Brightest and Best (4 page)

Gideon rubbed a boot through the dirt and scattered the stick drawing.

Gideon could tell from the timbre of the approaching clatter that the horse pulled a cart on the brink of repairs.

“It’s Miss Coates,” he said.

“Maybe she has news from the superintendent.”

“Maybe. She’s smiling.”

In the sunshine-blanketed grass a few yards away, Gertie sat up. “I said I don’t want to go to that school.”

“Gertie,” Gideon said, “go inside and see if Miriam needs some help.”

Gertie obeyed without hesitation, as if to impress on her father that she wanted nothing to do with the teacher or the school.

Miss Coates pulled her cart up alongside the barn and got out. Her face beamed. “Since you’re the head of the parents committee, I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“I appreciate your taking the trouble to come all the way out here,” Gideon said. “Good news from the school board, I hope.”

“Oh, I’m afraid I have no word on the matter of the schoolhouse. This is another matter, but not unrelated. I’ve accepted a proposal to be married in a few weeks. Obviously under these circumstances, I won’t be continuing as teacher.”

Gideon nodded. Obviously. A stone settled in his stomach.

“Congratulations,” he said. “I hope your marriage brings you every happiness.”

“Thank you,” Miss Coates said. “I came as soon as I could. I wanted you to have every available day to begin the search for a new teacher. She’ll have to be approved by the district, of course. I’m sure the superintendent will have some names for you to correspond with. I’ve already submitted my resignation.”

“I’ll contact him immediately.” Perhaps this second line of inquiry would prod the superintendent to release funds for the new school.

“I hope your little girl has recovered from the events of last week,” Miss Coates said.

“She’s not too keen on school right now,” Gideon said, “but I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

Miss Coates hoisted herself back into the cart. “I won’t take up any more of your time. If I can help with the search in any way, please do let me know. I won’t be moving away for another two weeks.”

The horse trotted out of the farmyard. With a grin still on her face, Miss Coates offered a final wave.

Behind Gideon, the back door of his home opened. Miriam stepped out.

“What was that all about?” she said.

Gideon sighed. “We don’t have a school building, and now we don’t have a teacher, either.”

“Miss Coates is getting married.” James sidled over to his wife and kissed her cheek.

Miriam tilted her head and lost her gaze in James’s eyes.

Pangs of loss heated Gideon’s belly. He had hoped to have fifty years of Betsy looking into his eyes that way. She’d been gone five years, and now he hoped to have a long life with Ella, but still grief washed through him in odd moments.

Even after being out of school for twelve years, Ella still cultivated the rhythm of opening a book every day and expecting to learn something interesting. The Seabury Public Library had a small but varied collection, and Ella sometimes checked out her favorite books every few months, either to read them again or simply because she enjoyed having them within reach on her bedside table. Since her father’s marriage to Rachel, who gladly shared household chores, Ella had more time than ever to absorb what the library offered.

She was running a finger along a shelf of bird and wildlife books on a Monday morning when a pair of green eyes startled her by staring back at her over the tops of the books. She gasped.

“Hello, Ella.”

The voice was familiar, but Ella could not place it immediately.

Margaret Simpson came around the end of the aisle.

“Oh, it’s you,” Ella whispered. “I’m afraid I didn’t recognize you just by your eyes!”

Margaret chortled and then shushed herself. “I was hoping they might have some new animal books I might share with my students. But first graders need illustrations, and scientists seem to prefer lots of big words.”

Ella flipped through the books in her arms. “This is my favorite book on birds. There are lots of words, but the drawings are delightful.”

Margaret took the book and opened it in the middle and turned a few pages. “Mmm.
Birds of Geauga County.
I see what you mean. Your favorite, you say?”

Ella twisted her lips sheepishly. “I check it out four times a year.”

Margaret handed the book back to Ella. “I’ll let you enjoy it again now, but I’m going to remember it when school begins. I suppose you heard about Nora Coates.”

“Yes, Mr. Wittmer told me. He’s on the parents committee.”

“I rather think that the condition of the schoolhouse will be more formidable than finding a new teacher. Recent graduates of the teachers college will be eager to go wherever there is a position available.”

“I hope so,” Ella said. “We only have six weeks to sort it all out.”

“What else do you like to read?” Margaret lowered her voice further, glancing toward the librarian at the desk.

“Recipe books. Agriculture. Veterinary medicine. Waterways.
The Farmer’s Almanac,
” Ella said. “Occasionally some American history, particularly biographies of some of the presidents.”

“Goodness. I love your curious mind. I have a small library of my own at home. You’re welcome to borrow anything you’d like.”

“Thank you.”

“I suppose you’ve read all the great novels.
Jane Eyre? David Copperfield
?”

“I don’t generally read fiction.” Ella had never read a novel.

