by Jerry Eicher
“You’re serious?” she asked as Mose retreated towards the barn door. “You were sick with the flu, and tending to my schoolhouse?”
“I sent Mose down one morning.”
“You are avoiding the point.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged.
Mary didn’t press it. “Next time, please admit you’re sick, and I can light the stove myself. I am capable, you know.”
“The schoolhouse should be warm by the time the school children get there.”
“You don’t think I could get there early enough?”
Marcus shrugged.
“I didn’t have the least bit of problem in the two years I taught at home, and we were located further north than West Union.”
“Maybe no one told you the schoolhouse was cold?”
“They would have complained, believe me.”
“I am the janitor here in West Union,” he said. “I will do what I think is best.”
“Oh, you will!”
“Yah, because I am responsible.”
“And I am not!”
“I didn’t say that,” he said.
Mary didn’t respond, turning to march towards the house where a group of girls had gathered on the front porch.
Marcus watched Mary storm up the walks. The woman had her dander up. What had he said that was so wrong? Marcus pressed his forehead with his fingers. He had mostly recovered from the flu, but his head still ached, and now this. He should have stayed home tonight, if that hadn’t disagreed with his principles. He was trying to get out more, to participate in youth functions like his mam said he should.
He had also wanted to see Mary again, if he was honest. That thought troubled him the most.
Another buggy rattled in the driveway and Marcus walked over to help his cousin Emmanuel unhitch.
“You are looking a little sober for a man in love,” Emmanuel teased.
“Why didn’t you take Mary home on Sunday evening?” Marcus retorted.
Emmanuel laughed. “Because I thought you were taking her home.”
“I’m not,” Marcus grumbled.
Emmanuel was clearly unconvinced. “Wasn’t that Mary going into the house right now? Did you have a sweet chat with her?”
Marcus ignored the question. “I’ve been down with the flu this week.”
Emmanuel was undeterred. “So why didn’t you take the girl home on Sunday evening?”
“I was down with the flu.”
“On Sunday evening?”
“No.”
“Then what are you waiting for? The woman is clearly made for you. Wake up, man!”
“You’re crazy.”
Emmanuel shook his head with a befuddled look on his face, and led his horse towards the barn. Marcus followed, glancing over his shoulder. Mary was deep in conversation with a group of girls on the porch, gesturing, her arms emphasizing some point. Why would Emmanuel say that Mary was well suited for him? There was nothing about the woman suited to him. Not one thing!
An hour later Mary focused on the volleyball that hung high in the sky, headed on its downward arch, straight towards the position she played in. Emmanuel, the team’s coach, had assigned Marcus to a place beside her. She hadn’t protested or made a fuss when Emmanuel gave the instructions, in spite of the obvious implications intended. Let Marcus deal with his community’s misinterpretation of their relationship. She was not to blame.
With the ball coming, she had to make a quick decision. Should she step aside and let Marcus deal with the incoming play? He was recovering from the flu, but that didn’t mean much when it came to Marcus Yoder. His tensed body was poised in her side vision, ready to step in if she faltered, which meant that he didn’t think her capable of dealing with the ball. She was not going to back down, regardless of his expectations. She wouldn’t have done so at home, and she wouldn’t do so here, even if she wound up missing the ball.
Mary blocked the thought of Marcus’s opinions from her mind. She would go for a full return. No one knew her well enough in the community to cooperate with a setup. Especially Marcus, who anticipated only failure on her part. Mary raised both hands and met the incoming missile. The thud on contact was followed by a clean arch of the ball back over the net.
Mary heard Marcus exhale softly beside her.
She couldn’t resist the dig. “Didn’t think I could do it?”
“That was pretty good,” he said.
“I’ll set it up next time,” she told him.
Incredulity crossed Marcus’s face.
“Just move towards the net when the chance comes,” she instructed.
“She’s telling you,” Emmanuel hollered towards them. “You had better listen.”
Marcus appeared to waver.
Emmanuel quipped, “She got that last play, didn’t she?”
Mary gave Emmanuel a sweet smile. “Nice to have someone on my side. Thank you.”
“I’m always on your side,” he said with a grin. “I have to get Cousin Dufus in line.”
That wasn’t exactly what she had in mind, but Emmanuel was trying to help.
“Ready?” she asked in Marcus’s direction.
“I guess,” he said, clearly unconvinced.
Marcus snuck a glance in Mary’s direction whenever he dared. Her volleyball skills were entirely unexpected. He waited with bated breath when the ball was being served again, but the arch went in a different direction.
Would Mary actually dare set up a ball for him? He couldn’t believe her confidence. Few plays were as difficult or effective as the setup where one player purposefully failed to return the ball, bouncing it into an arch near the net instead, where another player would leap up and spike downward. The one who set the ball would need a high level of skill both in judging distance and speed.
Pretty schoolteachers were not up to the task. He was sure about that. Mary would only frustrate and embarrass herself. Marcus opened his mouth to object, but the ball was heading their way again.
“Set,” Mary said loudly, so confident.
