Brightest and Best

by Newport, Olivia

  “I hardly think it will be a case of children deciding to become truants.”

  Brownley waved his hand. “The end result will be the same. Whether by their choice or their parents’, they’ll be truant, and I will not tolerate the rate of truancy in my district that might result if the Amish children are not in their assigned classrooms.”

  “What about the children who are not Amish?”

  “Some of their parents may resist, but they will come around. They will understand the law and adapt. The Amish may understand the law and defy.”

  “Is that not a harsh judgment? They have done nothing wrong so far.”

  “September 9, Miss Simpson. That is the day that matters. Then we will know where we stand with them. I want you to make sure we accomplish our goal.”

  Margaret tilted her head. “Perhaps you can be more specific in your instructions to me.”

  “You’ve shown yourself capable, Miss Simpson.” Brownley rose, paced to the door, and opened it. “I look forward to your reports. Shall we say twice a week for now?”

  Margaret swallowed hard. She could not force the Amish parents to send their children to school. Keeping her jaw from slackening in shock required intentional manipulation of her facial muscles as Margaret exited the building and stepped again into the sunlight. She turned vaguely in the direction of her home, walking slowly with the wide brim of her hat angled toward the sidewalk and seeing people’s shoes rather than their faces.

  When the sound of a pair of men’s work boots fell into step with her creeping pace, she looked up.

  “Gray!”

  “Good morning.” He smiled. “It’s my good fortune to be hauling for the mercantile today, or our paths might not have crossed.”

  Margaret stopped walking and looked into Gray’s expectant expression. Her lips opened and closed several times without producing sound.

  “Margaret, are you all right?”

  She gripped her satchel with both hands. Still no words came.

  Gray put a hand to the side of her face, transferring his comforting warmth and sureness. Something calmed within her.

  “Mr. Brownley has asked—assigned—me to continue as an intermediary with the Amish families. He has some concern they may not send their children to school. I have no idea on God’s green earth what he thinks I could do about it if they don’t.”

  Gray took her elbow and they resumed walking. “Surely he could send a man. It would be more authoritative.”

  Margaret bristled against the collar of her dress.

  “Be firm,” Gary said. “Utterly firm. It’s not a personal matter. There is no question of a choice, and they must come to understand that truth. You’ve given them the instruction they need, and they must comply with the law.”

  Gray sounded as if he had been reading the same manual as Mr. Brownley. Yes, it was the law. But was there no room for humanity?

  They made the turn that would take them off Main Street toward Margaret’s home. Gray had pulled her hand through his elbow and covered it with his palm. The sensation stirred her.

  Someone to care for her. Someone to protect her. Just when she had—nearly—talked herself out of thinking she minded missing that experience.

  Margaret let out a slow breath. The Amish controversy would not always hang between them. Perhaps it did not matter if their impulses diverged on this matter. One way or another, the issue would resolve and have nothing to do with Margaret in the future. She and Gray would be all right. There was no need to openly disagree on a passing concern that would not involve them for the long run.

  The bishop arrived.

  Although Gideon had not spoken directly with Bishop Leroy Garber since the collapse of the schoolhouse, he was not surprised that the head of the church’s district would turn up on his farm while he worked with Tobias and James to make sure disease or unmanaged pestilence did not endanger the fall harvest. It was only a matter of time before the bishop, who had no school-age children, would have heard from parents who did about the impending enforcement of state law.

  “Gut mariye.” Bishop Garber dismounted his horse in the middle of a row of wheat, careful to still the animal before its hooves wandered into Gideon’s crop.

  Gideon brushed his hands against his trousers, loosing bits of soil in a black spray. “I’m sorry I have no refreshment to offer you out here.”

  “No need. I won’t keep you from your work for long.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  The bishop glanced at Tobias, whose eyes had lifted to the exchange.

  “Tobias,” James said, “let’s check the plants in the next row.”

  Gideon tipped his hat forward a quarter of an inch in thanks as James led Tobias out of listening distance.

  “I do not face the decision you face,” the bishop said. “My children are over sixteen. But those who are married with their own children will face the dilemma soon enough.”

  “It’s difficult to know what the right thing is,” Gideon said. “I’m sure parents will seek your counsel as bishop.”

  “They already have. That’s why I’ve come to you.”

  “I have no clear answers, Bishop.”

  “Perhaps not. But what is certain in my talks with other parents is that they are looking to you. Your name comes up in every conversation. They will follow your lead.”

  “Bishop, I don’t ask for such a role. I am only a parent seeking to please God and do what is best for my children.”

  “That is just what any of them would say. But they seem to think you will help them find that point of intersection.”

  “How can I help them find what I do not see clearly for myself?” Gideon rubbed an eye with one palm.

  “We see through a glass darkly,” the bishop said, “but we still see.”

  “I will rejoice when light banishes this particular darkness,” Gideon said.

  “Someday you will be nominated to be a minister.”

  Gideon’s gaze snapped into focus on the bishop’s face. “We are only talking about school.”

