The Wind Harp

by BJ Hoff

  In truth, her attentions confused him. On occasion she made him feel as young and awkward as one of his adolescent students; other times he felt so old and absentminded he needed monitoring. His friend and pastor, Ben Wallace, had unknowingly added to Jonathan’s confusion by observing that “Mrs. Ross seems to have taken quite a shine to you.”

  Jonathan had been too taken aback to manage more than a startled stare.

  “Oh for goodness sake, Jonathan! You’ve been a bachelor so long you don’t even notice when a beautiful woman is warming up to you? You need to take off the blinders, my friend,” Ben had commented.

  “Maggie’s very good with the children, isn’t she?”

  Carolyn’s voice jarred him back to his surroundings. Given the direction of his thoughts, he couldn’t quite bring himself to look her in the eye. “Maggie…oh yes, she’s doing a fine job.”

  “I confess I wondered at first if she’d be suitable,” Carolyn went on, “young as she is. But she’s working out well.”

  Jonathan nodded. “I couldn’t be more pleased.”

  “Didn’t you tell me she was your student years ago?”

  “She was, yes. In fact, all of the MacAuley children have been my students. Maggie’s two older sisters and her brother, Ray, of course.”

  The tiniest frown crossed her features. “Can we hope that his older sister’s influence might have a positive influence on Ray? Perhaps along the lines of self-discipline and tidiness?”

  Now Jonathan frowned. “Ray’s not a discipline problem.”

  Carolyn lifted her eyebrows.

  “Oh, he’s been in a few scrapes, I know. That business with the pig on the first day—but he wasn’t alone in that, you know. Besides, the boy is fourteen, after all. He’s really not as much of a troublemaker as some of the others his age. As for his appearance—” Here Jonathan sighed. “He’s simply at that clumsy age, I expect. Ray’s a big boy. I’ve watched him over the years, and I suspect he’s not quite comfortable in his own body yet. He’s grown quickly, and he’s…ungainly because of his size. At heart, he’s a good boy. And he comes from good people.”

  Carolyn smiled. “Jonathan, I do hope these children realize how fortunate they are to have a teacher like you. Although I wonder if your kind heart isn’t somewhat too soft toward them at times.”

  Jonathan shrugged off her compliment. Or was it a compliment?

  Just then the sound of stamping and giggling erupted in the hallway. Maggie bringing in her charges, although he hadn’t rung the bell yet. An early return from recess usually meant she had one or more who had become too rowdy to contain outside.

  She stopped just long enough to look in. Her face was flushed, her hair windblown. “Sorry for the ruckus, Mr. Stuart,” she said with a sheepish smile. “They’re wild today for some reason—”

  She stopped at the sight of Carolyn Ross. “Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “It’s all right, Maggie,” Jonathan assured her. “In fact, we were just talking about what a good job you’re doing.”

  Maggie’s eyes lighted on Carolyn, and then went back to Jonathan. “Not so good today, I’m afraid. I don’t know if it’s the nice weather or just mischief working on them, but they’ve been a handful, let me tell you.” She paused. “Well, I’d better stay close on their tails.”

  And off she went. Jonathan couldn’t stop a smile as she went flying out the door and down the hall.

  “Was she a good student?”

  Jonathan removed his eyeglasses. “Maggie? Probably the brightest I’ve ever had.”

  “Then why in the world didn’t she stay in Chicago and make something of herself?”

  Why did he find Carolyn’s remark so annoying? It was probably a reasonable enough question.

  Before he could answer, she gave a quick, dismissing motion of her hand. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Her job here is just as important as whatever she was doing in Chicago. I’m simply surprised that such an obviously intelligent young woman would be content to settle in a small town like ours.”

  “I’m sure she has her reasons,” Jonathan said, having no intention of divulging anything to do with Maggie’s family problems. It occurred to him that Carolyn’s question about Maggie could just as well be asked of her.

