Hans laid the charcoal down. “Gertie, show Miss Simpson your picture.”
Gertie had turned her drawing upside down. “I’d like to see it,” Margaret said.
Slowly, Gertie flipped the paper.
Margaret’s eyes widened. Gertie’s features stared up from the desk. Margaret lifted the paper at the edges.
“Gertie, this is wonderful!” Margaret had never seen a six-year-old produce such a recognizable self-portrait, even the reflection of light in her eyes as it bounced off the mirror. “I can’t wait for your father to see this.”
Gertie reached up and tugged on a corner of the drawing. Margaret released it, lest the paper tear.
“Don’t you want your father to see this?” Margaret asked.
Gertie shook her head.
“Why not?”
Gertie shoved the paper into her desk but did not answer Margaret’s question.
“All right,” Margaret said. “But please be careful with it. I’ll collect them when everyone has finished.”
Jed’s voice carried up the stairwell.
“It gets dark earlier every day,” he said. “David is not carrying his load. Before school started, he never once complained about working alongside me.”
“He still doesn’t,” Rachel said. “I haven’t heard him say one word of criticism or complaint about helping you.”
“Then why is he never around to do it?”
Upstairs, Ella tucked folded towels into a narrow cupboard. The conversation was becoming tiresome. Her father had always been one to mutter. It was his way of getting something off his chest. In the old days, though, Ella never would have discerned his downstairs grumblings if she were on the second floor of the Hilty home. Lately Jed’s voice rose. It was hard not to hear Jed and Rachel having a slightly different version of the same conversation every few days.
Ella padded to her room and softly closed the door to block the voices. In a moment, Rachel’s would break in disappointment, and Jed would either promise to be more patient with David or pull the front door closed behind him with more force than necessary.
David got up early and stayed up late to keep up with barn chores. He never missed a family meal. Some days he turned up on the farm shortly after lunch. What could her father do? Tether David to a post to physically prevent him from leaving? Ella supposed his comings and goings depended on what was happening at school—when he had an exam or an assignment due. Vaguely she wondered what high school must be like. Perhaps if she had attended high school, she would feel more prepared for what Gideon asked of her now.
She shook off the thought. Savilla and Gertie were nine and six. How difficult could it be? The half-collapsed schoolhouse still contained shelves of textbooks. Gideon would find a way to get what she needed—if she agreed to his request.
CHAPTER 18
The children concentrated on copying short sentences Margaret had written on the chalkboard. On the desk in front of her lay her attendance book, her grade book, and a stack of lesson plans. Soon she would divide the first graders into two groups, a smaller group who seemed on the path to independent reading and might even be ready for second-grade primers by February, and a larger group who were mastering reading at a more predictable rate for six-year-olds. Margaret made notes on a pad as she considered each child’s progress, gazing out the windows along one side of her classroom from time to time. Outside, russet and bronze had displaced variegated green on most of the trees, and the sky, while still dazzling, was less glistening than in the summer months. October had arrived, and seemed to rush into full flame by its second day. Margaret had not been making conversation when she told Gray it was her favorite month. She looked forward to the season’s change every year.
She scanned the classroom to make sure no child faltered in the task, knowing that some would produce more legible papers than others. Little tongues stuck out the corners of several mouths, and other children scrunched their faces in concentration, but everyone’s pencils were making regular contact with paper. Her eyes turned to the view outside, soaking in the autumn colors that framed the high school next door. A flash of black caught her eye and she looked more closely, finding a dark-clad Amish boy hustling up the sidewalk, approaching the front door of the school. Out of reflex, Margaret looked at the clock in her own classroom. The boy was considerably late for the start of the school day. He seemed in a hurry, though. Perhaps he had a good reason for his tardiness. He slipped through the door.
“That was David.”
Margaret startled to see Gertie standing at the desk. “Do you know him?”
Gertie nodded. “I’m going to have a new mamm, and that’s her new brother.”
Margaret blinked, waiting for the puzzle pieces to fall into place. “Who is going to be your new mother?”
“Ella Hilty. I can’t wait.”
Hilty. Margaret visualized the list of Amish students she had studied several times. Jed Hilty was listed as stepfather to David and Seth Kaufman.
“David is not supposed to go to school,” Gertie said. “I heard my daed talking to my onkel James.”
From Margaret’s brief glimpse of David, he certainly appeared young enough that he belonged in school, and he carried a bundle of books. She pulled her eyes from the window and focused on Gertie.
“Do you have a question?” Margaret said.
“I’m finished.” Gertie produced a neatly scripted page of sentences. “Do you have something else I can copy?”
“Of course.” Margaret rummaged beneath the papers on her desk and produced a reading primer the class had not yet begun. “Try this.”
Gertie took the book. “It looks easy.”
The girl sauntered back to her desk. Margaret had not noticed any of the children watching where she gazed, but if any of them would, Gertie would. She was bright, observant, talented, hardworking, and eager to please. Margaret made a mental note to speak with Gideon Wittmer about his remarkable child.
