Paradise Falls

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  “He knows his way home.” Rose set down a milk pitcher with a clatter.

  “But he may have fallen.” Without a thought to where she might begin, Fiona was already out the backdoor when she heard Rose’s voice lifted in protest. Ignoring it, she raced toward the barn. Finding it empty, she hurried on toward the smaller sheds beyond, where pigs rooted in the mud and chickens clucked.

  “Mr. Haydn. Mr. Haydn.” She danced from shed to shed, shoving open doors and peering around before rushing off to the next.

  She was halfway across an open field when she heard the sound of a horse and wagon racing up behind her. Seeing that it was Gray, she paused and waited until he pulled up alongside her.

  “No one has seen your father all afternoon.”

  “I just heard when I got home.” He offered a hand, lifting her up beside him on the hard wooden seat. As they crossed the field, Gray kept watch in one direction while Fiona studied the other. Because the hay hadn’t yet been cut in this field, it was impossible to see beyond the wall of grain for more than a few feet in any direction. Fiona knew that if Broderick had fallen, he would be impossible to find, unless they should hear his voice.

  “Mr. Haydn.” Cupping her hand to her mouth she shouted into the wind. It snatched her words away as quickly as they were spoken.

  “There.” Gray pointed at a faint trail, barely visible in the tall stalks. “Someone’s been walking.”

  Turning the horse, he stood up while holding the reins, then suddenly drew back, bringing the horse and cart to an abrupt halt.

  They both spotted Broderick at the same moment. He was lying face down, cushioned only by the grain that lay crushed beneath him.

  Gray was beside him in an instant, rolling the older man over and checking for a pulse. Fiona saw the relief on Gray’s face when his father moaned slightly.

  “Where...?” Completely disoriented, Broderick struggled to see who was holding him.

  “It’s me, Papa.” Gray wrapped his arms around his father, rocking him as though he were a child.

  “Where are we?”

  “The east field. How did you get here?”

  His father shook his head. “I was... walking. Don’t remember.”

  “When I discovered you missing, I came looking for you. So did Miss Downey.”

  “Our teacher?” The old man looked up at Fiona, who was kneeling beside them. “I hope I haven’t spoiled... first day of school.”

  “Finding you has just made it perfect, Mr. Haydn.”

  Broderick gave a deep sigh. “I wanted to prove I could walk. Don’t remember anything else.”

  “It doesn’t matter now, Papa. I have you. You’re safe.” Gray struggled to his feet, still cradling his father to his chest. When he reached the wagon he settled the old man gently in the back.

  Without a word Fiona climbed in beside him and caught his hands in hers. They were trembling.

  “You’ll be home soon, Mr. Haydn. Hold onto me until we get there.” She wasn’t aware that she was crying. Great scalding tears that rolled down her cheeks and dampened the front of her dress.

  Only Gray noticed. He stood a moment, watching the two of them. Then he pulled himself up to the seat and caught the reins. Keeping the horse to a walk, so as not to jostle his father, he headed toward the farmhouse in the distance.

  His eyes, narrowed in thought, were hot with a combination of fury and fear.

  * * *

  “Here, Papa.” Gray lifted his father from the back of the wagon and strode toward the back porch. Before he was halfway up the steps Fiona raced ahead to hold open the door.

  Inside, Rose and Flem looked up from the table.

  “What’s this?” Rose sprang up, nearly knocking back her chair in her haste.

  Gray swept past her and carried his father to the parlor, where he deposited him on the sofa before tucking an afghan around him.

  “Tell me what happened.” Rose stood behind Gray, who continued to kneel beside his father, vigorously rubbing the old man’s hands between both of his until he could feel some heat begin to be restored.

  “We found him in the east field, where he’d fallen.”

  “So far from home?” Rose glanced at Flem, who was standing at the head of the sofa, watching his brother minister to their father. “How can this be?” She pushed Gray aside and sat on the edge of the sofa. “Whatever were you thinking, Broderick?”

