“If we hand our children over to the English school,” Chester Mast said, “we will lose the next generation of our church. We can’t separate how we interpret the Bible from how we educate our children.”
“James,” Aaron King said, “did you invite this gentleman because you believe we should take formal legal action? You know the way of our people is to stay out of the English courts.”
James nodded. “I do know. I hope and pray for a peaceful solution without compromising the Word of God.”
“They may not do anything more than occasional fines,” Cristof Byler said. “As long as we pay them, they’ll have no reason to bother us.”
“What about those of us who cannot afford the fines?” Aaron King said. “Don’t you think we’d like to have our children in our own school as well?”
Percival took a step forward. “I believe you should have that right, and I’m willing to help you fight for it.”
A lull descended as the hope offered by Percival’s pledge trickled through the assembly.
“If there can be peace in Europe,” James said, “surely there can be peace in Seabury.”
Isaiah grunted. “But at what cost did the peace in Europe come?”
Gideon twisted in his seat. He wanted to see the faces of the other parents. Before today there had been no discussion of involving an English lawyer. James had made these arrangements on his own, but when Gideon discovered what James had done, he did nothing to discourage assembling parents. This moment would be one they all remembered—the moment they did or did not engage the services of someone outside their own community.
Another English automobile announced its presence. While Gideon admired—from afar—the usefulness of a gasoline engine, it seemed to him that the English with all their education ought to find a way to make it less noisy. The sound was unnatural.
When Gideon saw who it was, he jumped up. A moment later, Superintendent Brownley shoved open the door.
“What in tarnation is going on here?” Brownley demanded.
“May we help you, Mr. Brownley?” Gideon said, calm and smooth.
“We’ll shut down this school,” Brownley said. “You’ve wasted your time and materials in building it.”
“If that’s what you’ve come to say,” Gideon said, “you can be assured we have heard you.”
Brownley strode along the side of the room. “What is this meeting about?”
“It’s a private meeting,” Gideon said, “on private property.”
Brownley’s eyes scanned the group. “It may not be illegal to build a structure on private property or to use it for private purposes, but you can be certain that using this building to keep pupils out of school will have repercussions.”
“Duly noted,” Gideon said.
“Furthermore,” Brownley said, “whoever is posing as a teacher is in a precarious position.”
Involuntarily, Gideon glanced at Ella, whose face paled.
“This so-called teacher will find herself in the middle of legal action if she continues without credentials,” the superintendent said. His eyes settled on Ella. “The state establishes certain minimal standards for all teachers.”
“Mr. Brownley,” Gideon said. “If you would be so kind as to make time at the next meeting of the school board, I’m sure we would be happy to continue this discussion in an appropriate setting.”
“Don’t threaten me!” Brownley said. “Remember that I have the law on my side.”
Percival Eggar stepped between Gideon and Brownley.
“What are you doing here?” Brownley asked.
“I will be representing the parties present. In the future you may address your concerns to my office.”
“You?” Brownley scoffed. “Are you telling me that the Amish are engaging legal representation?”
“We had not quite worked out the details of our arrangement before your unseemly interruption,” Percival said, “but now is as good a time as any.”
Brownley glared.
Percival turned to the assembly. “I would be honored to represent anyone present in this room on the questions of compliance with recent changes in education regulations as they pertain to the free expression of religious conviction. I’m sorry that I was not able to meet each of you individually before our conversation was disrupted, but if you would like to accept my representation, I ask you to signal your intention by standing.”
Gideon, already standing, stepped forward.
“This is absurd,” Brownley said.
Chester Mast stood, followed by Cristof Byler. Jed Hilty. Isaiah Borntrager. John Hershberger. Joshua Glick. Aaron King. One by one, every man in the room rose. Gideon worked hard at smothering a grin. The wives joined, standing with their husbands. Whether parents were sending their children to the schools in Seabury, keeping them home, or taking advantage of Ella’s tutelage, they were united on this question. They welcomed an English of Percival Eggar’s education and standing in the community to their side.
CHAPTER 30
Brownley glowered, first at Percival, and then at the fathers on their feet as most of the wives present also stood.
Was this what it was like to feel proud? Gideon had of course been pleased with the accomplishments of his children from time to time. When Tobias helped to deliver a new calf. When Savilla baked bread for the first time without consulting a recipe. When Gertie, only a few weeks ago, sounded out an entire verse from the morning Bible reading in German, even though at school she was learning to read English. But in those instances, and many others, he reminded himself of the border between pleased and proud. If he was proud, even of his children, he might begin to think himself better than others. But at this moment, seeing the parents of his congregation voting bodily, Gideon crossed the border. He was proud of their courage, proud of their resolve, proud of their resistance against their own inner fears.
Ella stood with the parents. This gave Gideon pure pleasure.
Percival gripped Brownley’s elbow and turned him toward the door. “I’m sure you understand the need for confidential conversation with my clients,” he said, walking Brownley out. “You and I will have ample opportunity to speak reasonably and honorably about the matter.”
