Amish Outsider

by Marta Perry

  “I’m sure. I wanted a moment to talk to you, but I guess that won’t happen until we get everyone fed.” Two more buggies had pulled up by now, and Sarah turned to begin organizing her volunteers.

  Cathy retreated back into the schoolroom. Mary Alice would need her help to keep order until it was time. She suspected she knew what Sarah wanted to talk to her about—the school board meeting. Cathy felt herself cringe inwardly. She couldn’t take her mind off it, but that didn’t mean she wanted to talk about it.

  There was the usual flurry of activity when the picnic started, but eventually everyone was fed and the scholars scattered around the school yard, giving their mothers a chance to relax and enjoy a second glass of lemonade or tea. Leaving Mary Alice to keep an eye on the children, Cathy made her way over to Sarah, thanking mothers as she went.

  Verna pressed a glass of iced tea on her. “Just the way you like it,” she urged. “Komm, sit for a minute with me and Sarah.”

  Nodding, she sank into a chair. “I need a minute. The kinder were buzzing so much this morning that I had trouble getting them to focus. Spring fever, I guess.”

  Sarah gave a decided shake of the head to her comment. “More likely they’ve heard all the talk that you might not be here next year.”

  Cathy’s glass tipped, spilling a few drops of the tea onto her hand. “People wouldn’t talk about it in front of the scholars, surely.”

  “Ach, kinder always know everything, even when the grown-ups try to keep it from them.” Verna glanced at one of the women who’d begun to drift over to them—Donna Ascher, mother of Margaret.

  “I’m that sorry, Cathy. I’m sure I never spoke of it to Margaret, but she heard it someplace. Asked me if it was true. Well, I had to say there was talk, but I hoped nothing would come of it.” She had a sweet smile for Cathy. “I certain sure don’t want to lose such a gut teacher. My kinder have never been so happy to come to school.”

  “Are there others who...” she began, and then she realized she didn’t want to ask that question.

  But it was too late. Donna’s gentle face showed her distress. “Some, I’m afraid.”

  “Folks who say there’s no smoke without fire,” Verna snapped. “I’ve no patience with them.”

  A small silence greeted those words, making Cathy wonder just how many folks agreed with that sentiment.

  “Maybe you should talk to your scholars about it,” Donna suggested diffidently. “If they knew—”

  “If they knew, maybe they’d put some pressure on their parents,” Sarah exclaimed. “That’s a wonderful gut idea, Donna.”

  Cathy was already shaking her head before Sarah had finished talking. “I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t bring it up even. That would be putting the school children in the middle of a grown-up dispute.”

  “They’re in the middle already,” Sarah said. Impassioned, she leaned forward to clasp Cathy’s hand for an instant. “They are the ones who stand to lose if they—”

  She broke off abruptly. Looking up, Cathy realized why. Mary Alice stood a few feet away, her face stricken.

  “Mary Alice...” she began, but the girl shook her head.

  “I know what you’re thinking. That it’s me who’s behind this. But I know I’m not ready. I’d like to spend a whole year learning from Cathy how to be as fine a teacher as she is.”

  “If you feel that way, why don’t you tell your mother that?” Sarah asked the obvious question.

  Mary Alice paled. “I couldn’t,” she whispered.

  “Leave her alone,” Cathy said, pity for the girl swamping every other consideration. “None of this is her fault. I’ve done what I felt I had to do as a teacher, and if the board doesn’t agree, then there’s an end to it.”

  And an end to the life she’d made for herself. She felt as if she’d cut herself loose and was being blown away by the wind. Nothing that she’d thought stable and secure seemed that way any longer.

  Sarah looked at her in exasperation. “What are we going to do with you? Neither you nor Mary Alice can stand up for yourself. Well, maybe we’ll have to find another way.”

