Courting Miss Amsel (14 page)

Her voice drifted off, and she lowered her chin, showing him the neat part down the center of her head. Her hair looked sleek and shiny in the sunlight pouring through the open door. Joel decided it was a good thing he had his hands full of turkey and apple pie, because if they were free, he’d be lifting her chin and planting a kiss on her mouth.

He gulped. “I – ”

“I – ” She raised her face and spoke at the same time. The pink in her cheeks deepened to red. “Go ahead.”

Joel couldn’t remember what he’d planned to say. “That’s all right. You go ahead.”

Her rosy lips formed a timid smile. “I wanted to thank you for your kind prayer . . . when you said I was a blessing.” To Joel’s surprise, tears winked in her green-flecked eyes. “It meant a great deal to me.”

“I meant it.” His thick tongue managed to form the words. “You’re a fine teacher, an’ my boys are lucky to have you. You are a blessin’, E – Miss Amsel.”

Her smile blossomed, and with her face all aglow from sunshine, she might have been an angel come down from Heaven. Joel took a stumbling step toward the door. “Boys’re waitin’ in the wagon. I . . . I best go.”

She stood near, her hands clasped sweetly at her waist. “Good-bye, Mr. Townsend. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Happy Thanksgiving.” He dashed out the door before he tossed aside the turkey and pie and gathered the woman in his arms.

Chapter
NINETEEN

Throughout the month of December, Mr. Townsend’s Thanksgiving prayer echoed through Edythe’s heart time and time again.
A blessing,
he’d called her. The weather turned frigid, and snow blanketed the prairie. Wind shaped the glistening flakes into drifts that made trekking to school a challenge. But she bundled up and set out each day, undeterred and determined to prove his words true.

She had company for the chilly walk. Although Missy had argued that she was “too old” for book learning, Edythe enrolled her in school. She made clear her intention for Missy to graduate from the Walnut Hill school and then go on to high school . . . somewhere. If they remained in Walnut Hill, she’d send Missy to Lincoln Valley for high school; if they returned to Omaha, she’d insist her sister attend high school there. Either way, Missy would be educated. Edythe refused to compromise on that issue.

Missy spoke often of returning to Omaha at the end of the school year so they’d be close to Justus and Eulah, who were expecting their first child. As much as Edythe longed to spend time with her new niece or nephew, she also wanted to stay in Walnut Hill. To teach. To be a blessing. Nobody – except Mama, who’d been gone for more than a decade – had ever called her a blessing.

The Monday after Thanksgiving, Martha Sterbinz had shyly approached Edythe and asked if they could have a Christmas program at the school. “The teacher we had before Mr. Shanks let us do a program at Christmas, an’ it was real nice to have all our folks here. May we do one again?” she’d said. Edythe initially considered refusing – at times she felt overwhelmed keeping the multiple grade levels on task and moving forward. But after considering the girl’s request, she decided it might be the perfect way to bring all of the parents in Walnut Hill together. And it opened the door to a study of world cultures that excited her as much as she hoped it would the children.

Using geography textbooks and a children’s storybook called
All Around the World
, they researched Christmas traditions from different countries. She divided the class into four groups, mixing younger students with older ones. Edythe allowed each group to select one of the countries from which their ancestors had originated – Germany, Sweden, or England; or the country that was now their home – America. Lively arguments ensued, but eventually each group settled on a country.

The children cut twelve-inch-tall paper dolls from brown paper and used fabric pieces from Luthenia’s scrap basket to dress the dolls in ways that reflected their chosen country. Younger students drew maps, and older ones wrote reports. Edythe became accustomed to hearing them share snippets about “their” country’s imports and exports, famous leaders, or unique geographical features. The display wall proved inadequate to hold all of their handiwork, so Edythe allowed them to tack their projects on every available space. Soon the classroom walls wore a patchwork of colorful drawings, brightly costumed dolls, and neatly written essays.

Watching the children work together thrilled Edythe’s teacher heart. In addition to gaining information about the world, they were learning cooperation, compromise, and organization – all crucial life skills. Edythe thanked Martha repeatedly for suggesting the program. The girl’s idea had opened the door to a wonderful experience.

