We were just wrestling, Miss McEwing, I say. Honest.
Miss McEwing shakes her head. You are a horrible liar, May Amelia.
Yeah, but she sure can punch! Lonny says.
It’s spelling time and I’m starting to see Berle’s point of view. Not much use in knowing how to spell words on a farm. The cows don’t care if we can spell “hay.” All they want to do is eat it.
The first word is Destiny, Miss McEwing says. Write it out on your slates, children.
I copy it down, but no matter what any teacher tells you, it is more trying to read and write another language than to speak. You can just look at a body’s face when they’re talking to you and even if you don’t know what they’re saying, you know what they mean, especially if someone’s yelling at you. Not to mention there are some words that don’t translate real good. Like sisu. There ain’t a word for sisu in English. Maybe that’s why it’s all Finns who live in this wet wilderness. You gotta have sisu to live here.
Now can anyone tell me what Destiny means? Miss McEwing asks.
Wendell’s hand shoots up first as usual.
Yes, Wendell? Miss McEwing says.
Destiny is what’s meant to be.
Very good, Wendell. Now can someone please use destiny in a sentence?
I raise my hand.
Miss McEwing raises an eyebrow. Yes, May Amelia?
It’s my destiny to use the outhouse, I say.
All the boys laugh and Miss McEwing rolls her eyes.
Very amusing, Miss Jackson, she says. Anyone else?
I wave my hand. No, I say, it really is my destiny to use the outhouse. I Gotta Go! Bad!
You’re excused, she says. And do try to think of a better sentence while you’re out there.
I’m doing my business and thinking about Destiny when something strikes the outhouse and the whole thing shakes like it’s caught in a storm.
Berle! I shout. Don’t you dare!
I wait and That Something slams into the outhouse again.
Berle I Mean It! I holler loud as I can.
Then I peek out the outhouse and I know I have a heap more trouble than some boy trying to play a trick on me.
It’s Friendly the bull!
He bellows and paws at the ground and looks mighty angry and I surely don’t know why, seeing as this ain’t his outhouse. Friendly charges straight at the outhouse and I slam the door shut.
Help! I cry but I guess everyone’s too busy spelling fancy words to hear me.
The next thing I know Friendly hits the wobbly outhouse, and this time it tips right over with me in it. I fall and hit the ground, my arm catching on the wooden bench. And that’s when I come up with a good sentence.
It Is My Destiny To Die In An Outhouse.
Friendly crashes into the outhouse again, pushing it, and all I can think is that this is one way of dying that even Uncle Aarno never thought of.
Run, May Amelia! a voice shouts.
I look out the door and see Jaakko circling around the schoolhouse, Friendly chasing after him. He’s loosed his scarf and is waving it like a flag. All the other children and Miss McEwing are at the windows, watching with anxious faces.
Jaakko’s rounding the schoolhouse for a second time, Friendly right behind him, when he sees me gaping at him.
Whatcha waiting for? he hollers at me. Run For It!
I can’t make it to the schoolhouse door, so I just start running in the other direction. I run and run and run all the way to the Nasel. I jump in a rowboat and start rowing. When I reach the farm, Isaiah is the first brother I see and the last one I need.
Where are the other boys? I demand.
They’re out in the back pasture. What’s wrong? he asks.
Friendly’s attacking the school! Everyone’s inside! I’m the only one who got out! Get your gun!
By the time we return, Friendly is trying to break down the door of the schoolhouse. Friendly charges the door, and it cracks under his weight. But my gentle brother doesn’t lift his gun.
Inside the little ones are crying.
Isaiah! I hiss.
A look settles over Isaiah’s face, his lips tightening.
Fine, he says.
Isaiah whistles and Friendly rears about, nostrils flaring, and charges.
Blam!
The rifle fires and I expect to see Friendly lying in the dirt but he has turned tail and run off toward the Bakkila farm. All the children cheer.
Did I get him? Isaiah asks, looking bewildered.
No, but you scared him off, Isaiah! I say.
Miss McEwing opens the schoolhouse door and the children spill out, surrounding us. Berle rushes up to me, his face pale.
You okay, May? he asks, looking me over. His eyes widen in alarm when he takes in my arm.