  Gray closed a hand around her wrist. “Leave him be, Ma. He’s too tired right now. He needs to rest.”

  “What about what I need?” Agitated, she gave her husband’s shoulder a rough shake. “You could have died out there, Broderick. Is that what you wanted? To die all alone, never to be found?”

  “What do you care?” The old man’s eyes opened and he fixed her with a steely look. “Would it matter? Would you shed even one tear, Rose, now that I’m useless to you?”

  She jerked back as though he’d struck her. Whatever she’d been about to say was swallowed back. She got to her feet, ramrod straight, and walked out of the room.

  No one spoke as her footsteps sounded on the stairs. Upstairs, a door slammed, sending shudders through the house. And then there was silence.

  Gray got to his feet. “I’ll get you something warm to drink, Papa.”

  “No.” Fiona touched a hand to his arm. “I’ll get it. You stay with your father.”

  In the kitchen, as she set the kettle on the stove, it occurred to Fiona that Rose and Flem had been enjoying their supper. Their plates were heaped with food. Platters of roast beef and potatoes were cooling in the center of the table.

  As though it had been just another day.

  Had this happened before? Had Broderick often gone off alone? And if so, had it been done out of confusion? Or was there something more here?

  Rose’s accusation played through Fiona’s mind. Was Broderick Haydn’s life so painful, his situation so desperate, he would deliberately wander off in the hope of dying all alone?

  The thought was too painful to bear. As she spooned sugar into a cup of tea, she pushed aside her fears. It was the stroke. Not only did it destroy his body, but it muddled the brain as well.

  She stepped into the parlor and fixed a smile on her lips. She wouldn’t dwell on the possibility of anything right now, except the fact that Broderick was home, safe and sound.

  But in a small, dark corner of her mind, she couldn’t shake the troubling feeling that this was only a brief respite from a terrible storm that was brewing in the Haydn household. A storm that could erupt at any time with such violence, it could strike this family to its very foundation.

  NINE

  “Welcome, children.” As late summer slid into autumn, the days took on a familiar pattern. Fiona had begun to accept the fact that not all of the children were able to attend school on a regular basis. Some of the older boys were needed on the farms, especially during harvest time. Some of the girls were expected to stay home and help with chores around the house, or care for the younger children while their mothers worked alongside their men. Whenever a student returned, Fiona patiently went over the lessons that had been missed.

  She picked up her slate. “Please take your seat, Edmer.”

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  His question was followed by a taut silence that had the other students shifting nervously in their desks.

  Though Edmer Rudd had missed as many days as he’d attended, it had become clear to Fiona that he was considered a leader among the other children. Whenever he was in attendance, there was a sense of expectancy, as though awaiting the inevitable challenge to their teacher’s authority.

  She met his stare with a smile. “If everyone did as they pleased, it would be difficult to learn.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to learn.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Because my mother said I had to come.”

  “Your mother sounds like a wise woman. It would seem she wants her son to grow up to be
just as wise.”

  “My father never went to school. Why should I?”

  “Many of our parents didn’t have the opportunity to go to school.” Fiona glanced around at the others. “That makes them all the more eager that we should have what they couldn’t have.”

  “My father says it’s a waste of time.” Edmer put his hands on his hips and looked around with a sneer. “He said the money the county spends on a teacher would be better spent on a team of mules that could be used among all the farmers during spring planting, and again at harvest time.”

  Once again Fiona was forced to choose her words carefully, knowing they would be repeated in every kitchen by day’s end. “A team of mules would be a fine thing indeed, Edmer. I hope the county will consider it. But eventually mules will grow old and will have to be replaced. If I do my job, I’ll instill a love of learning in all your young minds that will be passed on to your children, and your grandchildren, and their children.”

  “How is that going to help us grow better crops?”

