by Marta Perry
It didn’t take a lot of imagination to figure out what Thomas’s father would do. Blame Thomas. Blame her. Maybe go to the bishop and perhaps to the school board. It wouldn’t occur to him that there might be another side to the story.
Thomas wouldn’t explain, of course. He’d be angry. He’d be sure his father wouldn’t believe him no matter what he said. No matter how she looked at that encounter, it couldn’t be anything less than a disaster.
Thomas had told her to keep quiet. He’d said he’d take care of it. What did he imagine he could do?
Then she realized what he meant. He’d say it was all his fault. He’d tell his father, the bishop, the school board. He’d try to take the blame. Again.
She’d reached the farmhouse, but she didn’t remember one single step of the walk home. She couldn’t let that happen, but what could she do?
Hardly knowing what she was doing, she crossed the porch and went into the kitchen. Her mind vaguely registered that Betsy was there alone, pulling a pie from the oven. She set it on the rack, looking at it with pleasure. Turning to see Dorcas, her pleased look vanished, to be replaced by one of deep concern. Dropping the potholders, she rushed to Dorcas.
“Was ist letz? What’s wrong? You look . . . terrible.”
Dorcas pressed her hand to her forehead. “Mammi?” she asked, a question in her voice.
“I’m so sorry. She went to take supper to your cousin.” She put her arm tentatively around Dorcas. “Can’t you tell me? I’ll help if I can.”
“I know. It’s just . . .” The need to tell someone overwhelmed her. “Lydia Gaus saw me alone with Thomas in the schoolroom, and she thought the worst. She’ll probably tell everyone—the school board, Minister Lucas, Mammi. And Thomas is trying to make it all his fault. I can’t bear it.” A sob choked her words.
“Ach, Dorcas, don’t.” Betsy hugged her. “It can’t be that bad. Surely no one will believe anything wrong about you. And you’re both free anyway.”
She struggled to control herself. Betsy was too young and inexperienced to be burdened with Dorcas’s problems. “Minister Lucas would believe anything bad about Thomas.”
Betsy looked a little shocked, but she didn’t draw back. “Even if he does, what could you do? If Thomas wants to try and save you the embarrassment . . .”
“I should let him?” A weight hung heavy on the words. “That’s what I did before.” Betsy wouldn’t know what she was talking about, but that didn’t matter now. What mattered was what she thought of herself.
She’d been a coward. She saw that now. She’d had a line of excuses that sounded genuine to her, and she’d let Thomas take all the blame. And she’d done it before because she was afraid. She’d given in to the fear and let him down.
Well, no more. She wouldn’t let him do it again, no matter how much he insisted.
Dorcas straightened, managing a smile as she drew away from Betsy. “It’s all right.” She patted Betsy’s cheek. “Thank you for listening. I know what I have to do now. Has anyone taken my buggy?”
Betsy shook her head. “I don’t think so. But what should I tell Levi when he comes in?”
She considered saying it wasn’t Levi’s concern, but she couldn’t do that. Not to Betsy.
“Just say I had to see Minister Lucas about something. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
She hurried out before Betsy could argue. She knew now what she had to do, and she wouldn’t let anyone talk her out of it.
* * *
—
Thomas had hoped to make it to the farm before Lydia showed up there, but when they turned into the lane, he spotted her horse and buggy pulled up to the hitching rail. That wasn’t good. She’d had a chance to spew her poison before anyone could deny it.
“That’s Lydia Gaus’s rig. What’s she doing here? She was just at the school.” Adam leaned over the seat, his eyes alive with curiosity. “You and Dorcas looked kind of funny. Was Lydia giving you a hard time?”
He had no choice but to tell them. If Daad asked them any questions, it was only fair that they know why.
“Yah, she was at the school. She walked in and caught me holding Dorcas’s hands and had a fit. I guess she’s in there right now, complaining to Daad.”
“That’s foolishness.” To his surprise, it was Jonas who spoke up first. “You’re both free. What’s it to her if you were holding hands?”
