Courting Miss Amsel (20 page)

The wind roared. Snow blinded him. The rough boards beneath his knees cut through his trousers and tore his skin. But his hands found the indention in the wall created by the door. With arms so weary he could barely lift them, he sought the leather string that would raise the crossbar. He found it, but his fingers were too stiff to grasp it. He swiped at the string once, twice, unable to open the door.

Helplessness sagged his spine. He couldn’t just die here on the porch, outside the door, where the boys would trip over his body. His jaw too stiff to open, he groaned through clenched teeth, “Help me, God!” He swatted at the string one more time. And missed.

Chapter
TWENTY-NINE

“I gotta get some help.”

Joel battled to make sense of what he’d heard. The voice seemed to swoop in from faraway, high-pitched and slurring.

“But it’s stormin’! I don’t want you to go!”

The second voice held more panic than the first.

“But Uncle Joel’s sick – he might be dyin’! I gotta go get help!”

Realization bloomed in Joel’s foggy brain.
Johnny and Robert
. . .
talking about me
.
An’ one of ’em is fixing to go out in that storm.
Fear roused him from his stupor. Groaning, he fought to open his heavy eyelids and squint at two fuzzy, tear-stained faces – the boys, hunkered down beside him. Johnny wore his coat and wool hat over his striped sleep shirt.

“Take off your coat, boy.” Joel tried to speak sternly, but the words rasped out on a weak whisper. It pained him to take a deep breath – the frigid air must’ve burned his lungs. “You aren’t goin’ anywhere.”

“Uncle Joel!” Robert threw himself on Joel.

Joel somehow found the strength to roll to his left hip and hold Robert to his chest. The boy clung, sobbing. “I’m all right. Hush now.” He blinked, trying to clear his vision. Sandpaper scraped over his eyes. He scowled at Johnny, who remained on his haunches close to Joel’s knees. “Why’re you wearin’ that coat?”

Tears winked in Johnny’s eyes. “I was gonna go to the Sterbinz place an’ get help. I heard somethin’ bumpin’ on the door, so I opened it, an’ you fell down. Robert an’ me dragged you in so we could close the door again, but you wouldn’t answer us when we talked to you.” One tear rolled down his cheek, and his chin quivered. “You . . . you scared me, Uncle Joel. I thought you was dyin’.”

Some of Joel’s anger melted away in the face of Johnny’s real fear. Yet he couldn’t ease up until he’d made a point with the boy. “You wouldn’t have been able to find the Sterbinz place. You wouldn’t have been able to find the road, thick as that snow’s blowin’.” He pointed his finger at Johnny. “Don’t you ever,
ever
head out in a storm, Johnny. Not for any reason. All you’d be doing is putting yourself in danger.”

“But – ”

“Don’t argue with me, boy!” At his sharp tone, Robert lifted his head and reared back in surprise. Joel rarely growled at the boys, but they needed to learn this lesson without experiencing the consequences. “Getting yourself lost wouldn’t have helped me. You promise me right now you’ll never leave this house on your own – especially not in the middle of a storm.”

The boys stared at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

“Promise me!” Barking the words made Joel’s throat hurt. He gave Robert a little shake, his glare aimed at Johnny.

“I promise,” they chorused, fresh tears welling.

Joel snaked out his arm and tugged Johnny to his side. He held both boys and planted kisses in their uncombed hair so they’d know he wasn’t mad. Then he set them aside. “Get the broom, Robert, and sweep this snow to the door so it doesn’t leave a puddle in the middle of the floor. Johnny, take off that coat an’ put a pot of water on the stove for mush. I’m gonna” – he groaned as he forced his legs to hold him upright – “change out of my wet clothes. Then we’ll have breakfast.”

Robert trotted alongside Joel as he headed for the bedroom. “What about school, Uncle Joel? Ain’t we goin’?”

Joel almost laughed. Who would’ve ever believed the boy would beg to go to school? He tousled Robert’s hair. “No school today, boy – we got a blizzard happening out there. Sweep up now, like I told you.”

