Brightest and Best (11 page)

“But at the
English
school?” Gideon turned his gaze to the eyes of his future father-in-law. “You’ve decided that this is right and pleasing to God?”

“I’ve decided Seth will handle himself well and learn what he needs to learn. He’s not a troublemaker, and he won’t want to disgrace his mother.”

“And David?”

Jed sighed. “Fifteen years old. I see nothing he will gain from returning to school after he’s been out for a year. Rachel agrees.”

“He’s not even close to his sixteenth birthday.”

“No, but I can’t see how the
English
will find reason to bother themselves about Amish children who have already left school. It makes no sense for them to return to the rolls.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that,” Gideon said. “Tobias is only thirteen, but he’ll soon be fourteen. I’ll need him for the harvest, but then he can go to school over the winter. I’ll take him out again when I need him for the early spring planting. He won’t want to go back next year.”

Gertie burst into the room, coming from the front of the house.

“
Daed,
two
English
men are here.” Gertie’s eyes widened. “Savilla said to find you right away.”

Gideon swooped up Gertie and strode through the house. Jed’s boots thudded right behind him.

“Savilla!” Gideon called as soon as he was on the front porch. The girl ran toward him, leaving two men standing alongside the fenced pasture.

“I heard them talking,” Savilla said. “It’s about school.”

“And the lady who was here before came again,” Gertie said.

Gideon eyed the parked car, recognizing it as a vehicle that belonged to the Geauga County sheriff’s department. He set Gertie on the porch.

“Savilla, take your sister in the house,” Gideon said, “or go out to the
dawdihaus
and visit Miriam.”

“Is everything all right?” Savilla took Gertie’s hand but looked over her shoulder at the visitors, who now fixed their stares on her father.

“I’m sure it is,” Gideon said. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Jed kept pace with Gideon as they walked across the rolling front yard toward the fence.

“I’m Gideon Wittmer,” Gideon said. He nodded at Margaret Simpson, the only one of the three visitors he recognized. “What can I do for you?”

“We just want to make sure you understand the law,” said the uniformed man.

Margaret stepped forward. “This is Deputy Fremont and Superintendent Brownley. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“I’m not worried,” Gideon said.

So this was the superintendent behind the forceful correspondence made to sound friendlier than it was.

“I’m Mr. Hilty,” Jed said. “Is there something you need from us today?”

The superintendent flipped a few papers. “Jed Hilty. I don’t see the Hilty name on our list of students.”

“I’ve received your letters. I have stepsons who might be on your forms,” Jed said. “Kaufman.”

“So you both understand the new laws?” the deputy asked.

“We’ve read your letters,” Gideon said.

“Do you have questions?” Margaret asked. “This would be a good opportunity to have them answered.”

“No questions,” Gideon said. The more he looked at Miss Simpson, the more nervous she seemed.

“Good,” said Mr. Brownley. “Then can we expect your full cooperation?”

“Rachel told me the happy news.” Lindy embraced Ella in the middle of a Seabury furniture store that frequently carried Amish craftsmanship.

“
Danki
!” Ella made no effort to contain her smile.

The last two days had been a whirlwind. Though her engagement to Gideon would not be published to the church officially for weeks, already the news buzzed.

“When Betsy married Gideon,” Lindy said, “he became my brother. I suppose your marriage will make you my sister.”

Ella swallowed a lump that formed in an instant. “You’re so gracious to me. No one can take Betsy’s place, but I’m going to do my best to love her family as she would have.”

“I know you will. And you can count on me for help. Just let me know what you need.”

Ella glanced at a crate Lindy had set on the floor.

“Toys.” Lindy leaned toward Ella and spoke behind her hand. “The owners discovered that they sell more furniture if children find a toy to play with while the parents shop. And even if they don’t buy furniture, they almost always buy the toy.”

Ella giggled. “I only came in to look. I’m not sure Gideon realizes how much space my books take.”

“Let me make you a bookcase,” Lindy said. “It will be a wedding present.”

Lindy glanced over her shoulder, first in one direction and then the other.

“Are you still having that strange sensation?” Ella asked.

Lindy nodded. “I was sure someone was following me just now on the street. I was anxious to get inside. But if I don’t know who is following me, how do I know the person is not in the shop now?”

Ella looked around the store. She saw an
English
couple with a small child, who likely would soon discover the treat of Lindy’s well-crafted toys, and an
English
man standing in front of a dining hutch and nodding at the salesman’s explanation of its features. At the back of the store, a woman wearing a light wool dress bent over an oversized ledger. They could have been in any shop in town.

“You don’t see anything odd, do you?” Lindy asked.

Ella shrugged. “I guess not. Everyone looks ordinary.”

“I’m probably just on edge. I get a thing in mind, and then it won’t leave.” Lindy waved off the thought. “I can’t even describe who it is I feel watching me. Don’t pay any attention to me.”

Ella now turned her face toward the window that looked out on the street, where people went about their business in unremarkable ways. Some stopped for a glance in the shop’s window, which featured a small table and chairs set attractively, but most walked briskly past on their way somewhere else. No one seemed to loiter.