“Are you and Teacher Dorcas courting?” Adam nudged him, and he winced, as much from the pain in his response to the question as from the pain in his ribs.
“Not if doing so is going to make Teacher Dorcas lose her job and lead to closing the school.” He couldn’t help the bitterness in his voice. “I’d best get in there and do what I can.” They’d come to a stop by then. “Give me a hand down, will you?”
“Sure thing.” Adam hopped down and came to let Thomas lean on him to get down, absorbing some of the jolt.
“Denke,” he muttered, focusing on the door. He had to get this done now. He had to find a way to keep Dorcas from being hurt by his toxic relationship with his father.
He mounted the steps slowly, hearing his brothers’ low-voiced conversation behind him, and marched inside. It was just as he’d feared. Lydia Gaus was confronting his father, while Mammi stood by, her hands twisting together in obvious pain.
Lydia spun around at his entrance, and he could read the triumphant anger in her face. She must be confident that she was getting what she wanted, and he spared a moment to wonder how anyone could behave that way without an attack of conscience.
“You can’t deny it.” She addressed Thomas directly. “I saw with my own eyes—you and Teacher Dorcas making up to each other in the schoolhouse, of all places.”
“School was over for the day,” he pointed out, and then wondered why he was beginning with such a weak point. He needed something stronger than that if he were to protect Dorcas.
Daad frowned at him, his face set in the familiar lines of disapproval. “It’s not your place to argue with Lydia when she’s come to me as minister.”
His father’s words touched a match to his anger, and he fought to control it. “I surely have the right to defend myself, ain’t so?”
“Thomas is right.” Mammi spoke, and Daad looked at her in amazement—an amazement Thomas felt as well. He’d never in his life heard Mammi differ with his father in front of someone else, no matter what she might say in private.
“You must listen to your son as you would to any church member, ain’t so?” she added.
Put on the spot, Daad had no choice but to nod. “Very well. What do you have to say to this accusation, Thomas?” His rigid expression didn’t suggest that he would weigh it seriously, but at least he’d listen, and that alone was more than Thomas had expected.
“I don’t know what Lydia thinks she saw, but the most she could have seen was me holding Dorcas’s hands, because that was the most that happened.”
“The way you were looking at each other—” Lydia burst out. “It made me certain sure that wasn’t the first time. Besides, your own sister complained about you and Teacher Dorcas.”
Mamm and Daad both looked startled. “Esther?” Mamm repeated, as if she couldn’t believe what she heard.
“Esther!” Daad shouted her name. “Come down here.”
Thomas’s heart sank. He wouldn’t have mentioned Esther’s part in it, not for anything. But she was already coming in, and Daad swung on her.
“Have you something to say about your brother and Teacher Dorcas? Lydia Gaus says you have complained about their behavior.”
“No!” Esther looked frightened, and his heart sank. “I didn’t. I mean, I did say something to Erna and Hallie about them, but I didn’t really mean it. They said they wouldn’t tell, but they must have.” She sent an unfriendly glance toward Lydia, and then she burst into tear
s.
Mammi went to her. “Stop crying now, my girl. You must tell us what you meant.”
“But I didn’t mean anything,” Esther wailed. “I mean, I wanted Thomas to pay attention to me, and when he talked to Teacher Dorcas, I was . . . I was jealous.”
“Esther . . .” Thomas took a step toward her, but a look from his father stopped him.
“Esther, are you saying you told a lie?”
“Not exactly. Well, yes. I didn’t mean it, and afterwards I told Erna and Hallie it wasn’t true and not to say anything. They promised, but they must have told their mother.”
“That’s not the point,” Lydia broke in. “I know what I saw. We don’t want to have a teacher who behaves that way. It’s not suitable.”
“It wasn’t Dorcas. It was me. I’m the one who insisted on talking to Dorcas at the school.” He pushed back to the only thing that mattered.
“Why?” Daad shot the word at him, an angry edge to his voice. “What did you have to say that was so important that you had to say it in the schoolhouse?”
