Sam jumped off his horse, Rowdy, and stormed toward the schoolhouse. He hadn’t taken the time to hitch up the buggy, because his wrath needed to be swift and severe. He opened the schoolhouse door and stomped up the stairs, making sure the smack of his boots against the steps was loud and intimidating. The teacher would know someone was here who wouldn’t be bullied or belittled.
At first he didn’t see her amid the bright posters and stacks of books. Nearly every inch of wall space was covered with pictures and words, as if a children’s book had exploded and its contents had stuck to the walls. A hand-drawn picture of a cowboy hung on the wall above one of the bookshelves. The cowboy played a guitar, and notes floated around him like gnats in the air. “Sing Unto the Lord a New Song, Psalms 96:1,” it read, and at the cowboy’s feet were empty hooks and block letters that said, “Perfect Attendance.”
An overflowing basket of bright red paper apples graced the opposite wall with a sign that read, “Welcome.” Each of the apples had a child’s name written on it, Wally’s included. Too bad Wally wasn’t truly welcome in this classroom. The teacher had made that very clear.
The decorations were surprisingly bright and cheery for someone rotten to the core.
A head popped up from the other side of the teacher’s desk. She must have been kneeling behind it when he came in. She stood, and he took an involuntary step back. The new teacher wasn’t old or broad-shouldered or severe-looking, like Sam had pictured her when Wally had come home crying. She looked young, definitely younger than he, with shiny mahogany hair and shocking green eyes. And she couldn’t have been much taller than five feet—just a slip of a thing. She didn’t look capable of bullying anyone.
Sam squared his shoulders. He knew better than to judge someone by the way they looked. This new teacher might well be the prettiest girl in five counties, but if her heart was black as coal, her beauty was an illusion.
Her smile lit up the entire room, and Sam caught his breath and nearly forgot why he had come. “Hallo,” she said.
Sam shook his head a couple of times to clear it. No pretty face would distract him from his brother’s pain or from the fact that she had caused it. “Are you the teacher?” he said. He meant it to sound like an accusation.
She stiffened. “I am,” she said, as if daring him to attack.
He didn’t like that little show of defiance, as if she hadn’t done anything wrong. He stepped around the desk and got closer so he could loom over her, glaring down at her like she was a bug he was about to squish. She tilted her head way back to look him in the eye, but didn’t back away, didn’t grab the desk behind her for support, didn’t even flinch. Her composure irritated him to no end. “What gives you the right to pick on my little brother?”
She matched his glare with an icy one of her own. The room got twenty degrees colder. “May I ask what little bruder we are referring to?”
“Wally Sensenig—my little bruder. He came home crying. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Wally—the boy who is taller than me and outweighs me by about forty pounds? That little brother?”
Sam spat the words out of his mouth. “Jah. Wally, the boy who only has one leg. The boy who can barely walk. The cripple who you made stay after school to wipe desks. He got a blister. On his one gute hand.”
“Hmm.” The teacher narrowed her eyes and angled her head as if to get a better look at him, as if he were the one who had to justify himself. “I believe I underestimated your little brother. He threatened to send you over here to tell me what was what, but I was skeptical. Wally really does have you wrapped around his finger, doesn’t he? I’m impressed at his cleverness.”
“His cleverness? Wally isn’t clever. He’s a cripple, and you embarrassed and shamed him in front of the class today. You’re unfit to be a teacher, and I’m going to call you up before the school board.”
She cocked an eyebrow and pursed her lips, seemingly unimpressed with his threat. “Maybe you should sit down before you pop a blood vessel in your neck. And don’t call Wally a cripple. He’s better than that.”
Sam crossed his arms over his chest and tried to look as immovable as a boulder. “I demand you apologize for embarrassing my brother.”
She still seemed completely unconcerned, as if she hadn’t done one thing wrong in her whole life. “What do you want me to apologize for? For the part where your brother flipped Toby Byler’s math assignment into the mud? Or maybe the part where Wally put his foot on the desk and refused to do his letters?”