“I’d better let the owner know the toys are here,” Lindy said. “Then I’ll be on my way and try to keep my spooks to myself.”

S
eething irritation tarnished the shine of exuberance Margaret usually felt on the first day of a new school year. When she accompanied the deputy and superintendent to the Wittmer farm, she had nursed a frantic hope that she might buffer the encounter. Instead, Gideon’s refusal to say with certainty that all three of his children would be in the consolidated school incensed both officials, sending them charging off to other farms with an even more stern approach. Margaret’s efforts to coax and cajole yielded no satisfaction for anyone. When the trio returned to town, after being stonewalled at four farms, Mr. Brownley insinuated that if the Amish children did not attend school, he might have to reconsider her principal’s assurance that she was a highly capable teacher.

Margaret made the rounds, introducing herself to mothers and leaving small gifts that seemed feebler with each visit, and at the end of two weeks she still had no clear inclination of what the Amish would do. In fact, she had growing doubts that even the
English
families would cooperate until after the fall harvest when they no longer needed the unpaid labor of their children.

On September 9, Margaret was outside the school even before Mr. Tarkington arrived to unlock the building. The classroom was ready. She had nothing else to do but wait for her students, but she wanted to be in an environment where she was certain she could maintain order.

Margaret straightened books. She had refrained from unburdening herself with Gray Truesdale on the Amish matter. He was a strong man. He would want a woman who could manage her own affairs.

She checked the chalk in the long tray running along the base of the blackboard, making sure a fresh piece was positioned every eighteen inches, and thought about Deputy Fremont. If ever a man knew nothing about children!

Raising the lid to every desk, Margaret ensured she had placed a sheet of art paper from the art cabinet in the downstairs corridor for each child. Her students were six-year-olds, and children who enjoyed school were more likely to learn their words and sums. Art on the first day would help set the tone.

She imagined the bus rumbling out to the farms and stopping at the designated corners to collect the children, beginning with the most outlying acres and gradually moving back toward Seabury. How many would get on?

She picked up the pages of her attendance list and seating chart and tapped them to precision at the corners.

Children are resilient,
Margaret reminded herself. This would not be the first time she had students who were uncertain about entering a classroom. Very, very few failed to adjust to the classroom structure and expectations. First graders from the farms would be learning the same reading and spelling and arithmetic they would have learned had their one-room school not collapsed. There would just be a few other subjects as well.

Running a finger down the list of names, Margaret settled on the last alphabetical entry.
Wittmer, Gertrude.

“I want to go.”

David’s tone was respectful, controlled—and more adamant than Ella had supposed him capable of. Why had she not noticed before this how tall he was?

“Seth will go.” Jed replaced the Bible he used for morning family devotions on the shelf. “You will stay here on the farm. I can’t spare you.”

David spread his feet, bracing his stance. “I’ve lived here less than a year. You always got along without my help before this.”

“I’ve made my decision.” Jed adjusted his glasses on his face.

“What about my decision?” David said. “You never even asked me what I thought was right to do.”

“We’ll work in the south pasture today,” Jed said.

Seth stood at the door running one thumb and forefinger along his suspenders while gripping his metal lunch bucket in the other hand. Ella glanced at Rachel, who averted her eyes from the quarrel brewing between her husband and son. Ella didn’t blame her. She had no wish to watch it boil over, either. Up to this point, David had not outright defied Jed. Ella sprang up from her chair, crossed the room, and put a hand on Seth’s back to guide him out the door before closing it behind her.

“What is your
daed
going to do?” Seth asked.

“What he thinks is best because he cares about both of you.” Ella’s answer was swift and honest. “You don’t mind if I walk with you to the bus, do you?”

Seth shrugged. “I know the way.”

“Of course you do. But it might help your mother if she knew that the arrangements the
English
made have worked out.”

Seth was a mild child, without the complexity that pulsed under David’s usual outward respect of his elders. He would do whatever would be easiest for his mother.

Seth’s designated bus corner—and David’s, were he allowed to attend school—was three-quarters of a mile down the main road at the end of the Glicks’ lane. To attend the one-room schoolhouse, Seth had walked more than twice as far last year. Still, Ella hated to think of him standing on the side of the road on a dark, frigid morning when winter came, wondering if the bus would be on time.

Mrs. Glick stood at the corner with two of her children. Ella tried to remember how old they were—was it seven and eight or eight and nine? The girls were so alike in size and coloring that Ella had trouble keeping them straight.

The Mast boys were there also, their lunch buckets already set aside to free their hands for tossing pebbles into a small creek across the road. Seth shrugged out of his jacket to join them with his superior aim. Ella contemplated their ages as well. At least one of them was older than fourteen and headed for the high school.

“David is not coming?” Mrs. Glick stood with her daughters on either side of her, arms around their shoulders protectively.

Ella shook her head.

“What a difficult day,” Mrs. Glick said. “We will pray for God’s care for all our hearts.”

“He does not fail us,” Ella said. She peered down the road in the direction Gideon would come from. His three children were also assigned to this bus stop. Ella’s head pivoted between watching Seth, who showed no sign of trepidation about attending an
English
school, and watching for Gideon.