  Carolyn looked at him. “Well, in any event, it’s our good fortune that she did decide to stay. I’m especially thankful she’s here. It’s allowed me to get back to my own job—for which, if I do say so myself, I’m far more suited than that of being a teacher.”

  “You do anything you attempt very well, Carolyn,” Jonathan replied almost automatically. “You did a good job with the younger students, and your willingness to work with them until we hired Maggie certainly made my life a great deal easier.” He paused. “You said you had a question?”

  She studied him for a moment and then glanced at the book she’d been holding in her hand. “I noticed the little Lazlo boy has been absent for four straight days this week. Maggie said the older sister told her that Huey has a cold. Four days is somewhat excessive for a cold, isn’t it?”

  Unease stirred in Jonathan. He lifted a hand and kneaded his temple. “I’d best stop by and check on him.”

  “Shouldn’t Maggie do that? Huey is her student.”

  Jonathan continued to rub his temple. “No. She wouldn’t know the Lazlos. They moved here only last year. I’ll go myself.”

  Carolyn closed the ledger, watching him. “Is there a problem there?”

  “I hope not.”

  In spite of his reply, Jonathan had begun to wonder about the Lazlo family. By the end of the last school term, both Huey and his sister, Selma, had missed too many days of school. He’d called at the house twice, but both times the mother—a gaunt woman with flat, impassive features—had informed him that the children were ill, practically closing the door in his face.

  The school term was nearly over by then, so he let the matter go for the time being. But he’d promised himself that if the problem started up again this year, he would make it his business to find out what was going on.

  It seemed he would be required to do just that.

  Mrs. Ross didn’t like her very much. Maggie had reached that conclusion not long after she hired on at the school, and nothing had changed her mind in the interim.

  While her small charges rested their heads on their desks for ten minutes of quiet time, Maggie went about her afternoon routine of watering the sweet potato plant in the window, arranging homework papers to pass out, and straightening the students’ supply shelves. As she worked, her mind played over the way the school secretary invariably made her feel awkward and out of place.

  Carolyn Ross had made enough remarks about Maggie’s youth to convince her that the woman found her wanting in both experience and ability. It would be tempting to write off Mrs. Ross’s remarks as the sarcastic barbs of an older woman who perhaps resented a younger, seemingly less-qualified coworker for gaining an undeserved advantage. But Carolyn wasn’t all that old, and Maggie was not unqualified for her job.

  Mr. Stuart wouldn’t have offered her the position in the first place if he hadn’t believed her capable. He simply wasn’t the kind of man to hire someone, former student or not, unless he genuinely thought she was adequate. And she was. She was a good teacher, and she knew it.

  So then, just what was Mrs. Ross’s problem? Oh, the woman was civil to her, at least most of the time. Always when Mr. Stuart was around. She was never actually rude. To the contrary, if Maggie were to single out any specific example of the school secretary’s dislike, she would find it difficult to do so. It wasn’t so much what the woman said as the way she said it and the way she sometimes looked at Maggie—as if she were a troublesome child who didn’t quite measure up, an annoyance imposed upon her good nature to be tolerated in spite of her better judgment.

  Maggie plunked a book down on her desk with a little too much force, and a couple of small heads came up. She put her
finger to her lips to caution silence, but the rest period was almost over so she sat down and began to mark the remaining few papers that were going home with the children today.

  The absence of work from Huey Lazlo turned her thoughts away from Carolyn to the solemn-faced little boy with the evasive eyes. She’d neglected to mention Huey’s extended absence to Mr. Stuart, and she needed to remedy that. He tended to be quite strict about the school’s attendance policy. If a child were out more than three days with no explanation, either from the family or another student, it was considered excessive and called for a home visit.

  Huey had been absent all week. Uncertain as to whether she should call on the family or if Mr. Stuart would prefer to make the contact himself, she decided to talk with him yet today after dismissal. Hopefully without Mrs. Ross in attendance.

