The Amish Schoolteacher

by Jerry Eicher

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s my first week of teaching in a new community.”

  “So?”

  “I can’t. That’s that.”

  “Mary, this is a bad flu. Mose has been in bed all day. You should go take care of yourself.” The concern in his voice was obvious now, and Mary paused and looked at him for a moment before responding.

  “I am weak, but with a few cups of tea tonight, and a good night’s sleep, I’ll be okay.” She pressed her lips together.

  He realized pressuring her further would be fruitless. He moved back a step. “I’m sorry you had a rough day. It really wasn’t your fault.”

  She looked up at him with new softness in her eyes. “Thank you for saying so. I’ll leave soon. I’ll be back early in the morning. You don’t have to start the fire.”

  “I am starting the fire,” he said.

  She wavered for a moment. “Maybe that would be for the best.”

  He wanted to linger, but he couldn’t think of a good excuse to stay. “You take care,” he said, and retreated towards the door.

  Mary had her head in her hands when he glanced back over his shoulder. He wanted to comfort her, but what could he do? He had said everything he could say. Marcus hurried out the door, but stopped short when Elmer’s buggy came driving in the schoolhouse lane. Elmer was likely here to comfort Mary and offer his sympathy. He shouldn’t stay. Marcus waved to Elmer and headed across the fields.

  Mary met Elmer at the schoolhouse door with a forced smile on her face.

  “How are you?” Elmer inquired.

  “Okay. It was an awful day, and I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up,” he said kindly. “But I’m afraid I have more bad news.”

  Mary hung on to the schoolhouse door with both hands.

  “I have consulted with several of the other families, and we have decided to call off school tomorrow. We think that might help break the flu cycle over the weekend.”

  “You would close school tomorrow?” Mary croaked.

  “I’m sorry. I know this is happening on your first week of teaching, but it’s really not your fault.”

  She pressed back the tears.

  “You get some rest over the weekend,” he said. “I’m sure a day off will be the best for everyone.”

  Mary hung on to the door as Elmer’s buggy drove out of the schoolhouse lane. It was several minutes before she found the strength to stagger back to her chair and fall into it.

  CHAPTER 11

  MARY ARRIVED AT ROBERT TROYER’S HOME THAT SUNDAY MORNING again, riding in the back of the Hochstetlers’ buggy. As Leon drove in the lane, Mary kept the buggy door shut this time. She had no desire to see the line of men standing beside the barn and looking their way sooner than necessary.

  Mary was sure thoughts would be buzzing through their minds. Things like, That’s our new schoolteacher who fainted, and she had to close classes during her first week on the job. What a disgrace!

  Marcus had been kind enough on Thursday evening when he walked up to the schoolhouse to check on her, but surely he would blame her for having to close school.

  Mary held back the tears, blinking rapidly behind the buggy door.

  In the front seat, Lavina was saying to Leon, “There’s a lot of men missing. This flu has gotten to everyone.”

  Lavina was trying to encourage her, so Mary cracked open the buggy door for a look. Lavina was correct. The line was much shorter than usual. Lavina had been certain that nobody from the community would think ill of her for what had happened, and here was proof. If grown men succumbed to this flu bug, she might survive unscathed after the debacle at the schoolhouse on Thursday.

  “I should have stayed home myself,” Leon muttered in the front seat.

  Lavina gave him a worried look. “You were fit as a fiddle when you woke up this morning.”

  “I know.” Leon glanced at Lavina with a twinkle in his eye.

  Lavina slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “You’re teasing. Well, don’t. An old woman like me can’t take it.”

  Leon and Lavina’s continued kindness overwhelmed Mary. She had nothing to fear from the parents this morning. The flu wasn’t her fault, and yet . . . it was hard not to blame herself.

  Mam’s letter this past week hadn’t helped. “We are struggling with an awful flu up here,” Mam had written. “I pray the Lord gives us grace and protection. Several of the older people had to stay home last week from the Sunday services. So far we have managed without closing the school, although a quarter or so of the students were missing.”

