“Oh yes, of course. But we have the long months of winter for that. Christmas comes but once a year, and preparing for the pageant gives us a very special opportunity for instructing the children in the more spiritual aspects of their education, would you not agree?”
This had to stop. “I will come by once school is in session to observe on behalf of the elders. If at that time you wish to present me with a written description of your plans, I will take them before the elders for discussion.” He almost smiled. He was well aware that the other elders would be as shocked as he was with her plan. “And now if you will excuse me, I believe we have conducted far more business than is warranted for a Sabbath.”
“Of course,” the teacher said, her smile gone. “I apologize for intruding on your day of rest, and I look forward to our meeting tomorrow.”
Before Aaron could take his leave of her, she had picked up his pie plate and headed back to the kitchen. He watched her go, thinking this woman was nothing like Sarah—she was far more intelligent. And the truth was that Abigail Yoder was a good deal more beautiful.
♦ ♦ ♦
On her first day of teaching, Abigail arrived early, prepared to start a fire in the woodstove that sat in the center of the small, one-room building, but Aaron was there ahead of her.
“We’re likely in for a stretch of frigid weather,” he announced without the preamble of a proper greeting. “I’ll see to it that there is enough wood split for today, but the older boys have traditionally taken responsibility for restocking the pile before they leave for the day.”
“Do all the students have chores they are expected to perform?” Abigail was simply making conversation as she removed her cape and hung it on one of the hooks that lined the wall near the door.
“That’s for you to determine,” he grumbled. “Your aunt can guide you in the matter.”
Abigail bristled. She did not need “guidance”—she was simply asking a question. Honestly, this man could be so…
“You may wish to set down rules from the beginning. Sarah Detweiler was far too easy on the children. I assume it was to cover her own lack of knowledge. In your case—”
“In my case, the children and I will find our way, Aaron Miller.” She brushed past him on her way to her desk and realized to her chagrin that not all the warmth she felt came from the fire. “Will you be staying to observe?” she asked as she set the cloth satchel she’d filled with books from her uncle’s library on the desk.
He ignored her question as he stared at the stack of books. “What is all that?”
“Books.”
He picked the top volume from her stack, read the title on the spine—A History of the World—and set it down. “You have need of only one book aside from the McGuffy Readers the children already have.” He pointed to a shelf on the wall above the hooks where Abigail saw a row of worn readers.
“I have a Bible,” she said, pointing to the single book she had placed separate from the stack. “In fact, we shall begin today learning the story of Christ’s birth and developing the pageant we will offer the parents and others in the community just two short weeks from today.”
“Traditionally, the children have simply—”
Abigail sighed. “There is much to be said for tradition; however, it is my observation that children also learn from new experiences—from looking at familiar information in new ways.” She might have suddenly taken to speaking in tongues, so horrified was his expression. “And now if you will excuse me, I believe I hear the children arriving.”
She moved past him to the door and opened it to welcome her class. The younger ones scurried in, their voices suddenly stilled by her presence. The older children, including Rebecca, cowed by Aaron’s presence filed past her, mumbling a greeting as they placed their outer garments on hooks and took seats at the four larger desks.
Having finished stoking the fire, Aaron closed the iron door of the stove and took up a position near the door. He was still wearing his coat and hat, and Abigail hoped this meant he would not be staying long. His presence had not only intimidated the children, but it had also made her distinctly uncomfortable.
“Good morning, class,” she said, fixing a bright smile on her face. “Would you please rise and bow your heads for silent prayer?”
As one the students did as instructed—a good sign. Abigail glanced at Aaron, who whipped off his hat and lowered his head as well. After a moment, she prayed, Lord, listen to Your children praying and have mercy on them as together we make our way through the wilderness. Amen.
She raised her head and nodded to the children to be seated. In the back of the room, Aaron was watching her closely, but for once he was not scowling in disapproval. Indeed, his expression was more one of curiosity. She decided to view that as progress.
Thinking it best to prove that she would indeed honor many of the established traditions at least as long as Aaron was there to observe, she began by making chore assignments. The older boys would stock the woodpile. Rebecca and Louisa would wash the boards. The younger children would collect the readers and slates and chalk and make sure all the desks were properly aligned and ready for the next day. Once she had established the chore routine, she passed out the readers and asked each student to find a passage to read aloud. While she had reviewed each child’s progress with her aunt the evening before, she needed to see their status for herself. Once the reading was completed, she collected the readers, handed out slates, and gave the children problems to solve that were in keeping with their age.
If her intent was to bore Aaron Miller, she was not succeeding. He watched her closely and paid strict attention as each student performed. Occasionally—especially with the younger students—he showed a hint of a smile. She had the surprising thought that he would be a good father—strict, no doubt, but loving and patient. Now, where did that idea come from? She had just met this man. Furthermore, she was not of a mind to marry, at least for another two years. She forced her attention back to the children, praising them when they excelled and coaching them when they stumbled. She became so involved with them that she did not hear Aaron leave, but rather looked up when she felt the wind circling the room and saw the door close behind him.
