“Of course. Thank you—Hank.” A rosy blush accompanied his name on her lips.
His heart rat-a-tatted like a busy woodpecker. “I’ll be back first thing in the morning.” He couldn’t stop the silly grin that pulled the corners of his mouth at the thought of seeing her again.
He walked the few blocks to his Sunday house with the memory of his cousins hugging their teacher and declaring they loved her. He glanced at the windows of the houses and shops he passed, certain the occupants could hear his heart proclaiming that he loved her, too.
The rocking chair for Mayor Ehrlichmann came to life in Hank’s hands. He savored the gratification of watching the grain of the wood take on a character for generations of the Ehrlichmann family. Inhaling the aroma of the freshly sanded burr oak, he stroked his fingers along the satin surface of the armrests. Tomorrow he’d begin coaxing linseed oil into the grain.
“Uncle Hank! Uncle Hank!”
Without pulling out his pocket watch, he knew it was three-thirty. Who needed a watch with his cousins around? He wiped his hands on a rag and met the children at the door of the lean-to. Elsie and Joy wore look-alike dresses of green calico he didn’t remember seeing before. His mother sewed, but certainly Hank’s father wouldn’t allow his wife to spend money on yard goods for children that weren’t his.
“Look, Uncle Hank.” Elsie’s eyes sparkled. “Look what Miss Bachman made for us.” She held out the edges of her skirt and pirouetted, her straw-colored braids flying and her face beaming as if she’d just been given a precious treasure.
Hank’s heart arrested as he gazed from one sibling to the other. There was something familiar about the dresses. “Miss Bachman made them?”
The sisters nodded and Elsie fingered her sleeve. “Green was Mama’s favorite color.”
Recognition rang in Hank’s mind. Two Sundays ago, he remembered Elsie admiring Amelia’s green calico dress, telling her teacher that her mama “would have looked beautiful in a dress like that.” A tender ache tangled through Hank’s chest when he realized what Amelia had done.
Micah sported a new white shirt. The boy tipped his beaming face up to Hank with a gap-toothed grin. “My shirt used to be Miss Bachman’s apron.”
Hank ruffled the boy’s hair. “You look like a fine gentleman in that shirt. Don’t get it dirty, all right?”
“I won’t, Uncle Hank.”
Amelia Bachman was an extraordinary woman. Was there no limit to her giving heart? How could anyone—his father or Lamar Richter or any of the parents who’d complained—doubt her love and compassion for these children? How many of them gave pieces of themselves to enrich a child’s life the way Amelia did? Hank’s heart groaned within his chest. How he wished he could declare to her the love God had already revealed to him.
Elsie hugged Hank’s waist. “We have to get home so Uncle Thornton won’t be mad, but we wanted to show you our new dresses.” Even the thought of their tardiness stirring their uncle’s wrath couldn’t erase the smile from her face.
Hank boosted them up onto Fritz’s back and made sure Elsie had a firm grip on Micah. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Be careful going home.”
Three small hands waved as Fritz plodded down the street. Their childish voices created a woven tapestry as they called out to him “Bye, Uncle Hank. I love you, Uncle Hank.”
Hank’s heart turned over. Those ornery, adorable youngsters had wrapped their fingers around him and there was no escaping their clutches—nor did he want to.
“Oh Lord, I hate the thought of those kids being sent to an orphanage—maybe separate orphanages. Please provide some way for them to stay together with a family who will love them.”
Amelia wished she could stamp her foot to express her frustration, but she’d not give Lamar Richter the satisfaction of knowing he’d irritated her. All she wanted was to borrow the man’s wagon for the outing she’d planned. Shouldn’t the school board chairman be the greatest supporter of the teacher and her efforts to educate the community’s children? The man’s narrow-mindedness caused her no end of vexation.
“Reading, writing, and ciphering. Dat is all der pupils need to learn.” He flipped one hand out in a derisive motion. “Planting flower seeds. Bah! Such foolishness.”