He closed himself in his bedroom and struggled out of his ice-crusted pants. His knees bore several scratches, and it hurt to pull fresh britches over them. Every muscle in his body ached from his time in the cold. But even worse than pain was fear. The idea of Johnny braving the blizzard made him break out in a sweat. What if he hadn’t come to and Johnny’d set out for help?

He shook his head, ridding himself of the frightful speculations. Johnny was safe. Robert was safe. They’d promised to never venture out alone. But would they honor the promise? Joel sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the window where the landscape hid behind a wall of blowing snow. Both boys carried insecurities from losing their parents. They clung to him like freshly hatched ducklings trail after their mother. If something happened to him . . .

He bent forward, burying his face in his hands. The boys needed someone else besides him taking care of them. Johnny would never have considered donning his coat and trekking through the blizzard for help if there’d been another grown-up in the house. Joel needed to marry, needed to provide a mother for the boys.

Immediately, a picture of Edythe Amsel flashed through his mind, but he swept it away like his palm cleared a film of steam from a pane of glass. His fists pressed to his aching eyes, he considered each of the unmarried women in Walnut Hill. Four elderly widows, including Luthenia Kinsley; Miz Sterbinz, not elderly but a good fifteen years Joel’s senior; and three women in their late teens or early twenties. He searched his memory for a picture of each of the younger women, considering them by turn. One stood out from the others – Maribelle Jenkins.

She’d been out of school for as long as he’d lived in Walnut Hill. He didn’t know her well, but he’d caught her watching him at church picnics or from across the mercantile. She always looked away quickly when his gaze met hers, which might mean she was trying to conceal her interest in him. Miz Kinsley had hinted shortly before the boys had come to live with him that Maribelle would make a fine wife. He hadn’t found any strong arguments against the older woman’s statement. But then the boys had arrived and his attention had turned to them.

Terrill Sterbinz had courted the girl a year ago, but they’d broken things off. Joel didn’t know why, and he didn’t need to know. Maribelle was unattached, a churchgoing believer, and maybe even a little interested in him.

Come Sunday – assuming this storm blew itself out by then and he could get to church – he’d speak a few words to Maribelle and see what happened.

“Edie, read to me.”

Edythe looked up from her embroidery work. Missy lay stretched out on the parlor settee, her hands behind her head and her ankles crossed. Edythe couldn’t help chuckling. She’d never seen a lazier pose. “Don’t be silly. You’re capable of reading to yourself. Besides, I’m working on this dresser scarf for Luthenia.”

She held the hoop at arm’s length and smiled at the array of pansies trailing across the expanse of snowy white linen. She hoped to find enough time, between working on lessons and writing letters of support for the women’s suffrage committee, to complete the dresser scarf and present it to Luthenia on her birthday in mid-February.

“But I’m too sleepy to read to myself. And I’m bored. Read to me, please? Just for a little while?”

Fortunately, the storm had eased before noon the day before, bringing an unearthly hush after the wind’s wild howls. But the residents of Walnut Hill hadn’t tried to venture out. Snowdrifts reached all the way to the roof on the north side of most houses. The stage couldn’t get through on the roads, so mail service had come to a halt. Everyone stayed in where it was warm. Listening to the storm had been unnerving, but the eerie silence of a town buried beneath snow and ice was almost as discomfiting.

Today the sun shone brightly, and Edythe hoped it would melt away enough snow for folks to make it to church on Sunday and then to school on Monday. Three days of being trapped inside should be enough for everyone.

She dug in the little basket at her feet for more green thread. “If you’re bored, why don’t you go in and start supper for Luthenia? She’s still lying down with a headache. She’d probably appreciate the help.”

Missy sat upright and swung her feet to the floor. “What should I fix?”

“There’s a ham hock in the cellar and a bag of white beans in the pantry.” The mention of beans brought to mind two little towheaded boys . . . and their square-jawed uncle. She pushed the image away. “Ham and beans, with a pan of corn bread, would make a fine supper.”

