one sneeze that afternoon. Joanna had stoked the fire to keep the room as warm as possible, raising the strong odor of wet wool for the rest of the day. The smell had reminded her of the visit to a neighbor’s sheep barn one rainy spring day. She had prayed that night for no one to develop pneumonia due to her misjudgment.

  “All right,” said Meghan with far less assurance. “For those who are ready, put away your lunch boxes and get your boots and coats.” She stayed to help the younger ones sweep crumbs into their small palms to dump into the wastebasket and then walked into the outer hall holding the hands of two girls. Much to her dismay, Meghan saw that the boys had rushed out of the building without waiting for her. Only a handful of older girls remained.

  The taller-than-average Annabeth lingered with her bonnet strings untied. “Owen said we don’t have to wait for you. He said you would come out once you finished wiping the bopplin’s noses.”

  Meghan frowned, but true enough, several first graders did need tissues along with help putting on their boots. By the time she and her bevy of girls reached the playground, a game of dodge ball had started close to the swings. However, she saw no seventh or eighth grade boys in the game. She craned her neck left and right, temporarily ignoring the girls’ questions and attempts to share their stories. To her dismay and disappointment, Meghan spotted the boys in the ball field, immersed in an already wet-looking kickball game. The orange ball flew through the air, spinning drops of water with every kick.

  “My goodness,” she muttered. “You girls stay here on the blacktop. Do not follow me.” She marched toward the game with her back stiff with indignation. Unfortunately, the shoveled playground area ran out before the ball field began. Perching at the edge, she cupped her hands around her mouth. “You boys come back here! You heard Catherine’s orders to stay out of the snow.”