  Cathy blinked back tears again, determined not to show weakness. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Sarah. Really, I do. But I can’t bring the kinder into a grown-up argument, and I don’t want to cause a rift in the church. If anyone is willing to speak for me, I’d be grateful, but others have to decide that for themselves. We can’t let it be a...a popularity contest.”

  By the time the mothers had finished clearing up and her scholars were back in the schoolroom, Cathy felt as if she’d been running an obstacle race. And no sooner had she gotten them settled in their seats than one of the older girls raised her hand.

  “Yes, Anna Mae?”

  “Teacher Cathy, there...there’s something we want to ask you.” She looked around at the other upper graders, as if for moral support.

  Cathy waited, afraid she knew what was coming.

  Anna Mae took a deep breath. “Is it true? Is it true the school board won’t let you be our teacher anymore?”

  Donna and Sarah had been right—they did know. Only Allie looked confused—confused and more than a little frightened.

  Cathy took a deep breath of her own. What to say? But she didn’t really have a choice.

  She took a step forward, letting her gaze embrace the whole class. “I have never lied to you, and I won’t do it now. What I know is that there are some people who think I should be replaced as teacher.”

  A murmur of voices responded to her words.

  “Please don’t be upset. I love being your teacher, but if the board decides to replace me, I hope you’ll be as good for her as you have for me.”

  She could see that they weren’t satisfied, but what else could she say to them? Sometimes life didn’t turn out the way you wanted. Still, she had to put on a brave face for the children, no matter how much she was grieving inside.

  * * *

  MICHAEL CLIMBED OUT of the van at the end of the lane, raising a hand in combined thanks and goodbye to the rest of the crew. Physical fatigue slowed his pace as he headed toward the house, but it was a good tired. Always before he’d end the day with worries about the next job hovering over him. Now he just felt satisfied with the day.

  It wasn’t a matter of the boss carrying the worries. He didn’t suppose Jacob lay awake at night fearing the next job wouldn’t be bigger and better, the way he had. There was no place here for being better than the next guy. As long as there was work to do that fed his family, Jacob was satisfied.

  Aunt Verna’s property opened up before him, as familiar as the farm where he’d grown up. Light clouds scudded across the blue sky, and there was a hint of showers in the breeze. The new windows in the greenhouse sparkled where the sun hit.

  A little spurt of anticipation reminded him that he and Allie were going to Daad’s for supper tonight. It would be interesting to see who did the cooking now that Sarah was married. Daad or one of his little brothers? He’d soon find out.

  Tomorrow he’d stop by and talk to Chief Jamison about Alan. At some point today he’d realized that Cathy’s instincts had been right on target. She’d responded with what he’d needed to hear. He wasn’t justified in keeping Alan’s confession to himself. The police had to hear it. The decision had brought with it a measure of peace.

  He realized suddenly that the buggy pulled up in front of the greenhouse was Cathy’s. She’d obviously just brought Allie home, and she stood talking to Aunt Verna and smiling down at Allie.

  They’d both be better off, probably, if he confined himself to a simple greeting, but he knew he wouldn’t. It wasn’t even possible to stay away from her in their small, close-knit community.

  That description of community clung to his thoughts for a moment, oddly appealing. But if he committed himself to stay, he’d grow impatient with
its restrictions, wouldn’t he?

  “Daadi!” Allie came skipping to meet him. “We’re going to Grossdaadi’s for supper tonight, remember? That will be fun.”

  “It sure will, sweetheart.” He put his hand on her shoulder, aware of the fragility of small bones and soft skin, and was momentarily overwhelmed at the thought that she was his to love and to guide. He had to do it right, if he didn’t do another thing in his life.

  “Komm and wash up and have a snack,” Aunt Verna said. “It will take Daadi a little time to get ready before you leave.”

  Allie obediently changed course to go with her. “Bye, Teacher Cathy. See you tomorrow.”

  “Bye, Allie.” Cathy’s smile included him, but she was already turning back to her buggy.

  “Wait a second.”

