Brightest and Best Page 4
“A school which is in need of both repairs and a teacher,” Margaret said.
Brownley’s face brightened. “I must say I had not expected you to be so informed on the matter.”
“I’m afraid that is the extent of my knowledge.”
Brownley pulled out the chair from behind Margaret’s desk and sat down. “It’s a delicate matter.”
Margaret waited.
“This is the letter requesting funding for a new schoolhouse.” He laid one sheet of paper on the desk and positioned a second beside it, precisely one inch apart. “And this is the letter asking for names of teachers the local parents committee might correspond with about the open position.”
“I understand that these are considerable challenges,” Margaret said, “given the limited time before school opens.”
“If only it were as simple as that.”
Margaret waited again.
“We will not be rebuilding the school, Miss Simpson, nor looking for a new teacher.”
“Oh.”
“Mr. Tarkington tells me you are one of his best teachers. Surely you can appreciate that these circumstances suggest that now is the right time to integrate these pupils into the consolidated school.”
“We have a fine grade school. And the high school is excellent as well.”
“I agree. And I’m confident that we can accommodate the thirty or so students being displaced by closing their school.” Brownley folded the letters and returned them to his pocket.
“Of course I wish to be helpful,” Margaret said, “but I feel unclear as to what you are asking of me.” These were administrative matters. Shouldn’t the superintendent and the principal work out the details of the transition?
“Mr. Tarkington tells me you can be quite persuasive.”
Once again, not knowing how to answer, Margaret waited.
“Some parents may resist our plan,” Brownley said. “I would like you to persuade them of its virtues.”
“Me?”
“You did say you wanted to help. This will be a significant change for all of the families affected, but the Amish families in particular will need to understand that they must comply with this decision.”
Margaret gulped.
Ella sat in a wooden yard chair she did not quite trust. It dated back to the early days of her parents’ marriage, and it creaked. The sound was ordinary, especially for the age of the chair, but after the creaking and groaning of the schoolhouse ceiling before it caved in, she would have preferred a chair more respectful with its silence. She looked up from her book about the health of chickens and saw her stepbrother crossing the farmyard.
Stepbrother was not a word that settled naturally in her mind yet. She used it readily enough to describe members of other families, but attaching a first-person possessive pronoun to the word complicated its meaning. My stepbrother. She avoided saying the phrase, instead referring to both David and Seth by their names in conversation.
David was a nice enough boy—a young man. He was nearly fifteen, out of school, nearly ready to begin attending Singings and consider courting. If he had any objections to his mother’s decision to marry Jedediah Hilty, Ella never heard him voice them. Yet he seemed to walk around wrapped in a secret Ella could not decipher. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to. Her mind was full enough of her books and Gideon and Gideon’s children.
Ella expected David would walk past her to the barn or into the house. He might nod or lift his hand in a brief wave. Instead, he shuffled toward her. She had already caught his eye, whether she meant to or not, so she couldn’t ignore him now.
Silent, he stood beside her for a moment and stared down.
“How are you, David?” Ella said, wishing she could go back to her book.
“I’m fine.”
He said nothing more. His eyes were not fixed on his feet, as Ella had supposed, but on the stack of books on the ground beside the chair.
“Do you like to read?” she asked.
He nodded. “Do you mind if I look at the books?”
“Go ahead.”
He squatted and went through her pile. “You read a lot about animals.”
“I like to understand how to take care of them,” she said, “or just to enjoy them.”
He had his hand on The Birds of Geauga County. “What’s your favorite bird?”
Ella twisted her lips. “I love the sound of a mourning dove, but I like the name of the American coot.”
He smiled. “I like the chimney swift for the same reason.”
Now she smiled. “I didn’t know you liked birds.”
“They’re interesting from a scientific perspective.”
This surprised her. “You like to read about science?”
He nodded. “Sometimes. There are a lot of things I want to understand better. Not just science.”
“What are some topics you’re curious about?” This was by far the longest thread of conversation Ella and David had ever exchanged. He tilted his head. “The war.”
“The war in Europe?” Ella’s heart spurted.
“I’m not supposed to be curious about that. But I am.” He shuffled through the books again. “Do you have any novels?”
“No,” she said slowly. “I don’t read novels.”
“Oh. Okay.”
She let a beat pass before asking, “Do you read novels?”
“Only two or three. My mamm doesn’t approve. She says only the English read them.”
Ella closed her book around one finger.
“There’s so much world out there.” David stacked the books neatly. “I don’t know why I’m supposed to be afraid of it.”
“I don’t think the point of our ways is to be afraid.”
“Never mind.” David stood up.
“David—”
But he was already walking away.
CHAPTER 5
Three days later, Margaret opened her composition book to a fresh page and smoothed it down against Gideon Wittmer’s simple polished oak dining room table. Margaret could feel the solid craftsmanship of the chair she sat in and admired the smoothly sanded end tables in the front room and the braided rug that brought warmth to the wood floors.