Marcus willed himself to move into position. He could hardly breathe. He wanted Mary to succeed, and yet she couldn’t. She simply couldn’t.
He watched the arch of the ball, and Mary jumped high with both hands extended. The return play came toward him, perfectly. He leaped up and pounded downwards. The other team groaned as Marcus threw himself backward to avoid the net and keep his balance at the same time. The ball slammed the ground on the other side of the net, the other team unable to react quickly enough to save it.
“You did that very well,” Mary said, her eyes glowing.
“And so did you,” he said, returning the compliment.
“We’re a good team.”
Marcus looked the other way. He was trying to collect his scattered thoughts.
“That’a girl!” Emmanuel hollered towards them.
His cousin didn’t sound astonished. Wasn’t anyone else shocked by Mary’s volleyball-playing abilities?
Mary was still smiling at him, even gloating a little, he was sure. Did she really mean that, about being a good team?
CHAPTER 13
MARY ENTERED THE SCHOOLHOUSE EARLIER THAN USUAL ON Monday morning, where silence greeted her. She paused to listen. There were no noises coming from the basement, or from the upper level of the schoolhouse. She had hoped there would be, that she would catch Marcus at his duties.
Mary moved up the steps and the warmth of the stove greeted her. She removed her coat and lingered for a moment with her eyes closed. Marcus had been much more pleasant over the weekend, less critical, perhaps even approving of her. She hadn’t imagined the change in his opinion, she was sure. Neither had the volleyball game last week been a dream. They had played so well together. On the one hand, she should be offended with Marcus’s continued underestimation of her. On the other hand, perhaps the man had simply never met someone like her.
That was a very prideful thought, but also a delicious one. She had impresse
d the high standards of Marcus Yoder. She, Mary Wagler, of the turquoise blue suitcase fame! There was sweet irony in even a small victory over the man’s high opinions. Deep down she shouldn’t care. There was no future for Marcus and her, not in the way the community seemed to think. But the volleyball game had been truly satisfying. The whole youth group had been impressed with how well they played together.
Mary danced a little jig in front of the warm stove. She would savor her accomplishment and the smile Marcus had grudgingly given her during the services yesterday. Before the school year was over, she would make Marcus acknowledge his mistaken evaluation of her on that day they drove home from the bus station. Marcus might never learn to like her, but he would come to see that he had been wrong about her character. Like, really wrong.
Perhaps that was part of her mission in this community? To help Marcus? His critical ways and need to control events must come from the early loss of his dat. No one from the community talked much about what had happened, but from bits and pieces of conversation she had picked up, everyone’s heart had gone out to the lad left to carry such a heavy burden at a young age. Marcus was admired for having endured the trial, which, thought Mary, was part of the problem. Life was more than endurance. There was joy and happiness, and gladness along the road. She could almost excuse Marcus his harshness, given how he must have suffered from his loss, and doubtless still suffered. But he couldn’t wallow in his grief forever, and he certainly shouldn’t take out his negative feelings about life on her! Marcus meant to change her. Instead, what was needed was for her to help him grow into the kind of man he should be—kinder, gentler, and more understanding of things which were new to him. Looking at things from that angle, her turquoise blue suitcase was the door into a better world. The poor man. What a shock to his senses. Marcus must never have seen such edgy luggage carried about by a proper Amish woman.
Mary eased herself into the teacher’s desk and surveyed the empty classroom. This was her domain, her kingdom, from where she would minister to young hearts, and apparently to a not-so-young heart who lived across the fields. Marcus needed help. How was he to find a girlfriend with that attitude of his? He was handsome and talented enough and there was no reason things couldn’t change for him with the right kind of influence. Right then and there, Mary decided the crowning touch of her first year in this community would be to find Marcus a girlfriend, or at least make him presentable to the right kind of girl.
Who knew how many women the man had scared away? She could understand their reactions. What if she had been open to his attentions on that ride home from the bus station, only to have her heart bruised and injured like an open rose after a late frost? The man had no tact or subtlety. Not the least bit.
Mary stood and walked over to the schoolhouse window. The yard was still empty of buggies. There wouldn’t be any students for another hour or so. She had plenty of work she could do. There were lessons to go over, the eighth-grade math equations should be studied before she presented the lecture in class, and there was Marcus to think about. She would have to pray for the man. He required some kind, yet firm, guidance. In order for him to heal from his past, she would have to get him to open up about his feelings, which would be no easy task. Yet with the Lord’s strength she would do so, and thrive during her first year living here in this community. More had occurred last week at the volleyball game than an excellently executed play.
“Give me wisdom, dear Lord.” Mary breathed a quick prayer heavenward and returned to her desk.
A moment later, Marcus slipped through the fence and approached the schoolhouse. He had a weak excuse for another visit this morning, but a poor one was better than none. He pushed open the door and stopped short. Mary was sitting behind her desk, gazing out of the side windows. She appeared deep in thought, and obviously hadn’t heard his approach. What should he do now? He was about to startle her, in addition to having to explain why he had returned.
Marcus stepped back and waited. Mary’s gaze out of the window was intense. What was she thinking about? Her lessons?