Each day, in place of recess, they practiced for the upcoming program. The children already knew the Christmas hymn “Silent Night,” but Edythe taught them the German words as well. She wished she could teach them the lyrics in Swedish, but Martha suggested having a Swedish treat in place of a Swedish song. Edythe deemed it a perfect suggestion and added, “Martha, you would make a wonderful teacher.” The girl’s pleased blush had given Edythe’s heart a lift.

The month of December was the cheeriest month of the school year despite the cold and snow, despite the toes-freezing walk, despite the runny noses and the musty smell of wool mittens drying on the woodstove’s fenders. Edythe would have called the final weeks of 1882 perfect had it not been for two students who proved to be the proverbial flies in the ointment.

William’s uncooperative attitude didn’t surprise Edythe. She’d deliberately placed him in a group with the two little Ellsworth girls – who were so dependent on each other they even needed the outhouse at the same time – Henry Libolt, and Missy. She hoped his position as the group’s oldest boy would encourage him to assume leadership. And certainly William led . . . but not in a positive manner.

For reasons beyond Edythe’s understanding, Missy giggled at everything William did. No matter how many times Edythe lectured her sister on the importance of focusing on her studies instead of dallying with a boy, or how many times Missy promised to try harder, each day ended the same – with Edythe frustrated by William’s behavior, angered by her sister’s blatant flirtation, and heartsick. The other girls didn’t like William, so Missy’s fascination with the boy distanced her from the ones who could become her friends if only she would allow it.

The closer they came to December twenty-second – program day – the greater the children’s excitement grew. Each student created an invitation for their parents or someone else in the community, and their voices rang with enthusiasm when they shared with Edythe that Uncle Milton or Grandma Betty was planning to come. Edythe hoped the little schoolhouse would be able to hold everyone. She also hoped the visitors would enjoy the program. Her students would be so disappointed otherwise. And so would she.

“Boy, are you tryin’ to grow potatoes in your ears?” Joel dipped the cloth in the wash pan and went after Robert again.

The boy squirmed, giggling as Joel reamed his ears with the cloth. “Stop it! It tickles!”

“Hold still an’ I’ll be done a lot faster.” Joel clamped his knees on Robert’s hips to hold him in place. Another twist of the cloth, and then he peeked at Robert’s ear. He let out a whoosh of breath. “Finally.” He released his hold, and Robert scampered several feet away, shaking his head like a dog dislodging a tick.

Joel glanced at the face of his windup timepiece. “Get dressed now. We need to leave in less’n fifteen minutes or you’ll be late to your program.”

“Yes, sir!” Robert darted for the bedroom.

Johnny, wearing his Sunday clothes, sat on the long wooden bench that served as a sofa. Joel quirked his finger at him. “Come here, Johnny – lemme see your ears.”

The boy’s eyes flew wide. “They’re clean, Uncle Joel, honest. Scrubbed ’em good.”

Joel didn’t doubt him – Johnny rarely fibbed. But he said, “Lemme check anyway, just to be sure. Hard for a fella to see behind his own ears.”

With a sigh, Johnny rose and scuffed across the floor. He patiently allowed Joel’s scrutiny. Joel grinned. “Clean as a whistle.”

“Told’ja,” the boy huffed. An impish grin creased his face. “How ’bout yours? Should I check ’em for you?”

“Mine?”

“You said it’s hard for a fella to see his own ears. Might be you got dirt hidin’ in there an’ don’t know it.”

Joel aimed a teasing swat at Johnny’s backside, and Johnny ducked away, giggling. Shaking his head, Joel carried the wash pan and rag to the dry sink. He dumped the pan and draped the rag over its edge, then turned to spot Robert bounding out of his bedroom. The boy careened to a halt and held out his arms.

“All dressed! Let’s go!” He charged for the door.

“Hold up there.” Joel strode across the floor and captured Robert. He untucked the boy’s shirttails, then retucked them neatly. “That’s better. Got to look dapper for your program.”

Robert squinted up at him. “Dapper? What’s that?”

Johnny ambled to join them. “It means handsome.”

“Oooh.” Robert stuck out his belly and ran his hands up and down his shirt front. “Am I handsome, Uncle Joel?”