“At last,” she murmured, resisting the urge to clap her hands. “So, class, you have performed well. Now have your lunches, then put on your coats and gloves for time outside. Later this afternoon, we will begin work on a very special assignment—this year’s Christmas pageant.”
The two older boys groaned, but Rebecca shushed them. “It will be quite special,” she whispered. “Real live animals and everything.”
“The elders will never agree to that,” Rebecca’s friend Louisa said. “My father will put up a fuss if we change anything.”
Abigail considered the girl, who was dressed in clothing too small for her lanky frame and who had said barely a word since arriving. But her reading had been passionate and filled with expression, and Abigail had already been thinking that she would make an excellent narrator for the pageant. She would have to ask Aunt Beulah about the girl—and her father—later that evening.
♦ ♦ ♦
Aaron had been reluctant to leave the classroom. Abigail Yoder might have some ideas that were foreign to this community, but there was no denying her skill at teaching. As he went about his farm chores, he thought of the report he would deliver to the other elders. She had certainly done nothing that gave cause for concern on this first morning. In his opinion, she would make a fine addition to the community. On the other hand, she had failed to produce the written description of the pageant that he had requested. Of course, he had become so involved in watching her with the children that he had failed to ask for the plan. Perhaps on his way to the meeting with the other elders in two days, he could stop at the school and retrieve the report.
On Wednesday afternoon, he headed into town for the meeting with the intent of stopping at the school on his way. It did not escape his notice that he
had taken special care in his personal grooming before setting out, taking the time to scrub a spot from his shirt and brush the dust from his coat. When he arrived at the school, he was surprised to see Abigail in the yard with the two older male students. The boys took turns chopping wood while Abigail stacked the rough logs. He could not help but notice that the boys were laughing and talking freely with her as they worked. As he approached the group, he heard one of the boys telling her that he hoped to one day set up a business in carpentry, making furniture—an idea that she enthusiastically encouraged.
Aaron frowned. That boy was the sole male child in his large family. His parents would rely upon him to take over the farm one day. Certainly there might be time for making furniture during the long winters, but his responsibility must be—
“Aaron Miller, greetings.” Abigail paused in her work once she saw him. She was wearing a heavy wool coat, thick knitted mittens, and a felt bonnet that covered her prayer cap but not all of her hair. She was holding a stack of logs and waiting for him to come closer. “As you can see, Isaac and Thomas are performing their task admirably.”
The two boys glanced at him then turned back to their work. Aaron took the logs from Abigail and set them on the pile outside the schoolhouse door. “And yet they need your help as well,” he said.
Abigail laughed, and the sound of it was like bells in the cold brittle air. “I insisted.” She pointed to the north sky where ominous gray clouds were gathering. “It will snow again before dark, and I want to be sure they are safely home.” She opened the door to the school and indicated that he should precede her inside, while she lingered to speak to the boys. “Go along now,” she called to them. “We have plenty for tomorrow.” The two boys called something back to her that Aaron did not hear, but she was smiling as she stepped inside and closed the door.
“How can I be of help, Aaron Miller?”
Aaron cleared his throat. “We had agreed that you would provide a written plan for the changes you wish to make to the Christmas pageant, Fraulein. I have come to collect that before I meet with the others tonight.”
She pursed her lips and looked up at him, her fingers continuing to work the buttons of her coat. “We did not agree, Aaron Miller. You requested the report.”
“You do not have it?”
“Yes, I have it, but I appreciate accuracy in my dealings with others.” She rubbed her hands briskly together as she made her way to her desk and the satchel he’d seen before. He remained standing near the door while she removed a folded paper and held it out to him. “I believe this will suffice,” she said, and then instead of delivering the paper, she laid it on her desk and began writing the next day’s assignments on the chalkboard that dominated one wall of the small room.
She left him no choice but to collect the report himself. “Danke,” he muttered as he unfolded the single sheet and read it. “This will not do, Fraulein.”
She held the chalk poised for the next word but did not turn to face him. “The report or the entire plan?”
“Both…neither.” The description included plans for converting the classroom into a hay-filled stable, for marching animals down the center aisle to the staged area, for costumes for kings and shepherds, for…He could barely find words to express his disbelief. “Under no circumstances…”
She dropped the chalk in the tray, dusted off her hands, and stalked back to the hook where she had left her coat. “Then I will attend the meeting and explain,” she announced as she put on her coat, the bonnet, and her mittens. She opened the door and looked back at him. “Coming?”
Since she left him little choice, Aaron closed the door to the school and hurried to catch up with her. The church was just down the lane from the school, and he could see the other elders arriving on foot or by sled. Snow was falling in fat gentle flakes that belied the storm building in the north. As she neared the church, for the first time Abigail hesitated, and Aaron was sure she had come to her senses. He stood next to her as the others entered the church and snow covered her hair and bonnet. “I will represent you in this, Abigail Yoder. You will do yourself no favor by inserting your presence in the meeting.”