He stiffened, looking at his mother and knowing it would hurt her. “I had to tell her good-bye. I have to go away. I’m sorry,” he added softly to her.
Tears welled in her eyes but didn’t fall. Not yet.
Pain stabbed his heart at the sight. He was hurting his mother again. Hurting everyone. When would it end?
Before anyone could respond, footsteps were heard. Jonas opened the door and ushered Dorcas into the room.
* * *
—
A quick glance at the audience waiting for her was enough to give Dorcas an inward quake, but she stiffened her spine and walked forward.
“I understand you’re talking about something that affects me, so I think I should be here.”
Lydia’s expression said that she was taken aback by her appearance, and that gave Dorcas an odd sort of boost. Maybe Lydia wasn’t as sure of herself as she pretended.
“Dorcas, this isn’t necessary.” Pain threaded Thomas’s voice, and her heart twisted as she shook her head.
Minister Lucas looked from Dorcas to his son. Then, oddly enough, he looked at his wife. There was a moment’s silence, and Dorcas seemed to see a message passing between them—a message she couldn’t begin to interpret. Then, surprisingly, he pulled out a chair at the kitchen table.
“I don’t know why we’re all standing here. Let us sit down to talk about this.”
The tension in Dorcas eased a little at the sight. He was going to listen, at least. Her greatest fear had been that he’d refuse to hear her. She’d already decided that, if so, she’d go to the bishop, little as she wanted to.
Lydia fidgeted with the back of the chair. Finally she sat, stiffly erect.
“Teacher Dorcas, Lydia Gaus has made a charge against you that—”
“I wouldn’t exactly say a charge.” Lydia’s composure seemed to be slipping. Had she really expected that they wouldn’t fight back? Minister Lucas ignored the interjection. “She said that you and Thomas were behaving improperly at the school. Is this true?”
Dorcas murmured a silent plea for the right words to say. “Since Thomas returned to Promise Glen, I have developed feelings for him, and I believe he has for me.” That was the right beginning, she thought. But what next? “We saw each other often because he was working at the school, but nothing happened there that anyone in the community might not have seen and heard.”
“Dorcas, this isn’t right. You don’t have to say anything.” Thomas’s strong hands clenched into fists on the table. “I’ve already said that any blame belongs to me.”
Much as she wanted to look at him, to speak directly to him, she resisted the longing and focused on his father. The minister’s face was lined and strong, a frown between his brows, but he was paying attention. He was hearing her, in a way that he didn’t seem to hear his own children.
“Thomas is trying to protect me because he knows how much teaching means to me.” She spoke directly to Minister Lucas. “He is a person who takes on responsibility for others.”
Her eye caught a slight movement, and she realized that Miriam was nodding. Their eyes met for just a moment, and she was heartened by what she saw.
So heartened, in fact, that she turned to Lydia. “Maybe you’d like to tell us why you’re so eager to shut down the Orchard Hill school?”
All eyes turned to Lydia, and she stiffened. “I don’t think it’s proper to have so young a teacher. Look at her. How can she guide our young people? Now, Teacher Ruth has experience. My children did wonderfully well when they went to her school. It was good for them to be in a larger school with a mature, sensible teacher. It would be good for all the children, not just mine.”
Dorcas couldn’t hold her tongue any longer. “I don’t believe you have the right to speak for the other parents. The children who live here have gone to our school for many years. Have you asked other parents what they think?”
Lydia seemed taken aback by the direct question. Her high color slowly faded. “I . . . well, of course I’m speaking for myself. And my husband. I have a right to express my opinion.”
“Not when you try to get your way by accusing an innocent person of doing wrong.” Thomas seemed to have full control of his temper now. He spoke firmly, but at least he wasn’t showing the anger he had earlier.
“I know what I saw,” Lydia said again, but she didn’t sound quite as sure of herself this time. “Even if you’re courting, it’s not proper to do it at the school.”