Three days earlier she had never been on an Amish farm, and now she tried not to stare at the two bearded men in plain black suits. Though the two English fathers were clean shaven and dressed in the more familiar coveralls of farm laborers, their expressions matched the stern expectation of Gideon Wittmer and Aaron King.
“Thank you, Mr. Wittmer, for inviting us into your home,” Margaret began. “Obviously we face some challenging changes.”
On Friday, right after her meeting with Mr. Brownley, Margaret had driven her Model T out to the old school and seen the shambles for herself. She did not blame the school board for deciding against repairing or rebuilding.
“Why didn’t the superintendent come to talk to us himself?”
It was Walter Hicks who voiced the question all four men must have been thinking. What he really means is why did he send a woman? She could hardly speak aloud the responses clanging in her mind. Because you won’t like his answers. Because he doesn’t take your proposal seriously.
“Mr. Brownley asked for my assistance, and I am glad to give it.” Margaret spoke with more conviction than she felt.
Gideon cleared his throat. “Perhaps it would be best if you put forth Mr. Brownley’s response in a clear manner.”
“Yes, of course.” Margaret laid a pen across the blank page in her composition book. “The board feels it will be in the best interest of the children and their families if they ride the bus and attend the well-respected consolidated schools in Seabury.”
There. She’d said it. She refused to cower.
“They won’t build us a school?” Robert Haney sounded stunned.
“I’m afraid not,” Margaret said.
“We’ll appeal the decision,” Walter said. “There must be due process for an appeal.”
Margaret scanned the four faces, looking for glimmers of acceptance, even excitement. Surely they knew that other one-room schools around the county had been closed. The board’s decision could not have come as a complete surprise.
“The schools are well run with a faculty of qualified teachers,” she said. “We are broken into grades, which allow individual teachers to become specialists of sorts with particular ages. The benefits for the children will be innumerable.”
Robert Haney grunted.
“The district will send a bus.” Margaret forged on. “The children will have adult supervision from the moment they get on the bus in the morning until the moment they get off in the afternoon.”
“It’s a long day for the little ones,” Walter said.
Margaret answered, “I find they adjust quite well and enjoy the additional subjects we are able to offer in the consolidated school.”
Walter scratched the back of his neck. Robert twisted his lips to one side. Margaret adjusted her hips in the chair and looked at Mr. Wittmer and Mr. King.
Aaron King finally spoke. “Do you teach the basics?”
“We give students a strong foundation for learning,” Margaret said.
“So the basics.”
“And so much more.”
Gideon’s eyes widened. “We are accustomed to discussing the curriculum with the teacher. Miss Coates knew us well.”
Us. The Amish. The English fathers would come around. The Amish parents would need more persuading.
“Why don’t you come for a tour?” Margaret said brightly. “You can see for yourself the quality of education your children will receive. We can do it on Friday, if that’s convenient.”
“Are you sure I should be here?” Trailing behind the others four days later, Ella whispered to Gideon. “I’m not one of the parents.”
Gideon could not take her hand to reassure her with the others watching, though he doubted anyone would be surprised when they announced their intention to marry. James and Miriam would be delighted that Gideon had found happiness again after Betsy. Jed Hilty would be relieved that his daughter would be taken care of. Others would find it fitting that Gideon’s children would have a mother again. Aaron King’s wife had come along for the tour of the school, so Ella was not the only woman.
“You’ll be a parent,” Gideon whispered back. Soon, he hoped. She would mother his three, and they would have more boppli together.
The Kings had readily agreed that Ella should join the tour, not because she was a parent, but because she read so many books. Since the Amish did not have a teacher of their own to evaluate the school, Ella was the next best thing. She could look around and know exactly what the students would be learning.
When Ella’s steps slowed, so did Gideon’s. They tilted their heads back to look at the three stories of sprawling brick with sober columns of white-framed windows.
“It looks so official,” Ella said. “It’s as big as twenty schoolhouses.”
Gideon counted twelve windows across on each story, including a double-width door at the center of the ground floor, which the Kings were very near. He wished Walter or Robert had come along for the tour. They might not have any more experience than he did with large schools, but at least they were English and might interpret the philosophy behind the school. But Walter said he didn’t need a tour to know he would do what the law said, and one of Robert’s horses went lame and he didn’t want to leave her.
Aaron and Alma King stopped just short of the door, both of them turning to gauge Gideon and Ella’s progress. A moment later, the visitors stood four abreast looking at the door.
“Do we ring a bell or just go in?” Alma scanned the oversized door frame.
“Why do the English have to build everything so big?” Aaron scuffed one shoe against the sidewalk.
Gideon stepped forward and rapped on the door.
“They’ll never hear that,” Aaron said.
Gideon knocked again, harder.
“Try the knob,” Alma urged.
