The Amish Teacher's Gift

by Rachel J. Good

  Bishop Troyer cleared his throat, and she jumped. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?” she asked, relieved he couldn’t read her mind.

  “Jah, I did.” He raised one bushy eyebrow. “You are nervous about tonight?”

  “For sure and certain.” That was not the only reason for her edginess, though. She gave him her full attention.

  “I said the school board met and decided you should have an assistant. Martha will help you.” He glanced past her into the schoolroom, a fond smile playing across his lips as his daughter led Lukas to his seat.

  “I’m sure she’ll be a wonderful gut help.” Martha would be a hardworking assistant, and she’d be a calming influence on her brother. She’d been several grades behind Ada in school. Because of Down syndrome, Martha had struggled with lessons, but she’d always worked hard until she learned the material. She’d be patient with the slower learners. Best of all, she had a cheerful disposition and loved everyone she met.

  “I’m glad you’re pleased.” Bishop Troyer smiled and stepped into the classroom. “I’ll announce it tonight.”

  Ada convinced Mary Elizabeth to take a seat next to Sadie. Then, fists knotted at her sides and her knees shaky, Ada walked to the front of the room. After swallowing the lump of fear blocking her throat, she gave the crowd a wobbly smile.

  “Welcome, everyone, I’m so glad you could come out tonight. I’m looking forward to the school year and getting to know each of the scholars. I hope you’ll tour the room and help your child feel comfortable here.”

  Ada had prepared a longer speech, but having so many eyes fixed on her made her nervous, and her mind went blank. She moved on quickly to the next part of the program. “Why don’t we start by singing ‘The Finish Line’?”

  She hummed to get her pitch, but her voice squeaked on the first notes. Luckily, the crowd soon drowned out her feeble attempts. After they had sung in German and English, Ada invited Bishop Troyer to come forward to share his news.

  In a loud, booming voice, he announced, “The school board has chosen Martha Troyer as the assistant for this school.”

  Martha squealed and clapped at the news, but Lukas shrank back and covered his ears. Immediately, she sobered and leaned toward him. “It’s all right,” she whispered.

  Staring about warily, Lukas lowered his hands, but remained hunched away from the rest of the audience.

  Ada hurried over. “Perhaps Lukas would like to sit at his desk while everyone eats.” She pointed to the desk that was some distance from the others.

  “You’d like that, Lukas, wouldn’t you?” Martha reached for her brother’s hand and escorted him to the front of the room.

  After he sat at the desk, everyone bowed their heads for prayer. Then mothers lifted the lids from the platters or serving bowls they’d brought and set out the drinks. Ada stepped back until everyone was served. Then she filled a plate and circulated to talk to her students. She’d just taken a bite of a tangy ham and cheese bun when she passed Emily’s grandmother Mary huddled together with Betty, their backs to her.

  “I’m not sure she’s the best choice for teacher,” Betty said, “especially not after what happened with her daed.”

  Mary shook her head. “I’ll never understand how a child in good conscience could do something like that.”

  At that declaration, a lump blocked Ada’s throat, and she choked. The sound made Mary glance over her shoulder and elbow Betty.

  Teary-eyed from coughing and her face burning with shame, Ada croaked out, “Good evening.” She forced herself to stand there when all she wanted to do was run and hide. From time to time, she’d overheard people whispering about her, but for the bishop’s wife to openly condemn her to another member of the community cut her deeply.

  Mary was the first to recover. She waved a vague hand toward Emily. “I’m sure you’ll do well teaching sign language. Your brother is so proficient at it.”

  “And Martha is delighted to be a teaching assistant,” Betty added.

  “She’ll do a gut job,” Ada said. “I’m looking forward to having Lukas in class.”

  Betty shifted, her hands twisting the sides of her black apron. “Yes, well…”

  Across the room, the bishop beckoned to Ada. “Excuse me,” Ada said, and hurried toward him, grateful for an excuse to get away.

  The bishop smiled at her. “We passed the Yoders as we were coming here tonight, so I assume you met Nathan.”

  “Not exactly,” Ada said. “He’d fallen asleep in the buggy. I, um, talked to his father.” She hoped her cheeks hadn’t turned fiery red.

