by Marta Perry
“I like to make letters, Teacher Leah.”
“I can see that.” She patted his shoulder lightly. “Keep up the good work.”
At six, Jonah’s ease in English was surprising. Most of the first-graders had spoken only the Pennsylvania Dutch dialect at home before they started school, where they were expected to learn English. Jonah must have had a fine teacher at his last school to be so at ease in his second language. Or third, if one counted the High German used for worship.
Toward the back of the room, Matthew seemed contented enough, working on a model of some sort for the display. She hadn’t seen him interact with any of the other children in spite of friendly overtures from several boys.
She walked back to check on the boys’ progress, pausing by Matthew’s desk. And blinked. What she’d taken for a model of a silo certainly wasn’t, unless silos had suddenly taken on a substantial tilt.
“What are you making, Matthew?”
He squirmed a little in his seat, not looking at her. “Nothing. I mean, a silo.”
She tapped the model. “I think the grain might fall out, don’t you? This looks more like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.”
His wide blue eyes met hers again, but this time they were lit by enthusiasm. “I’d like to see that someday. How can it lean over but not fall down? Do you know?”
She heard the wonderment in his voice. Heard it, and recognized it. She knew that yearning to see things that were far away and to understand things that seemed inexplicable. For just an instant she wanted to share the boy’s curiosity.
No, of course she didn’t. She’d stopped longing for the impossible years ago, when she’d put away childish dreams. She was Amish, and Amish didn’t fly off to a foreign country to gape at something that had no influence on their lives.
“I don’t know. But perhaps you should make a silo. I’m sure Jacob could use one for his farm.”
Jacob Esch, hearing his name, looked up and nodded, and the moment passed. Matthew turned toward the other boy, and if there was disappointment in his face, she didn’t see it.
She moved away. Matthew’s sister, eight-year-old Elizabeth, was practicing spelling words with Rachel’s oldest, Becky. She smiled a little when she made a mistake, but she shot an apprehensive glance toward Leah now and then, as if unsure of her approval.
All in all, she found the Glick children a bit of a concern, although there was nothing she could really put her finger on. As their teacher, it was her job to make them feel at home and bring out their best. Perhaps her talk with their father would help her understand them better.
Beyond the side window, the apple tree had begun to put forth its blossoms. Something fluttered inside her, like the apple blossoms trembling in the breeze. She and Johnny had stood under that tree the first time he’d told her that he loved her. And it was there that they’d said their bitter good-byes.
The automatic timer in her mind went off, and she turned to check the clock on her desk.
“It’s time to clean up now. Please be sure the paste lids are on tightly.” The older boys sometimes skimped on the cleanup, a little overeager to be out the door. “Who would like to wash the chalkboard today?”
Becky’s hand went up immediately, and after a glance at her, Elizabeth Glick put her hand up, too.
“Ser gut. You girls may start on the boards. Please leave the spelling words.”
The final routine of the day moved swiftly to its conclusion, and soon her scholars were headed toward the door in an even line, saving the running and jumping for the moment they hit the schoolyard. Leah touched Matthew Glick lightly on the arm.
“Your father is coming to talk with me, Matthew. Will you please watch your brother and sister on the playground until we finish?”
Matthew’s face was very like his father’s. Guarded in a way one didn’t often see in an Amish child. He studied her for a moment, blue eyes serious, before he nodded. “I will.”
“Ser gut.” She glanced up and saw Daniel near the door, moving aside as the line of children passed him. When Matthew reached him, he extended his hand, as if to touch the boy’s shoulder, but then he seemed to change his mind, standing where he was until they were all out. The door closed behind the last scholar.
“Komm in. Wilkom to our school.” Leah gestured toward the rows of desks. “Matthew’s desk is here, and Elizabeth’s there. And Jonah is up in front, with the other first-graders.”
Daniel followed her without speaking to the front of the classroom, his shoes thudding on the bare wooden floor. Not that she expected him to chatter, but a few words might ease the awkwardness.
He was a stranger, after all, and she thought again how odd that was. Pleasant Valley’s Amish community had been established in the 1970s, when the brethren had left Lancaster County for cheaper farmland in the valleys of central Pennsylvania. Since then, the population had been stable, so that she knew every member of the church district as well as she knew her own family. Daniel Glick and his children were the exception.
She pulled over the visitor’s chair for him and seated herself behind her desk. “Komm, sit down. I’m glad you’re willing to talk with me about the children. I want to make their move here as smooth as possible.”
Daniel balanced his straw hat on his knees. He smiled, the frostiness disappearing from his blue eyes as his face relaxed. It was a very appealing smile. She’d been right—if Daniel was in search of a wife, he’d have no trouble finding one by himself.
Not her, of course. She was content with her life the way it was, and she didn’t foresee any changes coming her way.
