Healing Their Amish Hearts. Leigh Bale
drawer. What would the school board say about that?
Being more cautious, she glanced at her chair before sitting down, then breathed a silent sigh of relief. Only ten more minutes and she’d be free for the weekend. Most of the children were bright, helpful and quiet. But Caleb and Enos had a penchant for causing enough trouble that Becca was seriously considering speaking with their parents. The only problem was that Caleb’s father was Bishop Yoder. And she hated the thought of approaching the bishop of her new Gmay about his wayward son. No, she must handle this on her own. She had to get control of the school. And fast.
Standing again, she was determined to say something to the students. After all, it was her job to correct poor behavior. Choosing her words carefully, she folded her hands in front of her starched white apron.
“Scholars, I must tell you that I’m ashamed of you today. When Mr. King came to our school, we showed him what poorly behaved children you are. You embarrassed yourselves and I have no doubt your parents will hear all about it.”
There. That was good. Maybe the fear of their parents finding out might make the children behave better. From the front of the room, Caleb slid lower in his seat. Perhaps the thought of his father hearing what had happened didn’t appeal to him. Good! Maybe he’d think twice before putting tacks on her chair or rubber snakes in her drawer again.
“I hope as you go home this afternoon, you’ll think about what your parents expect from you,” she continued. “And I hope you won’t let this happen again. Now, it’s time to go home. Please tidy your desks and get your coats on. School is dismissed.”
The students did as asked, hurrying toward the door. Out of her peripheral vision, Becca saw Caleb’s elder brother nudge his arm, a look of disapproval on his face. Karen, who was Caleb’s older sister, frowned as well.
Great! Becca wanted to cry out in victory. If Becca’s admonitions wouldn’t work, perhaps sibling pressure might help correct Caleb’s poor behavior.
The last student headed out the door. Through the wide windows, Becca saw several black buggies waiting. Since the school was situated in one corner of Bishop Yoder’s hay field, his farm was nearby. But this certainly wasn’t like her home in Ohio where everyone lived within walking distance of the school. Many of the children here in Riverton lived as many as nine miles away and needed a ride home. Some children brought a small pony cart to school, while others waited for their parents to pick them up with their horse and buggy.
Returning to her desk, Becca stared at the place where she’d stowed the toy snake. With a quick jerk, she pulled the drawer open and recoiled in anticipation. But there was no need. During the brief time when she’d been outside speaking with Jesse King, the snake had disappeared.
Hmm. No doubt one of the children had taken it. And honestly, Becca was happy to have it gone. Hopefully it didn’t make a reappearance. Because she desperately wanted the school board to write her a nice reference when she finished her assignment in May. She needed to serve as a substitute teacher for three full years before being eligible to teach at any Amish parochial school. As a teacher, she was a late bloomer. She hadn’t done any student teaching earlier, when she’d first achieved her certificate of completion from the Amish school she’d attended as a girl. She thought she’d be getting married, so she hadn’t even considered it at the time. But if she did well here in Riverton, she could get an Amish teaching job anywhere. This position was only a beginning, but she’d do almost anything to keep from returning home to Ohio.
Now, if she could just figure out a way to handle Jesse King and little Sam’s lack of speech, she might have a chance.
Jesse patted the side of his black-and-white Holstein and picked up the two buckets of fresh milk. Carrying them outside the barn, he noticed the skiff of snow they’d had that morning had almost melted off. It’d be dark soon. The afternoon sun was settling behind the Wet Mountains to the east. The fading beams of light sprayed the sky in creamy pink and gold, glinting off the jagged spikes of granitic rock. Jesse had been reading up on his new home. The Wet Valley sat at an elevation of just under 8,000 feet. With the cooler elevation and much shorter growing season, he’d never be able to successfully grow anything but hay, some barley and maybe some sugar beets. In his summer garden, the snap peas and carrots should do fine, but some other Amish farmers at church had told him not to bother growing celery and he’d have to cover his tomato plants at night or they’d freeze. But his farmland was fertile and located ten long miles outside of town. Because his new home was isolated and lonely, he’d gotten it for a cheap price. And the solitude was just what he wanted to soothe his broken heart.
Still holding the milk buckets, he paused, remembering the last time he’d shared a similar sunset with his sweet wife, Alice. Back then, they’d been living in the overly populated area of Lancaster County. They’d been walking from the barn to their house when he’d pulled her close as they’d admired the beauty of Gott’s creations. They’d heard about this new Amish settlement in Colorado and talked about moving here. It’d provide more opportunities for growth. A place where they could expand and their familye would have a better future. They were happy and filled with anticipation. Life was so good then.
Alice and their two daughters had died three days later, taking all of Jesse’s joy with them.
The rattle of a horse and buggy drew his attention. He turned and groaned out loud. Rebecca Graber, Sam’s schoolteacher, was just pulling into his graveled driveway.
He thought about rushing inside and pretending he didn’t know she was here. He could ignore her knock on the door. But no. He’d have to face her sooner or later.
Setting the buckets of frothy milk on the back porch, he tucked his thumbs into the black suspenders that crossed his blue chambray shirt and waited. Becca pulled up right in front of him and climbed out of her buggy. Wearing a heavy black mantle with a gray scarf wrapped around her neck, she tugged off her gloves. Taking a step, she tucked several golden-blond strands of hair back into her black traveling bonnet. Other than her bright pink cheeks and nose, her skin looked smooth and pale as porcelain. Her startling blue eyes sparkled with a zest for life, her heart-shaped lips creased in a tentative smile.
“Hallo, Mr. King,” she called.
“Hallo. What can I do for you?” he returned with little enthusiasm.
Slightly breathless, she joined him next to the back door. “I was hoping to speak with you briefly about Sam. I’m guessing you’ve noticed he doesn’t speak. I’d like to help. And I think if we team up, we can be more effective.”
Something hardened inside of Jesse. Who did this woman think she was? Coming to his home to tell him how to raise his son.
“How old are you?” he asked.
She blinked at his odd question. “I’m twenty-two. But I don’t see what that has to do with Sam’s reluctance to speak.”
Hmm. She was just four years younger than Jesse. Since age eighteen was the norm for schoolteachers, he thought her quite old. And he couldn’t help wondering why she wasn’t already married. A pretty little thing like her should have no trouble finding a willing groom. Especially here in Colorado, where Amish women were scarce. But he told himself he didn’t care. It wasn’t his business and he had bigger problems on his mind right now.
“I’m a fairly new teacher but I do know my subjects quite well. I just want to help,” Becca said.
“I doubt anything can be done for Sam,” he said, trying to keep his voice even and calm. “He’ll speak again once he’s gut and ready.”
Becca shook her head. “I don’t think so, Mr. King. When did Sam stop speaking?”
A rush of sad memories flooded his mind and he looked away. Her question seemed too personal. The pain was still so raw that it felt like it had happened just yesterday. “It started the afternoon of his mother and sisters’ funeral.”