Gideon caught James’s eye. If James had asked him in advance, Gideon might have cautioned against involving an English man of the law. But the trust Percival Eggar had engendered in a room full of Amish strangers was testimony that James had done well.
Percival closed the door behind Brownley and paced back to the front of the room.
“You all have work to do and families to care for,” he said, “so I want to make efficient use of our time. Mr. Lehman has given me a basic understanding of the dilemma you face and the range of responses represented in this room. I am happy to meet with any of you individually if you seek counsel about your particular circumstances. For now, I invite questions that may be of interest to the group as a whole.”
If Gideon were not sitting in the front of the room, he could have seen which hands were going up.
Percival pointed at a hand. “Yes?”
“What if we can’t find a teacher the state will accept?” Joshua Glick asked. “I want my children to go to an Amish school, but I also want it to be according to the law.”
So far, the Glick children had remained in the Seabury school. Joshua was one of the more cautious Amish fathers.
“I understand Mr. Wittmer has already begun making inquiries on that matter,” Percival said, “and on your instructions I will prepare additional documents and send them with a courier to the teachers college.”
Murmurs of approval circled the room.
“May I also suggest,” Percival continued, “that we explore alternative methods for how Miss Hilty may be properly credentialed for the position.”
Ella sucked in her breath beside Gideon. He slid his hand off his lap and let it rest on the edge of the chair until his little finger touched hers. Their wedding was only weeks away
.
The fury on Mr. Brownley’s face had punched the breath out of Ella, and now Mr. Eggar was suggesting she formalize her role as a teacher. She had only promised Gideon a few weeks. Her permanent promise to him was to be his wife.
Less than an inch of Gideon’s hand touched Ella’s, and for only a few seconds, yet she took comfort. He was near. He understood. Perhaps James had neglected to mention her betrothed state to Mr. Eggar. Even an English attorney would know that a woman would not continue to teach after her marriage.
“Miss Hilty has only begun teaching. Do I understand correctly?” Percival said, glancing at Ella.
Ella nodded.
“Other than formal education,” Gideon said, “she is well suited to the task. Before beginning to teach here, she taught my daughters at my home for several weeks, and I saw daily the leaps in their learning.”
Percival nodded. “We may need you to testify to that effect.”
Testify? Ella’s brows furrowed against her will.
“My girls love her,” John Hershberger said. “Lizzy and Katya said Miss Hilty is every bit as good as Miss Coates was.”
“Miss Coates?” Percival said.
“The English teacher we had until a few months ago,” Gideon explained. “John is right. Ella has a curious mind and understands the needs of our children.”
“Ella has done nothing wrong,” Isaiah Borntrager said. “She hasn’t lied about credentials she does not hold. All she has done is choose what is best for our community, something the state has no interest in.”
“The state would argue they have the best interest of your children in mind,” Percival reminded the group.
“Has the state met our children?” Isaiah countered. “Has the state worshipped in our services? How can the state have the best interest of our children in mind?”
“All good points.” Percival nodded. “And we may be able to raise them in an argument about the exercise of religious liberty. At the moment, though, the superintendent would argue that as an untrained teacher, Ella is in over her head.”
Ella’s breath came in gasps at irregular intervals when she could no longer hold it in. She was in over her head, with only her instincts and love of learning to rely on. The day would come when a bright student would ask a question to which she did not know the answer, or a second grader would be unable to grasp the basics of borrowing to subtract and Ella would have no new strategies to help him master the concept. She supposed that teachers who attended the teachers college learned how to handle these challenges. They learned methods of instruction and ways of making proper lesson plans that kept them ahead of the questions their students would ask.
In truth, Ella was not sure she had made the situation better by agreeing to teach temporarily. In the eyes of the law, the Amish families had dubious standing as it was. If Chester Mast had not begun building the schoolhouse in which they all now sat, perhaps this moment would not have come.
“But if we focus on finding a state-qualified teacher willing to teach Amish children according to our values,” James said, “Ella will not have to face these hurdles at all.”
Thank you, James. Ella relaxed her spine. Let’s stay focused.
Gideon shifted his weight in his chair and lifted his hand, ready to ask the looming question. “What can the state really do if we do not send our children to the schools in town—especially the older ones who already completed the eighth grade?”
“I pledged to Mr. Lehman that I would be candid and honest with all of you,” Percival said. “It’s almost certain that the fines will grow increasingly burdensome. I know that some of you already choose to keep your children in the town schools for that reason, so I will look for grounds to challenge the legality of the fines.”
“And beyond the fines?” Gideon asked.
Percival gave a slight shrug. “The laws are new. This kind of case is untested. I can only tell you what is possible within the current language of the law, not what is likely in the eyes of a judge or jury.”
By the time the meeting ended, Gideon felt as if he had harvested an entire field of alfalfa hay without even the help of his team of workhorses.
