Love Is Patient Romance Collection

by Vetsch, Erica; McDonough, Vickie; Barton, Janet Lee

  Amelia imagined her student cloud-gazing with her father. A tiny ache began in the pit of her stomach. She’d never known such frivolity as a child, and especially not with either parent. Amelia hastily chose spools of thread, one of green and one of white. She opened her reticule to pay, but paused and pointed to a glass jar on the counter.

  “Please give me two scoops of those gumdrops. I think I’ll let my students do some daydreaming and reward their creativity.”

  Horst shoveled two large scoops into a paper bag. “I won’t tell Freda’s mutter you let her daydream in school.” A twinkle in his eye accompanied his conspiratorial whisper.

  Amelia paid for her purchase and dropped the thread and confection into her satchel. She hesitated for a brief moment at the door to take a better look at the pie safe. Horst was right. Hank was a fine craftsman. The silly flutters began again.

  Hank couldn’t keep the grin from his face three days ago when Horst Braun told him the pie safe was sold and two other women were interested in having one made. But when Mayor Ehrlichmann knocked on the door of the Sunday house and inquired about having a rocking chair crafted for his wife’s birthday, Hank’s heart soared. This was God’s answer. After countless prayers asking for heaven’s affirmation of his dream, Hank had cash in his pocket from his first sale, an order in his hand, and the possibility of two more, lending true credibility to the choice he’d made. Gratefulness filled his heart.

  A soft spring rain fell outside the lean-to workshop. Hank ran his hands over slabs of burr oak, choosing the best pieces for the rocking chair. Interesting waves and curves flowed along the wood grain, interrupted by an occasional knot. He carefully selected each cut for its beauty and strength. Once the chair was finished, rubbing linseed oil deeply into the grain would enhance its radiance. The classic lines and intricate detail came alive in his mind—a chair to hand down to the mayor’s grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

  The smile in his heart faded. If his young cousins were split up and sent to different orphanages, they would likely never possess a family heirloom like the one he planned to create for Mayor Ehrlichmann. A scowl tugged on his brow with the disturbing thought. Raising his heart heavenward, he sought God’s ear.

  “Lord, I know I got angry at Amelia for suggesting I take the children, but how can I do that without a way to support them? I’d have to sell a whole lot more pieces of furniture. Amelia doesn’t understand how a man feels about taking care of a family, how he wants to give them everything they need and put a decent roof over their heads, to be able to feed them and clothe them, keep them safe and warm and protected.”

  He halted his list of things God already knew. Since God was already aware of every desire of his heart, it seemed futile to hide the one thing he’d neglected to mention.

  “God, if it’s not asking too much, could You send me a helpmate?” The entreaty had barely escaped his lips when he caught sight of Amelia fetching firewood from her back stoop.

  Chapter 7

  Olga and Winnie Richter each grunted a greeting to Amelia and brushed through the door of the Sunday house. Winnie muttered something in German Amelia didn’t catch. Olga turned and sent a sour frown in Amelia’s direction.

  “She wants to know if you’ve been cooking on her stove.”

  Before Amelia could admit to using the stove to heat water for tea or to warm leftover stew, Winnie waved her chubby hand.

  “Sprechen sie auf Deutsch!” She followed up the challenge with a torrent of German, none of it sounding the least bit complimentary in tandem with her derisive tone.

  Amelia understood the first demand. Winnie wanted German spoken and became angry whenever Olga had to translate into English.

  Lamar Richter entered, lugging a loaded crate. “Mutter, beruhigen sie sich. Calm down.” He plunked the crate on the table and faced Amelia. “Der is a matter I must talk to you.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  The school board chairman pointed to the back door. “Outside.”

  It wasn’t a request.

  Amelia sucked in a breath. Had she done something wrong? She hated the way her heart hammered, much the way it used to do when her father berated her for speaking her mind or disagreeing with him.

  She exited the back door with Mr. Richter on her heels. He stepped in front of her the moment he closed the door. His bushy eyebrows resembled a fat, gray caterpillar wiggling over his hooded eyes, but she didn’t dare smile.

