A Courtship on Huckleberry Hill

by Jennifer Beckstrand

  Wally pushed his arms from his crutches so he stood taller. “I just don’t want Maizy to trip again.”

  “You’d have to do it after school.”

  “Do you have some shovels?”

  “Nae,” Elsie said. “You’d all have to bring your own.”

  “Okay. Maybe Sam will help us.”

  Elsie had a feeling Sam would jump at the chance. “You should ask him.”

  For the first time since she’d known him, she saw Wally’s real smile—not the smile of revenge or power or manipulation—but a genuine, thirteen-year-old-boy smile. A thirteen-year-old boy who wanted to do something nice for someone else. “I will. Sam does nice things for people all the time.” He turned around as if he was headed down the stairs, then stopped and turned back. “Miss Stutzman, I think . . . I mean . . . some people have it worse than I do. Like Maizy. I’m wonderful sorry for her.”

  Elsie curled her lips. “You don’t have to feel sorry for Maizy. She doesn’t feel sorry for herself.” Elsie crinkled the Band-Aid wrappers in her hand. “Maybe Gotte sent her to our school to teach us all something.”

  Wally thought about that for a second. “Maybe He did.”

  “It is a wonderful-gute idea to dig up that rock in our field. We’ve got to be able to run to first base. But don’t think that this gets you out of being the base next time.”

  Wally smiled with his whole face. “I’m not going to be the base for long. I’m going to hit, and you’re going to be so mad.”

  She was looking forward to it. She really was.

  Chapter Ten

  For some strange reason, Sam’s breath caught in his throat as soon as he mounted his horse. It made no sense. He was making a visit to the school, not riding a roller coaster.

  The teacher’s eyes were the color of new maple leaves in the spring, and her skin was as smooth as butter cream, but that didn’t have anything to do with the pounding of his heart or the sweaty palms or the dry throat. And it certainly wasn’t her smell—like a field of lavender on a warm summer day. Sam had a fondness for lavender, but that didn’t mean it had the power to turn him into a quivering blob of nerves.

  All he could determine was that the teacher had smiled at him the last time they’d met, and she had grabbed on to his wrist like he was an old friend. Girls shouldn’t grab on to people’s wrists like that. It made them nervous.

  Sam secured Rowdy’s reins to one of the hooks on the outside wall of the school near the water spigot and washtub that served as a trough. He turned on the water and filled the trough halfway before trudging up the school steps and opening the door. “Hello?”

  “Hello?” came the answer. Her voice made his heart gallop like a racehorse.

  Two rows of softball mitts lined the railings on either side of the stairs. The children were playing again. Sam smiled. The teacher had performed a small miracle. At least at the Sensenig house.

  Sam went up the stairs. The teacher was writing on the board. Wait on the Lord. Be of good courage. He shall strengthen thine heart. She had precise, pretty handwriting, unlike Sam’s. He had always gotten terrible marks for penmanship, no matter how hard he tried.

  The teacher turned and smiled at him, and it felt like the sun rising in the east. His heart wasn’t beating anymore. It was humming like a well-oiled engine. “Uh. Hi. Miss Stutzman.”

  She set down her chalk and took four steps toward him, as if she was happy to see him. “Please call me Elsie.”

  She wore a navy blue dress and a black apron covered with chalk dust. A spot of chalk dotted her soft, creamy cheek, and Sam had to ball his hands into fists to keep from reaching out and brushing it off her face.

  “Elsie.” Sam stared at her until she gave him a tentative smile and made him remember why he had come. “How are you?”

  “Wonderful-gute.”

  “How did the leg work out?” he said. This morning without a word, Wally had shoved his fake leg into a bag and taken it to school.

  Elsie seemed to burst. “Ach, Sam. I didn’t even know he’d brought it until second recess when he put it on to play softball. You could have knocked me over with a feather.”

  He couldn’t hold back a wide grin. The fake leg had given him some hope. “Me too. After last Friday, I didn’t think he’d touch that thing again, even though I repaired it first thing Monday morning.”

  Elsie giggled. “I think he got sick of being a base.”

