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  “I won’t deny it. Lindy is my niece—my brother’s daughter. I’m James Lehman.”

  “I’m Lindy’s neighbor, Margaret Simpson.”

  A screen door slammed closed, and Gideon appeared on his front porch.

  “Good morning, Mr. Wittmer.”

  “Good morning, Miss Simpson. Thank you again for the tour of your school.”

  Your school. Not the school. Margaret resolved not to read anything into Gideon’s choice of pronouns. She picked up her satchel and got out of the automobile as gracefully as she could.

  “I have a bit more information from the superintendent,” she said, reaching into her satchel. “This is a letter about the bus route and where the children will be picked up.”

  Gideon took the envelope from her but did not open it. “I appreciate the trouble you’ve taken to bring it all the way out here.”

  “No trouble at all.” Margaret straightened her hat. “Mr. Brownley thought perhaps the communication should come to you first as the head of the parents committee. I imagine letters will go out to everyone very soon.”

  Gideon nodded but did not speak. The silence thickened, leaving Margaret feeling exposed.

  “Do you have any questions?” she managed to say.

  “You’ve been kind,” Gideon said.

  “I want to be helpful.” She pointed at the envelope. “There’s a map with the letter. Mr. Brownley asks that you verify the locations of the farms with school-age children.”

  “I will.”

  “If there’s any discrepancy …”

  “I’ll make sure he knows. Thank you again for coming.”

  He had dismissed her. Margaret was backing up toward her car now, suddenly anxious to be on her way. The dust cloud her tires stirred up as she drove off the farm made her cough.

  CHAPTER 6

  Every chair in Gideon’s front room was occupied. Six additional straight-backed wooden chairs from the dining room formed a back row against one wall. James Lehman was not a father, but he was interested in the education question that would affect the entire congregation. He leaned against a door frame at the rear of the assembly.

  So far Chester Mast did most of the talking. Now he pounded his fist into his thigh. “How can we expect our children to grow up untainted by the world if we send them into this worldly environment?”

  John Hershberger agreed. “Neither the setting nor the companions are Christian. If our children go to this school, we lose them to the world.”

  “The world is changing,” Cristof Byler said.

  “Not for the better,” Chester shot back.

  Gideon showed the palm of one hand to the gathering. “We must speak in an orderly manner so that all may hear.” He was one father among many. If he were not on the parents committee, he gladly would have yielded leading this meeting to one of the others.

  “Let every soul be subject unto the higher powers.” Joshua Glick quoted Romans 13. “For there is no power but of God: the powers that be are ordained of God. Whosoever therefore resisteth the power, resisteth the ordinance of God.”

  “Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” Jed Hilty responded to Romans with Proverbs. “It is the God-given role of parents to train up the children God gives us.”

  “We’ve been sending our children to the state’s schools all along,” Joshua said.

  “But we knew the teachers. We oversaw the curriculum and knew what she was teaching.” Cristof Byler hung his head as if in grief. “What will happen to our children if they are exposed to the world to the degree that the English propose?”

  “Isaiah,” Gideon said, “we haven’t heard from you.”

  With twelve children, some married with little ones of their own and some still in school, Isaiah Borntrager was sure to have an opinion.

  Isaiah spoke softly but with an unyielding tone. “We can teach our children everything they need to know to follow the Lord without involving the English.”

  “So you are in favor of defying the authorities?” Gideon asked.

  “I am in favor of obeying God’s ordinances to bring up my children in the admonition of the Lord.”

  “There could be trouble if we do as you suggest,” Gideon said.

  “It seems to me,” Isaiah said, “that there will be trouble for us no matter what we do. Either we rile the authorities or we risk losing our own children to the English ways.”

  Silence.

  The range of posturing and opinions collected in Gideon’s home came down to Isaiah’s two realities.

  James pushed away from the door frame. “I am not a father,” he said, “so I do not face the decision the rest of you face. I know you will also consider the good of the congregation. Several weeks remain before the start of school. Let us make it a time of prayer, beseeching the Lord for wisdom.”

  Men around the room nodded.

  The front door opened, and six-year-old Gertie crossed through the room to find her father.

  “The mailman brought a letter,” Gertie whispered into his ear. “He told me it looked important and that I should give it to you immediately.”

  The chickens raised a ruckus at the sound of an English automobile crunching through the gravel lane leading to the Hilty farm. Ella let a basket of wet laundry thud to the ground below the clothesline and shaded her eyes to assess the arrival. A flash of green told her the vehicle belonged to Lindy Lehman. Ella walked out to meet the visitor.

  “Did Rachel know you were coming?” Ella said as Lindy closed the driver’s door behind her.

  “It’s a surprise.” Lindy walked around to the rear of the car.

  “She’ll be glad to see you under any circumstances.”

  Lindy opened the trunk, and Ella gasped at its contents. “It’s beautiful!”

  Lindy grinned. “David’s birthday is coming up. I thought I’d bring him an early present.”