“Why?” Jonas’s voice probably took everyone by surprise. They all turned to look at him, and Dorcas saw his gaze meet Thomas’s for a moment. “The school had already closed for the day, and the scholars were gone. My brother and sister and I were there, just a few yards away. Do you think anyone else would agree to get rid of Teacher Dorcas when they know that?”
Dorcas could hardly believe it was Jonas coming to their defense. Jonas, who never seemed to stand up against anyone, and certainly never his father.
Maybe because of that, his words were having an impact. Minister Lucas’s expression eased, and he nodded slightly. As for Lydia . . .
Lydia didn’t have an answer to that question. She certain sure hadn’t expected Thomas’s family to come to his defense. Dorcas could almost see her mind working, turning this way and that, feeling what she wanted was slipping out of her hands.
Minister Lucas looked at her. “Well? That is a good question. What is your answer?”
Dorcas wasn’t watching Lydia. Her gaze was caught by Thomas. His face had such a mix of emotions that she wondered how he could sort them out. Anxiety, surprise, and just a little, very cautious, relief.
““I’m sure if there’s an explanation for what I saw, I’d be the last person who’d want to make trouble.” Lydia cleared her throat. “I simply felt it my duty as a parent to . . . to question it.”
“This is a serious matter.” Minister Lucas looked very much as he did when he preached, and his eyes were fixed on Lydia. “To bear false witness against a sister and brother in the faith . . .”
“I didn’t know.” Lydia looked panic-stricken. “I mean, when Erna told me what Thomas’s own sister had said . . .”
“And were you aware that Esther had told your daughters it wasn’t true?”
Dorcas didn’t know how Lydia felt, but she knew if one of the ministers spoke to her that way, she’d be cringing inside. A look at Lydia told her that was exactly what was happening.
The silence stretched. Lydia looked so desperate that Dorcas began to feel sorry for her in spite of what she’d done. When she couldn’t handle it any longer, she had to speak.
“If Lydia realizes that she has made a mistake, I am satisfied,” she said.
Lydia turned to her, seeming to search for words. Finally she nodded. “I didn’t . . . I mean . .
. If only we had . . . I’m sorry.” Her voice wavered. Then, before anyone spoke, she pushed away from the table and scurried to the door as if afraid someone would stop her. Jonas opened it for her. She slipped through it and was gone.
A wave of relief surged through Dorcas, but she knew it was too soon for that. The heart of the issue lay between Thomas and his father, and unless that could be resolved, nothing she’d been through was worthwhile.
Still no one spoke. She rose from her chair, looking directly at Thomas, seeking to memorize every line of his face. “Tell your father why you’ve decided to leave. Please.”
Unable to do anything else, she hurried out, feeling her throat tighten with unshed tears. She had done what she could. The rest was up to Thomas. If he chose to go away without her, she’d have to learn to live without him, no matter how hard it was.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Once Dorcas was safely in her buggy and on the road, she was overwhelmed by the longing to be home—to feel comforted and safe. She could think of nothing else.
As if she were a child, she chided herself. But probably everyone, no matter how old, sometimes wanted to be a child at home, to lie in a warm bed and hear from downstairs the murmur of voices talking softly in dialect, forming a gentle lullaby to put one to sleep. If she could go back to those days . . . but she couldn’t. No one could, but she still longed to feel that comfort.
A memory surfaced in her thoughts. She had sat beside Grossmammi’s bed during the evening she had slipped quietly from this life to the next. Grossmammi had said only one thing. Mammi. Her hand had moved, groping, perhaps reaching for her mother’s hand. Dorcas had taken the fragile weathered hand in her young grasp. Grossmammi hadn’t spoken again, but she had smiled.
Mammi. That was who she wanted now. Without Thomas, Mammi was the only one who could give her what she needed. The comfort of home . . .
But when she walked into the kitchen, Dorcas realized that no one here had any idea where she’d been or why she needed comfort. Supper was on the table, and Betsy was hustling everyone into their seats. Mammi, back from her errand, sat down with Will cradled in her arms, while Levi and Lemuel talked about the spring plowing and sowing.
