by Amy Clipston
A yawn overtook him, and he slowly stretched his long body out on the sofa and positioned the pillow he’d left there the night before under his head. He had to do his best to keep John calm. He had to be the strength John needed and deserved. And he had to learn how to be a good father.
Another yawn gripped Mike as his father’s snores rumbled from across the room. Mike closed his eyes, and soon he was asleep.
CHAPTER 4
RACHEL PERUSED THE STACK OF JOURNALS WHILE THE STUDENTS quietly worked on their math worksheets. She fished John’s journal from the pile and flipped to her last note. She was relieved to finally find a response from John’s guardian. Her eyes widened and she read:
Received your notes and voice mail. Will be in touch.
—Mike Lantz.
It had been written in neat cursive penmanship.
Frustration surged through her. She scowled and looked across the room to where Malinda had been helping Luke King with a math problem.
“Malinda,” Rachel said softly, hoping not to disturb the students who were working hard. “Would you please come here?”
Malinda raised her eyebrows with curiosity as she walked over to the desk. “What’s wrong?”
Rachel pointed to the note from Mike Lantz. “I can’t believe that’s all he wrote in the journal,” she whispered.
Malinda read it and frowned. “Well, at least he finally responded. Maybe he’ll write you a longer note tonight.”
Rachel crossed her arms over her chest. She glanced across the room and found John staring at his blank math paper.
“It’s not enough,” Rachel seethed through clenched teeth. “I’m going to call him again.” She shook her head. “No, instead I’m going to go see him and demand a real response.”
“You called him?” Malinda frowned as she turned toward the class. “Teacher Rachel and I need to speak outside for a moment. Please continue to work on your math worksheets.” Then she took Rachel’s arm and propelled her to the small porch behind the trailer as if Rachel were a petulant child. They stood just outside the opened door so they could still keep an eye on the students while they worked.
Malinda gave Rachel a weary expression. “You have to let this go.” Her words were soft but deliberate. “It’s not your place to call or go visit Mike. It’s the school board chairman’s job to handle parents and ask the parent or guardian to meet for a conference. If you and I both agree that the issues with the student need to be elevated, then we contact the chairman. I don’t believe we’re at that point. John hasn’t been here a week yet.” She stepped closer to Rachel and lowered her voice. “He needs time. He’s still adjusting to this school. This is all new to him, and you’re expecting too much.”
Rachel shook her head and then shivered as the cool early-spring breeze seeped through her dress. “I disagree. I can tell he needs help. His behavior today was just as bad as it was on Tuesday. He pushed Luke off his chair during reading time, and he still refused to participate in singing. Something needs to be done.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Malinda jammed her hands on her small hips. “You’ve always been stubborn, but I thought you would be a more supportive teacher.”
“I am a supportive teacher.” Rachel pointed to her chest as irritation coursed through her. “I’m worried about him. I know John is crying out for help. Something is going on at home, and it needs to be addressed. I want to work with his guardian to help him. That’s our job, Malinda. We’re supposed to take care of these kinner.” She pointed toward the classroom.
“I’m aware of that, Rachel. I know you have a gut heart and want to help people, but you have to follow the rules. You can’t let your stubbornness take over in this situation.” Malinda pinched the bridge of her nose. “I can’t allow you to elevate this. You know I’ve been teaching for two years now. I’ve been at this school since the fall, so I’m the senior teacher. I have the authority to make the decisions that affect this class. I don’t want you to contact Mike in person. You may write him a note in the journal, but no more phone calls.” She turned toward the class. “We need to get back inside. You handle the journals, and I’ll continue with the math work.”
Malinda stepped into the classroom and crossed the room to John’s desk, where she began encouraging him to work on his math sheet.
Rachel slowly walked to the front of the classroom and sat down on the chair behind the desk. She thought of Malinda’s warning while she studied a blank page in John’s journal. Then she glanced across the room. Malinda was whispering to John, but he kept his eyes focused on top of the desk.
Deep down, Rachel believed this child needed help, and she couldn’t stand back and wait for his brother to respond to her. Writing notes wasn’t working, and she had to talk to him in person. Despite what her cousin said, she was going to talk to Mike. In fact, she was going to see him today.
Rachel closed the journal and placed it at the bottom of the pile. She picked up Luke King’s journal and turned to a blank page. She held the pen in her hand while considering what she would say to Mike when she met him. She looked up as Malinda approached and hoped that her cousin would forgive her for breaking the rules. After all, Rachel was going to follow her instinct, and she was doing what was best for the child.
RACHEL’S STOMACH ROLLED AS HER DRIVER’S VAN STEERED up the long rock driveway to the Lantz farm. She climbed from the car and buttoned her sweater as she walked up the front steps to the door. She took a deep breath and then knocked. A few moments later, the door opened, revealing Mike’s cousin Marie.
“Rachel,” Marie said, pushing the door open. “What a surprise. How are you?”
“I’m fine, danki.” Rachel gripped John’s journal in her hands.
“John is in the barn doing chores,” Marie said. “I’ll go get him.”
“Oh no, that’s fine,” Rachel said, shifting her weight on her feet. “I was actually wondering if Mike was home. I’d like to speak with him.”