  Sam cocked an eyebrow. “You made him be a base?”

  She was almost giddy. “On Monday and Tuesday he was first base, but then by Wednesday he must have gotten sick of it. He started playing on his crutches again. Then on Thursday he struck out three times. I think he’d had enough.”

  Sam pasted a mock scold on his lips. “You struck him out three times?”

  “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.”

  “I hope you were kinder to him today.”

  Miss Stutzman—Elsie—flashed a mischievous smile. “I might have gone a little easier on him. But if you ever tell him that, I’ll pinch your ear.”

  He chuckled. “Pinch my ear? You can’t even reach my ear. What kind of a threat is that?”

  “A very serious one.”

  Sam lifted his hands in the air. “Okay, okay. I won’t tell a soul. But did Wally hit the ball?”

  “Oy, anyhow, Sam. He hit three into the outfield and got on base twice, even though he wasn’t running. I’ve never seen him so satisfied with himself.” Her eyes pooled with tears, but she was smiling, so Sam had to assume she was happy about it.

  A thread of warmth traveled all the way up his spine. The teacher really did care about Wally, and she had all along. He had truly misjudged her. Sam cleared the lump from his throat. “Denki, Miss Stutzman. You’re . . . I’m . . . I owe you . . .”

  She shook her head. “Wally has it all inside him. I’m just forcing it out.”

  Sam sighed. “It’s very painful.”

  She studied his face. “Trouble at home?”

  “He suspects something is up. I gave him two chores every day. He has to help with dinner dishes and make lunches for himself and his bruders before school. He was so mad on Tuesday, they went to school with a slice of bread and a pickle.”

  “Jah. Toby took pity on Danny and gave him half his sandwich,” Elsie said.

  “The food has gotten better. Wally suffers as much as anyone when the lunch is poor. But he throws quite a fit when it’s time to do dishes. On Monday he said he had to go to the bathroom and didn’t come back until the last dish was dried.”

  Elsie nodded. “It’s one of his tricks. I won’t let him go to the bathroom during class anymore.”

  Sam drew his brows together. “It seems harsh, but what else can I do? On Tuesday, when I made him wait to go to the bathroom, he dropped three plates, for sure and certain on purpose, probably hoping I’d throw up my hands and tell him to go play video games. He makes a wonderful fuss about it every night.”

  “But you’ve held your ground?”

  “On Wednesday I almost gave in. Doing the dishes makes him so unhappy, and it hurts his arms because he has to balance on his crutches in order to use both hands. I could tell he was in a lot of pain.”

  She tilted her head. “And how could you tell that?”

  “He groaned and made all sorts of unpleasant faces.”

  Elsie raised an eyebrow. “He’s a very gute actor.”

  Sam frowned. “Maybe, but I can’t believe it doesn’t hurt him.”

  “You could be right, but he also wants to be sure that you see his pain and feel guilty about it.”

  “Jah,” Sam said. “I know. It’s still hard for me to stay firm. I’ve given in for so many years.”

  “That’s because you have a tender heart.” She smirked. “Deep, deep, deep down there somewhere.”

  “Hah! Thanks a lot.” He folded his arms and leaned his hip on her desk. “Maggie held her ground. She snapped a towel at him and scolded him for bei
ng lazy. He still whined about it, but he stayed until the dishes were done.”

  Elsie gave him an approving smile, which made him feel a lot better about himself. “Change is hard for everybody, but fighting through pain is what makes us grow. I’m proud of you. Remember that what you’re trying to do for Wally is for his own good. Wally can’t live like this anymore. He has nothing to show for his life but dozens of video games and a hefty sense of self-pity.”

  Sam slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out four twenty-dollar bills. “This is for you.”

  “What for?”

  “You said you’ve been paying children back when Wally takes their money. I’m the one who should be making them whole. Is that enough?”

  Elsie stared at the money in her hand with an unreadable expression on her face. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “It’s because I have a tender heart, somewhere deep down.”