“Jah, go ahead and poke fun at the fact that Wally only has one foot.”
The teacher shook her head in disgust, which made Sam seethe. Who did she think she was? “You want me to apologize?” she said. “Well, I suppose I am sorry. Sorry that you have let your bruder get away with this nonsense for so long.”
“What do you know about me or my family?” Sam growled. “I won’t let a mean, petty bully like you think she can judge me.” He pointed in the direction of his house, as if she’d be able to see Wally from here. “Our dat is dead. Did you bother finding that out before you decided to pick on him? Our mater is sick, and I have three younger bruders and a schwester to take care of.”
The teacher pressed her lips together. Oy, anyhow, she was stubborn. “I’m sorry about your dat, but that’s no excuse for bad behavior.”
“And a little boy’s deformity is?”
“You keep calling Wally little. Why? Is it how you think of him, or how he acts?”
Sam had had just about enough of this nonsense. “Don’t you dare try to pin the fault on me. You’re the one who ridiculed my bruder in front of his friends.”
She sighed a great sigh, in case he hadn’t already gotten the message that she was barely putting up with him. “What exactly am I supposed to have done to your brother?”
“You know full well what you did.”
“I’d like to hear what your bruder told you that I did.”
Sam drew his brows together. “Are you accusing my bruder of lying?”
“I’d like to know what you think I said to him. If your bruder really told you the truth about what happened, then I can’t imagine why you’re so mad, unless you’re naturally unreasonable and short-tempered.”
Sam caught her words with resentment. He only lost his temper when he had good cause. He wasn’t anything like the teacher, who took her anger out on helpless cripples. How dare she admonish him? “You’re the one who’s unreasonable and short-tempered, and my little bruder suffered for it today.”
The teacher expelled a deep breath, laced her fingers together, and pinned him with a sober gaze, as if she’d made her mind up about something. “It does not give me pleasure to tell you this, Mr. Sensenig, but your little bruder is a selfish, careless boy who is bent on making every child in the school as miserable as he is.”
“And you’ve decided this after only five days? That says more about your character than it does about my brother’s behavior.” Sam’s throat burned. This teacher was beyond belief. How had the school board missed her mean streak?
“Does your brother have a prosthetic leg?”
The sudden change of subject made Sam’s head spin. “What?”
“A fake leg. Does your brother have one?” she said.
“Jah. We fitted him for a new one only a month ago, but it hurts his stump, so he doesn’t wear it.”
She studied his face, and he thought he caught a hint of compassion. He was obviously imagining things. “I would think that hobbling around on those crutches would be even more painful, don’t you?”
“I don’t know. Who are you to judge?”
“I’m not judging. Just curious. I want to help.”
Sam threw back his head. “Hah. Wally doesn’t need your help. Stick to teaching him reading and arithmetic, and show some kindness and pity, if you’re capable of such emotions.”
She quietly sucked in a breath and bit her bottom lip. It was a cruel thing to say, but he wa
sn’t going to quit telling the truth just because it was painful. And this teacher needed to hear it plain. “Wally does not need my pity,” she said softly, as if trying to rally her composure.
Guilt niggled at the back of his skull like a mosquito buzzing near the ceiling. He’d nearly done what he come to do—which was make the new teacher cry—and now that she looked on the verge of tears, he didn’t have the heart to push her over the edge. He took a step back and shoved his hands into his pockets to make himself seem less threatening. “You need to examine your hard heart, Miss . . .” His voice trailed off. He didn’t even know her name. She didn’t offer it. “The kinner need affection, not cruelty.”
The fire leaped into her eyes again. “I don’t need instruction from some presumptuous busybody on how to do my job.”
Sam had no idea what presumptuous meant, but it couldn’t have been a compliment.
Apparently finished with the conversation, she pulled the chair out from under her desk, sat down, and started shuffling through some arithmetic papers. “Stick to farming or belittling people or whatever it is you do for a living,” she said, not even looking at him, “and I will concentrate on my students, thank you very much.”