  Ella lifted the birdhouse reverently. She would know one of Lindy’s birdhouses anywhere—the construction without nails, the precise cut of the openings, the rich hues of paint colors harkening to traditional Amish dyes.

  “I only recently discovered how much David knows about birds,” Ella said. Together they ambled toward the house. “I met your neighbor recently, too—Margaret Simpson.”

  “A friendly sort, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Very.”

  “I suspect she has a beau.” Lindy chuckled. “It’s sweet to watch the way he drops by casually to sit on the porch. I’m not sure what they’ll do when the weather snaps.”

  Ella smiled. “The Amish find ways to court without much fuss. I suppose the English can do it as well.”

  Lindy turned up one corner of her mouth. “Sounds like the voice of experience.”

  Ella blushed.

  “Gideon’s been mourning my sister a long time.” Lindy held Ella’s gaze. “You’ll make him happy. Betsy would have wanted it.”

  “Thank you, Lindy,” Ella said. “I do love him.”

  Ella had never spoken to Lindy about courting. Had Gideon? Maybe it was James or Miriam.

  They meandered around the side of the house.

  “Will you have a booth at the auction?” Ella asked. “It’s coming up soon.”

  “Same as last year,” Lindy said. “Once I sell what I have, I’ll close up and enjoy the rest of the day.”

  Ella pulled open the back door. “Rachel?”

  Rachel appeared promptly—and dropped her jaw at the beauty of Lindy’s creation.

  “For David,” Lindy said.

  “He’s out in the barn with Jed,” Rachel said, “but he’s going to love this.”

  “I heard about the school board’s decision.” Lindy arranged the birdhouse on the kitchen table.

  Rachel sank into a chair. “I don’t know what to think. At least Seth is twelve. If Jed decides he should go to school, he’ll manage. I feel sorry for the parents who have little ones to put on a bus by themselves.”r />
  Like Gertie. At least she would have her sister with her, but Savilla was only nine herself.

  “Consolidation might be a good thing,” Lindy said.

  Rachel popped out of her chair and snatched a dish towel off the pie rack. “Of course you would say that.”

  Ella winced.

  “I’m only trying to see the positive,” Lindy said. “It’s going to happen, so why not find the good?”

  “You chose not to join the church.” Rachel’s voice sharpened. “We agreed years ago you wouldn’t try to turn me English as well.”

  “I’m not! Please, Rachel, let’s not quarrel.”

  Ella decided now would be a good time to slip out and walk out to the mailbox on the road. Lindy and Rachel had been best friends all their lives. Whatever they had to work out between themselves, they would do it without an audience. Normally Ella would walk briskly out to the road. Today she took her time, and when she returned she would resume hanging the wet laundry.

  The mailbox contained only one letter, addressed to Jedediah Hilty with a return address showing the school district’s office on Main Street in Seabury.

  Gideon sent Gertie back out to play in the yard and set the envelope in his lap as he listened to the continuing discussion among the men. He had hoped that gathering the men to talk would guide them all to a decision of one mind and heart. Instead, the reasons for and against complying with the school district’s ruling splintered the conversation. Gideon felt the tension hardening like bits of concrete spattered on a wall. The bumps might never be smoothed again.

  Each time Gideon glanced down at his lap, the return address on the letter taunted with more insistence. As Chester Mast and Cristof Byler went back and forth, Gideon fingered the edge of the envelope. With one thumb, he tested the seal and found it loose. Raising his eyes to watch John Hershberger’s face as he again lamented the undesirable influences the Amish children would face, Gideon slid a finger under the flap and slowly pulled out two sheets of paper, one a letter and one a form.

  The voices faded away as he read the words on the page.

  “Gideon.”

  He looked up to see James with eyes full of questions.

  “Is this a letter that pertains to our discussion?”

  Gideon gave a slow nod. “I imagine each of you will find one in your mailbox.”

  “Then perhaps you should read it to us now,” Isaiah said.

  Gideon licked his bottom lip and held the page in front of him.

  “Just read it,” Aaron King urged.

  Gideon should have exercised the self-discipline to leave the envelope unopened until the men had left his home. He needed time to think. They had come to no helpful conclusion on what to do about the consolidated grade school. The instructions in this letter would slash all hope of reaching a peaceful agreement.

  “Gideon,” James urged.

  Gideon cleared his voice.

  “Dear Mr. Wittmer,

  “This letter reminds us all of the decision of the State of Ohio to establish a compulsory age for education. State law requires students to remain in school until they have reached the age of sixteen. It is our hope that this will encourage more of our young people to complete the requirements for a high school diploma, which will in turn equip them for meaningful employment and successful lives as productive citizens.

  “You are receiving this letter because our records show that you have a child or children who may meet the academic requirements of entering the ninth grade or above, or because our records regarding the ages of your children may be incomplete.

  “The enclosed form should be used for enrolling your son or daughter in Seabury High School. Please return the completed form at your earliest convenience. Previous school records will be used to determine ages, assess achievement, and make sure of compliance with state law. Students transferring from the recently closed school may be asked to take an examination before final grade placement.

  “We look forward to providing your child with a strong educational foundation.