“We’ve been warmly welcomed here,” Daniel said. “It is a change for the young ones, though.”
“And for you.”
He shrugged. “I don’t mind a new place. I’m just glad to have a chance to buy such a fine farm.” His eyes narrowed, accentuating the sun lines that fanned out from the corners. “Amish children should be raised on a farm.”
“Everyone doesn’t have that opportunity.” Even here, farms were being lost every year to development. Most Amish parents couldn’t manage to provide land for each of their children, no matter how much they wanted to. “One of my brothers has a farm machinery shop, and another is a carpenter.”
Daniel’s brows drew down. “My children will have that chance. I’ll see to that.”
It was what every Amish parent wanted, of course, but Daniel’s insistence seemed a little intense, and it made her wonder what was behind it.
“They’re going to be a gut addition to our class, I know. I notice that Jonah speaks English very well already—better than most of my first- and even second-graders.”
For some reason that made his frown deepen. “Ja.” The word was so curt that it sounded as if Jonah’s skill in English was a fault.
She struggled for something else to say about his children on such short acquaintance. “Elizabeth volunteered to wash the chalkboard already, she and Becky Brand.”
“She’s a gut helper.” He said the words absently, his gaze on the world map she’d pulled down earlier for geography. “Teacher Leah, there is something I want to say. I want to be certain my children are not learning worldly things in your classroom.”
Leah stiffened. That was something the parents of her children seldom had occasion to say, knowing it was a given in an Amish school. She remembered Matthew’s comments about the leaning tower. Did Daniel assume that the map meant she was encouraging the children to yearn for the outside world?
“Our course of learning is much like that of any Amish school,” she said firmly, on sure ground when it came to her teaching. “I’d be happy to show you our textbooks and our course of study. Or perhaps you’d like to meet with the school board members.”
He shook his head. “There’s no need for that. I’ll see their books soon enough when I help the young ones with their homework.” He paused for a moment, as if weighing his words. “I meant no disrespect by what I said, Teacher Leah. But I ca
re about my children’s education, and it means a great deal to have them in an Amish school.”
“I understand.” But she didn’t, not entirely. She didn’t know Daniel, and she didn’t know what drove him. She managed a polite smile. “Well, here is a chance to see young Jonah’s primer, since he went outside without it.” She picked up the ABCs book and handed it to him.
“That boy would forget his head if it weren’t attached.” He rose as he spoke, and his expression was indulgent at the mention of his youngest. “I’m grateful for your interest in my children, Teacher Leah. If there are any difficulties, you will let me know.”
That sounded more like an order than a request, but she nodded. It seemed that, having delivered his opinion, Daniel intended to leave without further ado.
“Have there been any troubles with the children that I should know about? Any health concerns, or anything like that?”
“None.” Holding his hat in one hand and the primer in the other, he turned toward the door. It gave her the feeling that if there had been any problems, she wouldn’t hear about them from Daniel.
She followed him back through the row of desks and out the door to the porch. He paused on the front step, one hand on the railing, and looked back at her. “Would you want me to wait while you lock up now?”
“That’s kind of you, but I have some cleaning to do before I go home.” She waved to the children as they came running toward their father.
“I’ll be going then.” His long stride cleared the steps, but then he paused again, his eyes narrowing as he stared down the lane. “It seems you have another visitor, Teacher Leah.”
Dust rose from the dirt road as a car—a bright red car—drew up to the school. The sunlight glittered on the paint and chrome, and then on the fair hair of the man who slid out and stood looking at her.
Her heart thudded to a stop. Johnny Kile had come back.
CHAPTER TWO
Leah reached behind her, pressing her hands flat against the door frame for support. A heavy band seemed to tighten around her chest, compressing her ribs until she couldn’t take a breath. Certainly she couldn’t speak a single word.
But she had to. She had to breathe, had to nod, had to speak and act as if it were an everyday thing to see John Kile after all these years.
Leah managed a shallow breath, inhaling the scent of fresh-cut grass. Rachel had sent her husband over from the farm to mow yesterday, so that all would be in readiness for the picnic. Rachel couldn’t have imagined that her twin brother would show up here today, not that Johnny was likely to notice the grass.
John came toward the schoolhouse porch slowly, as if unsure of his welcome now that he was here. She forced herself to raise her eyes, to look at the person he’d become in ten years away among the English.
Odd. She knew it was John. She had recognized him the instant he stepped from the car. But the boy she’d known ten years ago had little in common with the worldly man who stood before her. The clothes, the hair, even the way he stood and the expression on his face were different. She was so used to seeing a beard on adult males that his face looked naked without it.
Then he smiled, lips quirking in the way that showed the dimple at the corner of his mouth, and he was Johnny again.
“It’s been a long time, Leah. It’s really good to see you.”
