Brightest and Best (43 page)

“Margaret,” she said.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Margaret said without looking up from the binder. “But I don’t expect Mr. Brownley will be eager to continue our association, and if this school is going to succeed, the last thing you need is a teacher he regards as an adversary.”

Ella swallowed back her hope. Margaret was right.

“What will you do?” Ella asked.

“My sister writes me letter upon letter about how much she misses me,” Margaret said. “I’m thinking of returning to Columbus next summer.”

A stone of disappointment sank down into Ella’s abdomen. She raised her gaze at the somber sound of Gideon’s voice.

“Let’s gather,” he said.

“As you know,” Gideon began, “we are here today because all of us would like to see our own school open as soon as possible.”

The nods Gideon expected greeted him.

“An Amish teacher would be best,” he said, “and I’m sure you would agree that we are opening a school in the first place because we want the best for our children.”

He dared not meet Ella’s eyes. Not in this moment. Not when his resolve must not fail.

“That’s a cockamamy idea,” Aaron King said. “We tried that. It got us arrested.”

“A
qualified
Amish teacher,” Gideon said. “Even Mr. Brownley would not object to this teacher, because she would demonstrate beyond question that she is more than capable for the job.”

Lindy stood up. “I would like to volunteer to teach.”

Chester Mast shuffled his feet. “I don’t understand,” he said. “What qualifications do you have?”

Gideon hoped that having the school on Chester’s land would not make him feel he had a particular role above the other parents in the decisions they faced. They would need to form a proper school committee made up of several fathers.

“It’s true I haven’t been to teachers college,” Lindy said. “But for two years I did assist an
English
teacher. I went to a one-room school myself. I understand the environment. I am willing to become qualified if Mr. Eggar can determine a route to qualification other than the teachers college. I might be a bridge between the school board and the church.”

“But how long would that take?” Joshua Glick asked.

“Perhaps there is some sort of probationary status,” Lindy said, “some way they could let me teach while I prove myself.”

Gideon had not expected Lindy’s offer. He let his eyes drift to Ella now. Even when she began teaching his daughters and a few others, the plan had always been to find a permanent teacher. The stack of correspondence with the teachers college, on his desk at home, proved this intention. Only the last letter mattered now.

We are unable to assist you further at this time,
it said.
We will of course retain your inquiries, and perhaps next summer we will have a recommendation for you when we have new graduates.

When Gideon began writing to the college, he had hoped for any teacher who might come to a classroom where all of the students were Amish. Only later, within the confines of the small cell he shared with the other men, had his thoughts turned in another direction.

When the church gathered next and the worship service ended, Jed Hilty would rise and invite the entire congregation to his youngest daughter’s wedding. How could Gideon speak aloud the thought that pressed more firmly into his mind each day?

He did not want to break Ella’s heart.

Leaning against the wall, James watched heads angling toward each other and listened to the buzz that rose.

It was an enthusiastic buzz, the sort of sound that filled a space with hope. And after the last few weeks, the people in this room deserved hope.

“I know some of you are uncomfortable with me,” Lindy said. “You may even wonder why I am here. I chose not to be baptized into the Amish church. I moved to town. I drive an automobile. I have a telephone. But a teacher from the teachers college would do all those things as well. The difference is that I understand you. I
know
you. I
know
what is in your hearts for your children. You may see the differences between us, but I see the ways our hearts are still one.”

It was a speech that made James’s chest swell. This was his niece generously offering to set aside the quiet, orderly life she had made for herself to serve the community that had raised her.

But it would not do.

“Well,” Isaiah Borntrager said, “we ought to carefully consider this matter. Mr. Eggar has assured us that he will help us see this through. Surely he will uncover some provision in the law that would work in our favor.”

Mrs. Hershberger spoke up. “It does seem the next best thing to having one of our own members teach.”

“And it might go well for her because she is not Amish,” Aaron King said. “Mr. Brownley might be more willing to come to an agreement with a teacher who is not Amish, but Lindy would not teach what we do not wish our children to learn.”

“I promise to work closely with the parents,” Lindy said.

James caught Gideon’s eye. Gideon’s nod was so slight that no one else would have discerned it, but James did.

“Might I speak?” James pushed his weight off the wall and turned his face toward his niece. “Lindy, you are offering a sacrifice that tells me once again what I have always known. Your spirit is right with God, and you love His people.”

“
Onkel
James,” Lindy said. “I want to do this.”

“I believe your heart. But in my judgment, if we are going to demonstrate that we are capable of educating the children of our own community, we must have an Amish teacher from the start.”

“I am Amish,” Lindy said, “in language and culture and history—all the ways that will matter in the classroom.”

James said nothing. Telling his niece that she lacked one qualification, the most essential one in his mind, did not come easily.

“A member of the church,” Isaiah said. “That’s what you mean.”

James met Lindy’s eye and nodded.

“I don’t see a problem,” Isaiah said. “Lindy did not break her baptismal vows. She never made them. She can still be baptized and join the church.”

Still James said nothing.

“I have a strong faith,” Lindy said quietly.

