Hope at Dawn (7 page)

“Drawing. What do you think?”

Oliver looked at Livy. “Can I draw, too?”

Several other students had drifted over to their little group. Murmurs of interest followed Oliver’s question. Livy looked the children over and smiled. “Tell you what, Oliver. Why don’t you and Joseph gather up the paper and pencils in the top drawer of my desk? Anna, will you get some books off the bookcase? We can use those as desks. Then anyone who would like to draw is welcome to.”

Anna and the two boys rushed off while Livy directed the children to sit down on the grass. By the time the trio returned with the supplies, all the students had collected around Livy and Harlan.

Livy passed a paper to each one. “I only have two sets of drawing pencils, so we’ll have to share.” She placed the pencils in the middle of the seated group.

“What should we draw?” Yvonne asked.

Livy’s gaze wandered across the school yard to her tiny cabin. “I want each of you to draw something you dream of, something you wish for.”

Noise rippled through the group as the children talked excitedly to one another about what they wanted to draw. Once the pencils had been divided up and the students bent over their work, the school yard became as quiet as a church. Only the scratching of pencil against paper and the occasional whisper disrupted the stillness.

Livy had traded a paper with Harlan for her sketchbook, but it sat neglected in her lap. Instead of working on her own drawing, she found herself caught up in watching her students enjoy something she loved.

How many hours had she spent sketching outside or in her room at home? Pouring her hopes and dreams and feelings into her drawings? She might be inexperienced when it came to teaching, but she could share, with confidence, her appreciation for art.

When most of the students had completed their projects, Livy stole back inside to check the clock. To her surprise, the school day was over. She had the children carry the supplies and drawings into the classroom. A few hurried to finish their work at their desks, but most of the children gathered up their things to leave.

Livy bade them good-bye, by name as best she could. Soon only Harlan and Greta remained. Both of them were still hard at work on their pictures.

“Don’t you two have a long walk ahead of you?”

Harlan shook his head, his eyes still on his paper. “Naw. Friedrick said he’d meet us here in the wagon ’cause he wants to work on the school roof.”

Panic tripped up her spine. Friedrick was coming here? She wasn’t ready to see him again. The day had gone so well—she didn’t need it ruined by another encounter with the unbearable man. She couldn’t very well leave, though, not with two students still here. She’d have to stay and face him. And pray for the power to be more civil and polite, as her mother and father had taught her to be. After all, she didn’t want any of her students’ parents refusing to let their children come to school if she offended one of their own.

She busied herself with looking through the children’s drawings. Some of their renditions were impressive; others made her smile. The task wasn’t so engrossing, though, that she missed the sound of the door opening or the thud of boots against the floor.

Friedrick entered the room and removed his cap. His gaze momentarily locked with Livy’s, his expression guarded. Her tongue felt suddenly thick and dry in her mouth. What could she possibly say to erase the awkwardness radiating between them?

She settled for an amicable, “Afternoon, Mr. Wagner.”

He nodded at her. “Afternoon.”

There, she’d been courteous. She lowered her head and feigned renewed interest in her students’ work. With any luck, he’d hurry right back outside and start in on his task.

“Friedrick,” she heard Greta say with childlike enthusiasm. “Look at my picture.”

“Is that Papa?” he asked.

“Yes, and see, he’s all well.”

“Look at mine,” Harlan said. “It’s the gun I want. Someday I’m gonna be a brave solider for America. That’s what Miss Campbell said.”

Heat infused Livy’s face. If only she could slip under her desk, unnoticed. Of all the things the boy could have said, he had to pick the one that made her look every bit the self-righteous busybody his brother already suspected her to be.

Perhaps if she could explain. Livy forced her gaze upward, but the fury in those piercing blue eyes rendered her momentarily speechless.

Friedrick glared at Livy, his jaw clenched, his breath coming hard with anger. This was what he had feared the most after their argument last night. She was already pushing her version of American loyalty onto her unsuspecting students. Next thing he knew, Harlan and Greta would be crying “traitor” at him for his farm deferment.

