An Amish Schoolroom

by Amy Clipston

  The children had done that.

  From the first moment she’d been introduced to her twenty scholars, they’d meant so much to her. For most of her life she’d yearned to be a teacher, and at long last her dream had come true.

  And what a group! They were a varied lot, ranging in age from six to fourteen. They all lived within walking distance of the old wooden schoolhouse and arrived soon after she did at eight every morning. Some were sweet and shy. Others were loud and argumentative. A couple seemed to be dreamers, and one or two of them were extremely smart. And for the last three months of the school year, they were hers. For better or worse.

  It was just too bad that, so far, she’d had more “worse” days than good ones.

  It was currently close to three o’clock, and the day was almost finished. As she continued to write math problems on the chalkboard at the front of the room, most of the students watched her with looks of consternation. A few even looked irritated.

  Wendy had been their replacement teacher for almost two weeks. Knowing the children would find it difficult to adjust to a new teacher with just three months left of school, she’d been more lenient than she might normally have been. Common sense told her that implementing new rules wasn’t a good idea, especially since she was so different from their beloved Mrs. Wagoner.

  However, yesterday Wendy had decided enough was enough. She’d been hired as their teacher, not a fill-in babysitter. And she wanted to prove herself capable so that she’d receive a contract for the upcoming year. That was why she’d decided to give them a test of sorts—especially since Mrs. Wagoner had left her almost no notes about each student’s progress.

  Today, she planned to assess each child’s math level. She’d started with basic addition, then moved on to subtraction, multiplication facts, then more complicated problems, and finally long-division problems with remainders. Nothing was too difficult. At least it shouldn’t have been for her oldest scholars—her fourteen-year-old eighth graders. She’d figured she’d hear some complaining, but not the current reaction. Two of the eighth graders actually looked upset.

  By the time she finished writing at last, most of the students were staring at her with apprehensive expressions.

  Little seven-year-old Becca raised her hand. “I only know how to add, Teacher,” she whispered.

  Knowing all the children were listening, Wendy again tried to alleviate their worries. “I know, Becca. But remember what I said? Only do the problems you know how to do.”

  “What if I’ve forgotten how to do some of the work?” Paul, one of the fourteen-year-olds, asked.

  “Then I will know what I need to help you with. Remember, scholars, this isn’t for a grade. All I’m trying to do is figure out what you know and don’t know.” She smiled encouragingly yet again.

  Unfortunately, no one smiled back.

  When it looked like a couple of her more squirrelly students were considering asking additional questions, Wendy leveled a hard—and hopefully tough—look around the room. “This isn’t an option, students. You may get started now.”

  At last, everyone’s pencils got busy.

  Wendy felt like raising her hands in victory . . . and banging her head against one of the walls at the same time. Her foray into teaching had been far more challenging than she’d thought it would be. Back when she’d dreamed about finally getting her first job, she’d imagined having a few rocky days, but that was all. But so far? Well, it was as if her brief honeymoon had ended and she and her students were stumbling into their first weeks of married life.

  Of course she didn’t actually know what that was like, given that she was nineteen and unmarried, but she had a pretty good idea that her analogy was close.

  When she’d been asked to finish out Mary Wagoner’s class from March until the beginning of June, she’d been overjoyed. She might have felt secretly prideful as well. Ever since she’d graduated the eighth grade, she’d been volunteering in Amish schools, tutoring teenagers, and collecting and making items for bulletin boards.

  She’d so badly wanted to be a teacher.

  Unfortunately, her age had worked against her. No matter how many people she reached out to or wrote to regarding an opening for a teacher, Wendy had heard the same thing: she was too young to be in charge of a whole Amish school.

  It had been beyond frustrating. After all, it wasn’t her fault she didn’t have much actual teaching experience. Everyone had to start somewhere. She’d graduated after eighth grade the same as everyone else in her church district. Next, she’d spent two months in Mexico with other members of her New Order Amish church district, tutoring young children at an orphanage.

  After that, she’d divided her time between volunteering, tutoring, and helping her mother at home in their community near Middlefield.

  It was only when Mary Wagoner fell in love and decided to move to Shipshewana to get married that this school’s board decided to give Wendy a try.

  She realized she hadn’t been their first choice. Not the second or third choice either. Nee, she’d been hired because no one else had wanted to take over a class at the very end of a school year.

  She was all right with that, however. After all, her favorite verse was Galatians 6:9: Let’s not get tired of doing what is good. At just the right time we will reap a harvest of blessing if we don’t give up.

  She had taken to saying that verse aloud to herself every morning as she walked to work. No matter what, she was not giving up.

  “Teacher,” Jonas called out.

  “My name is Wendy Schwartz, Jonas. Remember? You may call me Miss Wendy or Miss Schwartz.”

  “But Teacher. Look.” He pointed to the clock.

  It was three o’clock. For a boy who couldn’t remember her name, he could tell time real well.

  All the students were now staring at her with hope in their eyes. She supposed she couldn’t blame them.