  Mary wondered if she’d brought the flu bug with her, sickening the whole community with her presence.

  Leon brought the buggy to a halt at the end of the sidewalk, and Mary climbed out. Wild thoughts raced through her head. Was she feeling ill? She had waited on Friday and Saturday, expecting the illness to strike. Nothing had happened. Was the flu waiting to maximize her humiliation? What a horror if Lavina had to drive her home during the church service. She might throw up in the crowded farmhouse bathroom, or worse, during the sermon in the middle of the seated women.

  Mary steadied herself against the morning breeze, not looking at the line of men, as Leon drove the buggy towards the barn. Lavina touched her arm, and together they headed up the sidewalk. Halfway to the front door, Mary couldn’t resist and glanced towards the row of men. She couldn’t see Marcus standing in the line, but he must be there. Marcus wouldn’t succumb to this flu. Marcus probably had never been sick a day of his life.

  Lavina paused at the front door to ask, “Are you okay?”

  Mary nodded, and they entered the house. Everyone turned towards them, but their faces bore only looks of sympathy. There was no condemnation in sight as several of the women rushed to Mary’s side.

  “How are you?” they inquired.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Did you come down with the flu?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Be hopeful,” one of them said. “You’ll probably not catch it.”

  “It’s probably waiting to strike in the middle of next week during classes,” Mary moaned, as several of the women chuckled at her morbid humor.

  “I’m sorry you have been given such a rough greeting to our community,” one of them said.

  “I was thinking I probably brought the flu in from the north,” Mary replied. “Mam wrote this week that it’s raging up there.”

  “Believe me,” someone said, “southern Ohio is quite capable of producing a horrid flu bug of its own.”

  Everyone laughed as they comforted Mary and seated themselves on the long benches a few minutes before the men filed in. Mary kept her head down until the singing began. She snuck a look at Marcus, who was seated on the unmarried men’s bench. He wasn’t looking at her, his gaze intent on his songbook.

  Mary tried to still her troubled thoughts as the singing continued and the ministers returned from their meeting upstairs. Bishop Mullet rose to his feet and opened the first sermon. “Dearly beloved,” the bishop began, “we are blessed of the Lord, as always. Let us give Him the thanksgiving of our hearts, even as life’s storms gather on the horizon. We know that the Lord will carry us through every trial and tribulation here on this earth. This morning there are those amongst us who suffer from bodily ailments, but the Lord is still on His throne. This is not, we pray, an illness unto the death.” There were chuckles, and the bishop smiled. “We older people can be thankful for the flu shot, and the Lord’s grace, of course.”

  Marcus was smiling at the bishop’s joke, but he still hadn’t glanced towards her. Just a soft glance would warm her heart and silence the question that tormented her. Did Marcus think she was to blame when the school had to close last week?

  Marcus watched Mary out of the corner of his eye while at the same time he listened to Bishop Mullet’s sermon. Mary was wearing a light blue Sunday dress, which made her appear even more beau
tiful than usual, if that was possible. He shouldn’t be thinking about Mary’s looks with the flu raging through the community. The number of sick folks was high this morning. The Troyers’ living room had been overflowing last Sunday. Today, the benches had big gaps between families. Marcus estimated that at least a third of the community was missing.

  He couldn’t help but wonder if Mary had brought this sickness with her in that shimmering suitcase of hers. That was an awful thing to think, but since Mary’s arrival in the community his equilibrium was disturbed. He hadn’t blamed Mary for what happened on Thursday. He wasn’t beginning to now. Resolutely, Marcus focused on Bishop Mullet’s preaching. Mary was not to blame for any of this, he told himself repeatedly.

  Mary tried to keep her mind on the preaching, after she snuck a quick look at Marcus. A ghost of a smile lingered on his features, clearly unrelated to anything Bishop Mullet had said. What was Marcus thinking? Did he find mirth in her discomfort and difficulties? He hadn’t on Thursday evening.