You’re hurt! he cries.
I’m fine, I say. It’s just a scratch.
You could bleed to death!
I’m fine, Berle, I say. I’ve had worse.
But Berle just ignores me and strips off his shirt. He wraps it carefully around my arm, but he still doesn’t look satisfied.
I’m gonna go fetch your mamma right now! And then he takes off running.
I’m Fine! I shout after him.
Wilbert chuckles.
Poor Berle, he says. He sure has got it bad.
Well done, Isaiah! Miss McEwing effuses, wringing her hands. I don’t know what we would’ve done if you hadn’t come along! You are a true hero!
Isaiah blushes. It was nothing, he says.
Looks like we’re going to need a new outhouse, Miss McEwing says.
The outhouse is not the only thing the bull’s torn up. Jaakko’s ripped scarf is lying on the ground. Friendly’s ruined it for good.
Where’s Jaakko? I ask.
I’m down here! he calls from underneath the schoolhouse. He crawls out a moment later, all covered with cobwebs, but in one piece.
His neck is in plain view for everyone to see. Chunks of flesh are missing and the rest is a pink ribbon of scars. I’ve seen hogs butchered better. Miss McEwing puts her hand over her mouth to stop her gasp.
Did someone try to chop your head off, Jaakko? Lonny asks.
They tried to, Jaakko says. But I got a strong neck.
Good thing, Lonny says.
The children laugh uneasily.
Then Jaakko looks at the shattered outhouse, and says, Learning Sure Is Dangerous Here In America.
CHAPTER NINE
Calving and Courting
There’s no shortage of volunteers to help mend the damage that Friendly caused to the schoolhouse. The men trip over each other and every single one has his sights set on our pretty teacher.
First one to show up is tall Ben Armstrong. He brings a wagon full of lumber scraps.
I heard what happened, Ben says. Thought I could build you a new outhouse.
That’s very kind of you, Miss McEwing says.
Next to come is Wild Cat Clark. He shows up with a dead cougar slung over one shoulder and drops it at Miss McEwing’s feet.
Just killed it this morning, he says and she goes white. It’ll make a mighty fine rug for under your desk.
How thoughtful, she says.
On and on they come. Even my cousin Thymei shows up and he’s only got one eye.
Looks like she’s running a bawdy house and not a schoolhouse, Pappa grumbles when he sees another man tying up his rowboat.
Miss McEwing smiles at every last one of them and after the outhouse is rebuilt and the door fixed she starts making little suggestions.
Oh, I do wish the children had a swing, she says loudly to Mr. Petersen and just like that we have a swing. Soon our schoolhouse is better than ever—we got a new outhouse, new desks, a swing, and a tall stack of neatly chopped wood to feed into the potbelly stove. I almost expected one of the men to sew up some curtains for our windows.
Good thing she ain’t married, Wilbert says, Or we’d be doing our sums in a shack.
It’s calving time and our cows start dropping babies left and right. Since we have no barn, we must keep an eye on the poor calves to make sure they aren’t eaten by cougars or bears. Pappa says every Jackson child must stay on the farm and help out and so there is no school for us. Our cow, Patience, decides to have her baby right as we’re sitting down for supper.
Put on some coffee, May Amelia, Pappa says wearily.
I don’t know what it is about babies that makes them come at the worst times. Mamma says it’s because they’ve been sleeping so long in their mothers’ bellies that they don’t much care what time it is. I think they’re just stubborn. And it looks like this calf is one of the most stubborn ones yet. It won’t come out even though its mamma is groaning and mooing.
Come on old girl, Pappa urges the cow. Push that babe out.
Cow’s just like your mother, Mamma says.
Finally, Pappa stands up, and shakes his head, and says, The babe’s stuck.
He goes back to the house and when he returns, he has his gun.
Don’t shoot her, Pappa! I plead.
She’s suffering, girl.
What about Mr. Clayton? I suggest. He’s got a good touch with animals.
Pappa wipes a hand over his forehead. Don’t think he’ll be able to do much, but can’t see the harm in him trying. Go on and fetch him.
I’ll go with you, May, Wilbert says.
Mr. Clayton answers the door on the second knock.