“All right.” Missy bounced out of the parlor, humming.

Edythe watched her sister go, astounded by her cheerful response to preparing supper. Either Missy truly was bored enough to view cooking as a pleasant diversion, or she was doing as Edythe had asked and trying to be more grown-up. Edythe couldn’t deny she appreciated the change. She disliked battling with Missy and welcomed the opportunity to transition from mother and rebellious child to sisters and friends.

Luthenia toddled from her bedroom shortly before five o’clock. Edythe jumped up and held the wadded scarf behind her back. “Is your headache better?”

Luthenia grimaced. “Some. It’ll plague me ’til this snow clears – I’ve always had headaches durin’ the wintertime.” A weak smile curved her lips. “Cyrus used to call ’em snowfall-aches.” She moved to the window and squinted out.

Edythe angled her body to hide the scarf behind her and peeked past Luthenia’s shoulder. Dusk turned the snow pale blue. Shadows, cast by the house and the band of cottonwood trees, created darker patches. In the fading light of the low-hanging sun, the snow took on the appearance of spun sugar. “The storm was fierce, but the results are beautiful,” she said to Luthenia.

“Yep. Even if it gives me headaches, I could never begrudge the snow – always looks so clean and pretty.” A wry chuckle rolled from Luthenia’s lips. “ ’Til it starts meltin’ or folks traipse through it. Then it looks like a mouse-eaten quilt.”

Edythe giggled at Luthenia’s picturesque observation.

Luthenia turned from the window. “I better go make sure poor ol’ Gertie’s water isn’t all iced over.”

Edythe backed toward the doorway leading to the kitchen. “Let me do that for you.”

“Gert’s my horse – I’ll see to her.”

Missy whisked in front of Edythe. “If you’re not feeling well, you shouldn’t go out in the cold.” She pushed Edythe behind the doorjamb and out of sight. Edythe took advantage of the moment to race upstairs and hide the dresser scarf in her underwear drawer. Missy’s voice carried from the kitchen. “Don’t be silly. Edythe or I can break the ice just as well as you, and Gertie won’t care who does it as long as it gets done.”

“But – ”

“Let me do it, please?”

Edythe raced back down to see Missy using her best pleading face on Luthenia. She hid her smile – Luthenia would have a hard time resisting the sweetly begging Missy.

“Well . . .” Luthenia massaged her temple with her fingertips. Then she jerked upright and sniffed the air. “Do I smell supper cookin’?”

Missy lifted her chin, her grin saucy. “Yep. Ham an’ beans with corn bread. That is” – she hunched her shoulders and giggled – “there’ll be corn bread soon as I put it in the oven. I was waiting for you to wake up.”

“Hmph!” Luthenia folded her arms over her chest and scowled. But her eyes twinkled. “Seems the two o’ you have taken over my house an’ don’t need me at all. Cookin’ supper, carin’ for my horse . . . Next thing I know, you’ll be sayin’ the prayers around here, too.”

Edythe might read the Bible every day, as she’d promised, but she wasn’t ready to talk to God. “We just want to see to Gertie. We’ll leave the praying to you, Luthenia.”

Chapter
THIRTY

Edythe lifted her face to the sun and drew in a deep breath of the crisp, cold air. She flicked a quick glance at Luthenia and Missy, who walked along beside her. Both of them also appeared to drink in the bright sunshine. Only three days of being cooped up like chickens in a cage, but it had seemed longer. She smiled. “Sure is good to be out and walking under the sun.”

“ ’Specially since we’re headed to the Lord’s house,” Luthenia replied.

“I’m glad the menfolk got the street cleared,” Missy contributed. “It’d be awful hard to walk if they hadn’t.”

“Yep,” Luthenia said, “livin’ on the main street has its blessings. Menfolk’ll clear it, be it blocked by snow, tumbleweeds, or a busted wagon.”

