The Imposter (5 page)

David wouldn't tell Jesse that, but he empathized. The drip-by-drip sameness of farming never appealed to him, either. He preferred running a store to plowing a field, but that was because he wanted to be around people. Now Jesse, he didn't have that same inclination. He was just as bored stocking shelves as he was milking a cow. “It seems to me that buggy repairs might challenge Jesse. You know, fixing things. I was hoping you might be willing to take him on, as an apprentice. Like I said, he's very bright, an astute learner. And it seems like you have more than enough work to keep you busy.”

It was well known that any buggy repair would take twice as long as Hank predicted, but some of that had to do with his fondness for fishing. David was watching Hank as he spoke, trying to gauge his reaction, but the old man had his head bowed, spinning his worn straw hat in his hands. David knew what the risks were for himself and for his son—Hank wasn't given much respect in the church and David would be criticized for letting his son be an apprentice to wild-eyed Hank, but that was the very thing that made him a good choice for Jesse. Hank might be the only person in Stoney Ridge who understood the need to give Jesse a margin of grace. That is, if his son didn't thoroughly exasperate him first.

“You have the patience Jesse needs in a teacher, Hank, and the good humor. I'll be candid with you. Jesse tends to wear people out. Always has. He can talk his way out of anything and make you think it was your idea. I can't blame his character flaws on Anna's passing—he's been a handful since the day he was born. Raising him has been like trying to rein in a runaway horse. He's got a slippery work ethic and can find a shortcut out of any hard labor. Oozes away like a barn cat. He lacks . . . purpose. But he can be good help if you can keep his mind on it. And he's got a good heart. He's at the stage where he's less than a man but starting to be something more than a boy. It pains me to say so, Hank, but I don't seem to be able to help him become the man he's meant to be. But you . . . I think you might have what it takes.”

David ran out of things to say and still, there was no visible reaction from Hank. Maybe this was a terrible idea. He waited, dreading the prospect of trying to find another solution for Jesse.

Finally, Hank looked at David with tears rimming his eyes. He bobbed his head in almost schoolboyish fashion, evidently not trusting his voice. Clearing his throat, he said, “I'll teach your boy everything I know.”

Birdy had no scientific proof that fresh air made any difference, but it did with birds and plants so, she reasoned, why not keep the children outside for as long as possible? Sooner or later, she was going to have to actually gather them into the schoolhouse and teach them something. She rang the bell and two dozen children dropped their games to pour into the schoolhouse and scramble to find a desk.

“Good morning, young scholars.”

Four dozen eyes peered back at their new teacher. She cleared her throat and fingered a piece of chalk. “First things first. I want to learn all of your names.” She whirled to the blackboard but forgot there was a step up and tripped, falling to her knees onto the raised platform. “Not to worry,” she said, recovering quickly, jumping to her feet. She made it to the blackboard in one large stride and started to write
Teacher
Birdy
in her most excellent penmanship, but pressed so hard that the chalk snapped in two. Two boys in the back of the room guffawed and her confidence, never robust, started leaking away. “Well, then, never mind.” She turned back to
the wide-eyed children. “So. I'm Teacher Birdy. If you will please stand one by one and tell me your name, then I'll be sure to remember.” She glanced down at the first graders, little birds in a row. “Let's start with this fine young man at the end of the front row.”

Shy with this unexpected honor, little Peter Keim barely managed to find the floor with his feet and blurt his name. Then the rest of the first graders, the largest group according to Birdy's roster, wobbled up one after the other, five in all.

Birdy noticed a murmur from the back of the room grow bolder and bolder. She knew it belonged to Luke Schrock, adding his own commentary to each child. She knew Luke well. Everyone in Stoney Ridge did. If there was trouble to be had in the town, its source could be pinpointed to Jesse Stoltzfus or Luke Schrock. Often, both. You had to watch your step around those two.

“Tharah Thook,” said a second grader.

Birdy's forefinger traced down the roster. “Tara, I'm sorry but I don't seem to have you on the roll.”

“Tharah,” she said again.

“Hannah?” Birdy tried again.