  She looked up and cracked a smile. “Deep, deep, deep down.” She tried to give it back to him, and he slid his hands behind his back. “I can’t take this,” she said. “It’s my decision to let Wally keep taking the money. I should pay for the consequences.”

  “It’s my fault my bruder is a bully. I should pay.”

  Lines of reproach deepened around Elsie’s mouth. “It’s not your fault.”

  “It’s not yours either.”

  Elsie stared at the money before sighing and stuffing it into her apron pocket. “If it makes you feel better, I haven’t seen Wally take one cent this week.”

  “Maybe he’s gotten better at hiding it.”

  “I hope not.”

  Sam pointed at Elsie. “Someday, Wally is going to pay those children back every penny of what he stole. Then you can pay me back if you want.”

  “Or I can buy toilet paper.”

  He pressed his lips to one side of his face. “You need toilet paper?”

  She giggled. “Someone is stealing the toilet paper out of the porta-potty. The school board isn’t happy about the extra expense.”

  Sam felt his face get hot. “Wally?”

  “I don’t know. But not everything bad that happens is Wally’s fault.”

  “It just seems like it,” Sam said, lowering his gaze to the floor.

  She laid a hand on his arm. He wished she wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t think straight. “Wally is a gute boy. Don’t ever forget that. He’s the one who’s organized the boys in digging up that rock on the softball diamond.”

  “I suppose.”

  Elsie tilted her head low enough that she could look Sam in the eye. “Speaking of which, he volunteered your team tomorrow.”

  Sam managed a small smile. “I’m happy to help. It sounded like a gute project for Wally.”

  Elsie nodded. “The big boys brought their shovels on Tuesday, but after half an hour of digging, they could see that the rock was bigger than any of them had imagined. They reburied it so we could play softball the rest of the week and are hoping they can get it out tomorrow. I’m sure Wally volunteered your stable because he knows you won’t just put him off and tell him it’s too much trouble. He knows you’d do anything for him.” She laced her fingers together. “Never underestimate the faith that boy has in you, Sam, and don’t ever let yourself believe you’ve been a bad bruder.”

  Sam couldn’t have spoken a word if the school was on fire, so he did what any self-respecting boy would do to protect his dignity. He grunted.

  “Do you want to see what you’ve got to dig out tomorrow?” Elsie said.

  Still unable to speak, he raised his eyebrows into a question.

  “Cum,” she said. “I’ll show you the rock.”

  She led the way outside to the softball diamond, which was basically a diamond-shaped path worn into the grass by years of children’s feet. The backstop was chain-link fencing nailed to a wooden frame. Not fancy, but functional. She showed him the place between home and first where a rock jutted out of the ground. It wasn’t more than three inches above the ground, but Wally had said it had tripped several children on the way to first. It was the first unselfish thing Sam had heard from Wally in four years.

  Sam stole a glance at Miss Stutzman—Elsie. This was all her doing. The softball, the leg, the chores, the unselfishness. He felt wide on the inside, as if he would burst with gratitude if he didn’t hold it in. This puny, feisty, beautiful teacher had set Wally in motion again. Sam would never be able to thank her enough.

  She bestowed a dazzling smile on him. “What do you think?”

  What did he think? For sure and certain he couldn’t tell her what he was thinking. He smiled back, if somewhat uncertainly. “What if we get in there and find out it’s ten feet wide and twenty feet deep?”

  “We might have to bring in a truckload of dirt and raise the entire diamond.”

  He twisted his lips. “That might be our only choice.” With the toe of his boot, he kicked up a dirt clod. “The real question is, are you as good a pitcher as my bruders say you are?”

  She tipped her head and shrugged one shoulder. “I’m better.”

  He narrowed his eyes with teasing suspicion. “There’s only one way to find out, but are you brave enough to face Sam Sensenig, the boy with more home runs than any eighth grader at Mapleview School?”

  She folded her arms, puckered her lips, and looked him up and down like a horse for sale. “I’ll strike you out so fast, you’ll run home crying.”

  He gaped at her with mock indignation. “I accept that challenge.”

  She giggled. “You’ll regret it.”