  “Yes, Josiah has quite a lot to deal with. I suggested Nathan might be better here with you, not only for help with sign language but also his tantrums. I’m sure you saw what happened last Sunday.”

  “I wasn’t at church. David and Noah were sick, so I stayed home with them.”

  “Ach, jah, now I remember. The whole way home, Martha kept asking Betty where you were. She worries about you.”

  “That’s sweet of her.”

  “She has a good heart. Anyway, Nathan threw such a fit—kicking, screeching, pounding on his daed’s back—Josiah had to carry him out of the service.”

  “Oh, my goodness.”

  “After church I talked to him about Nathan. The boy’s much too disruptive to attend a regular schoolhouse, so I suggested Josiah bring him here.”

  Ada pleated the sides of her skirt with nervous fingers. “I hope I can handle him.” And handle seeing his father every day.

  “I have every confidence you will.”

  Chapter Two

  As the world outside settled into nighttime stillness, peace and quiet reigned inside the Rupp house. Ada slumped onto the couch and drew in a calming breath. Only the sounds of gentle breathing came from the bedrooms. All seven of her siblings had finally fallen asleep. And Daed’s usual snores were absent now that he was no longer here.

  Ada untied her work kerchief, unpinned the tight bun at the back of her neck, and ran her fingers through her waist-length hair, letting it ripple around her in waves. She massaged the tension from her scalp before braiding her hair into one long plait with swift, practiced fingers and retying her kerchief. She still had a mountain of chores to complete before bed.

  Heaving a sigh, she pushed herself off the couch. She hadn’t finished the dinner dishes before the kitchen erupted into chaos—Grace and Noah fighting, Mary Elizabeth dissolving into tears about starting school, and David upsetting a glass of milk. By the time Ada had sopped up the puddle and set Sadie to mopping the floor, it was bath time. Everyone needed to be squeaky clean for the first day of school tomorrow. All the freshly ironed clothes were laid out. If only she could organize her own life in such a neat, orderly fashion.

  Once she’d redded up the kitchen, Ada settled at the table to look over her lesson plans for tomorrow. Sniffles came from the bedroom. She slid the lesson plans into her satchel and hurried to the bedroom. Huddled in a tiny ball, Mary Elizabeth had her face buried in her pillow.

  Ada lowered herself onto the bed beside her sister. “What’s wrong?”

  Her face tear-stained, Mary Elizabeth peeked up at her. “I don’t want to go to school tomorrow. I want to stay home with you.”

  Wrapping an arm around her little sister, Ada pulled her close. “I won’t be here. I’ll be teaching.”

  Mary Elizabeth jutted out her chin. “Then I’ll go to your school.”

  Ada sighed. They’d been over and over this. “I have too many students already, and you’ll be with Sadie and Grace and Noah—”

  “David’s going with you.” Mary Elizabeth sniffled and gulped back a sob.

  Ever since the school board had agreed Ada could take her younger brother with her to the special needs school, Mary Elizabeth had increased her efforts to go along.

  “David will help some of the new children learn sign language. You need to learn to read and write.”

  “I’m good at sign language. I can help
you.”

  Ada smoothed loose strands of hair from her sister’s flushed face. “Yes, you could, but I want you to learn new things. And Rebecca is excited about having you in class. She’s a wonderful teacher.”

  “I don’t want Rebecca. I want you.”

  “I know.” Ada hugged Mary Elizabeth, whose eyelids were drooping. “Let’s talk about this in the morning.”

  Mary Elizabeth mumbled an all right before her eyes closed.

  Ada tucked the quilt around her sister and stood. She had no idea how she’d convince Mary Elizabeth when they woke, but for now they both needed their sleep, and Ada had her own worries about tomorrow.

  * * *

  The sun had barely risen when Josiah stood misty-eyed in the doorway of his son’s bedroom. How his wife would have loved to be here today for Nathan’s first day of school. He missed Ruth every day, but moments like this—moments they should have shared—sent sharp, swift pangs through his chest. Why, God? Why couldn’t she be here with us? Nathan needs her so much.