A snort came from the back of the room. Birdy spied the source—Ethan Troyer. “Perhaps you can help me identify this child?”

Caught off-guard, Ethan gulped out, “Sarah. Sarah Zook.” Then he glanced nervously in Luke's direction.

“Of course!” Birdy said to Sarah. “You're Gideon and Sadie's daughter.”

The next few grades proceeded without fanfare. Then Ethan Troyer stood up. “Teacher Birdy, my name is pronounced Eee-thon.”

“You want me to call you Eee-thon?”

In the back of the room, Luke yelled out, “Yup! That's what we call him. Eee-thon.” All the boys in the back row nodded their heads enthusiastically.

“I'll make a note. Next student, please.”

Molly Stoltzfus raised her hand as high as it would go, then sprang up and identified herself. “My name is Margaret Stoltzfus. You can call me Margaret but everyone calls me Molly.”

“Actually, everyone calls her the class hippo,” Luke piped up, a foxy grin spreading over his face.

Molly dropped her head, her cheeks flaming red, and slipped back into her desk.

In the hush, all the children turned to watch Birdy intently as she deliberated. These were the moments she had dreaded, the moments she knew she would need the wisdom of Solomon.

Suddenly, Luke yelped loud enough to raise the hair of the dead. “I've been shot!” He clutched his neck with both hands. The entire class swiveled in their seats to see the severity of Luke's injury. Several sets of feet drummed on the floor excitedly. Heads turned back and forth between Luke and Birdy; everyone seemed interested in how the new teacher would fare with this crisis.

Breathing a little hard, Birdy walked to the back of the room and slid down onto one knee in front of Luke. She could see a red welt forming on his neck. “It does look like you've been stung by a bee. There's a clean rag on my desk and a glass of water you can dip it into. That might help the swelling.” Quietly, she whispered, “And then sit up front on the bench next to my desk.”

Luke took his time about getting onto his feet and made a face at the whole process, dramatically unfolding himself from a desk that was too small for him. He waited for a moment, a sneer on his face with one hand on his injury, standing tall above Birdy, who was still kneeling.

She tried to appear unperturbed. Slowly, she rose to a standing position, towering over Luke, until he had to lift his chin to face her. By the time she reached her full height, he looked uneasy. And then his shoulders slumped and he trudged up to the front bench, glaring at each student as he went.

Catching a second wind, Birdy marched to the front of the class to resume roll call. She hoped that sitting on the front bench might cure Luke's cheekiness for the rest of the day, though she did keep hearing snickers. The rest of the class reeled off names without further event until the last student of all. Nathan Kropf, a boy who was making another stab at eighth grade. He was a sweet boy, an earnest one, and his mind moved as slowly as his large body. “Teacher Birdy, I just thought you should know someone stuck a sign on your backside.”

Birdy gasped and reached behind her to feel a piece of paper. She grabbed it: “The Jolly Green Giant.” She looked down. Her dress. It was her favorite, a sea green that had a shimmer to it, a color she particularly loved because it always gave her a boost of confidence. No longer.

She could see she had her work cut out for her.

High, thin clouds kept the sun dim, and David hardly saw a shadow as he walked down the road. Tired from brooding—
tired
of
brooding—David turned his thoughts to his blessings: his six children, each one so unique, so dear to him. The work God had given him as a minister, to look after the spiritual needs of those entrusted to his care.

And the store.

For David it was always the best moment of the day when he arrived at the Bent N' Dent to start the morning. To his way of thinking, an Amish store was the heart of a community. Nearly every church member, old to young, flowed through that front door in the course of a week, giving him a chance to see how each one was faring. He thought back to two days ago, when the five elderly sisters from the Sisters' House came in for their weekly groceries. They had lived together for so many years that they had grown to resemble each other, wizened and bent as apostrophes and nearly telegraphic in their talk. He had great affection for them and was saddened to see how rapidly Emma's dementia was advancing. She could no longer recall her four sisters' names, though last Sunday, he had noticed that she could remember the verses of every hymn sung at church.

Strange, how the mind held some information and dispensed with other.