  “Perhaps it won’t, but by mastering your sums, you’ll be able to determine if you’re getting the best price for those crops. Some of you may decide to become something other than farmers. Wouldn’t it be grand for Paradise Falls if some of you should become doctors, or ministers, or teachers?”

  “What if we want to be farmers?” Edmer’s tone lifted in challenge. “Are you saying that isn’t good enough?”

  “Certainly not.” Fiona glanced around at the other children, listening to every word of this exchange. “Education gives us the freedom to choose. My da used to say it is a key that unlocks many doors.”

  While she talked, Fiona moved among them, holding the slate. When she came to Edmer, he held out his hand. She, in turn, glanced at his desk and waited until he’d taken his seat before handing it over.

  Pleased that she’d managed to coax him to follow the rules, her smile widened. “Let’s begin by learning the name of our President, Benjamin Harrison.” She’d written his name on the top of the slate, and asked Edmer to hold it up so they could all see. “It’s a very long name, but one that I believe each of you should master. A very wise man once told me that if we are to be good citizens of this great country, it is important that we know the name of the man who is its leader.”

  While each of her students struggled to complete their assignment, she gave a little sigh of relief. It would seem that she’d managed to avoid a confrontation, at least for the moment. But though young Master Rudd had given up this particular battle, she doubted he was ready to forget the war.

  * * *

  “I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Dorf.” Fiona offered her hand, and watched as the old peddler carefully wiped his hands on his shirt before doing the same.

  After accepting her invitation to bring his wagon to school, he had graciously permitted each of the students to crawl around inside to see where he and Luther slept, and how they stored so many fascinating items within such a confining space.

  Fiona had been pleasantly surprised to find all of her students in attendance. Perhaps out of curiosity, or perhaps because they didn’t really consider this peddler’s wagon a classroom, not one student was missing on this day.

  To thank Frederick Dorf for opening up his home to them, Fiona had brought enough lunch to include the old man and his grandson. It had taken a great deal of persuasion before Rose Haydn had agreed to the extra food. But, as Fiona had been quick to point out, if Frederick Dorf was as poor as the others believed, it was the least she could do to make up for the inconvenience of taking him and his grandson away from the trail, where they would have been earning some money.

  Rose had been outspoken in her protest. “I don’t see what good this visit will do. What can children possibly learn from such a man?”

  “They look down on him because he earns his living as a peddler.”

  Rose wrinkled her nose. “And why not? It’s a sad, dirty way of life.”

  Fiona arched a brow. “Have you been inside his wagon?”

  The older woman gave a quick shake of her head. “Nor would I want to. Why, do you know that before his wife died, she lived in that smelly, dirty cart, traveling all around the countryside with her man. And now an orphaned grandson. Why should any of us go near it?”

  “Because Mr. Dorf provides all of us with his services. Without him, who would sharpen our knives or brings us the bits of ribbon and lace we use to brighten our lives? Gray told me that in the past year alone, Mr. Dorf was responsible for introducing him to a new winter wheat being grown by the farmers in Little Bavaria, and a newer, stronger hitch for the team. Without a peddler, who would sell you the special meats and cheeses he brings from other towns?”

  Rose had turned away, unable to come up with an argument.

  Fiona wondered what the parents would say when their children reported that the wagon, though small and cramped, had been spotlessly clean, and that every knife, every pair of scissors, every bit of string and twine and ribbon, had been carefully stored in its proper place. Perhaps, she thought, it wouldn’t make any difference to most of them, but it had already made a difference to one sad, lonely little boy, who had been allowed, for this precious day, to share his life with his new friends.

  Frederick Dorf’s words broke through her thoughts. “You will thank Mrs. Haydn for the fine cheese and the strudel?”

  “I will.” Fiona turned to the children. “What do you have to say to Mr. Dorf?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Dorf,” they called in unison as they’d been coached before his arrival.

