Brightest and Best (41 page)

“Are we going to make biscuits to go with the soup?” Gertie asked.

“Maybe there’s some bread in the bread box,” James said.

“But I like biscuits,” Gertie said. “I like when they are fresh from the oven.”

“We can make biscuits,” Miriam said. “But let’s do it in the big house. Then we can put them in the oven the minute your
daed
and
Onkel
James come home from the meeting. By the time they get washed up, it will be time to eat.”

Over Gertie’s head, James narrowed his eyes at his wife. He had planned to be at the meeting alongside Gideon, but he had already seen Miriam pausing to catch her breath three times that afternoon.

Gertie tugged on Miriam’s hand. “Let’s go now.”

Miriam stumbled slightly, catching herself against the sink.

“Gertrude,” James said softly. Instantly, she dropped Miriam’s hand and crossed her wrists behind her waist.

“I didn’t mean it,” Gertie said.

“I know.” James reached for the girl’s hand. “Let’s go see what your brother is up to.”

“Lessons and lessons and more lessons,” Gertie said.

This was true. Gideon had spoken somberly with Tobias about his responsibility to represent the Amish well by working hard to catch up with the weeks of school he’d missed, even though they all hoped he could leave school soon. But between Tobias and Savilla, surely they could manage Gertie for a while.

“I’m fine,” Miriam said. “Leave her be.”

But James led Gertie back to the main house. He would get her settled within eyesight of Tobias and then he would make sure Miriam rested for a few minutes.

“I’m sorry, but Rachel isn’t home,” Ella said when Lindy turned up at the Hilty farm. “I know she’d be so glad to see you well enough to make a visit. Can you wait for her?”

“When do you expect her back?”

As she always did when she visited Rachel, Lindy had exchanged her
English
men’s trousers for a modest skirt and blouse. It seemed to Ella that despite living in town among the
English
and taking up a livelihood usually left for the men, Lindy never strayed too far from the rich hues of Amish dyes in her clothing.

“She took a meal out to the Bylers,” Ella said. “Mrs. Byler was feeling poorly on Saturday, and none of their children is old enough to cook properly.”

“I pray she is better soon,” Lindy said. “I admit I’d like to rest a bit myself. I feel so much better than I did that day you found me, but between you and me, I’m not quite myself yet.”

“Please sit down,” Ella said, gesturing toward the davenport.

Lindy sank into the cushions. “I wanted to tell Rachel in person how well David cared for me. I had to insist that he go back to school this morning. He’s such a tender boy.”

“Let me get you a glass of water,” Ella said. It couldn’t have been wise of Lindy to drive all the way out here on her own.

“Actually,” Lindy said, waving off the offer of refreshment, “I’m glad I caught you. James came to check on me this morning and make a few deliveries. I got the idea that Miriam is not as well as she might be.”

Ella sighed. “I’m not sure what to make of her. James says she has good days and bad days, but I think more likely she manages to push through better on some days than others. I do as much as I can. It will be easier after the wedding.”

“Let’s go see her,” Lindy said. “I have my car. It won’t take us ten minutes to drive over there.”

“Are you sure you’re up to it?”

“It’s only a few miles. I’ll rest better myself if I know Miriam is all right.”

Ella nodded. “Let’s go.”

Ella felt as if she had barely settled herself into the automobile seat before Lindy pulled onto Gideon’s farm.

“Let’s try the
dawdihaus
first,” she suggested.

James answered the door, but Miriam was right behind him.

“Well, now, there’s a sensible solution,” Miriam said.

Ella and Lindy looked at each other and then at Miriam.

“This old fool ought to be at that meeting in town,” Miriam said, “but he refuses to leave me. He thinks I’m going to fall into the soup pot or something.”

“It’s too late now,” James said. “By the time I get there, the meeting will be over.”

Miriam rolled her eyes. Ella laughed nervously.

“Ella can stand guard,” Miriam said. “You’ll have no excuse to stay. We’ll go over to the big house and make sure Gertie minds herself.”

“I’d be happy to,” Ella said.

Miriam pointed at Lindy. “And you, my dear niece, can drive your stubborn
onkel
into town in your motorcar while there’s still a chance for him to hear what is happening at that meeting.”

Lindy grinned. “I’ll crank it up.”

H
ad the young man always been so arrogant?

At the whispered pronouncement that the meeting was nearly completed and spectators were not being admitted, James merely stared at the young man. No one could mistake James for anything but an Amish man, and denying admittance to the Amish would defeat the point of the meeting. James nodded slightly at Margaret Simpson and stepped past the young man.

As he approached the table, his eye on an empty chair, Superintendent Brownley scowled.

“You have presented some interesting ideas,” Brownley said, “but I am afraid I’ve heard nothing that allows me to interpret the law in a way that excuses your children from regular school attendance at least until the age of sixteen.”

James watched the faces of the other members of the school board. At least one of them appeared sympathetic, though James could not be certain what was going through the man’s mind.

Percival Eggar cleared his throat. “You may be right, Mr. Brownley.”

Amish brows furrowed around the table.

“You may be correct that this question is beyond the scope of your authority to decide.”

“I have wide authority,” Brownley said. “I assure you I don’t take my responsibilities lightly.”

“I would never accuse you of such a thing,” Percival said. “But it seems clear after today that the question is one for the courts.”

“That’s an extreme measure.” Brownley shifted in his chair.

“I am prepared to represent my clients right through to the Supreme Court of the United States, if that is how they will find justice and the freedom to exercise the religion of their choice.”