They moved at a brisk pace, their breath puffing out in little clouds. They came to an especially mucky patch of melting snow. Luthenia and Missy plowed straight through it, but Edythe lifted her skirts above the high tops of her lace-up shoes before tiptoeing through the mess. Some might consider it scandalous to show so much leg, but she wasn’t keen on ruining her dress by dragging it through the puddle on the street. Folks would just have to understand.

Missy’s cheeks glowed bright pink and her nose looked red as a ripe cherry, but she wore a smile. “Mrs. Kinsley, do you think the country folks will make it in for service today?”

“Why, sure. I figure everybody’s tired of bein’ stuck in their homes.” Luthenia shook her head. “I’m eager to count noses in church – durin’ a fierce storm, seems someone always falls ill or faces some other tragedy. I’ve been prayin’ everyone stayed safe.”

Missy said, “Edie, if Martha makes it in, can I sit with her?”

“
May
I,” Edythe corrected.

Missy sent Luthenia an impatient look. “Edie’s ready for school. She’s bein’ my teacher again.”

Luthenia chuckled. “Don’t reckon she can help it, honey.”

Missy sighed. “If Martha makes it in,
may
I sit with her?”

“You may.”

“Good!” Missy skipped ahead, humming.

Luthenia’s eyes twinkled. She whispered, “Glad she didn’t ask to sit with William Sholes.”

Edythe nodded in agreement. Up ahead, wagons with sleigh rails in place of wheels stood in a haphazard row alongside the churchyard. Edythe looked down the row of horses, identifying who’d come to church by the animal held in the traces. She recognized the Sterbinzes’ horse, the Brides’ and the Wolcotts’, as well as Joel Townsend’s Jody. “Looks as though the families who live south of town made it in.”

Luthenia shielded her eyes with her hand and examined the wagons. “I don’t see any of the northern neighbors’ wagons, but they might make it yet. Another fifteen minutes or so before service’ll start – there’s time.” She slung her arm around Edythe’s shoulders, grinning. “C’mon. My old heart’s ready for a time of fellowship.” Her feet sped, kicking up little clumps of brackish snow. Edythe and Luthenia climbed the clean-swept stairs behind Missy and entered the church together.

Folks visited, laughter ringing from every corner. While she hung her coat and scarf on a hook at the back of the sanctuary, Edythe overheard a comment about the Wolcotts losing three milk cows in the storm. Much as she hated to think of the animals’ deaths, she hoped tragedies would be limited to four-legged creatures. Storms could claim human lives, too.

“Miss Amsel! Miss Amsel!” The two Townsend boys dashed 241 to Edythe.

“Hello, boys!” Edythe bent forward and embraced the pair. Her heart lifted as their arms circled her neck, hugging hard.

“That was some storm, huh?” Johnny clamped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. “Snowed so hard Uncle Joel couldn’t even make it to the barn ’til Friday. He was plenty worried ’bout our horse an’ cow an’ chickens.”

“Yep,” Robert added, his eyes sparkling. “He tried goin’ out durin’ the storm, but he fell down, an’ me an’ Johnny almost hadda go for help.”

Johnny scowled at Robert. “Don’t fib, Robert.”

Robert sent his brother an innocent look. “Not fibbin’. You was gonna go to the Sterbinzes, an’ I was gonna take care of Uncle Joel ’til you got back. That’s helpin’, ain’t it?”

“It’s not
goin’
for help.”

Robert rolled his eyes, then faced Edythe again. “But we didn’t have to, ’cause Uncle Joel woke up an’ said he was all right. He sure scared us, though!” The boys dashed off.

Edythe pressed her hands to her bodice. Her heart thudded at twice its normal rhythm. If the boys weren’t telling tales and Joel had been out in the blizzard, he might have suffered frostbite or picked up a chill. She wouldn’t be able to rest until she knew he was all right. With so many folks clustered inside the church, she had a little difficulty locating him. But she finally spotted him in the corner visiting with Maribelle Jenkins.

She started to cross to them, but then came to a halt, taking a good look at Joel. He stood in a casual pose – his weight on one hip, one thumb caught in his trouser pocket. He looked straight into the Jenkins girl’s face, a half smile dimpling his cheek. He laughed softly at something she said, his eyes never shifting away.