“Mr. Richter, planting seeds and nurturing plants is a science. Every time a farmer sows seeds for his crop, the conditions have to be right to ensure a successful harvest. This exercise will show the children how seeds germinate, put down roots, develop into plants, and propagate new seeds.” She paused, trying to read his facial expression. Surely he could see how beneficial the planned outing was for the students.
He muttered something in German she didn’t understand. She bit her lip. She’d spent more time studying the language like Mr. Richter demanded, but her vocabulary was still lacking.
His thick eyebrows knit together into a deep scowl. “Der kinder learn about planting at home.”
Amelia sucked in a breath. “I had planned to combine the science lesson with a picnic to celebrate the end of the school year. It’s only for one day, Mr. Richter. Certainly you could spare your wagon for one day.”
“Nein.” He waved his hand as if shooing away the very idea. “I have no time for picnics. If you must do this, have your picnic in der school yard.” A sharp bob of his head punctuated his declaration before he stomped off.
Amelia plopped her hands on her hips. She couldn’t remember ever meeting a more stubborn man.
Amelia set the McGuffey’s Readers on the front bench and then began writing arithmetic problems on the chalkboard, when a soft knock drew her attention. Hank filled the door frame, his toolbox in one hand.
“I’ve come to fix that hinge before the students arrive.” He stepped into the schoolroom and left the door standing open for propriety’s sake.
Butterflies danced in her stomach at the sight of his boyish face. She sent a silent reprimand to her heart and ordered the flutters to cease. They didn’t. “Th–thank you, Hank. I appreciate this.”
A lopsided smile pulled a dimple into his cheek. “My pleasure.” He set the toolbox down and rummaged through it, extracting a chisel and hammer. “I’d like to thank you for what you did for the kids—the new dresses for the girls and the shirt for Micah. That was mighty kind of you.”
Warmth skittered up her neck and tickled her ears. “I couldn’t help noticing all three of them were outgrowing their clothes. It was nothing.”
Hank’s hands paused in their task. “I disagree. What you did meant a great deal to them.” His eyes smiled at her and a shiver darted up her spine.
Stop that! You’re a teacher. You aren’t looking for a beau.
He tapped the hammer against the chisel and removed the broken hinge. “I wish there was something I could do to repay you.”
“Actually there is.” She pressed her lips together. Dare she ask?
He looked over his shoulder at her. “Name it.”
She clasped her fingers together to stop their jittery fidgeting. “I’m planning an outing for the children in a couple of weeks to plant some wildflower seeds. It will be a combination science lesson and end of the year picnic.”
Hank tipped his head in a most appealing way. “I’m not very good at frying chicken.”
A nervous giggle escaped her lips. “No, the children will bring their lunches as always, but I need a wagon to carry all the children out to our picnic spot.”
He took on a thoughtful pose. “When is this?”
“Sometime in mid-May.”
He fit the new hinge into place. “I don’t own a wagon, just a buckboard, but I’ll see if I can borrow my father’s wagon.”
His smile tied her stomach into a knot.
Chapter 9
Hank rubbed linseed oil into the sideboard he’d been working on for Karl and Gerta Schroeder. Since finishing the rocking chair for Mayor Ehrlichmann, four new orders now hung on the workshop wall. Hank sent another prayer of gratitude heavenward for the way God was ble
ssing his business. But in the midst of his joy, a dark cloud of gloom hung about his shoulders like a heavy cloak he couldn’t shed.
He glanced at the afternoon sun. Amelia would be arriving home soon. The anticipation with which he normally watched for her was markedly absent today. He dreaded having to tell her about the letters Vater had received.
The linseed oil’s pungent odor stung his nose. He watched the intricate detail of the wood grain emerge as he rubbed the oil deeply into the oak, as if the very tree that provided the wood left its fingerprint. He wished God would write His answer to this matter with which Hank struggled as clearly as the oil revealed the wood grain.
“Lord, I need an answer. I don’t know what to do.”
