A Courtship on Huckleberry Hill

by Jennifer Beckstrand

  The look in her eyes made him feel all soft and mushy, like a slice of bread soaked in milk. Maybe she didn’t think he was so bad. He heaved a sigh and asked the harder question. The question he was afraid he didn’t want the answer to. “Is . . . is Wally doppick? Maybe he can’t read any better than he does.”

  Elsie grunted. Even a grunt was adorable coming out of her mouth. “Ach, don’t be silly. Wally isn’t dumb. When he was nine, he talked you into electricity and an Xbox. That’s not the work of a dumkoff. Wally is too smart for his own good. He knows how to manipulate any situation to his advantage.” She sprouted a slight grin. “But now we are the ones doing the manipulating, and Wally has no idea what’s happening to him. We’re teaching him how to work. Wally used to be satisfied with his crutches because they were easier. He used to be satisfied with not playing softball. Do you know how much pain he’s gone through to learn to hit? He got a home run yesterday. Did he tell you?”

  “Jah, he told me first thing when he came home from school.”

  “He scraped the whole side of his face, but he didn’t even care.”

  “You helped him with softball. Will you help him with his lessons?”

  Elsie’s lips twitched into a scold. “I already am. I have the four eighth graders read together every morning, and Ida Mae helps Wally especially. Jethro and Wally are math partners.”

  “Is he learning anything?”

  She laced her fingers together. “Jah, but it’s slow.”

  Sam couldn’t stand the thought of his brother not knowing how to spell buttermilk or add fractions, even if Elsie said she was working on it. “He needs more help. You got him playing softball and wearing his leg. Can you give him more help with his lessons? Outside of school?”

  She thought about it for a second. “He hit a home run. It’s probably time to make him miserable again. Now is as good a time as any to start in on the schoolwork. That’s going to be a lot less fun than softball, but if we can teach him to love learning and to see why it is gute for him, he’ll quit fighting us on it.”

  “What about coming to our house after school? Maybe two days a week. Or probably three days would be better.” The thought of seeing Elsie three times a week made his heart thump against his rib cage. Was it proper to have that sort of reaction to the teacher?

  “My coming over would cut into Wally’s video game time, wouldn’t it?” Elsie said.

  “Jah.”

  “That will make him wonderful irritated.” She nibbled on her bottom lip. “It’s a gute plan, but Wally isn’t going to like it. He might become impossible to live with.”

  Sam exaggerated squaring his shoulders. “I can stand it. I lived through the softball nightmare. I can bear anything for Wally’s sake.”

  She laughed. “Okay, then. I can cum on Monday.”

  Sam thought of the dairy he wanted to start. It would have to wait. Wally needed that money more than Sam did. “Is ten dollars an hour enough? I know it’s not much.”

  Elsie nudged him on the shoulder with her pitching arm. He pretended to wince. “Don’t be silly. I won’t take any money.”

  “I can’t ask you to do it for nothing.”

  “It’s a chance to help one of my scholars. So many parents couldn’t care less about how their children do in school.”

  Sam shook his head. “It’s only right that I pay you something.”

  A light seemed to go on behind her eyes. “What about dinner?”

  “What?”

  Elsie seemed to grow more and more excited. “Who cooks dinner at your house?”

  “Sometimes my mamm. Mostly my sister Maggie.”

  “I hope it doesn’t sound rude, but is she a good cook?” she said.

  “She makes the best Yankee bean soup I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Hmm,” she said, breathing deeply as if trying to catch a whiff of Maggie’s soup. “Sounds appeditlich. Would Maggie mind feeding me?”

  Sam wasn’t quite sure he’d heard her right. “You want to eat dinner at my house?”

  “Just on the afternoons I come to tutor Wally.” She frowned. “Is that too much? I don’t want to intrude on your family. Never mind. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  She looked so concerned, Sam had to chuckle. “I think it’s a wonderful-gute idea. If you are willing to tutor Wally for a meal, you’re the one getting the short end of the stick.”

  “Are . . . are you sure?”

