A Marriage for Meghan Page 7

  The father turned back to meet Catherine’s gaze. “You do realize Owen’s never been much of a student. And that he finishes up in the spring.”

  “We are aware of that, Mr. Shockley, but that’s why he should make the most of his last year in school.”

  The man issued a dismissive snort. “You can lead a horse to water and all that. But I won’t tolerate him sassing you. Even if he never gets a single star on his papers, I won’t have him disrespectin’ teachers.” He pivoted to face his son. “Are you hearing me, boy? You understand what I’m saying?”

  Almost imperceptively, Owen nodded his head.

  “All right then, it’s settled. Catherine, tell the bishop I said hello and we’ll see y’all on Sunday.” Mr. Shockley strode from the room, leaving his wife, who’d been silent in the corner, to see them out.

  They didn’t have to be asked twice. Neither spoke for several minutes until they were back on the familiar road toward home. It was as though the presence of Mr. Shockley still lingered, intimidating them.

  “Think it’ll do some good?” asked Meghan.

  “It’ll do some good, but whether it’ll be enough remains to be seen,” said Catherine. They walked in silence for half a mile until a sight grabbed their attention, casting out any final thoughts about the Shockley visit.

  “Oh, my goodness,” Catherine murmured.

  Meghan stared at the farm fields on their right. Someone had broken through the fence and driven into the pastureland. Deep ruts, filled with melting snow, had been cut in crisscrossed and zigzagged patterns for as far as the eye could see. “Do you suppose some Englischer skidded off the pavement and crashed through the rails?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so. They should have been able to get back on the road without doing that much damage.”

  “Someone has made a mess of the Miller farm and broken down their fences too.” Catherine looked frightened, as though the perpetrators might still lurk close by. “Let’s hurry home. We must tell daed as soon as possible.”

  Inside the safety of their kitchen, the sisters described exactly what they had seen at the farm on the next road. The other family members listened without interruption, wide-eyed. Then James turned to his father. “What are going to do, daed? The Millers are old folks who don’t need this kind of trouble.”

  Gideon looked at his middle daughter. “You’re sure this couldn’t have been done by Amish youths?”

  Catherine shook her head. “Absolutely not. Where the snow had melted, you could see huge tire treads from those big trucks they show at the county fair.”

  Gideon turned to his wife. “There’s only one thing I can do. I’m calling the sheriff.”

  Five

  Meghan, hurry up! We don’t have time for long tub soaks. You should have taken a shower upstairs.” Catherine glanced at the kitchen wall clock for the fourth time but heard little movement inside the bathroom off the kitchen. If they didn’t leave right now, she’d never get the room ready before the students arrived. And after her unsatisfactory stop at the Shockley farm the night before, she wanted to make sure she was prepared for anything today.

  Catherine packed their lunch cooler with sandwiches and apples, filled their thermos with hot coffee, and then marched back to the bathroom door. Just as she lifted her hand to knock, Meghan emerged, fully dressed but with a towel wrapped around her head.

  “You washed your hair?” Her tone revealed sheer disbelief.

  “Jah, that’s what one does when it gets dirty.” Meghan bent from the waist and ruffled the thick towel through her silky blond hair.

  “Not when we’re late for work, and not in the dead of winter before you must go outdoors. You should have done that before bed so it could have fully dried. You will catch your death of a cold.”

  Meghan straightened and then began braiding her long hair into a loose plait. “I would have last night if there hadn’t been so much commotion in the kitchen. First, the sheriff comes over, then he goes to the Millers, and then he comes back to talk to daed. I wasn’t taking my bath with the house in turmoil.”

  Catherine filled a travel mug with oatmeal for Meghan to eat on the way, choosing to drop the subject of wet hair. It wouldn’t have occurred to her sister to take a quick shower and skip shampooing her hair until tonight. After all, they wore kapps all day long. But they had more important matters to discuss…such as how to handle Owen Shockley.