Edythe turned her attention to the girl, noting how she held Joel’s gaze, her lips curved with a sweetly attentive smile. The young woman lifted one hand and grazed Joel’s sleeve with her fingertips, then carried her fingers to her mouth to cover a little giggle. They were flirting! Right in church under the whole town’s nose. Obviously Joel had lost his interest in courting the schoolmarm. She should be relieved . . . but another emotion captured her.

She whirled to escape and nearly collided with Mary Scheebeck, who cradled her baby son. “Oh! Please excuse me. I didn’t see you there,” Edythe said.

A knowing look crept across Mrs. Scheebeck’s face. She sent a quick glance toward Joel and the Jenkins girl. “Were you watching Mr. Townsend an’ Maribelle? Soon as he stepped through the doors, he hightailed it over to talk to her.” The woman absently rocked, her voice soft and singsongy. “Never’ve seen Mr. Townsend move so fast. And I don’t mind telling you, I’m glad to see him takin’ an interest in Maribelle. High time he took a wife.”

Jealousy blocked Edythe’s voice box.

The woman went on. “Wally thought for a while he’d taken a shine to you, Miss Amsel, but considerin’ you ain’t stayin’, it’s probably best he set his sights elsewhere.”

Edythe frowned. “Not staying?” How on earth would the Scheebecks know if she intended to stay or not?

Mrs. Scheebeck’s eyes widened. “Did I speak out of turn? Thought for sure the town council’d already talked to you since Wally said . . .” The woman clamped her lips for a moment, but then she shrugged. “Well, you’ll be findin’ out soon enough. Maybe it’s best you hear it from me rather than one of the men. I kinda hate to see you go. Lewis an’ Jenny are so fond of you. But, Miss Amsel, you just got too many wild notions for our little town. All your strange ways of teachin’, and then wantin’ to run off to hear some woman suffragist speak.”

She grimaced. “Mr. Libolt wanted to send you packin’ right away, but the others talked him into lettin’ you finish the year. But they aren’t goin’ to ask you to stay.” The baby let out a weak wail. Mrs. Scheebeck shifted him to her shoulder and patted his little back, giving Edythe a worried look. “You won’t let Wally know I told you, will you?”

Edythe lifted her chin. “I’m not a talebearer.”

The woman flushed. The baby’s wail increased in volume. “I think Wallace is hungry. ’Scuse me.” Mrs. Scheebeck hurried off.

Reverend Coker moved to the raised dais at the front of the church, and people shuffled to their seats. Edythe observed Joel sliding in next to Maribelle Jenkins and her folks. She sat beside Luthenia, her mouth pressed into a tight line. She had no right to be jealous. She’d told Joel she wasn’t interested in marriage. But seeing him with Maribelle Jenkins somehow hurt more than knowing the town council didn’t want to keep her.

The joy of the storm’s passage faded in light of these new developments. Her heart ached, thinking about saying good-bye to Luthenia and the schoolchildren. She consoled herself with the notion that it was best for Joel to look elsewhere. Those little boys would benefit from a woman’s influence. And Missy would be happy – she wanted to return to Omaha. Edythe would look for a new teaching job there.

She sniffed hard, an unwelcome sting attacking the back of her nose. Even as she opened her mouth and joined in singing the opening hymn, her heart felt heavy. The congregation sang of things well with one’s soul. Edythe closed her eyes, but she could find no peace for her own aching soul.

Weeks blessed with bright sunshine followed the blizzard that had trapped the residents of Walnut Hill in their homes for three days. Cold days, but clear, with only one brief period of snow that came and went so quickly Edythe thought she might have imagined the glittering flakes dancing outside the schoolhouse windows.