“No, he’s not.” Marie shook her head. “He’s still at work at Bird-in-Hand Builders. This is their busy season, so some nights he doesn’t get home until almost seven.”
“Who’s at the door?” a gravelly masculine voice called from behind Marie.
“It’s Rachel, John’s teacher, Onkel Raymond.” Marie motioned for Rachel to step into the foyer. “She came to talk to Mike.”
Rachel walked inside and saw an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a matching beard sitting in a wheelchair in the center of a large family room. Sympathy overcame her as she studied him. His blue eyes were tired, and his skin seemed to have a yellowish tone. His long face was gaunt, and his body was thin. He looked sickly. He gave her a halfhearted smile and a small wave.
“Hi,” Rachel said. “My cousin Malinda and I are John’s teachers. I was hoping to speak to Mike for a moment.”
“Is there a problem with John?” Raymond asked, his thin face crumbling with concern.
“Oh no.” Rachel shook her head and mentally kicked herself for telling a fib. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to upset this frail man. “I just wanted to talk to him about the note he wrote in the journal last night.” She held up the journal. “I have some ideas for things we can do at home to help John.”
“That’s wunderbaar.” Marie smiled. “I could pass along the message if you’d like.”
“Oh no, danki.” Rachel shook her head. “It’s not a problem. I’ll speak to him another time. Have a nice evening.” She waved at Raymond, quickly left the house, and walked back to the van.
“Is everything all right?” Charlotte Campbell, her driver, asked as Rachel climbed into the front passenger seat.
“Ya, everything is fine.” Rachel tried to ignore her growing disappointment as she rested the journal on her lap.
The image of John’s ill father flashed through her mind as Charlotte steered the van down the long driveway toward the road. John’s behavior suddenly made sense. The little boy was crying out for the attention he
wasn’t getting from his father, and she had to help him. She couldn’t stand to see him struggling with his schoolwork or bullying the other children.
“Charlotte,” Rachel began, “do you know where Bird-in-Hand Builders is?”
“Of course I do.” Charlotte gave her a sideways glance as she merged onto the paved road. “It’s right up on Old Philadelphia Pike, across from the farmer’s market. I bought a few planters and a wishing well there. They make good quality items, and the prices aren’t bad at all.”
“Oh.” Rachel ran her finger over the plastic cover of the journal. “Could we possibly stop there?”
“Now?” Charlotte asked with surprise.
“Ya.” Rachel said. “If it’s no trouble.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all.” Charlotte smacked on the blinker. “My sister got this cute little windmill there, and I was thinking about getting one too. My husband says we have enough decorations in our yard, but I think it will look really cute.”
While Charlotte prattled on about her yard, Rachel reflected on what she would say to Mike when she saw him. Malinda’s warning echoed in her mind, but she couldn’t stop herself from giving in to her desire to speak to Mike in person. Receiving his terse note wasn’t good enough, and her stubborn spirit won.
Charlotte parked in the lot outside the store and Rachel climbed from the van. As she walked toward the front door, she passed beautifully crafted wishing wells, planters, swings, lighthouses, and other lawn ornaments on display. Apprehension bit into her shoulders as she stepped into the showroom, where a bell announced her arrival. The showroom displayed more lawn ornaments, along with large wooden signs, stars, small ornamental signs, shelves, and other wooden decorations.
A young man who looked to be in his late twenties with light brown hair, a matching beard, and brown eyes stood behind the counter near the cash register. “Hello,” he said. “May I help you?”
“Hi.” Rachel gripped the journal in her hands. “I was hoping to speak to Mike Lantz. Is he here?”
“Ya.” The man smiled. “He’s working in the shop. I’ll go get him.”
“Danki.” Rachel glanced toward a display of birdhouses as she tried to remember the speech she’d mentally practiced during the ride over. Malinda’s warning still nipped at her, but she pushed it out of her mind. She was doing the right thing by talking to Mike. After all, she just wanted to help John.
“Excuse me,” a masculine voice said behind her. “Did you want to talk to me?”
Rachel spun and found Mike Lantz looking at her with a confused expression. He somehow seemed even taller, and his hair seemed more golden blond as the overhead skylights flooded the large showroom with warm sunlight. His blue button-down shirt complemented his powder-blue eyes, which now flickered with recognition.
“Rachel?” He took a step toward her and his expression became worried. “Is something wrong with John?”
“No.” Rachel shook her head and lifted the journal. “I want to talk to you about the note you wrote in the journal last night.”
His gaze moved to the journal and he frowned. “Janie said you wouldn’t be froh about it,” he muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He crossed his arms over his wide chest. “I’m in the middle of finishing up an order for two custom wishing wells, but I have a couple of minutes. What did you want to say about it?”
“I’m concerned about John,” she began, holding up the journal. “I’ve written you notes in the journal and also left you a voice mail.”
“I know.” Mike nodded and grimaced. “I’ve gotten your messages, but I’ve been busy.”
“This is important,” Rachel insisted with frustration. “John has been misbehaving in class and on the playground. I believe his behavior is a cry for help. I want to discuss his home life. Is he getting the attention he needs?”