  Mr. Richter cleared his throat and thumbed his suspenders. “Some parents complain to me. You do not teach der class in German. This is true?

  Was that all? “Yes, it’s true.” Amelia clasped her hands at her waist. Frankly, she didn’t see the problem.

  “You know our community is German. All der schools in every district always teach in our mother tongue.” Mr. Richter lifted his chin and raised his voice a decibel, injecting a demanding tone into his words as if daring her to state otherwise. “Der parents”—he struggled to find the word—“expect der kinner learn in German. Der young ones must grasp their heritage.”

  Amelia lifted her shoulders and opened her hands, palms up. “You knew when you hired me that my German was very limited. I didn’t make a secret of that fact. Neither do I recall reading anything in my teaching contract about German being mandatory.”

  “It is who we are.” Mr. Richter’s voice boomed through the cool spring air, disturbing a few birds in the overhead branches.

  Lamar Richter’s inflection and the pitch of his voice intensified, but Amelia refused to be bullied. “I agree. But you and your families are living in a country, and in a state, that speaks primarily English. These children will have to learn to function in an English-speaking society. If they don’t, some unscrupulous person may try to take advantage of them or cheat them.”

  The man’s face reddened and his jaw worked back and forth. “You refuse to speak German in der classroom?”

  Amelia was certain most everyone up and down the street could hear him bellow. “I’m not refusing, and if speaking German is that important to the parents, I will do my best to improve my understanding of the language and conduct classes in both English and German.”

  “Nien! This is not acceptable.”

  “And what is acceptable, Mr. Richter? That I do exactly what you say, no more and no less?”

  If the man’s face grew any redder, he’d explode. Judging by his clenched fists and sputtering lips, he obviously wasn’t accustomed to his word being questioned.

  “Mr. Richter, you must remember, I have some students who do not speak German. All of my German-speaking students understand English. But the ones who speak no German would come to a standstill in their learning. I won’t allow that to happen.”

  “You won’t allow—? Who are you to decide what is allowed?”

  Amelia lifted her chin and folded her arms across her chest. “I am their teacher. It is my job to see to it that they learn, and I will use whatever means necessary to impart knowledge to them. If that involves teaching in two languages, I’ll do it, even though it will require a great deal more lesson preparation time.”

  Mr. Richter blustered. “You can take some of dat time you use now teaching foolish things and learn better German.”

  “Foolish things?” Amelia’s ire tightened her jaw. “What have I been teaching that you deem foolish?”

  “Some parents tell me der kinner must draw maps of der whole United States. And others complain about der kinner reciting poetry.” He leaned slightly forward. “Paeter Lange’s father say his son must know a long list of many dates. Foolishness!” Richter waved his hands as if erasing a lesson plan from the air. “None of those things teach a child to plant and harvest a better crop.”

  Amelia plunked her hands on her hips. “Are you suggesting that I don’t teach geography or history or literature?”

  “Ja! Dat is just what I suggest. The young ones, dey only need to know how to read and write and cipher.” Mr. Richter’s fingers clutche
d his waistband and he hiked up his britches and threw out his chest.

  “I disagree.”

  Predictably, the red blotches mottling Mr. Richter’s face turned purple. He huffed and stammered, his anger tying his tongue in a knot. Amelia took advantage of his rattled state and continued.

  “The children will become much better citizens, and much better people, if they know how our country came to be. Understanding the boundaries and rights of each individual state teaches the children to respect the diversity among us. Literature and science help expand young minds. They are learning to be productive people.”

  She uncrossed her arms and held her hands out in front of her, beseeching the man to understand her point of view. “Don’t you see? Some of these children will follow in their parents’ footsteps and become farmers, and that’s wonderful, if it’s what they want to do. But some will become merchants or skilled craftsmen. Others will want to go to the university and become doctors or scientists. Some might grow up and learn the law or become part of our system of government. Some may even become teachers.”