  Josiah couldn’t let his sorrow cloud Nathan’s first day of school. He pushed back the waves of pain and tiptoed into the room to gather his son’s clothing. Then he crossed the room to the bed where Nathan lay curled up. His son’s chest rose and fell in a soft, steady rhythm. With his reddish-blond bangs feathered across his forehead, his face wiped free of sorrow, and his stuffed rabbit clenched in his fist, he looked much younger than his six years. Much too young to be starting school.

  His throat tight, Josiah braced himself before placing a hand on Nathan’s shoulder to wake him. Nathan shrugged off the hand, slid a rabbit ear into his mouth, and chewed on it. Josiah shook his son gently. Nathan’s blue eyes fluttered partway open, and he glanced around the room. When he spotted Josiah, his eyes widened and he shrieked.

  The high-pitched keening scraped along Josiah’s nerves and tore at his already raw heart. He sank onto the bed and wrapped his arms around his son, getting battered by flailing arms and legs. Nathan had always had a temper, but since his mamm died nine months ago, he’d become both inconsolable and uncontrollable.

  Nathan stilled for a moment and placed his thumb on his chin with his fingers pointing up. Josiah’s heart lurched. The sign for Mamm. How did you explain death to a six-year-old, let alone in sign language?

  Blinking to hold back tears, Josiah first signed, I love you, then he followed up with signs for gone and Mamm.

  At the word gone, Nathan jerked back and screeched. Ignoring Josiah’s signs of love and reassurance, Nathan drew the covers over his head, and his whole body shook with silent sobs. Josiah stroked his son’s back through the quilt, but Nathan squirmed away. He refused to allow anyone to comfort him.

  Aching to hold and hug Nathan, but knowing it only escalated his tantrums, Josiah waited patiently until his son’s sobs turned into hiccupping sighs. Then he lifted the covers to cradle Nathan in his arms. His eyes squeezed shut, Nathan lay limp and boneless, as if the crying had drained all his energy.

  Now might be the best time to dress him, a task that usually spiraled into a daily battle. When Josiah removed his son’s pajamas, Nathan’s eyes flew open, and he stiffened. Hitting and scratching, he fought Josiah’s every effort to put on his shirt and pants. Nathan’s elbow smashed Josiah in the ribs, and he winced. A sharp jab caught him in the abdomen. Getting the suspenders over Nathan’s shoulders was an even greater struggle. After wrestling socks and shoes onto swinging feet, Josiah scooted out of kicking range and gave them both a break before he began the breakfast tussle.

  He was already exhausted, and they still had to deal with school. He prayed he’d have enough energy to do the roofing job he had scheduled today. When Nathan’s sobs quieted to moans, he stood, scooped up his whimpering son, and carried him to the breakfast table, dodging flying fists and feet. After plunking Nathan onto the bench, Josiah stepped back and drew in a calming breath.

  Some of his friends had recommended spanking Nathan to get him under control, but Josiah sensed Nathan’s actions were fueled by grief, not defiance. Punishing him for his inability to deal with a situation he didn’t understand seemed unfair. Josiah wished he could find a way to communicate, to explain, to comfort.

  If only Ruth were here, she’d find a way to reach Nathan. After Nathan had lost his hearing in Mexico, Ruth had been much too weak during her cancer treatments to teach him many signs, and Josiah had been working two jobs, trying to pay for Ruth’s medical bills. After she and Nathan returned home, every spare minute he’d been caring for Ruth. He’d had little chance to learn sign language from her or even get to know his son. Since Ruth’s death, Josiah had his hands full with Nathan’s tantrums. Even if he found time to learn more than a few basic signs, how could he teach them to his son?

  Josiah swallowed hard, pulled the cereal out of the cupboard, filled two bowls, and poured the milk. At least they’d have no struggles at breakfast. Meals were their only peaceful times.

  When he reached the table, Nathan grabbed for the cereal bowl, almost upsetting it. With one practiced motion, Josiah slid the bowl between his son’s outstretched hands and onto the table. So far so good. Then he set a spoon in the bowl. When Nathan snatched the spoon and started to shovel in the first bite, Josiah tapped him gently on the head. Nathan dropped the spoon, spattering milk on the table, and closed his eyes for prayer.