  Meghan wound the braid into a bun and pinned it, slipped on her prayer kapp and outer bonnet, and stepped outdoors. “I asked John to hitch up the buggy so we wouldn’t have to walk.” She climbed in first and grabbed the reins, preferring to drive rather than sit planning the day’s lessons.

  “Thank goodness,” said Catherine. “I’m anxious to put plenty of math problems on the board. We must keep the eighth graders as busy as possible. And separate Joshua and Robert from Owen. If we can get them away from his influence, we’ll have prevailed with two out of our three challenges.”

  “Two molehills down, one mountain still to go.”

  On the ride to the school, they drove by the damage done to the Miller fields. Elderly Silas Miller could be seen in the distance, trying to smooth out ruts with his boot heel. “Isn’t daed going to do something?” asked Meghan, her voice thick with anguish. “Mr. Miller is too old to undo the havoc himself.”

  “Easy, child,” soothed Catherine. “James and John are gathering a group to head there after morning chores with several teams of draft horses. They’ll set things right. By spring you’ll hardly notice the difference once their pasture grass comes in.”

  Meghan shook the reins to pick up the pace. “I wish you would stop that…calling me a child. Didn’t I do exactly what you asked with my reading and spelling groups?” She stared down the road, but Catherine noticed the muscle in her neck tighten.

  “You’re doing fine with the young scholars, but you’ll always be the baby of the Yost family. ‘Child’ is merely a term of endearment.” Catherine patted her sister’s forearm.

  “I wish everyone would remember I’m nineteen years old and an assistant teacher.”

  “You won’t sneak off with Jacob to steal the neighbor’s cherries when you’re supposed to be weeding the garden?”

  “We didn’t steal. Mrs. Wright said we could pick all we wanted.” Meghan was trying hard not to grin.

  “Or how about the time you told mamm you were riding to town for bandages and antiseptic, but you saw Jacob at that tourist shop that had installed a sundae bar? You came home with chocolate sauce down the front of your apron and forgot the Bactine.”

  Meghan giggled despite her attempt to remain serious. “They had candy sprinkles, hot fudge, chopped pecans, whipped cream, sliced strawberries, and even pineapple topping. I couldn’t stop adding things and ended up with a bellyache that night.”

  “You two surely have enjoyed yourselves over the years. I don’t know why you stayed home from last Sunday’s singing. Just because he interfered on the playground is no reason to stay mad at the man. Maybe if you would talk—”

  “Have you nothing better to do than figure out what I should be doing?” snapped Meghan. “With a handful of a classroom, lessons for next week to plan, and a fiancé far away who might like a letter from you, you should have plenty to keep your mind occupied.” She pouted for the rest of the way.

  Catherine gaped at her sister. When did she become so thin-skinned and temperamental? “I beg your pardon, Meg. I was only offering a little sisterly advice.”

  When they reached the school, the sun was just breaking over the eastern hills. “I’ll turn the horse into the paddock and bring in an armload of wood.”

  “Danki.” Catherine jumped down and grabbed the totes. “I’ll stoke the embers and build up the fire with kindling.”

  But halfway up the walkway her heart thudded against her chest. The heavy wooden doors were standing wide open. A drift of snow had blown across the threshold onto the hallway floor. Catherine ran up t
he steps to discover the inner doors also stood ajar. Inside the classroom, flakes of snow had floated down to create a surreal frozen-in-time appearance. She gasped as she scanned the interior, fear snaking up her spine. Every desk, bench, and chair had been overturned. The teacher’s desk had been pushed onto its side as though mortally wounded—the books, pencils, and graded papers scattered. Someone had emptied the wastebasket in front of the chalkboard and heaped the contents of the bookcases into a pile.

  Stinging tears filled her eyes. Catherine felt as though someone had slapped her in the face. Even the potted geranium on the windowsill had been smashed against the iron stove. Struggling for breath, she turned on her heel to see Meghan at the door. “Someone has wrecked the classroom,” she gasped, willing herself not to cry. “Please take the buggy home and tell daed to come.”

  “Was it Owen?” asked Meghan as she stepped in to survey the damage for herself.