  Mr. Richter started to open his mouth, but Amelia put her hand up. “Yes, teachers, Mr. Richter, because every parent should be a teacher.”

  Checkmate.

  Exasperation etched hard lines in the school board chairman’s face, and for now, he had no retort. He stared, unblinking, at her for several long moments. Finally, he waved a stubby, sausage-like finger under her nose.

  “You think about what I said.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and returned to the house, slamming the door in his wake.

  Amelia shook her head. “I wonder if he will think about what I said.” She started to follow the man into the Sunday house but caught sight of Hank Zimmermann standing, arms akimbo, by his back door, staring in her direction. Dismay filled her when she realized he must have heard every word.

  Hank lingered outside the front door of the church as the parishioners filed out. His three young cousins romped in a circle around him like colts in a spring meadow.

  “Catch me, Uncle Hank!” Micah jumped up and down, shrieking with giggles when Hank grabbed the child around the middle and tickled him.

  Elsie and Joy dodged out of his reach in a silly game of tag, their laughter spilling out to rival the singing of the birds.

  Hank emitted a mock growl. “When I catch you two, I’m going to tie your pigtails together.”

  The little girls squealed and dashed between the parked wagons. Hank had just crouched behind one of the wagons, lying in wait to jump out and surprise the girls, when Lamar Richter rounded the corner.

  “Zimmermann.” The school board chairman leveled a glare at Hank crabby enough to wilt the spring flowers. Richter shifted his gaze to the children who stopped short, colliding into one another.

  “Good Sabbath to you, Mr. Richter.” He glanced down at his cousins. “Laughter is music in God’s ears, is it not?”

  Richter snorted. “Sacrilegious. Children should be seen and not heard.”

  “You know, Mr. Richter, I’m glad you brought that up, because there is something I’d like to discuss with you.” He turned to the children. “Elsie, you and Joy take Micah and go to the wagon. Uncle Thornton will want to leave soon.”

  At the mention of his father, the smiles on all three children’s faces drooped.

  “Are you coming, too, Uncle Hank?” Joy tugged at his hand.

  “I’ll be along shortly. You three scoot now, and go get into the wagon.”

  As soon as the children were out of earshot, Hank returned his gaze to Richter. “I heard you yesterday—in fact, I think half the town heard you—bellowing at Miss Bachman for not conducting her classes in German.”

  Richter scowled. “It is no business of yours.”

  Hank leveled a steely gaze at the man. “You made it everyone’s business hollering at the top of your lungs. And I beg to differ with you.” He gestured in the direction the children had gone. “Three of the children Miss Bachman was talking about were my little cousins. Granted, they’ve picked up a few German words since they’ve been here, but if classes were taught purely in German, they would cease to learn. I don’t think that’s what you want, is it?”

  “All der school districts teach in German. Der old ways are best.” The volume of Richter’s voice rose with each word until nearly everyone in the surrounding churchyard stopped what they were doing and stared at the school board chairman.

  Hank cocked an eyebrow at the man. “Seems to me your first consideration should be to the children and their education. You have a teacher who is doing an excellent job. The children—all the children, are learning.”

  “Was es ist—What is it to you?” The veins in Richter’s neck bulged. “You have no children in der school. You have no say in the matter. Mind your own business.”

  Pastor Hoffman hurried across the yard to where the two men stood toe-to-toe. “Gentlemen, please. It is the Lord’s Day and we have just come from worship. Can this not be settled in a Christian manner?”

  Hank turned to the preacher. “You’re right, pastor. Forgive me. I only meant to clear up a misunderstanding. You see, it is my business to ensure that the children I love get the best education possible.”

  Richter smoothed one hand through his hair and drew in a deep breath. “Hank Zimmermann is not a parent—”

  Pastor Hoffman held up both hands and spoke in a quiet but firm, even tone. “I’ll not allow our day of worship to be disturbed by uncontrolled tempers. Both of you go home and examine your own hearts, and let God rule in this issue.”