  Ruth had ingrained the habit into him by the time he was two. To remind him when he forgot, she tapped his head with her fingertips. Despite his acting out, Nathan had never once protested the prayers before and after every meal.

  As soon as they raised their heads, Nathan dug in, sloshing and slopping the food into his mouth. Later, after Nathan adjusted to his mamm’s death, Josiah would worry about table manners. For now, he was grateful for the calm between storms.

  After breakfast Nathan began his usual morning routine—the one that always led to his next outburst, the one that broke Josiah’s heart. Nathan had done it in Ohio, but he’d continued it here in the new house. His son walked around the kitchen, looking in the pantry, under the table, beside the stove, all places he used to find his mamm when she was well. In each place, he signed Mamm and come back, sometimes as a question, other times as a statement. He moved into the living room, repeating the signs, and then into the bedroom. He laid his head against the side of the bed where his mamm had lain ill during the last few months of her life.

  His eyes bleak, he signed one final question: Mamm where?

  Josiah pressed a knuckle against his mouth to hold back his own pain before giving his usual answer. As always, he signed, I love you, before replying, gone.

  Glaring, Nathan launched himself in a whirlwind of fury. Josiah sidestepped the kicks and clamped his hands over his son’s wrists to stop the onslaught of punches. Catching Nathan around the waist, Josiah headed to the bathroom for a rushed routine of face washing, tooth brushing, and hair combing, accompanied by ear-splitting screeches.

  Nathan calmed a bit while they were hooking the horse to the wagon. Being around animals soothed him, but as soon as Josiah set him in the wagon and hopped up beside him, Nathan began another outburst and needed to be restrained so he didn’t fall out. Josiah clamped one arm around his son to hold him on the seat beside him and took the reins in the other hand. Nathan yelled and drummed his feet against the wood. Cars whizzed past, and many occupants glared at Josiah as if he were hurting his son.

  As the wagon jounced over the road, Nathan’s screeches subsided to whimpers. After they’d gone about a mile, he slumped against Josiah’s side, sucking hard on his rabbit’s ear. When Josiah was sure his son was asleep, he shifted him so he was more comfortable but kept an arm wrapped around him in case he woke.

  Josiah worried about the teacher who would have to deal with his son today. He had a hard time picturing her coping with Nathan’s fits.

  According to the bishop, Ada Rupp had been caring for her ailing mother and younger siblings since she was nine years old. Now that
her mother had passed, she’d been mothering her seven siblings and sewing quilts to help with household expenses. All of that was admirable, but caring for Nathan took a lot of strength. A strength he doubted the pretty young girl possessed.

  And he too needed strength. Not only to cope with Nathan’s reaction to school but also to remain detached around his son’s teacher.

  Chapter Three

  Shrill screams outside the schoolhouse door startled Ada. She set down the book she’d been reading about autism, and sensing her movement, David glanced up with a question in his eyes. She pointed to the door. Unconcerned, her brother bent his head over his coloring again.

  Someone must be dreading school today as much as Mary Elizabeth had this morning. And they’d arrived half an hour early. Ada hurried to the door and opened it a crack to see Josiah struggling to hold his kicking, screeching son. She pushed it open wider and stepped aside, so he could carry Nathan inside.

  His cheeks flushed, Josiah offered an apology with a tilt of his head. He tried to set Nathan down, but his son crumpled into a boneless heap on the floor, still shrieking.

  “I’m sorry,” Josiah said. Nathan’s cries drowned out his words, but Ada read his lips. “I wanted to give Nathan some time to get used to the new situation before I need to leave for work. I didn’t mean to disrupt your morning.”

  When he knelt as if to lift Nathan, Ada motioned with her hand to leave him. “Why don’t we give him a little time?”

  The distress in Josiah’s soft green eyes when they met hers made her want to comfort him. She said with more confidence than she felt, “I’m certain he’ll adjust soon enough.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “My sister Mary Elizabeth had a meltdown this morning about going to first grade. It was heart-wrenching to send her off to school bawling. They usually get over it pretty quickly, though.”

  “I’m sorry you had such a rough morning, and I’ve only made it worse.” Josiah remained hunched over as if trying to decide if he should leave his son screaming and pounding the floor.