With Harlan’s picture in hand, Friedrick took two steps toward Livy’s desk. “Miss Campbell said you’d make a great solider, huh?” He directed the question to his brother, but he kept his eyes trained on Livy’s blushing face. The extra color in her cheeks made her look that much prettier—a fact he did his best to ignore.

“Look, Mr. Wagner.” She stood, her hands splayed on the top of the desk. “It isn’t what it sounds—”

He didn’t let her finish. “Fortunately, you’re too young to fight now, Harlan,” he threw over his shoulder. “But there are other things you can do for the war effort besides fighting. Isn’t that right, Miss Campbell?”

To her credit, she didn’t sit down or back away as he advanced another step. Instead she lifted her chin in challenge. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you do. Inspiring the children to know their duty at such a young age? Plucking out their evil roots? Keeping an eye out for possible spies?” He crossed the remaining distance to her desk. “I’d say you’re the picture of patriotism, Miss Campbell. Without the gun, of course,” he added in a rueful tone as he placed Harlan’s paper in front of her. He didn’t like going toe to toe with a woman, but this one got his ire up like no one else.

She folded her arms and glowered up at him. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Mr. Wagner.” She spoke his name with all the frostiness of ice in January. “Harlan merely expressed a desire to fight for his country. I told him someday he would make a brave solider, but fortunately for your family, such a day won’t be anytime soon. That is all I said on the matter.”

Friedrick could see from her fierce expression and the way she refused to break eye contact that she wasn’t lying. Standing so close to her, with the bright light of afternoon coming through the windows, he noticed her eyes weren’t solely green in color. There were flecks of gold and blue there, too, which he hadn’t noticed when they were busy dancing. As he continued his study of her face, her eyes widened and her lips parted slightly. What would they taste like if he were to kiss them?

“Friedrick?” Greta’s concerned voice broke the charged moment. He’d nearly forgotten she and Harlan were still there—listening to every word.

Friedrick ground his teeth together. He’d made a fool of himself twice over. First by jumping to defend his siblings when there’d been no need, and second by arguing with their teacher in front of them.

He swallowed hard, hating the way his pride tasted going back down. But when he was wrong, he would admit it. “I’m sorry, Miss Campbell. My mistake.”

“I should say so,” she muttered, but he heard her plainly as he slammed his cap on his head and turned around. “Are you ready to hand your picture in, Greta?”

Greta nodded, throwing a glance between her teacher and Friedrick.

“Go on,” Friedrick urged, giving her a smile. “Then you two can play outside while I work on the roof.”

Greta skipped forward to hand in her picture, while Friedrick sought solace outside from the suffocating tension indoors. He’d meant to come in, collect the children, and start on his job—not lose his temper. Or give Livy another excuse to run straight to the superintendent and relay all the things Friedrick had felt inclined to voice.

Most of what he’d said could be misconstrued as pro-German, something Mr. Foster had warned Friedrick against. If the superintendent caught even a whiff of German patriotism, he’d promised to have Friedrick fired faster than Miss Lehmann had been.

None of those things had been foremost in his mind, though, when he’d walked into the school. Deep down, he’d been hoping to find fault with Miss Campbell. If he could prove she was as bad as the other self-righteous Americans he’d encountered lately, his changed opinion of her would be justified.

Then the children had showed him their artwork—a subject Miss Lehmann had never taught the class—and he’d been forced to consider he’d misjudged Livy Campbell last night. That is, until he’d heard Harlan’s comment. Now he didn’t know what to make of the new teacher.

Friedrick grabbed his ladder from the back of the wagon and propped it against the side of the schoolhouse. After collecting his tools, nails, and shingles, he maneuvered up the ladder and onto the roof.

He was well into his project by the time he heard Harlan and Greta exit the school. “Be careful, Friedrick,” his sister called up to him. The way her forehead furrowed with consternation reminded him of Elsa. If only the possibility of him falling off the roof could be her only source of worry.

With a nail gripped between his teeth and his hands full, he couldn’t answer, so he waved his hammer. Greta accepted the gesture as proof he was fine and raced after Harlan. The boy was headed to the copse of trees behind the teacher’s cabin. Probably looking for something to chase or throw.

