Courting Miss Amsel (26 page)

“Who do you suppose did it?” Missy wondered aloud.

“I don’t know. But the poor little things look like they could use a drink. Why don’t you get the bucket and water each of them while I unlock the school?”

Children began arriving, and all exclaimed over the trees. Only Johnny and Robert held back. Edythe assumed seeing the trees brought back unpleasant memories, so she didn’t encourage the boys to examine the tiny, unfurling leaves of palest green or rub their palms on the sandpapery bark. When Martha arrived, Edythe took her aside.

“Did Terrill come here yesterday and plant the trees?” She held her breath as she awaited the answer. She feared Terrill may have done it as a way to manipulate her into another dinner in Lincoln Valley. He’d been none too pleased at the end of their evening when she’d told him she didn’t intend to let him court her.

Martha shook her head, her face innocent. “Couldn’t’ve been Terrill, Miss Amsel. He came home straight after church an’ spent the day restin’, like he always does on Sunday. Even heard him snorin’ while Ma an’ I were doin’ the dishes.” She tilted her head, her face crinkled in thought. “Maybe Mr. Sholes did it – he sure seemed sorry in church yesterday. Might be his way of makin’ things right.”

Edythe hadn’t considered the trees might be an apology from Lloyd Sholes. She thanked the girl, then pulled the rope to bring everyone in from the yard. She discovered that when she sat at her desk and looked out the northeast window, one of the trees stood directly in her line of vision. She glanced out repeatedly, wondering who had gifted the children with the trees.

Near the end of the day, Edythe perched on the front edge of her desk and clapped her hands. The students set aside their work without delay and gave her their attention. “As you know, our school year is rapidly coming to a close.”

The children’s expressions shifted from attentive to apprehensive.

“I know all of you enjoyed treating your parents with the Christmas program, and – ”

Robert Townsend burst out of his seat. “Are we gonna do another program?” He flashed a grin around the room, showing the gap from his newly missing front teeth. “She tol’ me at Christmastime we might have one if we all worked hard.”

Edythe laughed. “Do you think you’ve worked hard enough?” Excited mutterings filled the room, interspersed with statements of affirmation. “Very well, then. We’ll begin preparing.”

Louisa Bride raised her hand. “But, Miss Amsel, end of the term’s not a holiday. What’ll our program be about?”

“We’ll show your folks the things we’ve learned this year.” The children had learned, but so had the teacher – valuable lessons she’d cherish for the rest of her life. “We can have a spelling bee and multiplication races” – she named the children’s two favorite learning games – “and you can recite one of the poems we memorized from our readers. We could also make a book, a big one on butcher paper, telling the story of our school year. What do you think?”

The students cheered.

“I think we should call the book
Our Year With Miss Amsel
,” Andrew Bride blurted. Then he slunk low in his seat, his face red. Children tittered.

Edythe smiled at Andrew. “I appreciate being given such recognition, Andrew, but perhaps
Memories of Our Year Together
might be more appropriate.”

Martha waved her hand. “Will there be a commencement for Missy an’ me?”

“Of course we’ll have a commencement, complete with diplomas.” Edythe had already ordered sheepskin diplomas and several ribbons from the Nebraska Department of Education. “There will be other awards, too. We’ll make it a grand close to the school term.”

While the children chattered excitedly, offering their ideas for pages in the memory book, Edythe battled sadness that threatened to emerge as tears.
God, I have complete peace about taking on the challenge of winning rights for women, but it’s so hard to think of leaving these children. Give me strength, God, to say good-bye.

Chapter
FORTY-ONE

Joel couldn’t recall a more perfect spring for preparing the fields for planting. Gentle rains had fallen during sleeping hours in mid-March, moistening the soil. Then the sun had chased the clouds away and dried things enough for Joel to turn the ground. He never tired of watching the mineral-specked clumps of earth roll away from the plow blade. Often he stopped the oxen to lean down, squeeze a fistful of the moist dirt, and inhale the rich aroma.

He began pressing his seeds into the ground on the twenty-third of the month – two weeks earlier than his neighbors, who waited for April’s full moon. But his pa had always planted on the day of March’s new moon, so it felt right to him. Besides, the rains ensured the seeds would have enough moisture to sprout, even if the other farmers in town thought he was rushing things.

The sixth of April – the day before the full moon – Joel discovered the first tiny shoots of green peeking through the sod like little arms reaching for the sun. After school, Joel took Johnny and Robert to the field and let them run their fingertips over the tiny, fragile sprouts. They insisted on visiting the field each day thereafter, engaging in good-natured arguments about how many stalks filled the acreage and how much each had grown overnight.

Joel delighted in the boys’ excitement, which matched his own at the signs of new life burgeoning across the once-barren expanse of ground. The cornstalks grew in strength and height daily, promising a successful harvest. And within Joel’s soul – despite how hard he worked to set the feelings aside – his love for Edythe Amsel continued to grow, too.