  “If it was, he didn’t leave a note,” Catherine answered without humor. “But we shouldn’t accuse anyone without proof. Please go, Meg. I’ll make a sign for the door that says ‘No School Today.’ I don’t want the students to see this. The little ones would be so upset.”

  Meghan nodded and flew out the door.

  Catherine swallowed down her shock and revulsion—and the sensation of violation—and went to work. She closed the outer door against the wind and snow before making a sign to turn away early arrivals. The teacher’s desk she couldn’t budge, but she began righting the students’ desks. She had reset almost half of them when Annabeth Selby poked her head inside.

  “Why’s school called off? Are you—” The question froze in the girl’s throat as she peered around the room.

  Catherine strode to her. “Someone has made a mess of things, but don’t you worry. Meghan and I will be able to fix things up by tomorrow.”

  Annabeth gaped at her classroom, confused and frightened. “Who done this?”

  “Who did this,” Catherine corrected. “And I don’t know. But I do need you to be my helper.” She gently turned the girl’s shoulders so they faced each other. “I want you to stand at the end of the drive and tell kinner that there’s no school today and they need to come back tomorrow.”

  Annabeth’s eyes grew round as saucers. “You want me to help?”

  “Jah, I know you can do a good job.”

  “What’ll I say if they ask why?”

  “Say the teacher doesn’t feel well. It’s not a lie. I’ve felt sick to my stomach since I got here.”

  The child ran out the door to stand sentinel near the road, blocking the path if any curious students tried to step around her. But most hurried away, happy for a day off.

  Before Catherine had a chance to finish straightening the desks, a police car pulled up the driveway with its red and blue lights flashing.

  Well, now I know what daed decided to do, she thought, tightening the cloak around her shoulders. She hurried to meet the man at the door.

  “Hullo, Miss Yost,” he said, climbing the steps.

  “Good morning,” she murmured as she stepped aside.

  “I’m Sheriff Bob Strickland. Your father called me from the neighbor’s and asked me to stop by here.” His smile deepened the web of fine lines around his eyes. “Whoo-wee, somebody had a bone to pick with you.” He stood slowly assessing the classroom with a critical eye. After a moment he opened the door to the woodstove and poked around in the smoldering ashes. “They seem to have made a big mess, but there’s no real damage.”

  “What do you mean?” Catherine’s gaze focused on the woeful geranium on the floor, its roots bare and dusted with snow.

  “They didn’t throw your grade books or teacher manuals into the fire, break out the windows, or spray paint the walls. I’ve seen far worse than this.” He settled his hands on his hips. “Not to minimize your distress, but after a good cleaning you’ll be back in business.”

  She glanced around again and nodded in agreement, while he began feeding kindling into the stove. Once the fire took hold, he closed the door and single-handedly set her desk upright. Pulling the chair on casters over to the warmth of the fire, he said, “Suppose you sit here, Miss Yost, and tell me what’s been goin’ on in class. Who do you think might have done this?” The sheriff righted a bench and sat down. By the time she explained the change in teaching staff and the three troublemaking eighth graders, Meghan had returned with their father.

  Gideon hurried into the classroom with his black coattails and white beard flying. “Are you all right, Catherine?” His pale blue eyes took in the scene with alarm.

  “Of course, I am. Sheriff Strickland says it’s not as bad as it looks.” She went to her father to calm his fears.

  “Jah, jah, maybe so,” the bishop admitted, breathing hard. “But James and John will come later to help. You gals can’t fix this by yourselves.”

  “After they straighten out the damage at the Miller farm?” Catherine asked with a pang of guilt. “My bruders will be working till midnight.”

  “Do you think this is somehow connected to yesterday’s turfing of those fields?” asked the bishop.

  The sheriff rose to his feet and motioned for Gideon to sit. “I don’t think so, Bishop. A big truck must have done that.”

  “Did my daughter tell you about stopping at the homes of three boys yesterday?”

  Catherine heard her father’s question on her way to the door. Why is daed telling the English policeman about school business? She didn’t want anyone else involved with her students, but she certainly couldn’t tell her father what to do.