“Then you will have no trouble with the baptismal vows,” Isaiah said.

“If Lindy wants to join the church,” James said, “of course we will welcome her. But it’s a serious decision. We cannot ask her to stand among us now and make such a promise.”

Lindy sat down.

“I’m tired of fighting,” John Hershberger said. “If we can have our own school and an understanding teacher, that’s enough for me. In my mind, she doesn’t have to be a church member.”

“We cannot keep having the same discussion—dispute—with Mr. Brownley on this matter,” James said. “It is imperative that we prove once and for all that we can teach our own children. Then let him test them and see how well they have done. We must be above reproach. If we have an Amish teacher and the children do well, the matter will be settled.”

“Teachers get married,” Cristof Byler said. “That’s what started us down this road in the first place. We’ll just end up back here.”

“Right now all we need is the first Amish teacher,” James said. “That will give us time to prepare other young women who might feel the call to serve God and the church this way.”

The heads turning toward Ella did not escape James’s notice.

The door opened and cold air gusted the length of the structure.

“Tobias,” Gideon said.

James lurched two steps away from the wall.

“You said to come if
Aunti
Miriam …”

T
hey kept vigil. James and Gideon and Ella.

Miriam had appeared well enough on Wednesday morning, other than the fatigue that had been growing for months, but was stricken suddenly in the afternoon, moments before Tobias turned up at the schoolhouse. The ache in her legs had made her surrender to the comfortable chair in the corner of Gideon’s kitchen. James had found her there when he rushed home from the schoolhouse meeting. She made a pretense of irritation that Tobias had raced off needlessly, but her protest was insincere when James half carried her to her own bed in the
dawdihaus.
Still, if Miriam had a choice in the matter, she would not have sent for the
English
doctor. But James insisted, and Gideon rode into town and the doctor arrived.

Unquestionably, it was influenza.

Even robust young men were felled within hours by the virulent strain that had circled the globe in the waning months of the world war. In fact, the doctor reported, the young experienced more severe symptoms than the elderly. The important point to remember, the doctor emphasized, was that most people made a full recovery.

Lindy had recovered.

A week after her illness, Mrs. Byler was still weak but recovering.

In the throes of watching his wife’s suffering, James prayed for God’s mercy.
Most people
did not give him the reassurance he sought. The medicines the doctor left seemed to bring no benefit.

No Thanksgiving turkey baked in the oven on Thursday. Miriam’s fever raged. Her arms ached, she said. Her head ached. Her legs ached. No, she did not want to eat. She wanted another quilt. She wanted no quilt at all.

On Friday, Gideon encouraged the children to eat the food Rachel carried over, but the adults had no appetite. Miriam coughed most of the day. When she spoke, raspy, it was to complain how sore her throat was.

James left Miriam’s bedside only when he had to and only for a few minutes at a time. Gideon tended to the animals. Ella kept Gertie occupied and periodically set out cold food for the children. James, Gideon, and Ella rotated through the bedroom of the
dawdihaus
determined that Miriam would not spend a moment alone, even when she slept. When she woke, and was not thrashing against the pain of her ailment, they coaxed water, tea, or a bit of bread into her.

James sat alone with Miriam in the abating shadows of Saturday morning, his elbows propped on his knees and his head hanging between his hands.

Had he brought this home after visiting Lindy in town or going to the meeting with the school board? Had someone coughed on him in the mercantile, and he carried the disease home to Miriam while his own body fought it off? Had Miriam been too close to Mrs. Byler, who had succumbed last weekend but was improving?

Gottes wille.

He prayed to accept God’s will. But he prayed for God’s will to deliver his beloved.

Gertie whined about not being allowed to see Miriam, but somber Savilla understood the gravity. If Gertie turned up at the
dawdihaus
door, Savilla would be right behind her to tug her back to the main house. Ella scrubbed everything she could think to clean in both structures.

James had always worried what would happen to Miriam if God should call him home. Somehow he had never imagined that Miriam would be the first to see the Savior’s face.

Gideon slipped into the room. James looked up.

“She seems to be resting better,” Gideon whispered.

“In and out,” James said. “I persuaded her to sip some tea before she fell asleep again.”

Her breathing was too shallow. James’s hand on her cheek told him her temperature was climbing again.

“Maybe you should have something as well,” Gideon said. “Mrs. Borntrager brought food.”

James shook his head. He would not leave. Not now.

A gasp from the bed startled them both. Almost immediately, Miriam exhaled heavily. James knocked over the chair in his rush to get three inches closer to Miriam. Her eyes fluttered but did not open. James waited for her to take another breath.

“Miriam,” he said, jiggling her arm.

She moaned, but she opened her mouth and inhaled.

The door opened. James did not take his eyes off Miriam. In his peripheral vision he saw Gideon reach for Ella’s hand.

Miriam’s chest fell slowly. James inhaled in harmony and held his breath, waiting for Miriam to release hers.

No rush of air came, no leaking breath, no rise of the rib cage. Finally James could hold his breath no longer and emptied his lungs against his will.