Marcus took a deep breath and cleared his throat. Mary gasped and looked up. “Why are you here?”
He took off his hat and came up the steps. “The wood pile in the basement is a little low,” he began. “I’m sure you noticed. There’s also none left out by the barn. I’ve decided to call for a work day on Saturday, for those who can come, and we’ll cut wood from our fallen timber in the back forty.”
She was staring at him. “I hadn’t noticed about the wood.”
His hat went around and around in his hand as he grappled for a way to continue the conversation. “How are things going with the classes?”
“It’s Monday morning.”
“No more flu bug.” He tried to laugh.
“I’m trying to wipe that week from my memory.”
“You don’t have to. Everyone understood,” he said.
She turned back to the window. “Maybe? But on to another subject since you are here. Tell me about your dat. You never talk about him.”
His hands froze and his whole body stiffened. “My dat? Why?”
“How did he pass?” She was looking intently at him, her big blue eyes like pools of water.
“Heart attack.” Where was this coming from? Why did she want to know about his dat?
“Was it expected?”
“They rarely are.”
“So there was no warning at all?”
“He always had a weak heart. There was nothing the doctors could do.”
“How did it happen?”
He paused, reflecting. Her voice had taken on an unexpected softness, and he found his initial defensiveness melting away. He didn’t like being interrogated, but he couldn’t quite make himself put an end to it. He felt almost trapped by her presence, but he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to break free.
“He didn’t wake up one morning,” he answered, looking down at the floor.
For a moment, silence fell in the room. She seemed to be waiting for something from him, but he didn’t know what.
Finally she spoke again, her voice gentle, knowing, like she saw right into his soul. “And all that responsibility fell on you.”
“Yah,” he managed, then quickly added, “But I enjoy farming. It’s good for a man to work hard.”
“You were much too young, I would think.”
That broke the spell. He was so sick of people pitying him, reminding him that the burden he carried was too heavy, as if that made any difference. “I guess you’ll have to take that up with the Lord,” he said, his voice suddenly harsh. He turned to go. Enough was enough.
“Marcus.” She was out of her seat. “I’m not trying to offend you. I’m interested, and I care.”
“That doesn’t change anything.”
Mary could almost see the battle going on inside him. Inexplicably, he turned back toward her and sat down in the closest desk chair.
“Caring always changes things. It makes things easier,” she said, as gently as she could, as if she were approaching a wild animal that she didn’t wish to scare off.
“The community cared,” he said. “That didn’t change anything.”
“Isn’t that an awfully cynical attitude?”
“I really should be going. I don’t want to take up your time.” But he didn’t stand up.
“Marcus, please,” she begged. “We should talk about this. Talking helps.”
He met her gaze. “I really don’t think so. There is still duty which must be done, and precious time is wasted.”
“Marcus.” She smiled sweetly. “I . . . Tell me about your mam then. She is dating again?”
“She is.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“What does it matter how I feel? She’s dating, and moving on. It’s time, and I should do the same.”
“But this must be rough? Having a man to take your dat’s place?”
“Mam could have married right away.
That was none of my business.”
“But she didn’t.”
He didn’t answer.
“Did you object, perhaps, even if it would have made life easier for you?” She came closer and sat in a student’s chair.
He stood reflexively, uncomfortably aware of her nearness, but he didn’t move to leave. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You have to know what I mean. The burden of the farm fell on your shoulders, and your loyalty to your dat, and your mam’s love for him, probably made it hard for her to consider another man. Waiting was courageous of both of you.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Come, Marcus. You’re intelligent. You don’t give yourself the credit you are due.”
“Duty and responsibility are requirements of the Lord,” he said. “What I did was nothing more than what is the responsibility of any man.”
“The loss of your father still had to hurt.”
“Of course,” he said, “and now I have to go. I’m not complaining.” This time he managed to make himself move toward the door. How could he feel so uncomfortable, and yet drawn to her like she held a powerful magnet? Why did it take so much effort to leave?
“Admitting the pain,” she called after him. “That’s not complaining.”
“We accept the Lord’s will,” he called over his shoulder. “As a teacher, you should know that.”
“I do, and I also know that we can become hard and brittle on the inside. That’s not goot.”
He tipped his hat at the schoolhouse door. “You have a goot day now. The weather should stay warmer, so I think you have enough wood to last until the weekend.”
She had her mouth open to say something more, but he left, not looking back as he rushed across the fields towards home.
Mary hurried to the other side of the schoolhouse and stared through the window at Marcus’s retreating back. She had said too much. Way too much, but the words had bubbled out without much thought. She wanted to help the man. In fact, she had decided it was her mission to help him, and his reaction showed plainly that she was right. But she should have moved more slowly, parsed her words. Instead she had barged ahead and probably injured him further. She would have to try again when she saw him next. There were always second chances with the Lord. That was a lesson she had learned a long time ago. Perhaps this had been a start, at least. He had begun to open up, even with her clumsiness, hadn’t he? Teaching never was easy. She knew that. The rewards came at the end of a lesson well taught and finally learned.