  “Yours truly,

  “Ulysses R. Brownley, Superintendent.”

  The silence lasted only as long as it took for Gideon to fold the letter along its creases. Then the room exploded around him.

  Ella walked past the laundry basket one more time. The letter looked too substantial to risk its welfare out in the yard while she hung wet shirts.

  Inside, David’s eyes were wide with pleasure and gratitude. He rotated the birdhouse a quarter turn to admire a fresh angle. Lindy and Rachel seemed to have put aside their nascent quarrel.

  “I’ll take it upstairs for now,” David said, “until I decide where to hang it.”

  “Please take your boots off before walking through the house,” Rachel said. “I’ve just cleaned the floors.”

  David sat down and began to unlace one boot.

  “I brought in a letter for Daed.” Ella handed the envelope to Rachel.

  “From the school board,” Rachel said. Though it was addressed to her husband, she tore off one end of the envelope and scanned the contents.

  “What is it?” Lindy leaned forward, elbows on the table. “More information on the bus route?”

  “This is ridiculous,” Rachel said. “They can’t do this to us.”

  “What is it?” Lindy repeated.

  Ella had never seen Rachel’s face so pale, her jaw so set.

  Rachel returned the letter to the envelope. “They want children to stay in school until they are sixteen. They claim it is state law.”

  Ella’s eyes went to David, who yanked off his boot and then froze his motion.

  “I’ll be going to high school,” he said.

  Wonder shimmered in his voice.

  “You most certainly will not,” Rachel said. “You’re turning fifteen next week. You finished the eighth grade a year ago. Do they expect you to become a child again?”

  “It’s state law,” Lindy said. “It’s happening everywhere. The schools in town are good, solid schools.”

  “What possible reason would I have for sending my able-bodied son back to school?” Rachel glared at no one in particular. “Even when he was ten or eleven, the teacher said he was working well above other students his age. Besides, Jed has already come to depend on David’s help around the farm. He does the work of a man.”

  David slowly unlaced his second boot, his eyes down. “I’d like to go to the high school.”

  Ella stiffened and Rachel spun.

  “You’re a child,” Rachel said. “You’ll do as you’re told.”

  “You just said I was a man.” David lifted his eyes now.

  Ella’s head suddenly felt as if it were clamped in a vise. Slowly the pressure squeezed, one notch at a time.

  “I’m sure you can talk about this,” Lindy said, moving to put one hand on David’s shoulder.

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” Rachel snapped.

  “It would only be for a year.” Lindy’s voice was hardly above a murmur.

  “Jed will have something to say about this,” Rachel said. “I cannot imagine he will see the need for a fifteen-year-old to go to school.”

  Ella slipped out the back door for the second time that morning. Rachel and Lindy. Rachel and David. Lindy and David. Jed and Rachel. Jed and David. It was not Ella’s place to interfere in any of these relationships that had deluged the quiet Hilty house when her father and Rachel married. Even if it were up to her, she had no advice. Soon—she hoped—Gideon’s children would be her focus.

  At the laundry basket, Ella lifted a damp shirt and snapped it through the air before pinning it to the line. In a few months she would be hanging Gideon’s shirts.

  CHAPTER 7

  Margaret carried her neatly typed report along Main Street toward the superintendent’s office. With Seabury Consolidated Grade School and Seabury High School on adjacent lots, Mr. Brownley might easily have his office in one of the two modern buildings rather than farther down M
ain Street. Without doubt, the handful of remaining one-room schools in the rural county around Seabury would soon be closed and students integrated into the schools in town, so he could administer from one of the main buildings.

  She had done what she could with the Amish, answering more questions than they knew to ask, inviting them for a tour, and making sure they had the information needed for sending the children to school on the first day. She had written an account of her encounters with the Amish. Only time would tell whether she had persuasively alleviated their hesitations. The report did not contain her own hesitations or the self-chastisement over what she might have said differently.

  A few minutes later, on an ordinary sunny August Wednesday morning, Margaret stood in front of the superintendent’s desk as he leafed through the pages of her report.

  “This is a good beginning,” Mr. Brownley said. “I see several opportunities here for strengthening your alliance with the Amish as we move forward.”

  Alliance? Margaret would not have used that word in describing her only partially successful course of action.

  “What is your next step?” Mr. Brownley removed his black-rimmed reading glasses and raised his gray eyes to Margaret.

  “Is my report lacking?” Margaret said, confused.

  “On the contrary.”

  “Sir?”

  “I am not unaware of the special nature of a relationship with the Amish,” Brownley said. “You’ve done well at communicating the stipulations of the law. Inviting their prominent parents to tour the school was a good strategy to help them prepare for the transition. But we do need to be sure they complete the transition. I suspect that even after the first day of school on September 9, we will discover we do not have uniform compliance.”

  “Yes,” Margaret said, “I would agree that not all the parents will accept the new schools at the same rate.”

  “And this is why we need you to continue as an intermediary. We must have compliance. It will not be acceptable for us to turn our heads when we are aware of children who become truants.”