  Mary kept her head down until the service wrapped up a little after twelve. Perhaps Marcus would speak with her when they crossed paths today? Drop some word of reassurance? Even a little smile would help, letting her know that he agreed with everyone else’s opinion on the awful events of the week. In the meantime, she would think on the sermon, and gather what comfort she could from the words Bishop Mullet had spoken of the Lord’s grace. The Lord’s words were better than Marcus’s opinion of her. She shouldn’t care what the man thought, but she did. Marcus was becoming a grief and a pain. There was no question there.

  She ought to challenge him when she spoke with Marcus next. “Why are you always thinking the worse of me, when no one else does?”

  He’d of course say, “I’m not.”

  Which would bring up the turquoise suitcase, if she wanted to press her point. A conversation which had best be left alone. She wouldn’t change his mind, no matter what she told him.

  Mary slowly stood to her feet along with the other girls and headed towards the kitchen.

  “Can I help?” she offered once she arrived.

  “Sure,” the woman in charge told her. “The unmarried men’s table is short-handed today.”

  “Perfect,” she chirped, but the woman missed the irony.

  “Sorry about your first week of teaching,” the woman said. “That was a horrible introduction to our community.”

  “I guess things happen,” Mary demurred.

  The red beet and peanut butter bowls were soon set out, and Bishop Mullet announced the prayer of thanks from the living room. Everyone in the kitchen paused with their heads bowed for a few minutes, until the amen was pronounced.

  “The unmarried men’s tables are in the basement,” the woman directed Mary.

  She filled a tray and gingerly took the steps. Another girl was following her, but Mary concentrated on her balance. All she needed was to trip and sail out into the roomful of men, with her red beet and peanut butter bowls flying. That would validate Marcus’s opinion of her and surely cast doubt into everyone else’s minds, as it rightly should. There was only so much misfortune that could occur before people changed their minds about the most innocent of characters.

  “Food, food!” several of the men chanted when she appeared.

  Mary completed the steps deftly, and pasted on a bright smile.

  “What have we here?” one of the men teased. “Our food delivered at the hand of our pretty new schoolteacher.”

  Mary lifted her head high, and shot right back, “Don’t you wish you were still attending school?”

  Their laughter filled the basement.

  “Looks like Marcus has his hands full,” Marcus’s cousin Emmanuel got in edgewise.

  Mary ignored the comment and emptied her tray. “There we are. I’ll be right back with refills.”

  “Marcus can’t wait,” Emmanuel teased.

  Mary made a face at him, and the laughter pealed again. Mary caught sight of Marcus seated at the end of the table. He wasn’t laughing, and instead looked on the verge of reprimanding the men.

  Mary hurried up the stairs, and tripped on the third step. She caught herself on the handrail, and turned quickly. Marcus was looking at her with a concerned expression. At least the man cared whether she broke her leg. She whirled about and sped upward.

  Marcus watched Mary’s light blue dress disappear up the stairwell. The woman had plenty of courage. He had to grant her that. With what Mary had faced last week, most girls would have stayed in the safe confines of the kitchen today. Instead, Mary had obviously volunteered to serve the men’s table. She was a puzzle and a fascination, for sure.

  The man seated beside Marcus punched him in the ribs. “She’s something, isn’t she?”

  Marcus grimaced. “After this week, I do have to agree with that opinion.”

  CHAPTER 12

  MARY DROVE LEON AND LAVINA’S BUGGY TO THE YOUNG FOLKS’ gathering at Bishop Mullet’s home by herself the following Thursday evening. School attendance had been sparse since the first of the week, but the classes had remained open. That was an accomplishment in itself. She had been tense on Sunday evening, expecting Elmer’s buggy to drive in the Hochstetlers’ lane with news of another school closure on Monday.

  Elmer hadn’t visited, and a small victory had been gained. Leon and Lavina had rejoiced with her. That hadn’t kept Leon from coming down with the flu, though. She had arrived home from the schoolhouse tonight to find the man in bed, with Lavina fussing over him and fixing tea in the kitchen.