Sam wouldn’t let her get away with dismissing him so easily. He went around to the other side of the desk and pressed his hand over those math papers. She was forced to look up. “I’m keeping my eye on you, so don’t think you’ll be able to get away with anything like this again. If you so much as sneeze in Wally’s direction I’ll see to it that you are dismissed. Is that clear?”
She narrowed her eyes and glared at him as if he were manure on her boots, but she didn’t reply. She probably realized she’d already said too much. He turned on his heels and clomped down the stairs. He’d told her off but good. Wally was safe.
Her voice caught his ear just as he reached the outer door. “What about allergy season? Can I sneeze during allergy season?” Then she laughed, a light, airy laugh that caught him off guard and made his blood boil over.
He slammed the door behind him and made the whole school rattle.
Chapter Three
Sam walked in the back door and tried to leave his bad mood outside. He had too much on his plate to spend one more second stewing about Wally’s teacher. Lord willing, she’d mend her ways. If not, he could take his complaint to the school board.
Sixteen-year-old Magdalena stood at the sink scrubbing her hands with a small brush. Maggie worked at the egg factory, and she always came home with filthy hands. Nothing less than five minutes of scrubbing would do for a girl as fastidious as Maggie. She couldn’t stand dirt under her nails.
Mamm sat at the table refilling the salt shaker and the sugar bowl. She’d been better these past few weeks. The thought of the kinner back to school always perked her up.
Sam went to the sink and gave Maggie a kiss on the forehead and to the table to give his mamm a kiss on the cheek. “How was work today, Maggie?”
“Ach, the sorter broke twice, and we ended up cleaning eggs by hand.”
“The Yutzys should have Noah Mischler rebuild it,” Sam said.
Maggie snorted. “They need a new one, that’s what. That thing is forty years old, at least. Amos thinks it can hold together with duct tape and baling wire forever.”
“Where were you off to?” Mamm said. “I saw you ride the horse out of the yard like his tail was on fire.”
Sam frowned. He didn’t want to trouble Mamm with the details. “I went to see the new teacher.”
Maggie’s ears perked up. “Ach. Danny says she’s wonderful nice.”
“Danny said that?”
“Jah. And Perry thinks she’s pretty.” Maggie’s eyes sparkled with a tease. “Did you go to see if the rumors are true?”
Perry and Danny were Sam’s two youngest brothers. Wally was thirteen, Perry ten, and Danny had just turned eight. Perry and Danny were both in school with Wally at the one-room schoolhouse, but Sam hadn’t heard any complaints from either of his youngest brothers about the teacher. That was probably because Perry and Danny had both of their legs and all of their fingers. The teacher probably only picked on cripples.
Sam pressed his lips together. Was that pretty little uppity pip-squeak of a girl really that mean?
“Well?” Maggie prodded. “Is she as pretty as they all say?”
Sam barely heard the question. “Pretty is as pretty does.”
Maggie stopped scrubbing and eyed him suspiciously. “What happened? You’re not already on the teacher’s bad side, are you?”
“She was harsh with Wally today. I made sure she knew I wouldn’t stand for that.”
Maggie’s eyes got rounder. “Sam, how could you? It’s only the first week of school. You can’t be mean to the teacher. Our three bruders have to live with the consequences the rest of the year.”
“I wasn’t mean,” he said, only half telling the truth. He’d gone with the express purpose of browbeating that teacher into submission, and though he hated to admit it, he had let his temper get the better of him. It was deerich, foolish, of him to think he could persuade the teacher to treat his bruder kindly by offering her nothing but anger. Righteous indignation was one thing, but losing his temper had made him appear weak and unreasonable instead of in control and dead serious.
That teacher had done something inexcusable, but Sam hadn’t been much better when he’d confronted her.
But, ach, du lieva, mistreatment of his bruder always made Sam irrational. Did no one have compassion anymore? Didn’t anyone follow the commandment to love thy neighbor as thyself?
