Paradise Falls

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  At that Fiona looked down at her plate.

  Rose shoved back her chair and busied herself at the stove, pouring hot water from a kettle into the teapot. She circled the table, filling their cups. “Brunhilde and her husband personally inspected Frederick Dorf’s wagon and proclaimed it clean. Certainly cleaner than any other peddler’s wagon they’d ever seen.”

  Flem was chuckling. “Next thing you know we’ll be inviting the old peddler and his brat to supper.”

  “Enough.” Broderick set down his cup with such force the tea sloshed over the rim. He waited until Rose had taken her seat. One side of his mouth turned up just enough to hint at a smile. “The Bavarian wurst is good.”

  Rose’s mouth opened and closed, though no words came out.

  When the silence became awkward, Broderick turned to Gray. “I’d like to go to the parlor now.”

  Gray helped his father to his feet, and the two of them shuffled slowly from the room.

  When they were gone Flem glanced at his mother. “Did I just hear a compliment?”

  “Hush now.” Agitated, Rose topped off her tea and sipped, all the while staring into space.

  Flem pointed to the apple cake cooling on the windowsill. “Are we supposed to eat that apkelkuchen, or did you make it for the horses?”

  When his mother didn’t answer Flem crossed the room and returned with the cake, which he cut into slices and set on plates, handing one to Fiona, and placing one in front of Rose.

  After polishing off two big slices, he turned to his mother, who hadn’t even tasted her dessert.

  He winked at Fiona, “I guess this would be the time to tell my mother that I have a secret wife, I’ve sold the farm, I’m taking the money and leaving my family alone and destitute while I pursue a life of debauchery.”

  Though Rose never even blinked, Fiona was convulsed with laughter. Nobody could make her laugh as easily as Flem.

  She pushed back her chair. “I think we should leave your mother alone, Flem.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  As the two of them walked from the kitchen, Fiona paused to look back at the woman, still seated at the kitchen table, her tea untouched, her gaze fixed on the spot where her husband had been sitting.

  Instead of joining the Haydn men in the parlor, Fiona left them to their privacy and made her way to her room, where she intended to reread her mother’s letters. But as she knelt beside the lantern, it wasn’t the letters that filled her mind, but the little scene she’d witnessed in the kitchen.

  It had seemed such a simple thing. A sausage purchased from a poor peddler. A husband telling his wife the meal had been good. But it had become so much more.

  Fiona found herself smiling.

  Oh, Da. You once told me that a good deed is like a stone tossed into a pond, sending out ripple after ripple, until the entire surface of the pond is changed. I didn’t understand it then, but I do now.

  Judging by the look of pleasure and puzzlement on Rose’s face, she didn’t quite understand it, either. But perhaps she would, in time.

  After reading her mother’s letters, Fiona bent to her own, filling page after page with stories of her students and the people she’d met in Paradise Falls. As she struggled to bring them to life for her mother, she found herself seeing them in a whole new light.

  It had been easy enough to feel compassion for Will VanderSleet and young Luther Dorf, because the harshness of their existence would challenge even the most hardy of souls. She not only admired their efforts, but found herself cheering for them with every step they took.

  But now she realized that Edmer Rudd, for all his bluster, was just as much in need of her understanding and her help. She had to find a way to reach the goodness inside him. For only then, when she had done what she could to help all her students, would she consider herself worthy of the title “teacher.”

  * * *

  “Will you be going into town tomorrow, Gray?” Fiona stepped into the parlor, where Gray and Broderick sat staring at the flames of a log fire. Broderick was smoking his pipe. Gray was sipping strong, hot tea, cupping the mug between his big hands.

  It occurred to her that these two men were so comfortable with each other they needed not a word between them.

  Both looked up as Gray nodded. “I’ve a load of logs already in the sleigh. Is there something you’d like me to deliver?”

  She handed him a package wrapped with care in brown paper and carefully marked with her mother’s name and address in Chicago. “I know it takes a while, and I’d like this to arrive in time for Christmas.”