The next afternoon, Ella pushed open the library’s heavy door, her arms overflowing with this week’s curiosity. Tucked in between her usual topics were two frayed textbooks bearing stamps inside the front covers as evidence they had once belonged to the same college that had supplied teachers to the one-room school for the last three decades. Both addressed the topic of preparing to instruct young children. When she discovered them, Ella felt as if she had made the winning bid on an auction for one of Miriam Lehman’s full-size quilts. She signed them out and stacked them between her other selections, hoping she would be able to get them up to her room before anyone wondered what they were. Ella had kept Gideon waiting for nearly a week. Soon he would ask her for an answer. Perhaps these books would help her know if she was making the right choice.
Outside, Ella held the books against her chest while she traipsed to the end of the block and around the corner to where she left her horse and cart thirty minutes earlier. Stops at the mercantile and the post office had justified the excursion into town. The number of children on the sidewalk told Ella the schools had just let out. Soon it would be time to begin preparing the evening meal, a task she and Rachel shared amiably. She secured her books under the cart’s bench, beside the mercantile bundle wrapped in brown paper, and gave the mare a friendly greeting. The horse nickered, and Ella smiled. She would miss this horse once she moved to Gideon’s home, but his new animal awaited her there.
If only they could settle on their wedding date.
Ella climbed up to the bench, raised the reins, and took the cart into the slight traffic of Seabury. Down the street, the adjoining schools loomed as a reminder of the decision she had yet to make about the future education of Gideon’s daughters. For the most part, the premises showed signs of the end of the day—few vehicles or horses nearby, a forgotten lunch pail, papers tumbling in the breeze when they were supposed to have boarded the bus with their owners.
In a small lot added last year to accommodate the increasing number of automobiles that teacher
s acquired, an engine cranked to life. The sound demanded Ella’s attention. She recognized the car as Lindy’s and started to lift her hand in a wave. When she saw a passenger leap over the side door and into the seat, though, Ella stilled her hand.
David.
At lunchtime, her father came in for the meal but said David preferred to stay in the field. He had claimed he wasn’t hungry and didn’t mind the extra work, telling Jed he would finish the task and there was no need for him to hurry back.
Ella couldn’t hear what David now said, but Lindy’s laugh in response floated on the breeze and made Ella’s stomach clench. A minute later, the car rumbled past Ella. If either Lindy or David noticed her, they gave no indication. Lindy accelerated in the direction of the Amish farms.
“Let’s go, girl,” Ella said to her horse before clicking her tongue and raising the reins. Quickly, she urged the mare to a trot and then to a canter. A full gallop seemed inadvisable with the rickety cart in tow without risking the collapse of an axle or a wheel spinning off.
Apparently Lindy enjoyed fast driving. Ella couldn’t keep up. With a sigh, she slowed the rig.
Lindy had done the right thing the day she brought David home when she found him in town. Was she now abetting his deceit?
James held a folded list in his hands. The girls were already home from school, and he had accomplished few of his intentions for the day.
Inspecting the fences, examining the shoes on all the animals, going into town to check on Lindy, and a half dozen other tasks remained unattended. The list was too long to accomplish in one day, but he had expected better progress.
But Miriam was slow and pale, and James had insisted after breakfast that she take it easy. All day long she fussed around the dawdihaus despite his repeated encouragement that the items on her own day’s list could wait.
“Please lie down,” he said now.
“I should see about the girls.” Miriam started to push herself out of her chair.
“Tobias is looking after them.”
“I haven’t even started supper.”
“We’ll find something.” James put a hand on Miriam’s shoulder with gentle pressure. “The bedroom is right over there. If you get out of the chair, the bed is the only place I will allow you to go.”
“You’re getting bossy, old man.” Her words protested, but her eyes moved to the bedroom.
“I’ll sit with you,” James said.
Miriam nodded. James held out a hand to help her up and walked with her to the bedroom, where she sat on the bed and removed her shoes. James pulled a chair to the side of the bed and held her hand as she stretched out. Within three minutes her breathing deepened and evened.
James released her hand but made no move to leave the room. He did not want her to wake and find him gone from the dawdihaus, or to wake and become too ambitious about the evening meal.
Besides, he welcomed time to sit still before the Lord and clear his heart and mind.
Even after all these weeks, parents remained in disbelief that the old school was gone. Building a new one seemed a risky venture without official approval to hold classes. The school board was no friendlier toward the wishes of the Amish than it had been two months ago. Discovering David in his wagon and the vandalism and theft in Lindy’s workshop rattled James. Even Gideon, with his propensity for sensible decisions, was conflicted.
The quiet life James and Miriam had enjoyed together for nearly forty-four years seemed elusive now.
The bedroom window allowed just enough outside light to read for a few minutes. James reached to the nightstand for his Bible and turned to Proverbs.
“The name of the Lord is a strong tower: the righteous runneth into it, and is safe.”
James murmured prayers that he would see the strong tower.