“Is Wally all right?” Mamm said, the familiar lines of worry appearing in rows along her forehead.
Sam patted his mater’s arm. “He was wonderful upset when he came home.”
“Will you check on him?”
“I was just about to go down. With a cookie.” He grabbed three cookies from the jar and ambled down the stairs.
Sam heard the ominous music and the screams of death before he got halfway down the steps. Wally must really be upset. He was playing Medal of Honor.
The basement in their house wasn’t much more than a cellar with cement walls and floor, some food storage shelves, a sofa, and a TV. After Wally’s accident, the bishop had given permission to have the basement wired for electricity so Wally could have something to take his mind off his pain and the amputation. Sam had bought him an Xbox and a couple of harmless games. That was four years ago, and Wally spent hours down here when he wasn’t in school. He always seemed to have a stack of games. Sam had no idea where Wally got the money to buy them, but he figured Wally had some kindhearted friends who gave him a few extra dollars when they could.
Even though the bishop had given permission, Sam wasn’t thrilled with the video games. They were so glaringly Englisch, some of them so violent that even Sam couldn’t watch. But Wally loved them, and there was little in his life that brought him any sort of pleasure or comfort anymore. Sam didn’t have the heart to put a stop to it, or even limit Wally’s playing time. The poor kid could barely walk. It seemed cruel to take away his one source of happiness.
Wally had gotten really gute with the controller, even though he was missing three fingers on his left hand. Sam got to the bottom of the stairs and glanced at Wally’s hand, feeling that familiar ache right at the base of his throat. No kid should have to go through life with only one foot and half a hand. It wasn’t fair. Little boys were meant to run and play. Little boys’ faters shouldn’t die of heart attacks. Gotte had asked too much of this one little boy.
The kid who half an hour ago had hobbled into the barn with tears streaming down his face was nowhere to be found. With the game controller grasped firmly in his fists, Wally sat on the sofa and stared at the screen as if all his hopes and dreams lived there. He rocked his body back and forth with the motion of the action on the screen, occasionally groaning or growling, depending on how he was doing.
“I brought cookies,” Sam said,
plopping himself next to Wally on the sofa.
There was a few seconds’ delay before Wally glanced in Sam’s direction. “Cookies? Great.” He took his hand off the controller long enough to grab a cookie from Sam and take a bite.
“What are you playing?”
“Medal of Honor. I’m on the fifth level—almost done.”
Wally’s soldier shot his gun, and digital blood splattered across the screen. “I thought I told you to turn off the blood.” No boy’s happiness depended on seeing gore and dismembered bodies.
Wally grunted as if he were very put out. “It’s funner with the blood.”
“I doubt it. Maybe you should play FIFA.” There was no blood in FIFA, even when a player got injured.
“Just let me finish this level.”
Sam didn’t like it, but he let Wally keep playing. He’d found out a long time ago that finishing a level was almost the most important thing in any video game. It was better to interrupt after the level was over. Sam sat for another five minutes, blankly staring at the screen, letting his conversation with Wally’s teacher play over in his head. Something hadn’t seemed quite right. “Wally, did you throw somebody’s arithmetic papers in the mud?”
“Huh?”
“Did you throw a kid’s math work in the mud?”
No answer. Wally’s tongue stuck out of his mouth. He must have been at a challenging part of the game. Sam’s irritation bubbled up like milk on the stove. He didn’t want to ruin all the fun, but didn’t he have a right to expect Wally to listen when they needed to have a serious conversation?
After the day he’d had, Sam was in no mood to take a back seat to the video game. He got up from the sofa and switched off the TV.
That got Wally’s full, resentful attention. “Ach, what did you do that for? I was almost done with the level. Turn it back on.”
“I need to talk to you, and you don’t listen when you’re playing your games.”
“Turn it back on, Sam. I can listen and play. I just need to finish this level.”
A Courtship on Huckleberry Hill Page 2