  She cleared her throat. “Scholars, it seems Jonas is right. It is time to end our day. Put your names on your papers, hand them to me, and then get ready to leave.”

  And just like that, a new breath of life filled the room. Children rushed to turn in their papers, gather their materials, and pull on their coats.

  “Don’t forget to stack your chairs and pick up around your desks!” she called out.

  Less than five minutes later, the floor was clean, the chairs were stacked, and her students were all in line. As she stood next to the door, she gazed at them until they stood silently.

  At last she smiled. “Goodbye, scholars. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  The door opened, and like a rush of wind, they escaped. All of them had made it through another day. Feeling marginally better, she walked to the doorway and watched the children leave. Some walked home together. Others rode their bikes. A couple of her students went right to their waiting mothers. Minutes later, after a few of them waved in her direction, they were gone.

  Wendy breathed a sigh of relief.

  She’d achieved her dream. It just wasn’t exactly the wonderful experience she’d always imagined it would be.

  With another deep breath, Wendy went back inside and got ready to do it all over again tomorrow. Hopefully things would go better. One of these days, she felt sure that it had to.

  Chapter 2

  Their new boarder was pretty as a picture—cheery, smart . . . and completely off limits. No way should he ever be thinking about her in a romantic way.

  It was really too bad Lewis Weaver couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her.

  When his mother walked into the living room, she scanned the area and propped one hand on her hip. “Wendy still hasn’t arrived?”

  “Mamm, supper isn’t for another ten minutes. She’ll be here soon.”

  “I know I shouldn’t act like she’s late. I know she isn’t.” She lowered her voice. “It’s just that Mervin and Fern are already in the dining room.”

  Their two other boarders had been with them for years. Mervi
n was in his late sixties and had moved in a few months after his wife passed away. Fern was a spinster in her midforties who liked to knit and crochet but not cook. Both were rather set in their ways. “That ain’t Wendy’s fault. They come in early to eat every day.”

  “And Wendy always walks in at five on the dot.”

  “Don’t fault her for being punctual,” he chided.

  She sighed. “I’m not. It would just be easier if I didn’t have to remind Fern and Mervin of that every evening,” she muttered under her breath as she wandered back to the kitchen.

  Lewis sat down. By all appearances, he was relaxing for a few minutes before going into the dining room to eat with his family and their three boarders. In actuality, he was looking for Wendy too. He’d gotten home around the same time she did today. They’d spoken for a few moments, but she’d been far quieter than her usual chatty self. He hoped nothing was wrong.

  Two minutes later, his father wandered in, his hair still damp from his shower. “Lewis, everything gut?”

  “I reckon so. Fern and Mervin are in the dining room, Mamm and Judith Rose are in the kitchen, we’re here, and Wendy hasn’t come inside yet.”

  “Which means your mother’s in a tizzy.”

  Lewis grinned. “Those are your words, not mine . . . but jah.”

  His father chuckled. “So everything is how it always is.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Has your mamm wandered out to complain yet?”

  “Jah. About two minutes ago.”

  His father sat down and propped a foot on the ottoman. “The more things change, the more they stay the same. Ain’t so?”

  “You’re right, Daed.”

  About six years ago, his parents had decided to start taking in boarders. There were three sizable rooms attached to the barn that Lewis’s great-uncle had once used as storage for furniture he’d been building. After they had lain vacant for more than a decade, Lewis’s father decided they would be good places for some single members of their community to rent.

  His parents had learned that there were some older members of their community who either didn’t have younger families to live with or, for one reason or another, had elected not to live with them.

  Before long, Lewis and his daed had remodeled the rooms to each include a small sitting area and a full bathroom. They’d been rented out almost immediately, and since then they’d all gotten used to having a few older folks around the farm.

  However, when Esther got sick in January, she’d moved in with her niece, leaving an opening. When word got around that Wendy Schwartz was going to take the teaching job but needed a place to stay, it felt like a match made in heaven.

  They were all going through a bit of a learning curve, though. Wendy was young, busy, and actually thought his mother wanted her to come to the supper table at five, not ten or fifteen minutes early because Mervin and Fern didn’t want to wait one extra minute for the meal.

  Daed glanced at the large brass wall clock that had been his and Mamm’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary gift to each other. “Looks like she’s got three minutes now.”

  “Wendy’ll be here on time. She always is.”

  His father raised his eyebrows and crossed his legs. “That’s true, but I fear she’s cuttin’ it a bit close this evening.”

  “Not so much. Five is five.”

  “Jah, but—”

  They heard footsteps pattering down the hall.

  “Here she is,” Daed said with a smile.

  Lewis stood up right as Wendy blew into the room. Today she wore a dark-pink dress, the color of a ripe raspberry. Over it, she had put on a light white sweater. Her wide-set brown eyes were bright, and her brown hair was neat and pinned securely under her white kapp. She wore rubber flip-flops on her feet.

  “Hiya, Wendy.”

  “Hello, Lewis.” She turned to his father. “Hi, Frank.”