  “You are a leader, Gideon. People recognize that. Your leadership on this question will be your ministry.”

  “I do not seek it.”

  “None of us ask to be ministers or bishops. God chooses us. If he chooses you now, you must serve.”

  Margaret festered for two days over how to do what the superintendent asked of her. School would begin in just over three weeks, and she had looked forward to pleasantly preparing her classroom, refreshing the lesson plans she had used successfully for the last four years to teach six-year-olds to read, and closing out the summer by canning the vegetables from her garden and the bushels of fruit the mercantile sold at irresistible prices this time of year.

  Making sure the Amish children turned up where the state expected them to be on September 9 was not something she knew how to do. Nor did she know what the consequences would be if she failed.

  On Friday morning, she once again checked the fuel gauge in her Model T. Armed with a list from the superintendent’s office of names and addresses of students they believed should enroll, she cranked the engine of her car and began to roll through the spidery miles of farms, hoping a strategy would take form in her mind as she drove.

  Gideon Wittmer came to mind again and again. The only two Amish fathers Margaret had met were Gideon and Mr. King, and between the two of them, Gideon seemed the clear choice for reasonable alliance.

  Not alliance. Margaret shivered against the word again. It sounded too much like the alliance of nations fighting the war in Europe. She did not want war, not in Europe and not in Seabury.

  Conversation. That was a better word.

  Margaret turned her car toward the Wittmer farm. If she was going to please Mr. Brownley, she would have to start somewhere.

  “He isn’t home,” an elderly woman said when Margaret knocked on the Wittmer front door.

  Peeking around a corner was a pair of bright green eyes in a suntanne
d face framed by blond hair under a gossamer headpiece, the sort all the Amish women wore. Margaret could not remember what they called them.

  Margaret smiled at the little girl and said to the woman, “Do you know where I might find Mr. Wittmer?”

  The woman waved a hand first one direction and then the other. “He had some errands to do, some people to see.”

  “Maybe I could visit another day—soon,” Margaret said. “It is rather important that I speak to him.”

  The little girl came out from around the corner and tugged on the woman’s sleeve. “Aunti Miriam, Daed told me he was going to visit Mr. King, but he would be home for lunch.”

  Margaret glanced at her watch. It was nearly noon now. She had the Kings’ address on her list, showing several grade school children and a high school student.

  “Thank you.” Margaret beamed at the child. “You look like you’re old enough to start school.”

  “First grade!”

  “That’s just the grade I teach. Perhaps I’ll be your teacher.”

  The woman put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Gertie, please go set the table.”

  “I’m not trying to cause trouble,” Margaret said once Gertie went into the kitchen.

  “I’m sure you mean no harm,” the woman said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you where Gideon is. You know these roads. He could be anywhere.”

  “I understand. If you would tell him that Miss Simpson was here, I would be grateful. I’ll try again another day.”

  Margaret drove toward the King farm, and her intuition was rewarded with an approaching Amish buggy. She pulled to the side of the road and waved. The buggy slowed, and she could see the driver was Gideon Wittmer. Margaret got out of her car and waved again.

  “Miss Simpson,” Gideon said from the seat at the front of the boxy buggy.

  “How fortunate to run into you,” she said. “I was hoping we could speak for a few minutes.”

  “What can I help you with?”

  “I’m considering forming a Parents Committee for United Schools.” The idea had sprung to her mind only moments before. “You’ve seen for yourself the quality of our school. Perhaps you would be so kind to serve on the committee and help other parents on the outlying farms to feel comfortable with the consolidated schools.”

  Gideon’s fingers twisted in the reins while his horse waited patiently for instructions. “I think you’ll find the English parents will appreciate having more information. You could organize another tour and invite anyone who is interested.”

  “Excellent idea! And the Amish parents?” Margaret held her breath. “As a member of the committee, you could be an invaluable partner, a bridge between the new school and the Amish parents.”

  He gave a guarded smile. “I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.”

  CHAPTER 8

  The late summer auction was Ella’s favorite. The spring frolics, held when the ground softened into a milder season, were too muddy for her liking. But the last week of August was perfect.

  Rarely was there rain, and the edge had come off the peak of summer temperatures. The bustling Saturday brought out all the Amish families in the district and many curious English looking for a bargain to showcase in their homes.

  Gideon would likely spend most of the day in the auction ring, where horses, harnesses, hitches, plows, binders, and buggies would be sold. Gideon was looking for one new horse. He had his eye on one from the line Aaron King bred, a two-year-old Belgian workhorse. The bidding would be competitive. Aaron’s horses always fetched a good price.

  Ella preferred wandering among the large quilts, handmade furniture, baked goods, canned foods, and crafty household items. From year to year, she knew who would have the best home-canned apple pie filling to save for the middle of winter or who had a piecework quilt for sale two years in the making. The price an English woman would pay for an Amish quilt stunned Ella every time. Ella walked the rows of tables and booths, looking for that irresistible item she might want to bid on. She had little money of her own, but she wanted to contribute. The money raised today would go into the fund that Amish families could count on in a time of illness or financial difficulty.