She kept the potbellied stove blazing, and the students placed potatoes along the stove’s fender. All morning the potatoes baked, filling the room with a wonderful aroma; then at lunchtime, the students had something warm to eat. Edythe considered bringing a soup kettle and fixings to teach cooking to the middle-grade students, but she sensed the town council members would disapprove of spending reading and arithmetic time on something the youngsters could learn at home, so she refrained. She despised herself for yielding to their old-fashioned thinking, yet she’d need a good recommendation from them to secure another position. She dared not upset the council again.

She continued teaching the amendments to the Constitution – those referred to as the Bill of Rights as well as others both proposed and ratified over nearly a century. She dedicated a significant amount of time to the Fifteenth Amendment, since it dealt with suffrage based on race, skin color, or previous condition of servitude. Insightful discussions followed the lessons, and often she only had to ask a question to direct their thoughts and then allow the students to share. Martha and Louisa in particular had very bright, intuitive minds, and more and more she mourned the recognition that these intelligent girls would not have a say in their country’s leadership unless a bill concerning women’s suffrage was passed.

In the evenings, after grading assignments and preparing the next day’s lessons, she pulled out her writing paper and pen. By the glow of Luthenia’s oil lamp, she wrote strongly worded letters to congressmen and state leaders concerning the importance of giving equal rights to all citizens regardless of gender. She never received a reply, and she tired of Wally Scheebeck’s dismayed headshaking, yet she continued because she believed change needed to come. Not for herself – she couldn’t recapture what her family had lost – but for the young women sitting in her classroom.

Trekking nearly daily to the mercantile to mail letters put her in contact with Wally and Mary Scheebeck, both of whom seemed to relish sharing intriguing nuggets of gossip. Although Edythe did her best to close her ears to their tongue wagging, she couldn’t prevent herself from listening when they mentioned Joel Townsend’s name.

The entire community predicted that when spring arrived, Joel Townsend and Maribelle Jenkins would announce their intention to wed. The rumor ate away at her insides and kept her awake at night. Jealousy plagued her, and the jealousy made her angry at herself. She had no reason to care if he married Maribelle. Yet she cared deeply, and each Sunday when Joel nodded his head in a distant greeting and brushed past her to speak to Maribelle, she felt as though a knife stabbed through her heart. At least Johnny and Robert continued to greet her enthusiastically, whether at school, the mercantile, or the church sanctuary.

She faithfully read her Bible each night before blowing out the lamp. Knowing William Sholes’s parents were church attenders, she memorized verses suitable as reprimands when the boy misbehaved. To her pleased surprise, he responded more readily to phrases from God’s Word than any she could construct, no matter how sternly spoken. So she sought others, building her bank of Scripture.

One night, reading in Psalm 119, she came upon the verse “Thy word have I hid in mine heart, that I might not sin against thee.” With a start, she realized she’d been hiding God’s words away in her heart for the purpose of disciplining William. But this verse seemed to indicate memorization was of benefit to the one who held the Scripture. She pondered that idea for many nights, wondering if God might use His words to impact her life.

February rushed toward March, and the sun – still bright – sent down a little more warmth. Planting season waited only weeks away, which meant Edythe’s time in Walnut Hill with Luthenia and the students she’d grown to love would soon conclude. She wished she knew where she and Missy would go when the year was over. She considered asking Luthenia to pray for direction, but she knew Luthenia would tell her to ask God herself. But Edythe’s ears didn’t seem tuned to His voice, so she stumbled on, wondering and worrying on her own.

The first day of March, Edythe awakened early and padded downstairs before Luthenia roused. She sat at the table in the pink glow of a quiet predawn and stared across the neat, humble kitchen – a place of refuge and peace. Sitting there alone, she made a decision. Since it seemed the town council wouldn’t invite her back no matter what she did, she would teach the way she wanted to teach during the remaining weeks of school. She would send out letters of interest to schools surrounding Omaha. And she would begin saying good-bye in her heart to Luthenia, Johnny and Robert, Martha, little Jenny, and all the others. When May arrived, and the school closed, she and Missy would pack their valises, board the stage, and not look back.

“A new beginning,” she whispered to the empty room, her words bouncing from the ceiling to ring through her ears. Happy words – words of promise. So why did tears follow?