  With a queasy stomach, she joined Meghan and Annabeth by the road, where they were still turning pupils away. One tiny girl had wrapped her arms around Meghan’s skirt and refused to leave. Catherine didn’t like suppositions and conjectures. She remembered Joshua and Robert’s shame and knew they would never participate in something like this.

  But could Owen Shockley? There had been no expression of remorse on that boy’s face. Just anger, resentment…and challenge.

  Meghan couldn’t go home after the classroom was tidied. With her bruders’ help, she and Catherine quickly put everything back and mopped up the melted snow. Even the geranium, replanted in a new pot, was expected to make a full recovery. After Catherine and daed left in one buggy, she headed to the Kauffman farm in the other. Joanna would probably appreciate hearing the story firsthand instead of as over-the-fence gossip. And Meghan wanted to listen to any advice the calm and collected former teacher had to offer.

  She rapped on the door and waited, listening to the tinkle of wind chimes hanging from the porch eave.

  After a minute the door swung open. “Meghan, come in. Good to see you.” Joanna gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Is school out already?” Her face brightened with curiosity as she pointed to a chair at the table. “How about a cup of tea?”

  “Jah, danki.” Meghan tried not to stare at the woman’s rounded belly. She glanced around the cheery room while the other woman fixed the tea. The pale cream walls looked freshly painted with dark muslin curtains. A braided rug of navy and dark green sat beneath their feet, while the enamel propane stove and refrigerator looked brand new. “Your home is very nice,” said Meghan, inhaling the scent of potpourri from a pot simmering on the stove.

  “Danki. My ehemann and I have recently moved into the main house after my in-laws insisted on moving to the dawdi haus.” Joanna’s cheeks glowed with vitality. “His mamm says soon we’ll start filling the five bedrooms. I will show you the nursery we just painted, but first I want to hear about the class. How are my two fine replacements doing?” She set steaming cups of tea down along with a plate of oatmeal cookies.

  “We were muddling along okay, I suppose. No nomination for teachers of the year, but making progress in your lesson plans.” She nibbled on a cookie, thinking how best to proceed. “Then we ran into a roadblock yesterday.”

  Joanna smiled and patted her hand. “I hit a few icebergs as well during my
first year. It comes with the job. Tell me what happened. Maybe I can offer some advice.”

  Meghan set down the cookie so her hands would be free and launched into a brief update. When she recapped the morning’s traumatic discovery, Joanna’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head.

  “Do you suppose it was Joshua, Robert, and Owen? Perhaps some sort of retaliation for speaking to their parents yesterday?” Joanna asked softly.

  Meghan thought back to Robert’s mamm. She sounded quite certain her son would offer no further problems in school. And Joshua? She’d seen rabbits facing a pack of snarling dogs that looked braver. “I don’t think Robert or Joshua had a hand in this, judging by how the meeting with their parents went. But I don’t know about Owen. I certainly wouldn’t want to aggravate Mr. Shockley, but Owen looked angry that we had come to his house.” She wrung her hands. “I don’t want to accuse him and rile up his daed if he had nothing to do with it.”

  Joanna pursed her lips. “Wise of you. Mr. Shockley has more of a temper than most Amish folk. Did you say the English sheriff came to the school? How did he know what had happened in our community?”

  “My daed called him.”

  This tidbit surprised the retired teacher more than the other news thus far.

  “He was worried about Catherine and me, and he was upset about the Miller farm.” Following the woman’s confused expression, Meghan expanded her update to include the pasture turfing and their recent escape of livestock.

  Joanna sipped her tea. “That had to have been done by Englischers. Owen Shockley doesn’t have a four-wheel-drive truck at his disposal.”

  Meghan squirmed in her chair. Frankly, she didn’t know why daed had called the sheriff so quickly. Amish folk usually settled disagreements among themselves. But she didn’t want to sound critical of her father. “I don’t think Sheriff Strickland will make us his top priority. He thought what happened at the school was more mischief than vandalism. He told my father to keep him posted, but he didn’t plan any stakeouts to capture the criminals.”