  Chapter Three

  A Buggy Ride with Mr. Stuart

  Is your place a small place?

  Tend it with care—

  He set you there.

  Whate’er your place, it is

  Not yours alone, but His

  Who set you there.

  John Oxenham

  Much to Maggie’s surprise, Jonathan Stuart asked her to go along on his visit to the Lazlo family the following Sunday.

  The only chance of catching a miner at home was either late in the evening or on Sunday, so that afternoon the two of them set off in Mr. Stuart’s buggy to “the Hill,” as most of the townspeople referred to Dredd’s Mountain.

  The day was chilly but bright and crisp, with the feeling of an early fall in the air. The maple leaves were turning yellow, and goldenrod hugged the fence posts. At this time of year, the autumn foliage glazed the encompassing mountains with some of the most breathtaking colors one could ever hope to see. Although the air was always overlaid with the smell of coal dust, the more pleasing aroma of wood smoke also filtered through the light wind that had blown up.

  This part of the state, which some called the Cumberland, was coal-mining country. Rugged and wild, it ran along a plateau made up of ridges and valleys and rivers, all of which were a part of the Appalachians. Skingle Creek was lazily quiet, Sunday afternoon being the only day of the week when no whistles blew or train cars rattled from the mine, the one day when the miners managed a few hours of extra rest and free time to spend with their families. Maggie and Jonathan passed one or two young couples out walking along the way, and every now and then a pack of children would chase each other into the road and run alongside the buggy. But for the most part, the town was hushed.

  Maggie’s family had gone to visit Da’s niece, Martha Taggart, and her family at their farm south of town. Unless things had changed, Da would be in one of his dark moods when they returned. A visit to the Taggarts usually left him uncommonly somber and quiet. It wasn’t that he begrudged his niece and her family what they had. Maggie’s mother said it was just that the time they spent at the Taggarts always reminded Da of his dream that he would one day have a farm of his own—a dream that seemed more unlikely with each passing year.

  Her father had longed for his own land for as long as Maggie could remember. It was a part of being Irish, he said, the desire for one’s own place. To be a landowner meant never having to face eviction from someone else’s property, never having to fear the specter of homelessness. It represented freedom to an Irishman in a way that nothing else possibly could.

  Maggie hadn’t heard him mention his old dream since…well, she couldn’t remember when. Had he finally given up hope then? It seemed her folks had never managed to get ahead. For as long as she could remember, they had lived mostly from hand to mouth, never managing to save much. The company paid the miners what they pleased, and any man foolish enough to speak up against the paltry wages was likely to find himself with no wages soon after. Even when a miner managed to eke out a small amount and put it by, something always seemed to happen to make it disappear.

  She sneaked a glance at Mr. Stuart. Rumor had always had it that the schoolteacher came from a wealthy family. Indeed, it didn’t seem likely that a small-town teacher’s salary would stretch far enough to pay for the nice house he owned or the extras he sometimes bestowed upon the school and his students.

  On the other hand, the stories about his family’s wealth might be just that: rumor. He wasn’t a man to talk about himself, so his life before Skingle Creek remained pretty much a mystery. Probably the only person in town who might know something of Mr. Stuart’s background was Pastor Wallace, for the two men had been the closest of friends for years.

  Mr. Stuart and Maggie were nearing the edge of town now, and the horse readied itself for the climb up the Hill. A rough road had finally been cut through to make the houses perched on the side of the hillside more accessible. Years before, when Maggie had made her frequent visits to her best friend, Summer Rankin, she’d had to climb a rocky footpath strewn with brambles and weeds.

  Summer. To this day Maggie couldn’t think of her childhood friend without her heart turning. Summer had been only nine years old when she died, and Maggie twelve. But the age difference had never interfered with their friendship. In many ways, they had been as close as sisters—so close that for a long time after Summer’s death, Maggie had felt as if a part of her had died too.