David smiled to himself as he poured tablespoon after tablespoon of fresh coffee grounds into the coffeemaker. Yes, he loved being a storekeeper and all this store represented.

The door flung open. Freeman Glick filled the doorway, as commanding a figure as Moses, and bellowed, “David,” as if identifying David to himself. Freeman's brother Levi peered over his shoulder as he pronounced, “I'm here on church business.”

“Strictly business,” Levi echoed.

Freeman Glick always looked freshly ironed, with a touch
of starch. Not his clothing; Freeman himself. His shaggy brown eyebrows knitted, contemplating David in either bewilderment or extreme irritation, it was always hard to tell which. A hard look came into those dark eyes.

“Would you like some coffee, first?”

“I don't drink coffee,” Freeman announced.

“He don't,” Levi added.

Freeman stepped forward with a frown etching his forehead. “Two more boys dropped out of baptism class.”

“We've got a real crisis on our hands,” Levi said, nodding solemnly.

And it started with your sermon
, was what they were thinking. David could practically hear them spit out the words.

“We've got to keep the young people here,” Freeman said. “They're our future.”

“And how do you propose to do that? You can't force someone into getting baptized.”

“We can make it more appealing.”

“More appealing?”

“It's time to adjust baptism classes.”

“Adjust?”

“Shorten. Condense. It's the only answer.”

With difficulty David held his tongue from asking, “To what question?”

“You've done it before. You did it last spring with Tobe Schrock.”

“I didn't
condense
the 18 Articles of the Confessions of Dordrecht.” Normally, while everyone sang hymns, the ministers met with those who planned to be baptized and taught two Articles at a time. David had met with Tobe Schrock
midweek to go through the Articles and help him catch up with the class. But he
never
abbreviated the lessons.

“David, times are changing,” Freeman said. “Young people don't have the attention span they used to. We can talk these boys into staying if we promise to make a few adjustments.”

“Like . . . shortcutting over the Articles.”

“Shortening,” Freeman said crisply. “Condensing.” He took a step closer to David with a look on his face like the business end of an ax. “Must you resist everything?” He was used to having his instructions obeyed.

“How are you going to encourage these boys to get baptized? Through pressuring their parents about finances?”

Freeman waved his hand as if brushing away a pesky fly.

“You never discussed meeting families to discuss finances with either Abraham or me.”

“There's no need for four of us to meet with families. Besides, doing an annual financial review is something many church districts do.”

“Trustees are
chosen
by the church members. When the bishop and the minister self-appoint themselves as trustees and burst into people's homes and ask them to take an inventory of everything they own—it becomes intimidation.”

Freeman and Levi exchanged a glance. “We do nothing of the sort. We want to make sure everyone is using their resources wisely and properly.” Freeman took a step closer to David, hands on his hips, long beard jutting. “And you might be surprised to learn that three families are in serious debt. Last year's heavy autumn rains took a toll on the harvest and this year is looking just as bad. The price of feed is still rising. Meanwhile, milk prices are low and going lower. We'll be lucky to break even. We need a good year just
to keep our heads above water.” He crossed his arms over his large chest. “And then there's the unexpected expenses. Ephraim Yoder, for example. His hospital bills are already sky-high and going higher.”

“Exorbitant,” Levi added. “Outrageous.”

“We'll host a fundraiser,” David said, “like we always do, to help pay those bills. Ephraim and Sadie won't be alone in this.”

A loud snort punctuated the air. This came from Levi. “A fundraiser? That's like squeezing blood from a turnip.”

Freeman nodded in agreement. “I keep telling you that our church is facing some serious difficulties. Plenty of families are talking about cashing out and moving elsewhere. I don't know that this church is going to be around much longer.”

“Freeman, I run a store,” David said slowly, not quite able to conceal his impatience with this subject. “I know how many people aren't settling their accounts. I'm not blind to the kind of troubles that people are facing. Our church has problems, of course—what church doesn't? But we have to keep in mind we are primarily ministers. We are not dealing with people as problems. We're calling them to worship God. Our responsibility is not to fix people. It's to lead people in the worship of God and to lead them in living a holy life.”

“Our responsibility is to make sure this church survives for our children and their children.”