As if hearing the whisper of God’s voice, Hank raised his head and looked out across the narrow expanse of yard that separated the Richter Sunday house from his. Amelia walked up the limestone path to her front door. A groan that started in the pit of his stomach rumbled past his lips.
“God, I’m not ready to face her. I’ve been turning this over in my mind for two days and I still don’t know how I’m going to tell her.”
The unmistakable impression of God’s Spirit blew across Hank’s conscious thought. “Go tell her. You won’t be alone.”
The assurance of God’s presence fortified Hank’s courage and he set the oil-soaked rag aside. Before Amelia could step inside her door, he jogged across the yard.
“Amelia.”
She lifted her eyes in his direction when he called to her. The smile that glowed across her face felt like a punch in Hank’s gut. His news would erase that sweet smile.
“Hello, Hank.” Her cheeks flushed with pleasure. “My students are excited about the picnic. I’m looking forward to it as much as they are. In fact, we’ve been studying about—” The delight faded from her expression. “Is something wrong?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I have something to tell you.”
A flicker of panic crossed her face and she set down her book satchel. Breathlessness tinged her voice. “What is it?”
This is going to hurt her, Lord. Please comfort her.
Hank drew in a tight breath. “My father has received replies to his letters. The first is from the orphanage in Dallas. They have room for the girls, but their boys’ dormitory is already overfull.”
As he expected, distress carved furrows in Amelia’s brow and she covered her mouth with her fingertips.
Hank went on to deliver the rest of the bad news. There was no gentle way to say it. “The orphanage in Abilene said they could take Micah.”
Moisture glistened in her eyes and she shook her head mutely. She turned away from him. A slight shake in her shoulders defined her sorrow. He longed to wrap her in his arms to deflect the cruelty of his message. A soft sob reached his ears. He could stand it no longer. He reached out and ran his hand up and down her arm, despising his own helplessness.
“I wish I didn’t have to tell you this. I know you love those kids as much as I do.”
She didn’t shrug off his hand so he slid his fingers up to her shoulder and squeezed. “The director of the facility in Dallas said to wait until the school year had ended. My father grumbled about it, but at least the children will be here another month.”
She sniffed and wiped her eyes before turning around to face him again. But instead of the despair he expected to see in her expression, her eyes grew dark and stormy.
“Hank Zimmermann, I simply cannot understand why you don’t take those children yourself. Even if your father doesn’t want them, there’s no reason for you to stand by and watch them separated and sent away.”
Hank yanked his hand back. His earlier excuse of not having the means to support his cousins wouldn’t wash anymore. The furniture orders he’d received the past few weeks kept him plenty busy. He’d even spoken to his father about the possibility of purchasing the Sunday house. Vater hadn’t agreed yet, but he hadn’t said no. Still, none of that meant he was in the position to take on three children.
“I can’t take care of those kids by myself.” He blurted out the retort before he could temper his words. “What about you?”
“Me?” Her brow dove downward in disbelief. “What are you talking about?”
Hank thrust his upturned palm in her direction. “How can you do something so loving for those children—making clothes for them out of your own clothing—and then do nothing to try and keep them together?”
She lifted her arms away from her sides. “What can I do? I’m only their teacher.”
“You could marry me and then we could take them.”
If every muscle in his body hadn’t frozen at that moment, he would have turned around to see who had spoken those words. The realization that they’d come from his own lips startled him, but judging by the expression on Amelia’s face, she was even more dumbfounded than he.
Her mouth fell open and wavered closed like a fish gasping its last on the end of a hook. Her wide, unblinking eyes nailed him.
“Wh–wha–what?”
Hank grappled with his composure. He couldn’t say the idea hadn’t crossed his mind before. Imagining Amelia as his bride had caressed his dreams more than once. But his dream hadn’t included shocking her by blurting out a clumsy proposal of marriage.
