The Lesson (24 page)

Jimmy Fisher had just delivered another one of his mother’s notes to Hank Lapp. He didn’t know what was in this note, but he didn’t really need to know. Hank read it and started sputtering away about how insensitive and heartless
some females could be. Jimmy’s mother, he meant. It wasn’t hard to figure that she must have spurned Hank again.

Those dogs of Hank’s really irked Jimmy’s mother. Granted, Edith Fisher was a woman who was easily irked, but these dogs set her teeth on edge. Hank would promise not to bring them to the Fishers’, and that would last a time or two, until he arrived at the door surrounded by yellow fur and black noses. Doozy always smelled like he needed a bath, which he did. Add four little Doozies to the mix. It was too much for any woman to bear! Edith had declared. And Hank was spurned again.

Jimmy listened to Hank’s rants and raves for a while, until Hank got distracted by a tool he had just spotted underneath a buggy part. “DADGUMIT! I’ve been looking for that screwdriver for days.”

With Hank’s head under a buggy, it was a perfect time for Jimmy to slip out undetected. He headed over to the house to find M.K. Wooing her wasn’t working out quite the way he had hoped—mainly, because she didn’t seem to realize he was wooing her. A few days ago, he brought a bouquet of flowers and she asked if he was heading to a graveyard. He stopped by the schoolhouse and invited her for a hamburger at the new diner, and she said she had just eaten. Jimmy was flummoxed. Never, ever, ever had a girl turned down an opportunity to spend time with him.

Tonight, he had crafted a new plan. He was going to look for an opportune moment—hidden from Fern and Amos’s sight—and kiss M.K. One kiss from Jimmy Fisher, and she would be his. He was an expert kisser. Ruthie had said those very words, right before he broke up with her. He always felt a little bad about that timing. Unfortunate.

Fern turned Jimmy away at the door. She said that M.K.
was out. Nothing more. Just out. As he walked down the driveway, he wondered if it was just his imagination, or if Fern seemed more prickly toward him than usual. As prickly as a cactus.

He heard a woman’s voice and turned to locate the source. Coming down the orchard path was M.K. in her beekeeper’s getup, with her big netted hat tucked under her arm. By her side was Chris Yoder. Jimmy raised his hand, getting ready to yell out to them, when he saw M.K. turn toward Chris, her face animated, talking to him intently. Her hands waved in the air, the way they did when she got excited. Chris was loping beside her, hands in his pockets, but he was listening carefully to her. Jimmy could hear M.K.’s voice float all the way down the hill. Then he heard Chris’s laughter join with M.K.’s.

What story could M.K. be telling? What could have possibly made Chris Yoder laugh? Whatever it was, why hadn’t M.K. told Jimmy that story? Jimmy felt strangely unsettled.

M.K. snapped open a fresh sheet and watched it settle gently over her bed. She smoothed the wrinkles and tucked in the corners. She had always loved the feel of cool clean linen beneath her hands, had always loved to crawl between crisp sheets at night.

Why couldn’t these simple pleasures be enough for her? They were more than enough for Ruthie and Sadie and Julia. What was wrong with her? Yesterday, she was helping Fern tackle the basket filled with clothes needing ironing. The sweet smell of steaming cotton filled the room. Treading carefully, M.K. asked Fern if she ever wanted to see parts of the world.

“No.” Fern kept ironing. “We should want nothing more
than the life God has given us. The problem with you, M.K., is you lack contentment.”

Contentment. She didn’t have it. Not much of it, anyway. In truth, it sounded boring. Cats and dogs were content, and they slept all day.

Fern acted as if gaining contentment was as easy as taking a vitamin pill and M.K. knew it wasn’t.

So M.K. took her scooter out to pay a visit to Erma and ask what she thought about contentment. “Personally, I think everyone should be able to seek their own contentment,” M.K. said, as she helped Erma gather ripe grapes from her vineyard.

“The only problem with that thinking,” Erma said in her calm way, “is that if one can’t find contentment at home, one is unlikely to find it anywhere else.”

Oh
. Oh.
Could that be true? Did the fact that M.K. had been discontented living in Stoney Ridge mean she was doomed to a life of discontent?

Then, typical of Erma, she turned the whole thing around. “Mary Kate, I have discovered that I am happiest of all when I have learned to be content at home.”

Jenny hated arithmetic. She always just wrote any old numbers down before, so she wouldn’t have to think about it. Even if writing stories became fun when Teacher M.K. gave them their handmade books, there was no way she could make arithmetic fun. The teacher had an oven timer on her desk and Jenny kept one eye fixed on it. As soon as it went off, math would be over for the day and they could be excused for recess.

Jenny ran behind the far maple tree and sat on the ground, leaning against the tree. This was where she spent every recess
and every lunch. She definitely did not want to spend her precious free time with Anna Mae and her group of giggling girls. Besides, they had never asked her to join them.

Jenny pulled out a paper and pencil from her pocket.

Dear Mom, I miss you a LOT.