  “Can I help with anything?” Mary had inquired.

  “Just don’t get sick yourself,” Lavina had told her, making a face. “This is awful stuff.”

  “What about you? How are you doing?”

  “So far, so good. Flu shots.” Lavina had attempted a smile. “Some work and some don’t, I guess.”

  Mary pulled back the reins at a stop sign. Leon’s horse, Brownie, shook his head in protest, as if he knew someone else was driving. Brownie had never made trouble when Leon drove him to church. Surely the horse wouldn’t act up tonight. She could imagine him rearing or balking along the road just about the time Marcus and his brother Mose drove past in their buggy. Marcus would stop to help, but he would also think she ruined everything, including her host’s horse.

  “Slow boy, slow boy,” Mary comforted Brownie. The horse gave a few more shakes of his head, followed by a loud snort. Mary clung to the reins until the road was clear. She let them out slowly. Brownie took off with his head held high, trotting briskly along. Mary kept her eyes on the road and stilled the pounding of her heart. Leon would not have let her leave the Hochstetlers’ place driving a dangerous horse. She would just have to keep a firm grip on the reins.

  As the miles rolled past under the buggy and Brownie made no further trouble, Mary’s thoughts drifted to Marcus. He had stayed out of sight this week, though the stove had been lit each morning when she arrived. Better that Marcus kept his distance until she was on firm footing with her school teaching job again.

  Mary bounced into Bishop Mullet’s driveway, barely missing the ditch with the left wheel. The buggy tilted crazily as she careened up to the barn. Several young men who were standing in the yard hurried forward to help her unhitch.

  “Having a little trouble with Leon’s horse?” one of them teased.

  “Should I?” she shot back.

  “Leon likes to drive half-tamed racehorses.” Laughter rose from the men.

  Mary pressed her lips together, and didn’t answer.

  “Leon is very good with horses,” the man continued. “I suppose he figured Brownie wouldn’t revert back to his old ways.”

  “I’m surprised Lavina hasn’t warned you,” another one said.

  “So it’s that bad?”

  They laughed. “Not really. We’re teasing.”

  “So who am I to believe?” Mary glared at them.

  They had Brownie out of the shafts by now, and led him towards t
he barn, chuckling amongst themselves and ignoring her. She was left standing by herself. Before she could leave for the house another buggy pulled in the driveway. Mary caught sight of the faces inside and ducked out of sight, but Marcus and his brother Mose had to have seen her. In which case, she was not about to act as if she had anything to hide.

  Mary stepped out of the shadows as their buggy halted beside hers.

  “Goot evening.” Mose leaned out of the buggy to greet her with a big smile.

  “Goot evening,” she replied.

  Marcus was climbing out of the other side, but hadn’t said anything.

  “Are you helping us unhitch?” Mose teased.

  “Right!” she snapped. “Two grown men, and they can’t unhitch their own horse?”

  “Marcus has been sick with the flu bug all week.” Mose lowered his voice. “Yet he insisted on coming tonight to see you.”

  “He did not,” Mary retorted.

  “Who do you think has been lighting your fires in the morning?” Mose winked. “The man is devoted to you.”

  Mary stared. “I’m perfectly capable, especially if Marcus is sick.”

  “What are you two talking about?” Marcus asked from the other side of the buggy.

  Mary marched around their horse to face Marcus.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick this week? I could have lit the stove myself.”

  He attempted to laugh. “I wasn’t that sick.”

  “And I’m supposed to believe that. This flu is awful. I could have done the fires myself. That’s what I’m used to.”

  “I’m here now, so all is well.” Marcus brushed her objections aside.

  “How bad was it?” Mary couldn’t keep the concern out of her voice.

  “He threw up all day Tuesday,” Mose hollered from the other side of the horse.

  “You didn’t. Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “Others were sick too,” Marcus said.

  “I’m still sorry. How are you feeling tonight? You look a little pale.”

  “I said I’m fine.”

  “Ready!” Mose hollered, and Marcus turned to hold the shafts while Mose led their horse forward.