  “Wally usually eats dinner in the basement. My mamm sometimes eats dinner in her room. It’s often just me, Perry, Danny, and Maggie. You’d be the most excitement we’ve had since Maggie accidentally left a dish towel on top of the stove and almost burned down the kitchen.”

  She grinned from ear to ear. “I’ll come on Monday. Be prepared for a little resistance from Wally.”

  Sam nodded thoughtfully. “Okay.”

  “You’re strong, Sam. Just keep telling yourself that this is for Wally’s own good—especially when he tells you he hates you or when he cries like a buplie.”

  “It’s for his own good,” Sam said.

  “He’s not going to like it, but I think you’re going to have to work up the gumption to insist that he eat dinner with the family.”

  “Gumption? What kind of word is gumption?”

  She curled one side of her mouth. “A good word. And you can do it.”

  “I can do it. I’d do anything for Wally.”

  “And I’d do just about anything for a gute meal, including put up with you.”

  Sam felt sorry for her for just a second. Elsie must live all alone in some cold little house. Who could blame her for not wanting to cook herself dinner when she got home from school?

  Either that, or she wasn’t a very gute cook.

  * * *

  Sam wasn’t so much sneaking as he was ducking under the windows so Elsie couldn’t see him. She was sitting right there in plain sight in the kitchen, but Sam didn’t want her to see him—not yet, anyway. He was dripping with sweat, there was a smear of mud down his arm, and he probably smelled like an unpleasant mixture of manure and moldy cornstalks. He refused to let Elsie see him like this. Ducking below the kitchen windows, he sneaked around to the mudroom, saying a prayer of thanks that Dat had seen fit to put another entrance down the south hall and away from the kitchen. He could run upstairs and wash his hands, change his clothes, and clean his face all without Elsie being any the wiser. He wasn’t vain, but he didn’t want to scare her away from dinner with his foul smell.

  Elsie had been coming to their house for two weeks. She’d spent six wunderbarr afternoons with his family— not that Sam was counting or anything. She always worked with Wally for an hour—which was probably more than either Wally or Elsie could stand—then visited with Maggie until dinner was ready.

  Maggie cooked dinner while Wally and Elsie had their lessons in the kitchen. That way, Maggie could keep an eye on Wally and scold him for being lazy when she needed to. She hadn’t needed to scold him often. Elsie was too smart to let Wally get away with anything, and Wally seemed to give her begrudging respect even while insisting he couldn’t stand her.

  Two weeks ago after he’d talked to Elsie, Sam had sat down with Wally and told him that the teacher was going to come after school three days a week to help him with his schoolwork. Wally had still been in a gute mood because of his home run, so he hadn’t put up much of a fight. But when that first Monday had rolled around, Wally had come home from school with a terrible stomachache, telling Sam that he wouldn’t be able to sit for a lesson. When Elsie had arrived, Sam had set a nice big bowl on the table and told Wally that if he needed to throw up while studying, he could throw up in that bowl. Wally had moaned and doubled over in pain—which almost made Sam cancel lessons for the day—but he had stood his ground until Elsie had arrived. She had taken one look at Wally and reassured Sam that his bruder was faking it, and that if he happened to throw up, the bowl was an excellent idea.

  After a week, Wally could see that n
o one would budge, so he resigned himself to his fate and dragged himself to the kitchen table every day at four o’clock. He always complained loudly about having to work while not in school, but he didn’t seem to mind the extra attention.

  Sometimes when Sam finished his chores early, he’d sit in on part of Wally’s lesson. Miss Stutzman always brought fun learning activities that even held Sam’s interest. Wally was sure to catch up on his reading and arithmetic with Elsie helping him. So far as Sam could see, she was the best teacher anyone had ever had.

  Sam carefully opened and shut the back door so it didn’t make any noise and tiptoed up the back stairs. He peeled off his filthy shirt, washed his face and hands, and shampooed his hair. Would Elsie notice it was wet? Would she think he was strange for washing his hair in the late afternoon? It was just that he wanted to smell as nice as possible for Elsie. She was kind enough to tutor his bruder. He should be thoughtful enough to smell gute. He scoured the towel over his wet hair to soak up as much water as possible, then smoothed it down as best he could. His curly hair never really behaved itself, but at least it wasn’t sticking out all over his head, and it smelled like the ocean breeze. That’s what it said right on the bottle.