Mike glanced around the showroom, where tourists were browsing the sea of wooden creations. Then he pointed toward the far end of the showroom. “Let’s go talk somewhere more private.”
They walked together across the showroom toward a doorway. Mike opened the door and led her into a hallway, closing the door behind her. They stood by a door with a window. When she glanced through it, she saw a large shop where a half-dozen men worked, making lawn ornaments. The hammers, saws, and nail guns blasted while voices boomed in Pennsylvania Dutch.
“Isn’t it unusual for a teacher to visit a scholar’s guardian?” Mike asked. “I thought only the school board chairman could request a conference.”
She spun to face him and found him glaring at her. The irritation in his eyes both surprised and intimidated her. She cleared her throat and mustered all her confidence while trying to remember what she’d planned to say to him.
“Ya, it is unusual for a teacher to visit a guardian,” she began, “but it’s important to me to help John. He’s really struggling, and I want to do everything I can to help him learn how to behave both inside and outside of the classroom.”
“It’s important to me too. I know he needs extra help. That’s why I agreed to send him to your school.” Mike leaned back against the wall and studied her. His unrelenting eyes made her suddenly feel self-conscious, and she hugged the journal to her chest.
“I can’t help him without your support,” Rachel continued. “That means you have to actually read what I write in the journal and respond. I truly believe John is desperate for attention. That’s why I asked you if he’s getting enough attention at home. I stopped by your haus on my way here, and I met your dat. I’m certain he needs a lot of care.”
Mike blinked as if contemplating what she’d said. His stare became frostier, sending a shiver through her. “Are you insinuating I ignore John at home in order to care for my chronically ill dat?” His voice held an edge of indignation that rattled her to the core.
“No, not exactly.” Rachel tried to pull her thoughts together. “I truly believe his behavior is an indication that he’s craving some reassurance. He deliberately won’t participate in class, and he’s already pushed one child off a swing and another off a chair. Kinner who behave this way want to get in trouble so someone pays attention to them. I’m trying to work with him, but if he continues pushing and hitting other kinner, then he won’t be able to go outside for recess. Instead, he’ll have to sit at his desk with worksheets.”
“You’re going to let him miss recess?” Mike asked, his booming voice echoing in the small hallway. “How does that teach him to interact with other kinner if you’re keeping him separated?”
“He’ll learn bad behavior has consequences,” Rachel said, lifting her chin. “If he wants to have fun, then he will have to do what he’s supposed to do.”
“How long have you been teaching?” Mike asked, his glance unmoving and his eyes flashing with fury.
She blinked. Why was he attacking her ability to teach? “This is my first week at the school.”
“This is your first week?” His voice rose. “You haven’t been in a classroom for a full month, and you’re diagnosing my bruder’s issues? Malinda told me she’s been teaching for two years. Have you even discussed this with her?”
“Ya.” Rachel blinked as her confidence dissolved. “I have.”
“And what did she say?” Mike asked.
“You need to write in the journal and work with me,” Rachel continued, ignoring the question. “We have to work together to help John. I believe he’s a very bright bu, and given the right guidance, he’ll be a wunderbaar scholar, maybe even at the top of his class when it comes to his work.”
“Are you avoiding my question?” Mike took a step forward, his steely glare trained on her.
Rachel tried to swallow to wet her parched throat.
“What did Malinda say about John?”
“She said to give him time,” Rachel said softly. “I insisted I wanted to speak with you because I’m worried about him. I care about the kinner in my class.”
“I’m worri
ed about him too,” Mike said. “But like Malinda said, it’s going to take time. You can’t expect him to be the perfect scholar when it’s his first week in a new school. If the kinner irritate you, then maybe you need to find another job.” He started toward the door. “I don’t have time for this. I’d like to actually get home before seven tonight.”
Mike wrenched open the shop door, and the sounds of hammers banging and saw blades whirling filled the hallway. The heaviness of sawdust, the pungent odor of stain, and the sweet aroma of wood washed over her.
“Wait!” Rachel called. “We need to discuss how to help John.”
Mike let the door shut with a loud bang. When he faced her, his face twisted with a grimace. “I really don’t have time for a lecture, Rachel. I’ve already told you. I’m busy.”
He stepped over to her and stood so close that she could smell his scent—soap mixed with sawdust. He seemed larger than life as he glared down at her, and she suddenly felt like a small child gazing up at an angry parent.
“You seem to think I’ve been deliberately ignoring your notes and voice mail messages because I don’t care about my bruder or his bad behavior,” Mike began, pointing at her. “The truth is, I’m working myself to death, trying to support my dat and my bruder. I work long hours here, building wishing wells and lighthouses for English customers. I’m doing my best to keep the business mei dat and his bruder built running and thriving along with my cousin. I’m thankful two of my cousins help take care of the haus and cook the meals while I’m at work. When I get home, my cousins leave, and I take care of my dat, who can’t even walk to the bathroom alone because he’s so ill and frail. He has fallen so many times that I have taken to sleeping on the sofa so I can be close-by if he needs me. And when I say I sleep on the sofa, I mean I toss and turn all night long and wake up with back pain.