Percival Eggar lingered to answer individual questions and collect a few coins from each man who wished to avail himself of the offer of legal representation. James would have explained to Mr. Eggar that farmers struggling to pay the fines imposed on them by the state would not have unlimited funds for an English lawyer’s fees, but Gideon trusted that James had come to a manageable agreement or he would not have invited Percival to meet with the parents in the first place. The few dollars Percival collected that day only ensured each family would benefit equally from the outcome of the legal case.
The legal case. The phrase springing up in Gideon’s mind astonished him. Along with Cristof and Chester, John and Aaron, Joshua, Jed, Isaiah, and the others, Gideon was party to a legal case with the potential to wend its way through English courts.
After asking their questions and establishing themselves as clients of Percival T. Eggar, Esquire, Attorney at Law, the parents drifted out of the schoolhouse. James walked Percival to his waiting automobile.
Alone in the building, Gideon blew out his breath and offered Ella full-faced encouragement.
“It will all work out.” Gideon met Ella’s uncertain gaze.
“Maybe the children should have stayed in the town schools for now,” Ella said. “There would not be so much at risk.”
“There might be less legal risk,” Gideon said, “but what of the risk to our children if they spend their days in the English world?”
Ella shuffled to a row of desks and began to straighten them. “We don’t know what the authorities might do to the children.”
Gideon joined her in straightening the room. “Why should they do anything to innocent children? Their argument is with the parents. They understand that minor children do not make these decisions for themselves. The fathers are all doing what they think best. The children are safe.”
“And me?”
Gideon almost did not hear Ella. When her whispered words sank in, he abandoned the task of cleaning up and lifted her hands from the bench she pushed against a wall.
“You are not alone,” he said.
Ella let out her breath. “But I am unqualified. Am I breaking the law by doing the work of a teacher?”
“You are a teacher,” Gideon said. “You may not have a piece of paper sealed by the State of Ohio, but you have courage and faith and natural gifts. You have the support of your community. Even Miss Simpson has offered to help you.”
Ella shook her head. “I don’t want to get her in trouble.”
“Miss Simpson strikes me as a person who makes her own decisions,” Gideon said.
Ella met his eyes. “If we are to marry on December 19, our banns should be published in a few weeks. Rachel has pages and pages of lists to be sure the house is ready.”
Gideon nodded. “We have all the way to January to find a teacher, and now we have Mr. Eggar to help.”
Ella dropped her eyes again, but Gideon tipped her face up to kiss her. She was not the only one eager to marry on December 19. He wanted her in his arms and in his home, her face the first he would see in the morning and her lips the ones he would kiss each night.
Margaret was late getting home from school that afternoon. The Amish quandary—the word she was trying out this week to describe the conundrum of Amish and townspeople trying to understand each other—weighed down her shoulders like a row of cement bricks. This was enough of a distraction to put her behind in planning her lessons and correcting the papers of her pupils. Gray’s entrenched attitude that the Amish problem was not her concern magnified the distraction, and his brother’s veiled warning unnerved her. As a consequence, while her pupils did quiet independent work, Margaret was spending too much time mentally muddling her way out of the cage she found herself in.
A blur in her peripheral vision made Margaret turn her head j
ust as she reached the walk leading to her home, and she paused to turn her head and fully discern the sight.
Braden Truesdale skulked across her side yard, cutting through the garden that had yielded the last of its autumn bounty and heading toward the front of her lot.
“Braden!” she called as he came to the edge of the house.
His head jerked up, startle flickering through his eyes. The flour sack over his shoulder bulged in peculiar angular points.
“I didn’t know you came through my neighborhood,” she said, approaching him. Gray had never given a clear answer about Braden’s employment, so Margaret could think of no good reason for him to be in her yard.
“Never know where I’m going to be,” he said, tightening his grip to seal the sack.
Were his words a simple statement or another veiled warning? And what in the world was in that flour sack?
“I’ll walk with you,” Margaret said with false brightness. “I’m on my way to pay a call on a neighbor.”
Braden pressed his lips into a tight, straight smile and nodded. Margaret watched his glance and followed his cue, turning back in the direction from which she had come.
“Is your workday nearly finished?” Margaret asked.
“Just about.”
Margaret let herself fall back a half step and eyed the bag. The bulge in Braden’s muscle, even under his shirtsleeve, suggested the bag carried items of weight. Books? Candlesticks? Jugs? The sour sensation in Margaret’s stomach bubbled up through her throat.
“Here’s my stop,” Margaret said, across the street from Lindy Lehman’s house. “Now that we’re acquainted, I’ll see you another time, I suppose.”
“S’pose.”
Margaret stepped into the street to cross to Lindy’s. Braden marched toward Main Street. Margaret walked slowly, perusing his progress, before approaching Lindy’s workshop. She could not always keep her neighbor’s property safe, but on this one day, she could make sure Braden Truesdale did not stop there. Unless he had already been there and she’d caught him in a circuitous departure.
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