  Sam bounded halfway down the stairs before deciding that bounding seemed too eager. He held up and strolled the rest of the way, listening to Wally argue with Elsie in the kitchen.

  “This is dumm. I’m never going to need to know how to use fractions.”

  Sam ambled into the kitchen as if he just happened to find himself in this part of the house. Elsie looked up at him and smiled. He might as well have died and gone to heaven.

  “You need fractions for cooking,” Maggie said, stirring something boiling on the stove.

  Wally grimaced. “Boys don’t cook.”

  “You might need to learn to cook someday,” Sam said, pulling out a chair next to his bruder. “What happens when Maggie gets married and moves away? One of us is going to have to cook for the family.”

  Wally set his pencil down. “Maybe Maggie won’t get married.”

  Sam smirked in his little bruder’s direction. “Maggie is smart and sweet and knows how to make yummasetti. Besides, look how pretty she is. We’ll be lucky to have three more years with her.”

  Maggie glanced up from the stove just long enough for Sam to catch her smile. “It smells wonderful-gute in here,” Sam said, winking at his schwester.

  “You need fractions when you work with money and time and crops,” Elsie said. “If you can’t do simple math, you’ll never know if people are cheating you. You’ll be suspicious of everybody or, worse, start to feel stupid. You don’t want to go through your life feeling dumber than everyone else. You need to learn your fractions.”

  “I am dumber than everyone,” Wally whined. “I’m dumb and crippled.”

  Elsie usually scolded Wally severely when he called himself a cripple. This time, she laughed. “You’re not going to get off that easily, Wally Sensenig. You’re as smart as anyone at that school, and you know it. Quit making excuses.”

  “But fractions are hard.”

  Elsie nodded. “The only things worth doing are the hard things.” She motioned to a yellow circle cut from cardstock on the table in front of Wally. “Let’s try it again. Write a fraction that represents this circle.”

  Wally’s sigh was so deep, Sam thought Wally might pass out. He picked up his pencil and wrote “1/1” in his notebook.

  “Gute,” Elsie said. “Now take this ruler and draw a line right down the middle of the circle.”

  Wally did as he was told.

  “Now,” Elsie said, pointing to one side of the circle, “write a fraction that represents this part.”

  Wally thought about it for a second then wrote, “1/2.”

  It was as if he’d hit another home run. Elsie burst into a smile and patted him on the wrist. “Well done, Wally. You know more about fractions than you thought you did.”

  They kept dividing the circle, and Wally kept writing down fractions. Sam tried to temper his excitement. Wally had a long way to go. But at least for now, fractions seemed to make sense to him.

  Maggie called Perry and Danny to dinner, and even Mamm joined them at the table. She seemed to enjoy Elsie’s company. It was the fourth time she’d eaten with them since Elsie had started tutoring Wally.

  On Elsie’s request, Maggie had made chicken bacon ranch pizza, and they spent half the meal slicing pizza and talking about fractions. Danny and Perry enjoyed the lesson too, especially when Elsie praised them for their gute answers. Sam ate the last one-twelfth of the pizza, and then Wally cleared his own plate without being asked. He limped to the sink on his prosthetic leg. It was obvious the leg still hurt to walk on, but Wally was trying harder than he’d ever tried before.

  It was almost too much to comprehend. How could one puny teacher with a stubborn streak and a blazing fastball have made so much difference in so short a time? The girl Sam had yelled at had somehow convinced Wally to wear his prosthetic leg. Sam had complained to the school board about the teacher who was willing to help Wally learn fractions on her own time.

  Sam thought he might burst. He could never repay her for her kindness—not that she would accept payment anyway. While they did the dishes, he found himself longing for her to turn her gaze in his direction. What would he do to see her smile every day? To make her smile every day? She took a dish from Maggie and dried it with those graceful hands, and he ached to smooth his fingers against her soft cheeks.