“You’ll do. Now grab your coats, scarves, and mittens – it’s a cold one.”

Joel and the boys rode in companionable silence beneath a clear black sky peppered with stars. For once, the wind had calmed, and even though the air was crisp, it didn’t cut. Surely the pleasant evening would bring everyone to the school program.

The wagon rolled into the schoolyard, and Joel’s pulse doubled its tempo when he spotted all the wagons already lined up. Johnny called from the back, “Lookit! Lotsa folks here, huh, Uncle Joel?”

“Looks to be half the town. You boys climb down an’ go on in so Miss Amsel knows you’re here.” The boys leaped out and dashed away. He chuckled. Used to be, the only way he could get them to run toward the schoolhouse was threaten to set the wagon on fire. Miss Amsel had worked a miracle.

Perspiration broke out across his back, sending a prickle of awareness up his spine and over his scalp. He wrapped the reins around the brake and hopped down. But then he stood beside the wagon, as if his feet had frozen to the ground.
Miss Amsel
. . . He’d seen her in church every Sunday since Thanksgiving, but like a bashful schoolboy, he hadn’t been able to gather up his nerve to talk to her. Tonight he’d have to speak to her – she’d be handing out the pupils’ half-year marks at the end of the program. Torn between anticipation and anxiety, he curled his hand over the edge of the wagon bed, seeking the courage to move forward.

The rattle of wagon wheels intruded, and he jerked to life. He waited beside the door for the Jeffers family to alight, then he held the door for them. Patience and Sophie hunched their shoulders and giggled as they passed him, and their parents thanked him. Joel grinned in reply, tipping his hat to Miz Jeffers. But once they’d all cleared the door, he had no excuse to linger. Drawing a breath, he stepped inside.

Coats, scarves, and mittens decorated the small cloakroom. He added his to the mix, wondering at the likelihood of finding them again when it came time to leave. Running his hands over his smooth-tucked shirt front, much the way Robert had, he turned toward the door leading to the classroom. The cloakroom reeked of damp wool, but he picked up the scents of cinnamon and apples drifting from the other room. The pleasant aroma drew him forward.

Townsfolk filled the schoolroom. Their voices created an unmusical hum. All of the seats were taken by women and small children, so the men and older boys lined the walls. Miss Amsel stood at the front corner of the room with the children clustered close to her. He almost waved to her but caught himself in time. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he wriggled into a tiny wedge of space between bulky Andy Bride and Terrill Sterbinz.

He’d no more than settled his shoulder blades against the cold windowpane than Miss Amsel stepped onto the teacher’s platform. As if they’d received a signal, everyone hushed. She smiled, but Joel thought he detected a slight tremble in her lips.
Lord, let her relax an’ enjoy the evenin’. Give her peace an’ assurance
.

“Welcome to our program.” Her voice came out strong.

Joel couldn’t hide a grin – she’d be fine.

“We appreciate your coming out on this frosty night. The children have worked hard, and I trust you’ll enjoy what they’ve prepared.” She briefly described the monthlong study Johnny and Robert had jabbered about for the past weeks, then she turned to the students. “We’ll start with Sweden – Martha, Sophie, Ada, Johnny, and Josephine.”

Joel swallowed chuckles at childish mishaps and clapped with the other audience members at the close of each group’s presentation. He hadn’t known Swedish girls wore a crown of candles in honor of St. Lucia as part of their Christmas celebration, or that the first steam engine was built in England. From the pleased nods and murmurs of other attendees, he figured they were also impressed with all the kids had learned.

After the final group shared their project about America, Martha Sterbinz stepped up and explained, in a voice so soft he had to strain to hear her, the history behind the beloved hymn “Silent Night.” Then all of the students from oldest to youngest joined Martha on the platform. Some wore makeshift costumes, and they formed a manger scene as Miss Amsel led them in a sweet, if slightly off-key, rendition of “Silent Night.”

While the kids sang, Joel glanced around. Folks who’d questioned Miss Amsel’s tactics in the past beamed with approval. A few sang along, their heads bobbing slowly with the music. Even Hank Libolt had shed his usual scowl. Joel’s chest expanded in pride for what the schoolmarm had accomplished. On this night, at least, everyone seemed to agree she’d done something right.