  “I’ll go get a ball and bat and mitt. Don’t run away while I’m gone.”

  “The balls are in a bucket in the coat closet. How long should I wait before I know you’ve chickened out?”

  “Ha!” Sam jogged into the school and quickly found the equipment he needed. He’d go easy on the teacher. She’d been very gute to Wally. He ran back outside to where she stood on the pitcher’s mound and handed her the mitt and two balls. He dropped the other two balls at her feet. “I brought four. You’re going to be chasing a lot of balls.”

  Elsie’s green eyes sparkled. “We’ll see.”

  Sam stood at home plate and took a few easy swings. He wouldn’t use his full power to hit. He’d rather not kill the teacher with a line drive.

  On the mound, Elsie scooted the dirt around with her foot, as if just the right placement would make a difference. “Are you ready?” she called.

  He nodded, lifted the bat, and eyed a spot of pasture three hundred feet away. The perfect spot to aim for.

  It was almost as fast as a flash of lightning. Elsie brought her hands together in front of her then pulled the ball out of her mitt with her right hand. Taking a giant step forward, she whipped her arm in a circle. When her hand came to the bottom of the circle, she released the ball, and it hurtled toward Sam at probably forty miles an hour. He was so stunned that he instinctively jumped back, even though it was a perfect strike and wouldn’t have hit him. But it would have hurt really bad if it had.

  “Whoa!” he yelled, nearly losing his balance. “What was that?”

  Elsie’s smile couldn’t have gotten any wider. “That was my fastball. Do you want to see my slider?”

  “Jah. Of course I do.” His heart did a flip. The teacher knew how to play ball. He might just have to kiss her.

  But not really, because that would be completely inappropriate.

  He lifted the bat, ready this time for whatever came his way. She wound up and released the ball. It came in fast, but he expected it this time. The bat made a whoosh as it sliced through the air, but he didn’t come anywhere near to hitting the ball. It crashed into the backstop behind him.

  “Whoa,” he said again. “Where did you learn to pitch like that?”

  She was still grinning from ear to ear as she picked up another ball. “I played in a softball league with some of my Englisch friends.”

  “You have a lot of power for someone so small.”
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  She nodded. “The other teams underestimated me.”

  He stood at the ready, and she wound up again. He swung and missed for a third time. He’d never tried to hit a pitch that fast, and some of his friends in school had been pretty good. Sam made a big show of being upset. He groaned as if he were in pain and pounded the bat on the ground like a spoiled little boy. “I can’t believe I missed again.”

  Elsie laughed. “Me either. You must look stronger than you really are.”

  Sam growled like a bear. “Pitch it to me again.”

  She picked up the last ball and her lips twitched with a private smile. This time, he was ready. Same windup, same release, but for some reason, the ball seemed to halt in midair. He swung the bat before the ball had even crossed the plate.

  “That’s my changeup.”

  He groaned in mock agony and made Elsie laugh. There wasn’t a hint of smugness or superiority in her smile. She genuinely enjoyed playing softball, and she was genuinely pleased that Sam was impressed. How could he not be?

  “Do you pitch this fast to Wally?”

  “Of course not. He’d never forgive me.”

  Sam stooped and picked up the four balls behind him, then threw them one at a time to Elsie. “He’d probably show you a lot more respect if you showed him that fastball.” Sam picked up the bat. Maybe it was his pride, but he wanted to show Elsie that he knew how to hit. “Okay. I’m warmed up now. Let’s try this again.”

  He chased a ball low and outside, then another that curved into the dirt. The teacher was sly, and she didn’t give an inch.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’m feeling sorry for you. This next one will be a fastball right down the middle.”

  Sam wasn’t too proud to take her helpful hint. The ball came across the plate just as she promised, and he swung with all his might. The bat made a satisfying crack as it came in contact with the ball, but Sam gasped as the ball shot off the bat like a bullet and headed straight for Elsie’s head. Reflexively, she lifted her mitt in front of her in time to block it. Unfortunately, its forward momentum shoved the mitt into her face, and her head snapped back as if she’d been slapped. Blood immediately began pouring from her nose.