  He cleared his throat and shoved the clean silverware into the drawer. He should never let his gratitude get out of hand like that. The next thing he knew, he’d be imagining holding hands with her, or worse, snatching her in his arms and giving her a kiss.

  Oy, anyhow.

  He was grateful, but a kiss was out of the question.

  Wasn’t it?

  He’d never kiss the teacher, and the girl who had told him he was arrogant wouldn’t consider a kiss an expression of appreciation. She’d probably take it as an insult.

  Sam swallowed hard. She didn’t think he was that offensive, did she?

  He had yelled at her. And accused her of being heartless and told her she was incapable of kindness. His heart sank. No kissing for him. He’d have to settle for sending a thank-you note.

  After the dishes, Sam walked Elsie to her buggy. It was the least he could do after she’d spent the better part of the afternoon with Wally. And he certainly wasn’t going to consider the kissing thing. But tonight was the first night that the thought of kissing her had sort of taken up residence in his head. He determined to say good night and sprint back into the house before he made a fool of himself and scared Miss Stutzman away for good.

  “Wally is making gute progress,” Elsie said. “He’ll have fractions by Thanksgiving, Lord willing.”

  “Thanks to you,” he said. His gaze involuntarily traveled to her mouth. No kissing. No kissing. He turned his face away and stared at nothing in particular while trying valiantly to get the thought of her lips out of his head.

  “And to you. You were smart enough to ask me.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “That surprises you, doesn’t it?”

  She giggled. “Not at all.” She hesitated, stifling a grin. “Well, maybe a little. The first time we met, you came clomping into my classroom like an oaf, and then you started snarling. I wasn’t sure you could talk in complete sentences.”

  He groaned. “I was trying to scare you. I didn’t know it would never have worked.”

  “I had worse than you in Ohio. There was one fraa who would have had you running home with your tail between your legs.”

  He laughed. “I’m glad I’m not the worst parent you’ve had.”

  She shuddered, even though her smile stayed fixed in place. “I sometimes found myself thinking how much easier it would be if all the kinner were orphans. They always liked me better than the parents did.”

  Rose had said Elsie had been fired
from her school in Ohio. Was that true, or had Rose made that up to have something to gossip about? If Elsie always refused to back down and made it a point to disagree with parents instead of try to get along for the sake of her job, she might have ruffled a few feathers in Ohio.

  Someone with a chip on his shoulder could get a teacher fired, especially if the school board had been unwilling to give Elsie a chance to explain herself.

  Like Sam had done.

  He cringed when he thought of that first meeting. If the school board in Charm had reacted anywhere near the way he had, no wonder she had lost her job.

  “Ach, vell,” he said. “They lost a wonderful-gute teacher. I’m glad you decided to give our school a chance.”

  “I’m glad they decided to give me a chance.” Her smile faded. “I speak my mind, which often gets me into trouble, but I’ve tried to hold my tongue, because I really do want this job. I love to teach, and I love the children.”

  “You’ve tried to hold your tongue? You called me a presumptuous busybody the first time we met. I had to go home and look up presumptuous. I don’t even want to guess what it’s like when you don’t hold your tongue.”

  She lowered her eyes as an attractive blush traveled up her cheeks. He didn’t think he’d upset her, but she was definitely embarrassed. “I shut down the school in Charm for a whole week in January last year.”

  He widened his eyes. “You closed the school?”

  “Without permission. The school board and some of the parents were furious. In November I had requested a new woodstove because the school’s stove was broken. It leaked in about seven different places, and the schoolroom would fill with smoke whenever we lit it. I asked for a new stove for weeks. I got some of the maters involved, pushing their husbands to press the school board for a new one, but they didn’t want to spend the money. For ten days in December, the temperature inside the school was forty-five degrees. We wore coats and hats and the kinner brought blankets. I could see my breath during lessons. When January came, there was no stove in sight, so I sent a note home with all the children, telling their parents that school would be canceled until the school board saw fit to pay for a new stove.”