  “I’ll give it to Gerhardt in the morning.”

  “Thank you.” She turned away, afraid she might be intruding on their privacy. “Good night.”

  “Come sit awhile.” Broderick patted the sofa cushion beside him. “It must be cold in your room. There’s no heat out on that old sunporch, except what drifts in from the fireplace.”

  “I don’t mind. I’ve a warm blanket.” But she settled herself beside him and couldn’t hide her sigh of contentment as the heat of the fire began to weave its spell. She glanced around. “Where are Rose and Flem?”

  “Ma’s baking biscuits for our breakfast. Flem figures if he hangs around the kitchen he’ll snag a few.”

  Fiona laughed. “He does like his sweets, doesn’t he?”

  Broderick exhaled a puff of smoke and watched it curl toward the ceiling. “Fleming has always had a fondness for all things rich and sinful.”

  Fiona fell silent, thinking about the number of times she’d heard Flem sneaking out late at night. No wonder he couldn’t get out of bed until the day was half over. In the past few weeks, he’d been gone more nights than he’d been home. She glanced over at Gray and his father. Did they know? Was it another reason there was such a distance between him and them? Or was she the only one who knew his secret?

  Gray drained his cup. “Will tells me you’re tutoring him before school.”

  She flushed. “It’s the least I can do. He comes early and helps me with wood for the fire and water from the creek.”

  “If his uncle finds out, there could be trouble.”

  She shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t want to cause any trouble for Will. He’s such a good boy. But he has a hunger to learn, Gray. How can I deny him?”

  “I’m not suggesting you should. I just think you ought to be warned that if Dolph VanderSleet should become angry enough, he would make Christian Rudd look like a choirboy.”

  She shivered, remembering that horrid public scene. She couldn’t imagine anything worse.

  Gray’s words were spoken softly, but with a thread of steel. “If Dolph ever comes to your schoolhouse, I want to know.”

  “All right.” She nodded and reluctantly got to her feet. Though it was warm and snug here in the parlor, she knew she needed to be fresh in the morning. “Good night, Mr. Haydn. Gray.”

  Once in her room she huddled under the blankets and waited for sleep to claim her. As she drifted, she thought how wonderful it would be to fall asleep on the sofa, in front of a roaring fire, with the sweet smell of Broderick’s tobacco filling her lungs. And, because she was too weary to pretend otherwise, she knew what would make the dream perfect. The deep voice of Gray washing over her as she slept. But that was a foolish wish. With all that he had to attend to around this farm, there could hardly be any time left over to give even a single thought to a foolish young woman who was allowing her imagination to carry her much too far.

  If Grayson Haydn knew what she was thinking, he would no doubt be horrified.

  ELEVEN

  As the days of December raced by in a blur of lessons, Fiona could sense a change in her students. Even though Christmas in this small farming community was a simple affair, spent mainly in church and filled with religious symbolism, there was room for simple gift-giving as well, which added an air of expectancy.

  Over lunch the children talked of nothing else.

  “Guess what I’m m
aking for my grandfather, Miss Downey?”

  “What, Luther?”

  The boy lowered his voice. “A strip of fine leather, to repair his harness. I’ve been curing a piece of pig’s hide for weeks.”

  “What a lovely gift. He’s going to love it.”

  The boy flushed with pride.

  “I’m crocheting a doily for my mama,” Afton said proudly.

  “Did your mama teach you to crochet?”

  The little girl shook her head, sending golden curls dancing. “My grandmamma taught me, before she died.”

  “That will mean so much to your mother.” Fiona glanced around. “What about the rest of you? Do you have surprises for your family?”

  Siegfried Gunther described the steps he and his father were sanding for his mother, which would be added to the base of their porch when the snow melted.

  Fiona noticed that Edmer was standing to one side of the room, listening without joining in. To draw him into the conversation she called, “What about you, Edmer? Have you thought of anything for your parents?”

  He shook his head and tried to affect a look of boredom. “I can’t think of anything they don’t have.”