Gideon turned the brass bulb, and the door creaked inward. The click of an English woman’s step reassured him.
Margaret Simpson’s smile was unnaturally broad. “Come in!”
“We pride ourselves on our commitment to prepare students to participate fully in twentieth-century life,” Margaret said as she led them down the main hall that cut through the building.
Ella caught Gideon’s eye. Pride? No Amish parents would want their children learning pride, and the year printed on a calendar meant far less for a full life than friends and family. Ella held no grudge, though. The Amish had been in Geauga County a long time, but Margaret Simpson had not. She lived and worked in town and had never taught an Amish student.
“The library is right down here,” Margaret said.
Ella could not help but perk up at the racks of books that greeted them a moment later.
“The children are permitted to check out three books at a time, and the teachers are free to select volumes to keep in their classrooms to supplement a unit of study.”
The grid of walnut tables at the center of the library looked inviting. Ella could imagine herself finding a quiet spot and spreading out a stack of books.
“Who helps the children select appropriate reading material?” Gideon asked.
“The librarian gets to know the children, and of course the teachers will know if a book is beyond a child’s ability.”
Savilla would follow the rules. And Tobias was old enough to know that he ought not to pull a novel off the shelf. It was Gertie who—once she learned to read—would soak up everything in front of her. Once Ella and Gideon were married, she would have to watch carefully what came home in Gertie’s book strap.
They walked farther down the hall. Margaret gestured toward two heavy cabinets.
“These are the art cupboards,” she said. “We don’t have an art teacher yet, but the grade-level teachers are encouraged to nurture artistic expression. I’m sure we’ll be delighted to discover what artistic talent your children will bring into the school.”
Ella and Gideon glanced at each other. Art certainly was beyond the Amish basics. Sketching a design for a building or a quilt top was a matter of practicality to accomplish the task, but nurturing artistic expression was another.
They continued down the endless hall.
“The music room is way at the back,” Margaret said, “so as not to disturb any of the classrooms. All our students learn to read music and sing harmonies. Once they are in the sixth grade, they may take lessons on a musical instrument. We have a delightful man who comes in, and the music store on Main Street offers instruments at reasonable prices.”
Margaret pointed out the paved playground behind the building. Why children would want to play on such an unforgiving surface befuddled Ella. Then she took them up a staircase to classrooms on the second floor.
Margaret was overeager, in Ella’s opinion. They went into several classrooms, representing different ages, where Margaret pulled textbooks off shelves and flipped them open.
Mathematics. Literature. Science. World history. Health and hygiene. Geography. Modern inventions. Great works of art.
Ella could not help thinking of David. He was too old for grade school now, but what might he have thought if presented with these options when he was still in school?
Ella paid close attention to Margaret’s explanations, moistening her lips every few minutes in concentration. Alma King bore a steady, intense scowl. Aaron looked overwhelmed. Gideon asked a few questions about some of the books. Margaret did her best to answer them, but Ella could see that her responses tightened the tension in Gideon’s expression.
Margaret was friendly a
nd talkative and enthusiastic, all qualities Ella easily admired.
But when the superintendent sent Margaret to talk to the Amish parents, he might just as well have put her on a train blindfolded.
The tour had not gone well. The expressions on the faces of her four Amish guests told Margaret that she’d said all the wrong things. For days afterward she reviewed the conversation. She was so determined to impress them, and make them want to send their children to the consolidated school, that she hadn’t heard the true questions folded into the polite inquires.
School would begin in four weeks. And if the Amish children did not arrive on the first day, Margaret would have both Mr. Tarkington and Mr. Brownley to answer to.
Perhaps it was not too late. Perhaps she could still persuade the Amish parents that she wanted to make their children’s transition as smooth as she possibly could.
For this reason, on the Monday morning after the tour, Margaret made sure she had plenty of gasoline in her Model T and headed for the Amish farmlands and the nearest English neighbors. She did her best to calculate the miles and judge how long the children would be on the bus. The most outlying farm could be farther than she realized. She didn’t yet have a list of the students the grade school expected. For now, she made sure she knew where the hidden turnoffs were and where to look for the clusters of farm buildings that might mark the homes of students who would venture into an intimidating new school in one short month.
It was intimidating even for the Amish parents. Margaret should have seen that before now.
Her satchel on the seat beside her held the true mission of the morning.
Margaret pleased herself by finding the road to Gideon Wittmer’s farm more efficiently than she had the first time she visited. A man—not Gideon—tugged a reluctant calf out of the barn and into the pasture. Perhaps she had confused herself after all.
She shut off the engine of her car. “Have I found the Wittmer farm?”
“Yes, you have.” The man lifted his head and pushed his straw hat about an inch off his forehead.
“I recognize you,” Margaret said. “You’re the gentleman who comes to help Lindy Lehman with deliveries of the beautiful birdhouses she paints. They call you Wagon James.”