“You’ve said yourself that you love the kids. We could adopt them, they could stay together, and they wouldn’t have to go to the orphanage.” The word we pushed past the growing lump in his throat and came out unnaturally high-pitched. He swallowed hard but the lump remained.
Deep red flushed her face and she gasped like she’d just finished a footrace. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying? Lifelong relationships must be founded on something greater than good intentions.” She leaned down to grab her satchel. “Yes, I love those children, but to make them the basis for a marriage is—it’s …”
Something painful flashed through her eyes and she took a step backward. When she finally completed her sentence, Hank barely caught her strained whisper. “It’s not right.”
She turned and marched in the front door.
Anticipation and dread swirled in Amelia’s stomach. Her students had enthusiastically prepared for today’s outing, but after the heated exchange with Hank over two weeks ago, she now regretted asking him to transport her and the students in his wagon. Since Hank had uttered his “proposal” to her, Amelia avoided making eye contact with him across the yard and at church. She’d tried in vain to dismiss Hank’s words from her mind, but her heart refused to comply. She muttered as she slipped her lunch and the wildflower seeds into her satchel.
“Lord, You know I grew up watching my parents endure a loveless marriage. Joining with Hank in such a union for the sake of the children might be unselfish, but they would grow up seeing the same resentment in both of us that I observed in my parents.”
A deep sigh whooshed from her lungs. She couldn’t deny her attraction to Hank, beginning with the night she arrived in Fredericksburg. Despite trying to push the unintended feelings away and refuse them acknowledgment, they persisted. Hank occupied her thoughts more than she wanted to admit. She repeatedly asked God to remove this unreasonable captivation, for surely it was nothing more than admiration, or perhaps infatuation. But God allowed the feelings to persist and grow. Certainly her secret feelings for the man didn’t mean he reciprocated.
She couldn’t shake the nagging prick of melancholy over Hank having asked her to marry him with no expression of tenderness. Not that the children staying together and having two parents who loved them wasn’t important, but she refused to become the woman her mother was—trapped in a marriage with a man who would never love her.
“God, I became a teacher so I could remain single.” She suspected her adamant Statement only caused God to smile. She huffed and snatched her shawl from the peg. “This is foolish. Why am I arguing with God? He knows why I became a teacher.” She stepped toward the door, but stopped short. Talking t
o herself was as foolish as arguing with God.
Hank halted the wagon near the door of the schoolhouse. Amelia had the children lined up by grades. Hank had to admit that, despite their excitement, Amelia maintained order and discipline as she directed one group at a time to the wagon. Hank boosted the younger ones up to the tailgate.
Amelia had avoided him ever since the afternoon of his awkward proposal and she didn’t appear anxious to converse with him now. Once again he berated himself for the bumbling manner in which the words had fallen from his lips. After spending considerable time communing with God, he determined that he didn’t regret his suggestion at all, only the way he’d spoken it. In fact, the longer he thought about it, the deeper and more steadfast his conviction that he was in love with Amelia Bachman. He’d spent the last week praying God would grant his petition to make Amelia his bride. The opportunity to speak privately with her today didn’t seem likely with twenty-two children listening. If only she’d look in his direction, he could at least offer her a smile.
The last student scrambled into the wagon bed and Hank held out his hand to the teacher to help her up to the front seat. She hesitated momentarily, deep pink flooding her cheeks. She gathered her skirts and accepted his hand to aid her up over the wheel.
He settled himself beside her and picked up the reins. “I’d like to speak with you later, Amelia.”
She folded her trembling hands primly on her lap. “As you wish.”
He drove out past the edge of town and turned the team northwest toward his parents’ farm.
Amelia jerked her head in his direction. “Where are you going?” She pointed northeast. “The spot I found is that way.”
He smiled sideways at her. “If you’ll allow me—there’s a hillside lined with oaks and mesquites about halfway to my folks’ place that has a beautiful view of a small lake. I think you’ll agree it’s a perfect spot to plant your wildflower seeds.”
Love Is Patient Romance Collection Page 55