Calf coming? he asks.
How’d you know?
He chuckles. Saw that cow the other day. Looked about ready to drop.
When we get back to the farm, poor Patience is panting, her eyes glazed over. Mr. Clayton rolls up his sleeve and reaches his bare arm right up into the cow, up to the elbow. Just then Miss McEwing walks up to where we’re all standing. She looks pretty and fresh.
Hiya, Miss McEwing! I say.
I was coming to see if you children were all right since you hadn’t been to school, she says and then her mouth drops open when she sees Mr. Clayton with his arm up Patience.
Oh, My, she says.
Patience is having her baby and it’s stuck. If Mr. Clayton can’t get it out, Pappa’s gonna have to shoot her, I explain.
Mr. Clayton glances back and says, Afternoon, ma’am.
Afternoon, she says, sounding flustered.
You think I might borrow a book sometime, ma’am? Mr. Clayton asks our teacher, twisting his arm up in Patience.
A book? she gasps.
I like to read after I take my supper, he says simply.
She blinks fast.
I have a few in my private collection that I can recommend, Miss McEwing says quickly. Why, I just read a wonderful novel by one Mr. Arthur Conan Doyle about a man named Sherlock Holmes and—
Patience lows as if to call attention to the fact that Mr. Clayton has his arm in her.
‘Scuse me, ma’am, Mr. Clayton says to Miss McEwing, and then tugs and pulls and grunts. Finally, Mr. Clayton says, Got You Now, and Patience lets out a moo. The baby calf slides out all slippery and wet.
What are we gonna call the calf? Isaiah asks.
Let’s call it Jacob, I say.
Long as you keep it as a milking cow, Mr. Clayton says with a twinkle in his eye. Don’t be serving me for supper.
Then Mr. Clayton looks at Miss McEwing, and says, I’ll be by for that book, ma’am.
Her eyes are glowing.
I’ll look forward to it, she replies.
It’s like Miss McEwing’s under a spell because nothing seems to bother her anymore—not when little Charles hides or even when I show up soaking wet on account of falling in the Nasel like always.
At lunchtime, Mr. Clayton drops by the schoolhouse and returns a book that Miss McEwing lent him.
I enjoyed it very much, he says.
Oh, I’m so glad! Miss McEwing says, her voice all breathy. I have another book I think you might like. Let me get it for you! And then she runs back inside.
You sure do like reading, huh, Mr. Clayton? I ask him.
His eyes sparkle at Miss McEwing’s departing figure.
It has its attractions, he murmurs.
Miss McEwing returns and hands Mr. Clayton a book called The War of the Worlds.
This one is excellent, she says. It’s by a very interesting author named H. G. Wells. I’ve never read anything like it before.
Thank you kindly, Mr. Clayton says, tips his hat, and walks away. Our teacher watches him the entire time. Her ears are bright red.
Berle says to me, We better start posting ads for a new teacher.
Why? I ask.
Because Miss McEwing’s sweet on Mr. Clayton!
Mr. Clayton?
Didn’t you see her ears?
You mean ears turning bright red means you’re in love?
I don’t know, he mumbles, and looks down, his ears bright red.
Mamma announces we’re going to have some folks over for supper.
Who? I ask.
Mr. Clayton. And I thought I’d ask your teacher Miss McEwing.
Now I know that Berle was right after all. It ain’t proper for an unmarried lady to have supper with an unmarried fellow, which is why they’re going to have supper at our house so we can chaperone them.
I lay awake in bed all night tossing and turning. Miss McEwing’s my favorite teacher ever. I can’t bear to lose her.
Wilbert, I say, shaking my Best Brother awake.
I’m sleeping, he groans.
Wake up! We can’t let him marry her! I say, poking him.
Berle asked you to marry him? Wilbert asks, blinking one eye open.
No! I say. Mr. Clayton’s wooing Miss McEwing. He ain’t right for her!
He flips over, and says, Seems like no fella is right for her in your opinion.
I Got To Stop Them, I say.
Wilbert pulls the covers over his head and says, The only thing You Got To Stop Is Waking Me Up.
The stew is bubbling on the stove when Mr. Clayton walks in the door holding a fresh-baked pie. Miss McEwing walks in a moment later wearing her best Sunday dress.