  “It must be grand to have everything you want.” She smiled. “Maybe, if you listen, you’ll hear them mention something they’ve always hoped for.”

  He shrugged and pretended to be busy writing on the slate, but it occurred to Fiona that he seemed more withdrawn than usual, and she found herself wondering if he had recently tasted his father’s famous temper. Edmer had been gruff with the other students, a sure sign that he was feeling edgy.

  She wished she knew how to reach this unhappy boy. Though she longed to speak with his mother, she feared that a visit to his farm might provoke another round of anger from Christian Rudd. Anger he might decide to visit upon his long-suffering wife and son.

  “It’s tempting to sit and dream about the things we’ll give those we love for Christmas. And I must say that I’m proud of you for caring more about the things you’ll give than those you hope to receive.” She stood and beckoned them back to their desks. “Now it’s time we got on with our work.”

  * * *

  “Here, Will.” Fiona handed the boy her slate. “I believe you’ve mastered enough words to write a story.”

  He looked up from the fireplace, where he’d stacked logs for the day. Wiping his hands on his pants he accepted the slate and took a seat. “What will I write about?”

  “Write about the things that interest you. Tell me about the tools you’ve learned to use, and what you can make with them.”

  At once he bent to his task while Fiona walked around the room wiping down desks and arranging them close to the fire in preparation for another day.

  It gave her such joy to teach this boy. Will had a quick mind. She needed to tell him something only once and he remembered it. After mastering syllables, there seemed no word that could stump him. He was now reading with more skill than any of her students.

  She took an apple from her lunch pail and cut it in two, placing half on Will’s desk. He idly picked it up and ate while continuing with his work on the slate. A short time later she placed the second half in front of him, and he polished that off as well.

  She gave a little smile of satisfaction. When she’d discovered that the boy left home each morning without eating breakfast, she’d begun sharing what she had. To save him any embarrassment she’d told him that Rose Haydn packed more food than one person could possibly eat. It had taken some persuasion, but he now accepted her offerings without protest.

  He looked up. “I’m finished. Would you like to hear it?”

  “Yes, please.” She looked over his shoulder as he read the story from the slate.

  They were both so engrossed in what he’d written, they failed to hear the door open until they heard Edmer’s voice. “What’re you doing here, VanderSleet?”

  Both Will and Fiona turned to him with matching looks of guilt.

  “Will... offered to bring in some logs for the fire.”

  Edmer glanced at the neat stack, then back at the slate in Will’s hand. “I heard the words you were speaking. How did you learn to read like that?”

  “I’d better go, Miss Downey. My uncle will be expecting me.” Will got to his feet and handed the slate to Fiona before crossing the room to fetch his shabby coat. Without a word to Edmer, he was gone.

  “I didn’t hear your pony cart, Edmer.” Fiona began quickly wiping the slate.

  “My father bought me a pair of snowshoes, and I wanted to try them out.” He watched her frantic efforts to erase the evidence of Will’s lesson. “Siegfried Gunther said he’d pick up the other students in his father’s wagon.”

  “That’s nice of Siegfried.” Fiona set the slate on her desk and turned away. “Since you’re early, perhaps you wouldn’t mind carrying a bucket of fresh water to the outhouse.”

  “I don’t see why I should. My father said that’s your job, Miss Downey.”

  “It is, yes.” Fiona caught the slight flush on Edmer’s cheeks and felt a sense of satisfaction in knowing that he had the good grace to be embarrassed by his imitation of his father. She gave a cool nod before picking up the bucket and heading toward the door. “While I’m gone, you can begin writing the new words you learned yesterday.”

  Fiona stepped out the door and glanced around, wondering which way Will would have gone. Probably through the woods, in order to avoid being seen by the approaching students.

  As she crossed the snow-covered schoolyard, she gave a long, deep sigh. The timing of Edmer’s arrival couldn’t have been worse. Knowing how much he enjoyed causing trouble, there was the very real possibility that he would reveal Will’s secret. She had no idea how Dolph VanderSleet would react to that knowledge. Hadn’t Gray warned her of his temper?