He saw her in church each Sunday, dressed in her schoolmarm frocks, with her dark hair smoothed into a sleek bun that rested precisely at the base of her skull, and he reminded himself she didn’t fit the picture of a farmer’s wife. When the boys jabbered about something she’d taught them that day in school and his heart pattered in response to the sound of her name, he told himself she’d be leaving soon – it was pointless to pine for her. But pine he did. In his prayers, he asked God to erase the feelings he held for her. But God stubbornly refused to respond to his request. So Joel went on, confused and heartsore, battling his own emotions.

By the second week of May – the final week of school for the boys – the corn stood more than a foot tall, with stalks as thick as Joel’s thumb supporting long, slender leaves of green that caught the sunlight and rustled in the wind. Joel went out every day with his hoe to chop at the dirt around the base of each stalk. His father had taught him to soften the soil around the growing stalks, making it easier for rain to reach the roots, and to hack away any weeds that dared to rob his corn of nutrients.

On this sunny afternoon, while he carefully tapped the hoe’s blade against the ground, something his ma had told him winged through his mind. He paused, remembering her sweet voice as she’d told Joel a life was better lived when the person let God do what was needed to soften his heart and to carve away the influences that could rob his soul of joy. Even now, twenty years after she’d been laid to rest, he remembered and treasured her influence on his life.
But my boys’ll never again benefit from a mother’s touch, unless . . .

He blew out a mighty breath, his hands stilling on the warm hoe handle. In a few more days, the boys would be home all day for the summer months. He’d be working the fields and trying to keep two active boys occupied. The longing for a helpmeet rose again, and he squinted toward the ball of fire suspended high in the clear sky. “God, those boys need a ma to look after them an’ teach them. I need a wife. Your word says man isn’t meant to be alone. So what am I supposed to do?”

Wind gently rustled the leaves, creating a familiar lullaby. A bird called – its cry lonesome – and a second one answered.
Won’t You answer an’ tell me how to fill up this lonesome side of me?

Edythe Amsel’s face flashed in his mind’s eye.

With a groan, he set the hoe to work again, his thoughts tumbling like the little clods of dirt that hopped away from the blade’s
chop-chop
. He hadn’t been able to drown his feelings in hard work, and the Lord hadn’t seen fit to simply take them away. If he spoke them out loud and heard them rejected, would he finally be able to let go?

He paused for a moment, his gaze drifting in the direction of the schoolhouse even though it was too far away to see. This coming Friday evening the schoolchildren would host their end-of-the-year program. He’d put on his finest suit, splash his cheeks with bay rum, and present his best face. And when the program was over, and everybody else had gone home, he’d tell Miss Edythe Amsel flat-out how he felt about her.

He jabbed the hoe into the dirt. He’d listen to her final rejection, and then he’d move on.

Edythe caught Missy’s wrist. “Stop chewing your nails. You’ve got them nibbled down to nubbins already.”

“Can’t help it,” Missy whispered. “I’m scared. What if I forget what I’m supposed to say? Everybody in town’s out there . . . and they’ll all laugh at me!” She began gnawing at her thumb.

On the other side of the muslin curtains, which Luthenia had dyed a rich, royal crimson before helping Edythe string them the length of the classroom on a sturdy wire, muffled voices confirmed Missy’s speculation. Edythe hadn’t peeked yet, but she felt certain the entire town of Walnut Hill – even those who didn’t have students – had come out for the school’s closing program.

Edythe pried Missy’s hand away from her face. “You’ll do fine.” She shifted her gaze to include the entire class of children who huddled in a group beside the teacher’s platform. “You all will. You’ve worked hard, and I’m so proud of you.” Her voice caught. The past weeks had moved too quickly. Eagerness to see what the next year would bring couldn’t quite remove the sting of this farewell. She’d loved teaching, and she knew a part of her heart would always belong in this little schoolhouse.

Jane Heidrich pointed at the wall clock. “It’s seven. Time to start.”

Edythe turned a wobbly smile on Missy. “That’s your cue.” She found the slit between the two curtains and pulled, creating an opening. “Go welcome our guests.”

From Missy’s welcoming statement to the whole-class recitation of William Wordsworth’s “I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud,” the program proceeded without blemish. After the applause died away, Edythe presented awards to deserving students – Mathematics Excellence to Andrew Bride, who blushed crimson and then hugged Edythe so hard she gasped; Quality Penmanship to Jane Heidrich; and Most Improved Reader to Patience Jeffers. She stifled her laughter when Little Will Libolt scratched his head and announced quite loudly upon receiving a red Perfect Attendance ribbon, “I’d ruther have green, but thank you, Miss Amsel.”

She blinked back tears as she handed beautifully calligraphed diplomas to Martha and Missy. She hugged them in turn, and in the midst of the embrace Martha whispered in her ear, “Ma says I can go to high school next year. Someday I want to be a teacher just like you.” Edythe clung extra hard to the girl, her heart swelling with pride and love.

All too soon she stood on the platform with the children and thanked the audience for coming. The year hadn’t been easy in many ways – she’d faced criticism and suspicion – but looking across the faces, she realized nearly every person in attendance had helped her grow into a stronger, more resilient, more loving person. A tear escaped, but she swept it away and managed to smile as she turned to the students. For the final time, she pronounced, “And now . . . class dismissed.”