She chewed on her lip, thinking. What else could she say to her mother? Chris would be upset with her for tipping their mother off to where they were living. He thought their mother would never be able to stay out of jail for long. The counselor at the rehab center explained that using drugs short-circuited your brain so you weren’t the same person anymore. Jenny refused to believe that her mother couldn’t change. She believed in her, even if no one else did. When she had asked Old Deborah what she thought about that, a sad look covered her sweet wrinkled face. “I believe God can work miracles, Jenny. But our faith is in God, not in people.”

I know you probably don’t feel very good, but remember: you can do it! You got clean before and felt really good, remember? Keep getting better and better.

Chris is working really hard to fix up Grandfather’s house. He has done so much! It is still awful because no one was in it for a long time, except for a creepy bat. The house looks a lot better than it used to. Chris has big plans for the house because he wants to be a horse breeder. He really likes it in Stoney Ridge. Maybe when you are better, you can come live with us. The Colonel left the house to Chris and to me. Old Deborah said so.

Love, Jenny

P.S. I am trying to save as much money as I can to send to you. Please quit smoking! It’s not good for you.

A softball bounced on the ground next to her. As Jenny leaned over to pick it up, Eugene Miller ran up to her. She braced herself. You never knew what was going to pop out of Eugene’s mouth, and it usually wasn’t very nice, though he hadn’t actually been unkind to her. Not yet, anyway. She tossed the ball to him, expecting him to catch it and return to the game.

“Nice throwing arm,” he said. “Why don’t you come play? We need a good shortstop.”

She looked up sharply at him, thinking he was making a crack about her height. She had heard all kinds of smart-aleck comments about her small stature: Thumbelina, Oompa Loompa, Shortcake, Peewee, Itsby Bitsy. If Eugene thought “shortstop” was a new nickname to Jenny, he was sorely mistaken.

But he actually seemed sincere. When she hesitated, puzzled that he was being nice, he put his hand out to help her up. “Come on.”

Under Eugene’s shaggy bangs were bright blue, smiling eyes. Even though his complexion was marred by acne, he had an attractive smile that made dimples in his cheeks. She was surprised to realize how cute he was, up close like this. She shook her head to erase the absurd idea.

She looked at his hand, waiting for her. She folded the letter to her mother and put it in her pocket. The letter could wait. She took Eugene’s hand and jumped to her feet.

It had taken Jimmy Fisher more time than he had expected to figure out where Chris Yoder was living. It was strange that
no one seemed to know. He was sure someone at Windmill Farm would know, but Amos was away at a farm equipment auction and Hank didn’t have any idea where Chris lived. Even Fern didn’t know—and she knew just about everything. He finally tracked down M.K. and she knew. He should have known. M.K. knew all sorts of facts about people in Stoney Ridge that no one else knew.

That afternoon, Jimmy rolled into the long narrow driveway of Colonel Mitchell’s old house and found Chris replacing rotted boards in the covered wraparound porch floor. Jimmy couldn’t find a hitching post to tie the reins of his horse and buggy and finally decided on a tree branch. He waved to Chris, who had stopped sawing a board when he saw Jimmy drive in. “Looks like you could use a hand.”

Chris looked surprised. He hesitated, then said, “I wouldn’t refuse it.” He handed the saw to Jimmy across the sawhorse.

Jimmy waved away the saw. Instead, he picked up a hammer. “You keep cutting boards and I’ll nail them in place. There’s an excellent chance I would lose a finger or two by cutting. I’m not known for paying too much attention to details. Too risky.” He held up his hands and bent a few fingers down, as if he was already missing a few. “It’s killing my career as a classical pianist.”

He got a laugh out of Chris at that. That meant a lot to Jimmy, to get a laugh out of a serious guy like Chris Yoder. He had the impression that Chris didn’t laugh much. Jimmy would change that, if they were going to be friends.

The two worked side by side for the next hour or so, not speaking unless it pertained to the porch. When all of the rotted boards had been replaced, a small girl brought out a pitcher of water and two glasses. Jimmy had seen her at church and at Windmill Farm once or twice. He had figured
out she was Chris’s sister, Jenny, but he had a hard time believing she was in eighth grade. She reminded him of an elf. She stared at him as she handed him a glass, as if she had never seen anyone who looked like him before. It was a stare he was accustomed to by women of all ages. He knew he was handsome, had known it all his life. He wasn’t being proud. It was just a fact. He gave Jenny his most charming smile and she practically gasped. Her little feet barely made a noise on the steps as she hurried away. She wrenched the door open. It banged shut behind her.

Chris and Jimmy sat on the new porch floor and gulped the water down.

“Did you just happen to be passing by?” Chris asked. “How did you figure out where I live?”

“M.K. Lapp told me.”

Chris took a sip of water. “Know her well?”

“I do. Very well. I’m planning to make her my missus.”

Chris started coughing, as if he had taken in a sip of water down the wrong pipe. Jimmy whacked his back with enthusiasm. He was always trying to be helpful.

“I owe you a favor,” Chris said. “You saved me more than a half day’s work.”

“Glad to help,” Jimmy said. He turned around to look at the old house. “Looks like you’ve got a lot of work to do. I could try and come over now and then to help.”