  He put out a hand to delay her, touching her hand lightly. Even in that gentle touch he could feel the warmth of her skin. His pulse gave a jump, and for an instant he forgot why he’d stopped her.

  “Yes?” Cathy seemed to make an effort to control herself.

  “About last night. I’m sorry. I said things to you I shouldn’t have. Please, forget it. All of that stuff about Diana—that’s my unfinished business. I didn’t mean to burden you with it.”

  He’d promise never to do it again, but even now he felt the longing to tell her what he’d decided, as if her approval was the most important thing in the world.

  Something that might have been hurt flickered in her eyes, as if she felt he’d shut her out. “It’s all right. I understand.”

  He’d hurt her, but he couldn’t let her become involved in a murder case. “I have to handle it myself. I can’t rely on anyone.”

  He’d relied on Diana, and that had been a mistake. On the sanctity of their marriage vows. On Alan’s friendship. All mistakes.

  “Nonsense.” Cathy’s voice cut sharply through his morbid thoughts, stunning him with its force. “No one can rely only on himself. We’re put here to rely on each other—it’s in the nature of life.”

  “Of Amish life. I know. I’ve seen that since I’ve been back here. But Diana’s death and everything around it didn’t happen in this world. Outside this valley I feel as if you have to rely on yourself or you get trampled.”

  “I don’t believe that. You think it because people you trusted were false, but that’s not all people. Haven’t you learned yet that you have to count on others? You can’t raise Allie all by yourself, no matter how good a parent you are. You need others who love her to help you. It’s the same with this.”

  “No. It’s not.” The anger was a shield to cover the longing to hold her, to forget everything in the warmth of her embrace. “You don’t know a thing about it.”

  “I know that you’re letting it turn you into someone you’re not. You’re a good man, Michael. You didn’t harm Diana, and it’s not right that you should go on paying for it. It’s not right!”

  Her passionate defense of him shook him, reaching into his chest to grab his heart. How was it she could believe in him so strongly, despite everything? That belief seemed to turn everything upside down, shattering barriers he didn’t even know he had.

  “Cathy—” He should say something—something that would keep her away from him unless and until it was safe for him to love. But he couldn’t find anything. He could only feel—longing. Passion.

  Without thought, he pulled her against him, his lips claiming hers with a fierce need he didn’t entirely understand. This wasn’t teenage hormones and rebellion—this was something bigger, something that drowned his reason in longing and desire.

  For a long moment it seemed the world was suspended. But then Cathy pulled herself free of him. He longed to hold her, but he couldn’t. She would jump into the buggy and flee, and it was no wonder. How could he—

  But she didn’t. She leaned against the buggy, her breath coming fast, her lips red from his kisses. But when she spoke, there was a calm finality in her voice.

  “I love you, Michael. It doesn’t make any sense, but that’s how it is.”

  When he made an instinctive movement toward her she warded him off with her hand.

  “But there’s no future for us. Not as long as you deny what you are—who you are. So now we both know.”

  “Yes.” It was true. He couldn’t see a future for them, but knowing she loved him—it pulled his heart together and then broke it again.

  * * *

  CATHY DROVE HOME AUTOMATICALLY, letting the buggy horse have her head. She knew the way to the barn all right, no matter what Cathy did or didn’t do.

  Numb. She couldn’t seem to feel anything at all for a time. Then she woke to the painful realization that it was over. All over. The numbness was better than this tearing pain.

  Telling herself she’d known from the beginning it would end this way didn’t seem to help. It didn’t soothe the pain in the least.

  Nothing would. All she wanted now was to crawl into her bed and cry herself out, like a wounded animal seeking a hiding place. She understood that reaction now.

  But when she reached the house, the first thing she saw was her sister’s buggy. The second thing was Mary, leaning out the kitchen door to gesture to her.

  “Hurry and come in. We have to talk, and I don’t have much time.”