  Again she looked over at Mr. Stuart, remembering how he’d tried to help her during that awful time, how kind he had been to her, how patient and understanding. And now here she was, grown-up and a teacher herself, riding along with the man who had been her teacher, on their way to the home of a student. Her student.

  A buggy ride like today’s was an event for Maggie. Her family had never owned such a convenience. They either walked or made use of the battered old farm wagon Da had bought years ago from Jeff Taggart. No doubt Maggie would have enjoyed it more if she wasn’t finding it so difficult to make conversation. Of course, Mr. Stuart being the quiet-natured man that he was, probably didn’t mind the silence. Still, Maggie felt compelled to at least be sociable.

  “Fall has always been my favorite season,” she offered, pulling at a strand of hair beside her ear. “It’s like the town gets all dressed up this one time of year. Usually it’s so dreary, what with the coal dust and all.”

  Mr. Stuart glanced over at her and smiled. “This is my favorite season too. But do you really find the town all that drab the rest of the year?”

  “Don’t you? It’s always so gray. Even the snow looks dirty in the winter.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Has it been difficult for you staying here instead of going back to Chicago? I remember how eager you used to be to get away from Skingle Creek.”

  Maggie mulled his question over in her mind. “It hasn’t been as hard as I thought it would be. Being able to teach is what’s most important to me. I’d miss teaching something fierce. I suppose I was anxious to leave for a time, but once I left, I never stopped missing my folks.”

  She stopped and then admitted, “I missed Skingle Creek too. Living in the city wasn’t quite everything I’d thought it would be.”

  Mr. Stuart nodded. “I expect one reason I’ve been so content here is that even though I grew up in the city, I never really liked living there. It didn’t take me long to realize I was better suited for small-town life.”

  Still fiddling with her hair, Maggie turned to him. “May I ask you something?”

  “You never used to need permission to ask me a question,” he commented with a wry smile.

  Maggie rolled her eyes at that. “I didn’t, did I? Was I a terrible nuisance to you?”

  “You were never a nuisance, Maggie. You were quick-witted and curious. What’s more, you were the best student I ever had.”

  “Mr. Stuart! I never was!”

  “Indeed you were,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road. “I had all I could do to keep you interested much of the time. You were a challenge to teach—but a delightful one.”

  He seemed to be completely serious. How much it meant to hear praise
from this man who had been a hero to her for most of her growing-up years! For the life of her, Maggie could think of no reply.

  “You were going to ask me something?”

  “Oh…yes. I just…I’ve always wondered what brought you here to Skingle Creek.”

  He said nothing. Had she offended him? Perhaps his reasons were private, too personal to air.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “It’s none of my business—”

  He shook his head. “No. No, it’s not that. But it’s somewhat difficult to explain.”

  “Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Stuart. I always did ask too many questions, I know. It’s just that with your education—and you being such an exceptional teacher, truly you are—you must have had all kinds of opportunities in better locations than this.”

  “Hardly,” he said, his tone dry, although he was smiling. “There were…circumstances. Poor health—but you already know about that. A broken engagement. And I suppose I was getting restless, feeling the need for a change. But it was more than that. The truth is that I’ve always believed God called me here.”

  He looked over at her, as if wondering whether he should say more. He hesitated another moment, then went on. “When I was still teaching at the university, a missionary came to speak to the students and faculty. Not a foreign missionary—his field was the mountains of Appalachia. He spoke about the enormous need in most of the rural regions for doctors and teachers. He had a list with him, and Skingle Creek was one of the districts in need.”

  The buggy swayed a little on the rough road, but the horse maintained its footing. “Something…took hold of me in the auditorium that day and wouldn’t let go,” he continued. “I fought my feelings for two months before I finally gave in. But I think I already knew the matter was settled. Over the years, I’ve come to realize that God doesn’t always speak in specifics, but He has a way of impressing His will upon us until we respond.