  Hank chewed on his bottom lip and gave a curt nod. He turned on his heel and strode across the churchyard past the gawking parishioners. At the edge of the street, Amelia stood with her fingertips covering her mouth, and wide, unblinking eyes fixed on him. His step slowed as their gazes locked and his heart squeezed. He prayed he hadn’t made things worse for her by confronting the pigheaded school board chairman, but a small voice within pressed him to take a stand for his cousins. In doing so, he supposed he also stood up for Amelia. The thought caused no small stirring in his heart.

  Chapter 8

  Hank waited outside the schoolhouse until the children came spilling out the door at the end of the school day. The Braun children, Pater Lange, the Hoffman girls, and the Werner twins chased each other around the yard in a dizzying game of tag, but Hank’s cousins were apparently still inside.

  “Hope they didn’t get into trouble,” Hank muttered to himself as he approached the door. Sometimes his father made the children do extra chores in the morning before they left for school, which made them late. The door stood open and Hank peeked in. His three cousins encircled their arms around their teacher in a collective hug.

  “G’bye, Miss Bachman.”

  “See you tomorrow, Miss Bachman.”

  “I love you, Miss Bachman.”

  Hank’s heart tumbled end over end. A twinge of jealousy nipped at him. The children held no inhibitions when it came to expressing their affection for their teacher. How Hank wished he could do the same.

  “Uncle Hank!” Joy and Micah squealed their delight when they spied Hank standing in the doorway. Elsie, more sedate, held Miss Bachman’s hand and walked like a little lady. Was it his imagination, or did Amelia’s eyes light up when she saw him? Probably just wishful thinking.

  He tweaked Micah’s nose and tugged on the girls’ pigtails as they clamored for his attention. “Did you three rascals behave yourselves today?”

  “I learned to read some new words.” Joy tugged on his arm.

  Micah grabbed his other hand. “I can write the whole alphabet.”

  Hank raised his eyes and found Amelia’s soft smile and tender eyes on him. The moment their eyes met, she dropped her gaze and her cheeks pinked.

  He gathered the children and pointed them toward the door. “There is some apple kuchen on the table in the Sunday house. You may each have a small piece, but then you must go straig
ht home. Uncle Thornton will expect you to do your chores.” The siblings grabbed their slates and McGuffey’s, Elsie snatched the lunch pail, and they skipped out the door, calling out their good-byes to their teacher.

  Hank watched them scramble aboard Fritz. “They’re very fond of you, Miss Bachman. You’ve helped ease their grief with your kindness.” He turned to face her. “Thank you for that.”

  She looked past him through the open door. “I have affection for all my students. But those three … I suppose as a teacher, I’m not permitted to have favorites, and I try to be impartial, but your cousins are very dear to me.” Her voice quavered and she straightened her shoulders and marched back to her desk. “So, what brings you to school today?”

  Hank gulped. Her sweet voice and enchanting eyes so mesmerized him, the answer to her question was momentarily lost in his fascination of her charm.

  Why did I come to … “Oh yes. Mr. Richter asked me to see if I could repair a broken hinge.”

  Amelia’s eyes widened. “I wasn’t sure Mr. Richter heard me when I mentioned the cabinet hinge needed fixing.” She walked to the cabinet in the corner and cautiously opened the door with both hands to prevent it from falling. “See? I hope you can mend it. The door almost fell off and hit Gretchen Hoffman in the head last week.”

  Hank gave the hinge a cursory inspection, but Amelia’s nearness proved quite distracting. Some kind of sweet fragrance clung to her, like a field of wildflowers—those purple ones that bloomed in late May. He drew in a surreptitious breath, hoping she didn’t realize he was drinking in her scent.

  “Can you fix it?”

  Hank startled and the door slipped from his grip onto his toe. He gritted his teeth and bit back the ouch that sprang into his throat.

  Amelia uttered a soft gasp. “Oh my, are you all right?” She impulsively laid her hand on his arm.

  No, I’m not all right, but it has nothing to do with the door falling on my foot. “Sure thing. I’ll have to bring some tools back with me to fix this properly, but it shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. In the meantime, I suggest you leave the door off.”