His Amish Teacher. Patricia Davids
Copyright
“We all know Teacher Lillian is a terrible cook, don’t we, children?”
Lillian Keim’s students erupted into giggles and some outright laugher. She crossed her arms and pressed her lips together to hold back a smile.
Timothy Bowman winked at her to take any sting out of his comment, but she wasn’t offended. They had been friends for ages and were members of the same Amish community in Bowmans Crossing, Ohio. She knew he enjoyed a good joke as well as the next fellow, but he was deadly serious about his job today and so was she. The lessons they were presenting might one day prevent a tragedy.
He stood in front of her class on the infield of the softball diamond behind the one-room Amish schoolhouse where she taught all eight grades. Dressed in full fireman’s turnout gear, Timothy made an impressive figure. The coat and pants added bulk to his slender frame, but he carried the additional weight with ease. His curly brown hair was hidden under a yellow helmet instead of his usual straw hat, but his hazel eyes sparkled with mirth. A smile lifted one side of his mouth and deepened the dimples in his tanned cheeks. Timothy smiled a lot. It was one reason she liked him.
His bulky fire coat and pants with bright fluorescent yellow banding weren’t Plain clothing, but their Amish church district approved their use because the church elders and the bishop recognized the need for Amish volunteers to help fill the ranks of the local non-Amish fire company. The county fire marshal understood the necessity of special education in the Amish community where open flames and gas lanterns were used regularly. The Amish didn’t allow electricity in their homes. Biannual fire-safety classes were held at all the local Amish schools. This was Timothy’s first time giving the class. With Lillian’s permission, he was deviating from the normal script with a demonstration outside. Timothy wanted to make an impression on the children. She admired that.
It was another unusually warm day for the last week of September. It had been a dry, hotter than usual summer. Timothy had chosen the bare dirt of the infield with an eye to safety rather than setting up on the brown grass of the lawn that could catch fire. The children were seated on the ground in a semicircle facing him. Only two of her older students, cousins Abe and Gabriel Mast, weren’t paying attention. Abe was elbowing his cousin and the two were snickering and whispering behind their hands.
A red car sped past the school, and the driver laid on the horn. Abe jumped to his feet and waved wildly. The car didn’t slow down.
Lillian did a double take. Was that her brother Jeremiah in the front passenger seat? Surely not. The vehicle rounded the sharp bend in the road and was gone from sight before she could be certain.
Abe grinned from ear to ear and kept jumping. “That’s Davey’s new ride. He’s gonna teach me to drive, too. I want to go fast, fast, fast!”
Davey Mast was Abe’s eldest brother. Davey had chosen to leave the Amish faith after his baptism and had been shunned for his decision. He had taken a job with a local Englisch farmer instead of leaving the area as most young people did when they didn’t remain Amish. Lillian hoped her brother hadn’t been in the car. If he had been, Jeremiah ran the risk of being shunned, too.
Abe ran toward the road. She called him back. “Abe, come sit down.”
He ignored her.
“You need to pay attention. This is important.” Timothy spoke sharply and leveled a stern look at Abe. The boy sheepishly returned to the group and sat down. Lillian wished she could use the look with the same effectiveness.
Timothy turned to a long table he had fashioned from wooden planks on a pair of sawhorses. A propane cook stove in the center held two pans that were both smoking hot. Various household items were arranged along the table, and a large pail of water sat on the ground in front of the table along with a red fire extinguisher.
He carefully carried one pan to the end of the table. Using a long-handled lighter, he clicked it once and the pan burst into flames. He looked at the children. “Let’s pretend Teacher Lillian is frying chicken and a pan full of hot grease catches fire when no one else is around. What should you do?”
“Throw water on it,” little Carl Mast shouted. The second grader was Abe’s youngest brother.
“Carl says water will put out the fire. Let’s see if that works.” Timothy picked up a glass and filled it with water from a bucket beside the table. He flipped down the face shield of his helmet and tossed the liquid onto the skillet.
With a wild hiss and roar, the fire shot skyward in a flaming mushroom eight feet high. All the children drew back with wide frightened eyes. Lillian jumped, too. She wasn’t expecting such a fireball. Puddles of burning grease dotted the ground.
Timothy lifted his face shield and looked at Carl. “Water isn’t the right thing for putting out a grease fire, is it?”
Carl slowly shook his head, his eyes still wide.
Timothy used the extinguisher to put out the fires; then he lit the second pan ablaze with his lighter. “What is a safe way to put out a grease fire like this? Gabriel, Abe? What would you do? Quick. What’s in the kitchen that will help?”
“I’d run outside and watch the whole thing go up in smoke,” Abe said with a smirk, and elbowed his cousin. Gabriel nodded.
Timothy’s eyes narrowed. “Not a very good answer, Abe. This isn’t a joking matter.”
“I’d get the fire extinguisher,” Gabriel said quickly.
Timothy pointed to him. “Goot. Where is it kept in your home?”
A puzzled expression replaced Gabriel’s grin. “I’m not sure.”
Lillian calmly walked to the table. “A fine bunch of firefighters you are if you can’t put out a simple grease fire without help.”
She picked up a dish towel, soaked it with water and gently draped it over the pan. The fire was instantly smothered. The children cheered.
Timothy nodded in appreciation. “I see Teacher Lillian has had lots of practice putting out her burning chicken. She did it the correct way. She smothered it. How else could she have smothered a grease fire?”
The children began calling out suggestions. He acknowledged each answer with a nod and a comment if it was a good suggestion. If it wasn’t, he explained why. As he spoke, Lillian noticed he held the attention of all the children now. He had a knack for engaging them.
Timothy laid aside his lighter. “Now let’s imagine that Teacher is burning leaves in the fall and she sees her boo-friend driving past.” Again, the children giggled.
Lillian scowled at him, not amused this time. Timothy continued speaking. “She is so busy waving at him that she doesn’t notice the hem of her dress has caught fire.”
Sending him a sour look, she said, “I don’t have a boyfriend, but I would certainly wave if one of my scholars were to pass by my home.”
He wiped the grin off his face. “All right, one of your students has distracted you and now your hem is on fire.”
She raised her arms in mock horror and shouted, “This is terrible! Help!”
“What should she do?” Timothy cupped one hand to his ear and leaned toward the children.
“Stop, drop and roll,” the group yelled.
Lillian covered her face with both hands, dropped to the ground and rolled back and forth. She lifted her hand from her face and squinted at Timothy. “Did I do that right?”
He looked at the children. “Scholars, did Teacher Lillian do it correctly?”
“Ja!” they shouted in unison.
He