  A flash of familiar red-gold hair caught Ella’s eye a few yards ahead.

  “Lindy!”

  Lindy paused, and Ella caught up with her.

  “How are things at your booth?” Ella asked.

  “Brisk.” Lindy looked over her shoulder. “I got a spot in the main aisle this year.”

  “That’s good! I predict that you’ll sell out by lunchtime.”

  Lindy chuckled. “I hope so.”

  “Who’s watching your booth now?”

  “David’s there. He has a good head on his shoulders. He won’t let anyone talk him into a price I wouldn’t take.”

  “I’ll be happy to help if you need an extra pair of hands.”

  “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” Lindy pivoted and walked backward for a few yards before turning around again. “My neighbor Margaret said she asked Gideon to be on a committee and he declined.”

  Ella sighed. “It’s so complicated!”

  “Is Gideon going to send his children to school?” Lindy glanced over her shoulder.

  “I don’t think he’s made up his mind.” Ella’s gaze followed Lindy’s shifting line of sight. All she saw was a buzzing crowd, a mix of Amish and English. She didn’t recognize everyone, but who could on a day like this? A couple of tall English men who resembled each other carried a set of tent poles and a bundle of canvas. The auctioneer strode past with a megaphone in one hand. An Amish woman cradled a quilt as if it were her firstborn child. Everything Ella saw seemed normal for the day.

  “I suppose I should get back to David,” Lindy said, glancing the other direction.

  “Lindy, what’s wrong?” Ella asked. “What are you looking for?”

  “I’m not sure,” Lindy murmured. “I just get a funny feeling sometimes.”

  “What kind of feeling?”

  “As if I’m being watched.”

  “There are hundreds of people here,” Ella said.

  “I know. It’s just a feeling. Sometimes it happens in town, too.” Lindy shook her head as if in a shudder. “Don’t pay any attention to me. There’s my booth.”

  Ella looked up to see David standing out in front of the booth with several other Amish boys near his age. She slowed her pace as she followed Lindy.

  “My daed says I will go to school, but only for one year,” a boy said. “He doesn’t want to get involved in trouble, but I think it’s silly.”

  “Mine will keep my brothers and me home,” another boy said. “And I’m glad. I’m too old for school! My brothers know everything they need to know to help on the farm.”

  Ella loitered on the fringes of the booth as Lindy patted David on the shoulder in thanks and took her place among her display of colorfully painted birdhouses, children’s toys, and quilt racks.

  The boys were nearly unanimous in their opinion that it was ridiculous to think they needed to go to high school. One after another, they voiced the same opinion.

  Everyone except David, who said nothing.

  James watched his wife’s face gladden at the array of goods around them. The six pies she baked for the auction sold within minutes of putting them on display. It was the same at every auction, whether spring or late summer. Everyone new Miriam Lehman’s pies were the best in Geauga County.

  A few moments ago, they had been arm in arm. Now Miriam had slid her arm out of his elbow to lean her head toward Mrs. King’s, both of them pointing at quilts hanging from a web of lines strung between poles. James smiled, letting her go without protest. She deserved this day of pleasure and friendship, and he was glad to give it to her.

  They were fourteen and finishing the eighth grade when they first began to look at each other with particular interest. They weren’t even old enough to go to Singings, but they knew. James was certain first, and Miriam a fe
w weeks later. They were young, but they would be together.

  They were sixteen when they began going to Singings, and James refused to offer a ride home to any other young woman. Miriam was the one for him.

  The day after her eighteenth birthday, they married. His father helped him acquire a small farm. Someday, James had thought, he would expand the acres. Someday, when he and Miriam had a houseful of children, sons and daughters, the promise of the future.

  Then the children did not come.

  At the beginning of December, James and Miriam would celebrate their forty-fourth anniversary and a life together that unfolded differently than either of them imagined in those early years.

  They were aunti and onkel to dozens of children, the offspring of their siblings. Betsy and Lindy had always shone luminous even among their own siblings. While James still wondered what it might have been like to raise children of his own, his heart was at its most tender when he thought of the sisters.

  One passed and the other chose the English world.

  Still James loved them both.

  Margaret draped the quilt over the end of her bed.

  She hadn’t intended to purchase anything more than a few token jars of tomatoes to supplement what she had grown in her own yard, but when she saw the precise arrangement of green, blue, and purple triangles and flawless stitching, suddenly she wanted the quilt more than anything else she saw all morning.

  Margaret had gone to the Amish auction accompanied by her ulterior motive—to understand more about these puzzling people who might—or might not—be the subject of considerable drama in sixteen short days. If they kept their children out of school, Margaret was sure the blame would be assigned to her failure to persuade them. If the first day of school passed peacefully, it would be no doing of Margaret’s. She had no delusions of sincere victory because she had no conviction of the merits of the challenge.

  The superintendent said he wanted a woman’s touch in the matter. A woman’s touch was personal and warm. What good could come from a heavy-handed approach? Margaret would work her way down her list of names and addresses and pay a call to each family, beginning Monday.