Gertie’s self-portrait lay protected by a large envelope on Margaret’s automobile seat. For three days she had stared at it multiple times each day, and every time she was equally astounded that a child Gertie’s age could produce something so remarkable. Margaret was tempted to go to the library and see if she could turn up information on the childhood works of some of the world’s great artists. If the request was too specific, Mrs. White, the librarian, might know of a volume she could request on loan from a Cleveland library.
She could not believe that any parent would not want to know about such an exceptional ability. Gideon was entitled to see for himself what his offspring could do. Imagine what Gertie might accomplish with proper training, perhaps even private lessons.
Margaret certainly did not have the ability to teach Gertie what she deserved to learn.
If he had a telephone, Margaret could have called and arranged a proper meeting. Instead, she hoped she would at least find him home.
She stopped her car at what seemed like a respectful distance from the house and barn and crunched along the gravel for the remainder of the distance on foot. Just as she reached the front porch, someone called her name. Margaret turned to see Gideon beside a well pump at the side of the house, wiping his hands on a towel.
“Mr. Wittmer,” she said. “I hope you are well.”
“Very well, thank you,” he said. “And you?”
“Very well also. I was hoping I might have a few minutes of your time.”
“Is Gertie giving you trouble?”
“Oh, goodness, no. She’s a delightful child—probably my best student, though I’ll have to ask you not to repeat that to any of the other parents.” Her laughter sounded more nervous than she meant it to.
“I’m glad to hear that.” Gideon gestured toward two chairs on the porch, and they sat. “Are you here on behalf of the school district?”
Margaret took a seat and arranged her skirt. “I wanted to show you a piece of your daughter’s classroom work.”
Gideon took the envelope Margaret offered and unwound the string that held the clasp closed. The art paper slid out into his lap.
“Miss Simpson,” he said, “who drew this?”
“Why, Gertie did! That’s what’s so remarkable. I’ve never seen such talent in a child of her age.”
“I see.” Gideon stared at his daughter’s face but did not pick up the paper.
“Mr. Wittmer,” Margaret said, “I daresay I was expecting a good deal more enthusiasm for Gertie’s effort. She’s seemed averse to presenting it to you, but the more I looked at it, the more I thought you should see it.”
“Miss Simpson,” Gideon said, “this is an example of why the Amish need our own schools.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“A six-year-old should not be asked to choose between pleasing her father and pleasing her teacher.”
“I assure you, I had no intention of putting Gertie in such a position.” Margaret’s heart pounded. What was he accusing her of?
“Gertie made the picture because you asked her to, but she knows that our people do not use graven images.”
“And I assure you I do not teach my pupils to worship idols.” Margaret’s back straightened. “A charcoal drawing is hardly a golden calf, Mr. Wittmer.”
“Gertie’s dolls do not even have faces, Miss Simpson. Images may create pride or attachment to something other than God. In the future, I would appreciate it if you would find other work for Gertie to complete while the English students study art.”
“Surely not!”
“Please understand, Miss Simpson. We both want what is best for Gertie.”
“Yes, we do,” Margaret said as she stood up. But how could anyone think it was best for a little girl to deny a talent that could have come only from God?
CHAPTER 19
Friday morning breakfast and family devotions proceeded just as they did any other day of the week. Antsy, and with one eye on the clock, Seth jiggled his knee while Jed read from his German Bible. David sat still, but with an expression that suggested to Ella he wasn’t hearing much of what came out of Jed’s mouth. Rachel watched her sons more than she did her husband. J
ed calmly refused to rush. This had been the pattern for weeks, ever since the start of the school year.
At the “Amen,” Seth popped out of his seat, kissed his mother’s cheek, grabbed the books bundled by a strap of leather, picked up his lunch bucket, and dashed out the door to catch the bus.
“We’ll do as we did yesterday,” Jed said to David, “but to the east in the field.”
David nodded. “There’s no need for both of us. I’ll go.”
“Thank you,” Jed said.
Ella took control of her jaw to keep it from going slack. Did her father really think David intended to go out to the field?
She watched David slip his arms into a lightweight jacket and arrange his hat on his head before going out the back door and disappearing behind the barn.
Ella took her shawl off its hook and straightened her prayer kapp. She would leave the cart behind this morning. The route was uncertain, but Ella was determined to follow David’s movements. As quietly as possible, she saddled a horse and led it out, going behind the stable. David was gone, as she expected he would be, but the grassless ground around the barn bore no evidence that David’s footsteps had turned toward the fields of crops. Rather, he had rounded the barn and angled off toward the main road. From the house, his movements would be unseen.
On her horse, and from a distance, Ella followed. Once David entered a plot of vegetation, footprints were harder to find, but Ella was certain David would emerge on the road. She could take her own path and find him. This time, since he was on foot and she was on horseback, she would have the advantage of speed.
Ella reached the road and stilled the horse, waiting and scanning in both directions.
One minute passed, and then two. Perhaps David had found the road ahead of her after all and was already out of sight.
Three minutes, then four and five. Ella nudged the horse forward slowly. Movement in the bushes drew her attention to one side.
At last.
David broke through and, startled, halted.
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