  None of that was an incentive to hurry, but Daad was already taking the mare’s head.

  “Go on.” He jerked his head toward the house. “May as well get it over with.” His sympathetic smile bolstered her, though he couldn’t guess the pain she bore.

  “There you are.” Mary swept her into a brisk hug the instant she walked into the kitchen. “Now, I don’t want to see you moping around about this thing.”

  For a crazy moment Cathy thought her sister knew about Michael. But she couldn’t.

  Mary was surging on without drawing breath. “Just because this teaching plan didn’t work out, that doesn’t mean there’s nothing you can do.”

  Her sister assumed the school board had already decided against her. Was that based on actual information, or was it just her assumption that, as usual, Cathy couldn’t accomplish anything on her own?

  “I happen to know that Esther Eshel needs someone to mind her kinder while she’s helping in the furniture shop. You could do that easily, and it would keep you busy. I’ll find out when she wants you to start and let you know.”

  “Mary, just stop.” Desperation made her voice louder than she’d expected, and Mary stared at her, openmouthed. How was it she could be in such control in front of her class and so unable to speak up to her own sister? It was time to change that now. “I don’t need a job with your friend Esther. I won’t even know what’s happening with the school until the meeting tonight.”

  Mamm had been standing at the counter, and she leaned against it now, giving Cathy a look that seemed meant to encourage.

  “You’re not going.” Mary was appalled, her already-rosy face reddening. “You don’t want to sit there and listen to them discuss you. No, you listen to me, and everything will be fine. We’ll take care of you.”

  To do her justice, Mary did love her. She wanted to help. She just didn’t seem to understand that Cathy wasn’t a shy six-year-old any longer.

  “I’ll take care of myself. I love you, Mary, but I don’t need your help.”

  “But...”

  Before Mary could go any further, Mamm was gently but firmly ushering her to the door. “You heard, Mary. Cathy is all grown-up now. You go home and take care of your own family.”

  Still gaping, Mary allowed herself to be shoved out the door, but she turned for a final word.

  Cathy braced herself for an argument, but it didn’t come. Instead, her sister looked at her with what might have been respect.

  “All right, if that’s how you feel about it, I won’t interfere. But you know I just want what’
s best for you.”

  Before she could draw breath for more, Mamm closed the door, still smiling gently.

  “Denke, Mamm.” Cathy struggled to produce a smile. “Is it... Is it really decided already?”

  “Not that I know of. Surely not without telling your side of the story. I expect better than that of the school board.”

  “You think I should go to the meeting.” The very thought made her shake inside.

  Mamm came to put her arm around Cathy. “We will support you whatever you decide.”

  That put it squarely on her. She wanted to be treated as an adult, didn’t she? Beneath the fear there welled up a tide of resolve. This issue wasn’t just about her—it affected Allie, too. And all of the children. Michael had seen that—why hadn’t she?

  Their faces seemed to form in her mind—eager, bright, questioning children, looking for answers. If she let this injustice take place, she was letting them down. And that was one thing she’d never do.

  “Denke, Mamm. I will be going to that meeting tonight.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  IT DIDN’T TAKE long for Michael to discover that his brother Jonah, who was eighteen already, had become the family cook in a house of single men. They’d eaten their fill of pot roast with potatoes and vegetables, and when Jonah produced a blueberry pie, it was all he could do not to groan.

  “How about a break before dessert?” he suggested. “My stomach could do with a rest.”

  “You don’t need to worry,” Adam piped up. “Jonah didn’t bake that. Sarah sent it over.”

  At sixteen, Adam had turned from the lively six-year-old Michael remembered to a gangly teen still getting used to his long legs and arms. But he was still the family joker, it seemed.

  “The pot roast was great. So good it made me overeat.”

  Jonah’s rare smile lit his usually serious face. “You’re just lucky Adam didn’t try to cook for you. The last time he almost set the kitchen on fire.”