We’re so glad you could join us, Mamma says.
It smells just delicious in here! Miss McEwing exclaims.
May Amelia cooked supper, Mamma says and Miss McEwing smiles at me and says, What a darling girl you are.
Maybe it was the best thing that could have happened after all because eating supper with the Jacksons has got to be the most unromantic way for a fella to court a lady. Pappa doesn’t say anything and Kaarlo glares at everyone and Alvin and Ivan tease poor Isaiah and Helmi drips snot on the table and the whole time Wendell whines that everyone needs to Speak Up so he can hear what they’re saying.
I ladle the stew into everyone’s bowls.
What is it? Miss McEwing asks with a pleasant smile.
Fish-head stew, of course, I say. It’s a Finn specialty!
Miss McEwing swallows hard and looks at her bowl.
Pappa slurps a spoonful and says, Might want to add a few more heads next time. The cheeks are what gives it the flavor.
You want some extra eyeballs? I ask her. We got plenty!
She blanches, and stammers, Uh, no thank you. I want to save some room for Mr. Clayton’s lovely pie.
Wilbert and I share a secret look.
I clear away the dishes and put on the coffee and everyone goes into the parlor for dessert. I look at Mr. Clayton’s pie and I’m so sad because it seems a mighty shame to waste it, but I know it will be even worse if we lose our lovely teacher. The pie is dusted on top with sugar. I will just play a little trick. I brush off the sugar and pour salt all over the top of the pie. Then I slice it up and carry it out to everyone.
Here’s the pie! I say, passing out the slices.
Miss McEwing’s eyes go wide when she takes her first bite.
Alvin starts choking and Ivan whacks him on the back.
Kaarlo spits his right out.
Pappa fr
owns and says, Eh, Jacob, a little heavy with the salt, don’t you think?
Mr. Clayton takes a bite and I watch the surprise roll across his face like an ocean wave and it probably tastes just as salty, too. He looks straight in my eyes and I know he is not fooled one bit because he says, You might be right, Jalmer. Never can tell what happens in a kitchen.
But poor Miss McEwing chews and chews and chews her bite. Finally she swallows and smiles at our neighbor.
This is the best pie I’ve ever tasted, she declares with shining eyes, and that’s when I know she is a goner for sure.
After that we must sit around in the parlor and chaperone Miss McEwing and Mr. Clayton. All Miss McEwing does is ask Question after Question of Mr. Clayton. It’s like she’s studying for an exam, and the subject is our neighbor.
Where did you learn to make such delicious pie? Miss McEwing asks him.
Why don’t you ask him what it was like getting his fingers blown off? I suggest. That’s a lot more interesting than pie.
Mamma gives an exaggerated yawn.
It certainly has been a long day. I think it’s time for Jalmer and me to head up to bed, she says, and looks at Mr. Clayton. Would you mind seeing Miss McEwing home?
It would be my pleasure, Mr. Clayton says and my teacher blushes.
You don’t have to rush off yet! I say quickly. There’s more pie!
May Amelia’s right. Visit awhile, Mamma agrees with a wink. The children will keep you company.
But as the hour grows late and the fire dies down, the boys drift away like flies looking for sugar. First one to crawl into his bed is Kaarlo, then Ivan and Alvin, then Isaiah, until finally it’s just me and Wilbert and Wendell.
Mr. Clayton’s smoking a pipe and Miss McEwing has her head bent close to his to hear something he’s said.
Don’t fall asleep! I order Wendell and Wilbert.
I can’t keep my eyes open a second longer, Wendell says, and stomps upstairs. I should’ve known better than to count on Wendell.
Then Wilbert stands up and starts for the stairs.
Where are you going? I hiss at my Best Brother.
To bed. They can just go ahead and get married if they want to. I can’t stand another minute of it.
Well I’m staying, I say.
I stay awake as long as I can watching Mr. Clayton and Miss McEwing, but sleep is dogging me and I can’t keep my eyes open and next thing I know I’m being carried upstairs and tucked into bed next to Wilbert. I think I hear Miss McEwing’s voice.
The Trouble with May Amelia Page 7