The students came at her in a rush, arms reaching for hugs, some children laughing and others crying. Edythe laughed through her tears. One by one, the parents approached to retrieve their children and offer words of gratitude. Edythe accepted their thanks, whether stated firmly or muttered reluctantly, responding to each with equal warmth.

At last the room cleared. Edythe pushed the curtains to the walls, then stood in the middle of the floor. Muffled voices of folks milling in the yard drifted through the open windows, carried on the sweet scent of a spring evening. The voices seemed to fade into the background as her gaze roved freely from the blackboard behind her desk to the row of letters printed on white cards along the ceiling line. The walls were bare, the children having taken home their papers the day before, but in her memory she saw arithmetic pages, child-drawn maps, and thoughtfully scripted essays.

Edythe moved to the south window and pulled loose the little sign she’d tacked beneath it on her very first day. Little Jenny Scheebeck’s high-pitched squeal echoed in her mind:
“Window, Miss Amsel! That says window!”
She closed her eyes, smiling, remembering. For long seconds she stood, lost in thought, and then a floorboard creaked.

She spun toward the sound. Her hand flew, almost without her realization, to her throat where her pulse suddenly doubled its tempo. “M-Mr. Townsend.”

He held his hat in both hands with the brim flat against the front of his black suit jacket. A sheepish grin creased his cheek, showcasing the single dimple that so intrigued her. “I wondered if I m-might have a word with you?”

His timidity, so unlike him, stirred Edythe’s sympathy. She pointed to the nearest student desk. He shuffled forward and wriggled into the seat, his knees poking out in the aisle. Edythe crossed to the desk in front of his and perched sideways as well, resting her elbow on the edge of his desk so she could face him. A delicious scent – citrusy yet earthy – reached her nose, stirring her senses to life. His Adam’s apple bobbed, drawing her attention to the ribbon tie beneath his clean-shaven chin. He looked nothing like a farmer on this evening.

A longing to reach out and take his hand swirled through her. Her fingers twitched. She clasped them together and blurted, “Thank you for the trees.”

His brows rose, his lips parting in surprise. “H-how’d you know?”

Edythe smiled, recalling how Robert excitedly whispered the truth in her ear, followed by a sheepish request to keep his telling her a secret. “A little birdie told me.”

A short huff of laughter left his throat. “I should’ve known.”

She tipped her head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t want you to think . . .” His voice trailed away, and he swallowed twice, his gaze dropping to the desktop. He laid aside the hat and then rested his elbows on the desk. The position brought his shoulders forward, and he tucked his chin low, his eyes avoiding hers. “Miss Amsel, there’s something I’ve been feelin’ for a long time, an’ now that . . . that you’re leavin’ town, I figured I better tell you.”

Edythe wanted to say calmly, “Oh? What’s that?” But her tongue felt stuck to the roof of her mouth. So she sat silently, her heart pounding in her chest as fiercely as the school bell’s clapper the day Little Will decided to take the rope for a ride. Being near the man, so close his fingertips would brush her arm if she shifted a mere two inches, was nearly intoxicating.

“My boys . . . they’ve loved you since the first day of school. An’ you’ve been real good for them. I know you’re their schoolmarm, but in ways you’ve been . . .” He gulped, color climbing from the crisp white collar of his shirt toward his ears. “Motherly.”

Affection rolled through Edythe’s chest, images of the boys – little bookends, she thought of them, with their matching freckles and straw-colored cowlicks – flooding her mind. Tears stung the back of her nose.

Joel continued in a low, almost growly voice. “I remember once you told me you’d already raised a family, but watchin’ you, it sure appears you’ve grown to love the young’uns in this school. Includin’ Johnny and Robert. So . . .” His head shot up, his blue eyes connecting with hers. “I wondered if you might consider marrying up with me and becomin’ a real ma to my boys.”

Edythe drew in a sharp breath. Several thoughts struck at once.
He proposed! Luthenia said he was a fine man – one of the best. Missy and I can stay here in Walnut Hill!
But then some of her own words returned, and her elation dimmed. As much as it pained her, she had to be honest with him. And herself.

“I won’t deny that I love Johnny and Robert.”
Almost as much as I love you.
“They’re wonderful boys, and being their ma would” – tears threatened, and she blinked rapidly – “give me much joy. B-but I can’t accept.”

Abruptly, he rose. “I understand.” He reached for his hat, and her hand snaked out to catch his wrist. He seemed to freeze in place, his gaze aimed at her fingers holding the sleeve of his jacket. She jerked her hand back as if stung. His gaze lifted slowly, meeting hers. No anger resided in his blue eyes, just a sad acceptance that was somehow more piercing than fury would be.

She clasped her hands at her waist. “May I explain?”

He nodded.

“Marrying you would give my sister and me a place of security. It would allow me to remain here in Walnut Hill and watch the children I love grow into adulthood.” Her nose stung fiercely, and she sniffed. “Terrill Sterbinz also proposed marriage, but I refused him, as well, because I cannot marry for security or selfishness. Only for . . . love.” The last word escaped on a breathy whisper.