  She whispered a little prayer that just this once, Edmer would show more wisdom and compassion than had been shown to him.

  * * *

  Two days later Fiona arrived at the schoolhouse to find Will already chopping wood for the fire.

  “Will.” She was so happy to see him, she could have hugged him. Instead she merely held the door while he carried an armload of logs inside. “Does this mean your uncle approves of you coming here?”

  He wiped his hands on his faded pants. “Nothing’s changed, Miss Downey. I left home before he was awake.”

  “I see.” She shrugged aside her unease and moved about the room, preparing for another day. “Why don’t we begin with sums?”

  Will took the slate from her desk and began adding the columns of numbers she dictated. No matter how many rows of numbers she gave him, he always managed to come up with the correct total.

  They both looked up when the door was thrown open and Edmer Rudd came rushing inside, holding two pieces of shattered wood.

  “Edmer.” Fiona hurried to his side. “What happened?”

  “Nothing.” He turned away in embarrassment. “I didn’t figure you’d be here again, VanderSleet.”

  “Edmer.” Fiona caught him by the shoulder and turned him to face her. “How did you get that bruise on your temple?”

  “My father...” He pulled away.

  “What about your father?”

  Edmer shrugged. “Do you remember when you told me to listen to my parents, and see if there was something they really wanted for Christmas?”

  Fiona nodded.

  “I heard my mother telling my father she’d like a pretty shelf in the parlor to display my grandmother’s figurines. I went out to the barn to plane some wood. But when my father saw what I was making, he told me it was too ugly to ever be allowed in his house. I... said things that made my father angry. He cuffed me on the side of the head. I wanted to hit him back, but I knew I couldn’t. So when he left...” He stared down at the broken pieces of wood.

  Fiona sighed. “You hit the shelf instead, and broke it.”

  He tossed aside the pieces of wood. “It doesn’t matter
. My father was right. It’s too ugly to hang in our house. My ma would have laughed at me for even trying.”

  “That’s not so, Edmer.” Fiona felt such a welling of sorrow at the defeated look in his eyes. With a hand on his arm she said softly, “There isn’t a mother in the world who wouldn’t be proud of something made by her son out of love. Now, let’s look at all that happened and see if there are lessons to be learned.”

  “Lessons?” Both Will and Edmer spoke the word in unison, looking at her as if she’d grown a second head.

  “Each thing that happens to us in this life is meant to teach us something.” She tapped a foot, as she mused. “I would say that the first lesson here is that anger begets anger.”

  “I don’t understand.” Edmer looked at Will, who seemed equally puzzled.

  “Your father said something that made you angry, so you responded in kind. Because he’s bigger, your father reacted to your angry words with his hands. Because you’re smaller, you couldn’t retaliate, so you waited until he was gone and took out your anger on the gift you’d planned to make for your mother. How could all of this have been turned around?”

  Edmer’s temper flared. “My father could have told me he was proud of me, instead of making fun of my gift.”

  Fiona nodded. “That’s true. The two of you could have worked together to make something for your mother. But since that hasn’t happened, what can you do now to make it right?”

  Edmer kicked at the broken pieces of wood. “I can burn these and forget about my stupid gift.”

  “Oh, Edmer, don’t you see. We always have choices in life. We can choose to make something right, or we can make a bad situation even—”

  Whatever else she was about to say was forgotten at the sound of booted feet coming up the steps.

  Edmer quickly turned away to hide his tear-streaked face from the others. Will VanderSleet set the slate on Fiona’s desk and hurried to pull on his coat. Amid the laughter and chatter of the arriving students, he tossed more wood on the fire before slipping quietly away.

  * * *

  It was the day before Christmas Eve, and to everyone’s joy, it was snowing. Great, fat flakes that dusted hair and eyebrows and melted on tongues. Knowing that the children’s eagerness couldn’t be contained on this, their last day of school before Christmas, Fiona suggested they spend an extra half hour in the snow before returning to their desks.