James blew out a loud, heavy breath, and attention turned toward him.

“I don’t believe this guest has been introduced,” Brownley said.

Percival answered, “This is Mr. James Lehman, the man who first engaged my services on behalf of the Amish. I would be quite interested in what he has to say at this juncture.”

Brownley leaned back in his chair. “Very well.”

Percival nodded at James, who looked from Percival to Gideon. What had the others already said?

“I’m at a disadvantage,” James said. “I was not able to be present for the earlier portion of the conversation.”

“That’s no problem,” Percival said quickly. “We will all benefit from your individual expression of your views.”

“All right, then.” James adjusted his hat. Miriam hated that nervous habit. “We accept that others do not believe as we do. We do not judge or try to convert anyone who does not come to us sincerely seeking to follow God and with a willingness to make whatever sacrifice that requires.

“Our work, whatever it may be, is for the welfare of the community we share. We do not seek individual prestige. Jesus said, ‘My kingdom is not of this world.’ The apostle Paul said, ‘Be not conformed to this world.’ Our people seek to believe these statements wholeheartedly, as the true word of God.”

James glanced at Percival, uncertain whether to continue. He had not intended to speak at all. Surely Gideon and the bishop had explained these matters.

“Please go on, Mr. Lehman,” Percival said.

“As I’m sure you have already heard,” James said, “we do not separate school from life. But how can our children know this connection if we send them from our world into a world far from our homes to learn from teachers who know nothing of our ways? And if they are trained for a way of life that is at odds with our community, then how are they to know where they belong? Have any of us served the best interests of the children if we create this confusion for them?

“It is our firm belief that eight years of schooling, close to home and focused on the basics of reading, writing, and mathematics, suffice for preparing our children to contribute to the community to which they belong. Beyond this, public schools impart worldly knowledge that is not useful for living spiritually in this life and for all eternity.”

James swiftly pulled out the empty chair and occupied it. From the back of the room came the sound of two hands patting each other with enthusiasm.

Margaret rose to her feet, letting her satchel slide to the floor, and applauded with as much gusto as she could muster. Around the table from which she had been excluded, every head turned in her direction. One pair of startled eyes after another fixed on her.

“Bravo, Mr. Lehman,” she said. “Bravo.”

Mr. Brownley let one hand fall heavily against the table. “Miss Simpson, please contain yourself.”

At first, Margaret pressed her lips together, but before a single second passed, she began to march to the front of the room.

“I cannot hold my tongue any longer,” she said. “Have you not heard the fine rhetoric of Bishop Garber, Mr. Wittmer, and now Mr. Lehman? Does it not strike you that each of these men has achieved an impressive level of articulate expression without the benefit of education in a consolidated school? I cannot think of a more remarkable illustration of the power of values that come from the heart, rather than a textbook.”

“Thank you, Miss Simpson.” Mr. Brownley glared, as he always did. Scowl and glare, scowl and glare.

Margaret ignored him. “Mr. Brownley originally asked me to serve on the consolidation committee. My approach was very different than his, however. While at first I was eager to present the virtues of our town schools and the many benefits the rural students would enjoy, gradually I realized the error of my way. If the Amish children are to have any benefit from attending our schools, it can only come if we make an effort to understand them.

“I am a classroom teacher, and I have spoken with teachers of other grades. It has been clear to all of us that the Amish children are more than capable of completing the work we assign, which is a credit to the Amish families and a testament to the schooling they received in the smaller settings that we have arrogantly come to regard as insufficient. I have not heard one account of an Amish child instigating a disturbance among the students. In contrast, I am ashamed of some of the town children, who have been rude bullies intent on ridiculing people they don’t know just because they are different. And where, I ask you, did they learn such behavior?”

Margaret stared hard at Mr. Brownley, then moved her eyes with deliberation to the other members of the board.

Mr. Brownley pushed back from the table and stood up. “Miss Simpson, I must ask you once again to contain yourself. This is not a matter for you to decide.”

“Isn’t it?” Margaret retorted. “Would you rather it go to the Supreme Court, as Mr. Eggar suggests, than we learn from our Amish friends and find a way to care for our own? If the state truly wants what is best for the Amish children, we will listen to what the parents have to say. We will find a way to work together, rather than at odds.”

“Please take your seat.” Brownley nearly growled.

Margaret glanced at the chair she had abandoned against the back wall. Then she walked to an empty chair between two board members and sat down.

G
ideon could hardly believe that Miss Simpson was capable of such oratory, and in the presence of men. He watched Brownley carefully.

“I must insist that we return to some semblance of order.” In his chair again, Mr. Brownley shuffled papers in front of him. “I fail to see how threatening to take a local matter to the Supreme Court of the United States accomplishes anything. We all know that such a process takes years.”

“I have all the patience in the world,” Percival Eggar said. “I will ensure that my clients receive due consideration.”

“My hands are tied, Mr. Eggar,” Brownley said.

“We would be glad to help you untie them, Mr. Brownley.”

Gideon moistened his lips. “May I suggest what I consider to be an ideal solution?”

“Please do, Mr. Wittmer,” Brownley said. The words were correct and polite, but Gideon had no confidence the superintendent would see the virtue in his proposal.

“As you know, we already have a school building that was constructed at no cost to the public school district, the town of Seabury, or the county of Geauga.”

Brownley’s eyes narrowed, but he was listening.

“All we ask now,” Gideon said, “is permission to operate a private school to serve Amish students.”

“It seems to me that is what you already attempted,” Brownley said.

Gideon nodded.

“But your teacher was not qualified.”