  “You’re just on time, Wendy,” Daed said. “I’m glad about that.”

  She looked at him in confusion. “Why? Were you worried I was going to be late?”

  “Oh, only a little bit. Mei frau runs a tight ship, you know.”

  “I do know that,” she murmured as they made their way into the dining room. Now looking worried, she added, “The sheet does say that supper begins at five. Is that not true?”

  “It is,” said Lewis.

  “All right. Then I’m afraid I don’t know what I’ve done wrong. Is Bonnie upset with me for some reason?”

  Lewis gave his father a pointed look.

  Luckily, he caught on. “Not at all, child,” his daed said with a chuckle. “I was only making conversation, that’s all.”

  Wendy raised her eyebrows at Lewis, causing him to laugh.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he whispered to her as they sat down. “My parents are a handful.”

  “Oh. Mine are too.” She smiled at him, then greeted Fern in the polite way she always did. “Gut evening. How was your Thursday?”

  “It was productive. I mailed off a sweater to one of my customers, then finished a crossword puzzle before taking a long walk.”

  “It was a lovely day. I’m sure the walk was pleasant.”

  Fern nodded. “It was, indeed.”

  Wendy turned to Mervin. “And how was your day?”

  “I was under the weather, I’m sorry to say.”

  “Oh?”

  “No worries. It might be a touch of the flu.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Oh, jah.”

  Mervin began describing his sniffles and stomach ailments in detail, and Wendy’s expression eased when it became apparent that he was something of a hypochondriac. Soon, it became clear she was trying not to laugh.

  Obviously not wanting to be rude, she jumped to her feet. “Let me go see if Bonnie and Judith Rose need any help.”

  As she disappeared into the kitchen, Mervin leaned back. “That girl certainly brightens up the place, doesn’t she?”

  Grinning, his father said the exact words Lewis had been thinking to himself. “Wendy does, indeed. I’m starting to wonder how we managed without her.”

  Chapter 3

  Wendy couldn’t deny it: it was nice not to have to walk to school by herself—especially since Lewis was holding her satchel. It also didn’t hurt that her handsome landlord was wearing her favorite dark-blue shirt today. His dark hair was slicked back from his face, his black hat was pulled down a bit to block the sun, and he was wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt too.

  “This is so nice of you to help me, Lewis. I was actually dreading my walk this morning.”

  “I’m not surprised. Your book bag is heavy. It must weigh twenty pounds.”

  “It felt like double that on my way home yesterday.” Her shoulders had ached something awful when she woke up.

  “Can’t you take less home?”

  “I could . . . if I didn’t have to do so much work at night.”

  “How late were you up last night?”

  “Midnight.”

  His green eyes clouded with concern. “Wendy, you should take care. As I’ve said before, I fear you’re going to burn yourself out if you ain’t careful.”

  Since she felt constantly exhausted these days, she knew he had a point. However, Wendy also knew the amount of work couldn’t be helped. She needed to be outstanding so the school board would be pleased with her performance. “I hope I don’t get burned out after just a few weeks of teaching! After all, my goal is to teach at the school again next year.”

  “Have you heard anything about that?”

  “Not really. It’s probably too soon for the school board to make a decision.” She was afraid to tell Lewis she’d overheard two of her oldest students whispering that the school board members were actively trying to find someone else. Someone older with more experience.

  As if Lewis sensed she wasn’t giving him the whole truth, he looked at her with concern again. “We can talk about it, if you’d like. You
know, if you just want to discuss what you think might happen. It’s always helpful to share one’s burdens.”

  “Danke, but that’s not necessary.” Especially since she was fairly certain neither the parents nor the students wanted her to return in the fall. No one had said anything specific, but she’d gotten the feeling more than once that everyone was simply biding their time until she went away.

  If that was true, then she’d be back where she started, desperately hoping another school in the area would give her a chance.

  After shifting her tote bag to his opposite shoulder, Lewis said, “I saw you got some letters yesterday.”

  “I did. They were from my family.”

  “All four of them?”

  Lewis now knew that she was the youngest of five and the recipient of a lot of freely given advice. “Jah. Just because I’m in Charm and they’re not doesn’t change their need to share all their words of wisdom. Though I was thankful that mei sister Lena and mei brother J.B. elected to keep their opinions to themselves this week.”

  As she’d hoped, he laughed. “Every time you tell me stories about your family, I’m glad that I’m one of only two children. Plus, Judith Rose and I get along well.”

  “Being one of two sometimes sounds like heaven.” She chuckled. “Though, to be honest, I like to laugh about their meddling, but I know it comes from love. They care about me, which I’m grateful for. Plus, every letter isn’t just filled with advice. Sometimes, the notes are simply filled with stories about their days.” Thinking about how much she looked forward to their letters, Wendy added, “I’d be lonely if I never heard from them.”

  “You’ve got friends here too.”

  Determined to lighten the mood, she grinned. “That is true. Fern speaks to me now. When I first got here two weeks ago, she wouldn’t even look at me.”