  As the old man helped his grandson into the back of his wagon, Fiona saw the pleasure and pride in young Luther’s eyes and remembered again why she’d invited his grandfather here. These children had seen, not a poor, dirty peddler as expected, but a small, neat wagon in which an old man and a little boy were managing, to the best of their ability, to make a home together.

  When her students were gone, Fiona glanced skyward and seeing the sun already slipping below the horizon, started toward the Haydn farm. After that generous lunch for Mr. Dorf and his grandson, Fiona would hate to incur Rose’s wrath by being late for supper, since it seemed to be a particular issue with the older woman.

  * * *

  A week later the students were gathered around Gray as he whittled on a block of wood.

  It had taken all Fiona’s powers of persuasion to get the shy farmer to consent to visit her school. At first he’d been ill at ease while the children pulled their desks in a circle. Now, as his fingers worked their magic, he forgot his nerves.

  “What will it be?” Siegfried Gunther asked..

  “I’m not sure yet.” Gray kept turning the wood, whittling a bit, then turning it more. “The wood has to let me know what will suit it.”

  “You mean it talks to you?” This from Edmer Rudd.

  “In a manner of speaking. The wood itself decides what is best. Some wood is delicate, and might become a flower or tree. Another piece might be round, and will become someone’s face. Or the grain of the wood might be more suitable for an animal.” He smiled as he began to see what would work. “I think this will be a great black bear.”

  The children fell silent as the wood began to take shape before their eyes. After carving the outline of a bear, Gray made a few cuts and whittled a head, eyes, ears. Then he made softer strokes with his knife that looked exactly like fur.

  Now the children were so caught up in his skill, and watched with such intensity, Fiona stood back with a smile. This was all that she had hoped for. It was what teaching was all about. That magic moment when a student sees all the possibilities.

  At last Gray held up the wood carving. “Well? What do you think?”

  “It really is a bear.” Afton’s words brought nods from the others.

  “Would you like it?” Gray held it out to the little girl, who eagerly accepted it.

  When he tucked away his knife and got to his feet, Fiona hurried over. “What do we hav
e to say to Mr. Haydn, children?”

  They replied in a singsong chorus, “Thank you, Mr. Haydn.”

  “You’re welcome.” He grinned at Fiona as she escorted him to the door.

  “You see?” She stepped out onto the porch. “That didn’t hurt a bit, did it?”

  “Not at all.” He met her eyes. “You’re good with them.”

  “So are you. Thank you, Gray, for sharing your special talent with my students.”

  He seemed about to say something more, but instead turned away and walked to his wagon, where Chester sat patiently waiting.

  He found himself smiling as he flicked the reins and returned to the fields.

  * * *

  “Rain’s coming.” Broderick was sprawled in the back of the wagon beside Fiona, as the family made its way to Sunday services. Despite the occasional break in the clouds, showing rare bursts of sunlight, Fiona was grateful for the warmth of the blanket tucked around her. The air had a bite to it, warning of what was to come.

  The hills around them seemed on fire with leaves of red and gold and yellow, and a heavy layer of frost already glinted on the ground.

  Fiona swiveled her head, doing her best to drink it all in. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful as this.”

  Beside her Broderick blinked one eye, while the other stared without seeing. “Don’t let it fool you. This land is a woman.”

  She turned to him with a questioning look.

  “So lovely she takes your breath away.” He seemed to gather his thoughts before adding, “Then, just when you’ve lost your heart, she shows her true face.”

  Fiona knew that the rest of the family couldn’t hear above the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves and the wheels of the wagon as they rolled over the deeply rutted road. “And what would that true face be?”

  “A cruel beauty. A harsh mistress, demanding all. Giving little.”

  “I think, despite your words, you love this land, Mr. Haydn.”

  “God help me, I do.” He nodded. “But a word of warning, Miss Downey. Never trust her. When she seems the most beautiful, when you think she could never be lovelier, that’s when you must be wary. For she can turn on you and take everything, even your life.”