To his surprise, when she looked up at him, he saw tears glistening on the rims of her eyes. Whether they were a product of the cold or her frustration, he could not guess. What he knew was that those tears gave her a vulnerability that he could not abide. “I will make your case, if you will agree to await the decision at your uncle’s.”
“You do not agree with my plan,” she pointed out.
“Perhaps with some minor adjustments, there are parts we could try this one year. Should it fail, we will return to the old ways.”
She glanced at the church where the last of the elders except for Aaron had entered. “Very well. But when you make your report, please do not think of me and differences. Think of the children and how from the eldest down to the youngest child, they are eagerly studying the scriptures, seeking ways they might more accurately present the story. They are learning. Furthermore, they are building on their faith.”
She turned and followed the path made by his larger boots back to the school. Aaron watched her go, making sure she did not fall, before he entered the church to deliver his report.
The other elders were gathered around a table, talking loudly with animated gestures to make their point. When they noticed Aaron at the back of the church, placing his coat on a hook, the room went silent. Aaron took a deep breath and joined them.
“The bishop will not join us for this meeting,” he told them. “He wanted each of us to be free to speak our minds and hearts.”
“Well, my mind and heart tell me this woman is not the right person to be teaching our children,” Jacob Koop announced, and most of the others nodded in agreement. “She is putting ideas in the children’s heads that do not fit with our ways.”
“Have you observed Abigail Yoder in the classroom?” Aaron asked. “Have any of you?”
“I don’t need to observe her,” Jacob snapped. “All I have to do is listen to Louisa when she comes home. The girl is changed—full of senseless babbling and new ideas and such. I’m telling you we are on the wrong path here, and that woman is the cause.”
Aaron was surprised that he felt the need to defend Abigail. “She has some new ideas for the pageant—that is true. However, I have observed her teaching methods. She follows the traditional ways in that.” He saw some of the men who had been quick to agree with Jacob wavering. “I asked that she provide this body with a full description of her plans for the pageant.” He unfolded the paper Abigail had given him and read it aloud.
“She plans on bringing livestock right inside the school?” Jacob was clearly appalled at the very idea.
“She does,” Aaron agreed. “She has also indicated that there will be hay bales and a manger to set the scene. However, according to her plan, the spoken words will be delivered by one reader and come directly from the scriptures. I believe, Jacob Koop, that she has selected Louisa to be that reader.”
A low murmur of surprise circled the table, but Jacob was unmoved. “This proves my point. Louisa is acting in ways she never did before—prideful ways.”
“I understand that Abigail Yoder plans to decorate the church with greens and candles,” another elder said—and once again the debate was on.
“Showing off, she is.”
“Showing off her fancy Eastern ways, and if we allow her to teach our children…”
“What does Bishop Yoder have to say?” another man asked, and everyone turned their attention to Aaron.
“What do you expect him to say?” Jacob practically spat the words before turning away.
Aaron glanced around the table. Everywhere he looked, the elders were whispering and frowning with concern. Several were shaking their heads. Others were more animated, gesturing with their hands, their voices rising. It was apparent that the peacemakers among the gathering were outnumbered and had decided to stay silent. Certai
nly no one was speaking in Abigail’s defense.
“What is your genuine impression of her, Brother Miller?” Jacob Koop demanded. “She’s got my Louisa all puffed up about being in this pageant. Downright giddy she was when she got home today. Said her teacher even offered to let her wear a dress of hers—costume, she called it. You ask me, we need to cancel the whole business and send that woman packing back to New York.”
“Putting on airs,” another voice chimed in.
“It is not our way,” another said to a chorus of agreement.
Aaron held up his hands, calling for quiet, and gradually the elders settled down. He realized they were also waiting for him to speak. It was commonly thought that when the day came to elect a new leader, Aaron Miller would be the choice of most if not all. They respected him. They would hear him out.
“First, allow me to repeat that after observing Abigail Yoder in the classroom earlier this week, I can assure you that she is well grounded in the fundamentals and has a way of drawing out the best in our children. In my opinion, she just needs to understand our ways—and how they may differ from hers. We need a teacher, and with what promises to be a hard winter, we must not be hasty in abandoning the gift God has sent us when He brought this young woman to us.”
“You will speak to her, then?” one man demanded.
“If that is the will of all,” Aaron replied.
“There can be no candles or greenery lining the windows. It is not only gaudy,” another man insisted, “it is downright tawdry.”
“And there will be no changes to what our pageant has been for all these years. The scripture read and the carols sung like always.”
Aaron thought of the agreement he had gotten from Abigail earlier—to try her way once and if it did not work to return to the old way. “Perhaps if all the elders were to—”
Walter Janzen raised his hands, calling for silence. “We do not wish to seem to be ganging up on her. She is Oscar and Beulah Yoder’s kin, after all. Let us be mindful of how we go about this. This young woman does not yet know our ways and deserves our forgiveness for any mistaken ideas she may hold. Aaron, you go alone.”
A Plain and Sweet Christmas Romance Collection Page 53