“I’m sure we can find a story you’d like.”

“I don’t want to put you to any trouble.” Ella did not want to imagine explaining to her father—or to Gideon—that she was idly passing the time with an
English
novel. It was one thing to read for edification or to form useful skills, but another to indulge in a story that was not true.

“The next time you’re in town, feel free to knock on my door.”

“You’re kind.” Ella clasped her stack of books against her chest. “I’d better check out and be on my way. I need to … well, I should … be going.”

She stepped quickly toward the desk. Margaret Simpson was perfectly nice and seemed determined to be friends—which was what unnerved Ella. She hadn’t had an
English
friend since Sally Templeton when they were fourteen years old.

“Three yards of plain white cotton fabric,” Miriam said. “Watch as the clerk measures it out. Don’t let him cut it short.”

“I won’t,” James said.

“If you forget the
kaffi,
you’ll have nothing to drink with your breakfast tomorrow.”

“I won’t forget.”

“There are two baskets of eggs on the back porch for you to take in for store credit. You know what the price is on those, right?”

“I do.”

“Blue thread. Two spools. The girls are outgrowing their dresses again.”

“On my list.”

“And don’t forget to stop by Lindy’s and see if she’s finished painting the rack I asked her to make.”

“I won’t forget.”

James found Miriam’s fussy, bossy moods endearing. It would bother some husbands, but he appreciated her mind for details to keep both Gideon’s home and their own
dawdihaus
running smoothly. He supposed that if they’d had their own children, Miriam would have focused her fussing on them. But they’d had Betsy and Lindy and their brothers and sisters to dote on, and now they had Betsy’s children.

It was already hot even before midmorning. James filled a jug with water to take in the wagon.

“No rest for the weary,” Miriam said.

That was what James feared. He hoped Gideon would marry Ella soon. At least when fall came, all three children would be in school for the first time and Miriam’s days would ease.

O
n the beige settee with green and blue tapestry pillows, Margaret sat in her front room with hands in her lap and feet flat on the floor. Almost flat. One toe wiggled in rhythm with the ticking second hand of the clock on the mantel. She refused to give in to the urge to open the oven too soon. Patience would yield impeccable golden crusts, steam rising from the precise vents she had cut in the tops before sliding two pies into the oven side by side.

Tick. Tock. Tick.

A fine red thread ran through the weave of the pillows. Margaret seldom looked at them closely enough to notice it.

Tick. Tock. Tick.

The minute hand circled the clock face seven more times before Margaret popped up and pushed through the oak door into the kitchen, where the woodstove blasted intolerable heat. Temperatures on the first of August were beastly on their own. In past summers, Margaret was content with a cold plate of cheese and fruit for her supper. Her kitchen table always had half a dozen books on it, and food she could pick up with her fingers was more convenient while she read.

That was before Gray Truesdale.

Margaret took the two blackberry pies from the oven and transferred them to the cooling rack, though she had no intention of letting them cool. She wrapped each one in a fresh white towel purchased at the mercantile only four days ago. She and Gray could cut into one tonight—still warm—and she would send the other home with him.

He stopped by two or three evenings a week now. Margaret couldn’t be certain he would come tonight, but she would be prepared. It was Thursday, a day he seemed to favor. She moved the coffeepot to the heat of a front burner.

Perspiration dripped from both temples. Taking a handkerchief from her skirt pocket, Margaret dabbed at the moisture while she walked through the house. The front porch would be cooler, and if Gray didn’t see her sitting in her swing on a fine evening, he might think she would not welcome a visit.

Across the street and two houses down, Lindy Lehman knelt in a flower bed. When Lindy glanced up, Margaret waved. Tomorrow evening she would wander over with a friendly offering of leftover pie.

Margaret heard the grind of Gray’s truck, though it had not yet come into view. Several neighbors were outside their homes. If they were paying attention, they would soon realize that Gray’s visits held a pattern. What the neighbors might think of a male visitor to a woman who lived alone was a dilemma Margaret had not faced before.

She didn’t care. This might be her last chance.

Gray’s truck was not loud or irregular. Margaret doubted anyone else would recognize the pitch of its engine from three blocks away, but her ears were peculiarly attuned to the sound. He eased to the side of the road down the block, exited, let the door fall closed without slamming it, and plunged his hands into this pockets for a casual stroll toward Margaret’s porch.

Her chest heated up just with the thought of him, and his scent filled her mind from yards away.

“Evening,” he said, turning up the brick path in front of her home.

“Evening.” Margaret gave the swing a slight push, determined not to appear too eager.

“It’s a fine night.”

“Quite lovely.”

Gray reached the bottom of three broad steps, set his foot on it, and leaned on his knee. He was a tall man, and fit. When he removed his hat, dimming rays of sunlight brightened his brown eyes.