Friedrick returned to his task. His thoughts soon moved from the chores waiting for him at home to his most recent argument with Livy. While he did derive a certain satisfaction in finally speaking his mind, he would have to be more careful about what he said. He couldn’t afford to lose this job—his family needed it too badly.

At that moment, Livy exited the school. She didn’t even spare a glance in his direction, but Friedrick sensed the irritation still emanating from her.

He watched as she bade his siblings good-bye and walked toward her cabin, her shoulders bent slightly forward. Unlike the nightgown she’d worn last night, her green skirt accentuated her trim waist and the swing of her hips as she moved. Friedrick forced his gaze back to the ugly roof.

He threw himself into his work, knowing it would purge the memory of Livy’s gold-flecked eyes and red lips from his mind. The sun baked his neck and back and his knees ached from kneeling, but he wanted to finish.

“You done yet, Friedrick?” Harlan hollered.

“Almost,” he called back.

He hammered in the last few shingles and climbed down the ladder. After setting his things inside the wagon, he eyed the teacher’s cabin. Was there something he could do to smooth things over with Livy, keep her from tattling to Mr. Foster? He studied the length and breadth of the small house. Some of the shingles were missing from its roof, too.

“Harlan, can you and Greta wait another twenty minutes? There’s something I need to do for Miss Campbell.”

Harlan shrugged. “Come on, Greta, let’s go look for arrowheads in Old Man Zimmermann’s field.” Friedrick smiled at the memory of doing the same thing as a boy.

Armed with another stack of shingles, he strode to the cabin and rapped a knuckle against the door. He braced himself for an abrasive reaction to his presence.

Sure enough, the friendliness on her face hardened into a frown when she opened the door and saw him standing there. “Is there more you wish to accuse me of, Mr. Wagner?”

He pushed out a long breath, reminding himself to remain calm, no matter what. “No, Miss Campbell. I’d like to apologize again for earlier.”

“Oh.” From the way her brow creased, she hadn’t expected his apology. “What do you want then?”

“I want to fix your shingles.”

“Why?”

His silent reminder to be patient was fast losing its hold on him. “Because there’s at least a dozen missing,” he answered, “and if you don’t have good shingles—”

A hint of a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, surprising him, but she tamped it down. “I understand the importance of shingles. My question is why do
you
want to fix my roof?”

Couldn’t he just fix her shingles and be done with it? Did she intend for him to grovel? “It’s my attempt to make up for my…behavior…last night.” He paused, then added, “And this afternoon.”

“Well, you can’t do it alone.”

“Miss Campbell,” he said through clenched teeth, “I single-handedly reshingled half the school roof. I think I can manage yours without difficulty.”

Instead of challenging him further, she fiddled with the door handle, without meeting his eye. “I only meant that I’d like to help. To make up for my behavior as well.”

Friedrick cocked an eyebrow. Where had the angry, verbal slinger gone? With her softened expression, she reminded him much more of the woman he’d danced with. “You afraid of heights?”

“No.”

“You might want to change,” he said, motioning to her skirt. He swallowed a chuckle when she blushed. He liked eliciting the infusion of color to her cheeks. “If you don’t own any overalls, you might not want—”

“I have a pair of trousers, thank you very much. Now if you’ll excuse me.” She slammed the door before he could reply.

Friedrick shook his head with amusement. He’d admired her spunk from the moment they’d met at the dance hall, but he hadn’t expected her to use it against him. Her pluck was as much a virtue as a vice.

While he waited for her, he went to collect his ladder and tools. His thoughts turned from Livy to the nearly empty jar in the kitchen cupboard. Surely enduring her displeasure a little longer was a small price to pay to help his family. At least he hoped so.

Dressed in old work trousers and a sweater, Livy climbed the ladder propped beside the cabin door. She ascended over the lip of the roof to find Friedrick setting up his supplies. He glanced her way, his brows arched in amusement at her manly attire. But his blue eyes shone with a different emotion, and Livy realized with a mixture of confusion and delight that he appreciated the sight of her in pants. Friedrick looked away first, and the moment between them dissipated, though Livy was left feeling a bit breathless, despite her earlier irritation toward him.