His gaze moved from her to Daniel Glick, who stood where he’d been when he spotted the car. Daniel stared back, his face stolid, as if he waited for something. An explanation, maybe.
A natural reaction, that was certain sure. An English man coming to call at the Amish school was unusual. Daniel would stay to be sure nothing was wrong. She had no choice but to introduce them.
“Daniel Glick, this is John Kile. John is . . . an old friend.” What else could she call him?
Daniel gave a short nod, not offering to shake hands. His expression didn’t change, but she sensed his taut figure stiffen. Had he been in Pleasant Valley long enough to have heard of the Kiles’ son, who’d broken his engagement, his baptismal vows, and his mother’s heart to turn English?
They couldn’t stand here staring at one another. Somehow she had to get things back to normal. Daniel shifted his gaze to her, a question in his intent face, and she managed a faint, reassuring smile.
“It was gut of you to come, Daniel. I’ll see the children to morrow.”
He didn’t move for a moment, and she couldn’t imagine what he was thinking. It couldn’t be a positive thought, she’d guess.
Finally he nodded. He turned away, walking quickly toward his buggy without a backward glance. In a moment the children had scrambled in. The buggy rolled off down the lane.
“Someone new in the community?” Johnny asked. “I don’t recognize him.” He stood looking up at her, one hand on the stair railing, sunlight turning his hair to flax.
“He and his family just moved here from Lancaster County.” And why were they talking about Daniel when so many other things shouted to be said?
“He wasn’t very friendly.”
“Do you expect friendship here?” Her words sounded more in control than she felt.
His hand tightened on the railing. “Maybe not. I guess things haven’t changed much, have they?”
“They don’t. That’s the choice we make.” The choice he had rejected.
“Look, Leah, can we go inside and talk?” He planted one foot on the porch step, as if he’d come closer to her, and she felt a wave of something that might be panic.
“The porch is a fine place to talk.” She kept her voice calm with an effort.
It was bad enough that Daniel had been here to witness a man who was under the meidung come to visit with her. She wouldn’t compound the trouble by being inside the schoolhouse alone with someone the community had shunned.
What must Daniel be thinking about the Amish schoolteacher who apparently had a male English friend? The thought flitted through her mind, and she shooed it away. She had more serious concerns than what Daniel thought of her.
Johnny lifted his right eyebrow in a familiar movement. His hazel eyes were unchanged, but both his brows and hair were a little darker now than they’d once been.
“It looked as if you’d invited him inside—Daniel, was that his name?”
“Daniel is the parent of three of my scholars. Naturally we talked in the schoolroom. But you have no reason to be there.”
“I spent eight years there. Remember?” His smile teased, the way it had long ago.
“I remember.” She had to fight against the memories, just as she’d been doing all afternoon. “But you’re not the same person you were then. No one looking at you now would imagine you to be Amish.”
“I’m not.” He frowned. “Not anymore.”
The flip answer hurt her. “Can you deny what you’re born so easily?”
“Not easily.” His face became set in sudden, harsh lines, and he looked years older than she knew he was. “But it can be done. You know others who’ve done it and been happy.” His tone challenged her.
Did she? Maybe so. Once they were gone, she didn’t have much opportunity to judge whether they were satisfied with their choice or not.
“If you’re so happy with your decision, why are you here now?”
As soon as the question was out, her heart began to beat in hard, measured thuds, pounding against her ribcage. What if he said he was here because of her? How would she answer that?
“I’m not here to kneel in repentance and ask the church to take me back, if that’s what you’re thinking.” His jaw hardened. “Look, at least we can sit down and talk like civilized people, can’t we?”
He even talked differently now, using phrases she’d never heard from his lips, speaking in a cadence that was so quick it could never be Amish. He clearly wouldn’t go away until she’d heard him out.
“Fine.” She sat down on the top step of the porch, smoothing her long skirt over her legs. “Talk, if you want.”
If he
wasn’t here to repent, then he hadn’t come with any idea of reuniting with his lost love. That should make it easier to deal with him.
She didn’t want that relationship anyway, she assured herself. She’d been over her feelings for Johnny a long time now.
One thing hadn’t changed about him, she noticed. He still wore that mulish expression when he was balked in what he wanted to do. He stood for a moment, frowning at her, and then he sat down next to her on the step, stretching out long, jeans-clad legs.
“So, John Kile, why are you back in Pleasant Valley, if not to rejoin the brethren?” She was satisfied that she sounded perfectly composed.
“Have you seen Rachel lately? Are you and she still close?”
He jumped from thought to thought like a June bug. That hadn’t changed in his years away.
“I saw her today.” She hesitated. Say the rest of it? Maybe she should. “She mentioned you, feeling a little sad because of your birthdays next week.”
She certainly wouldn’t mention Rachel’s concern that Leah was still single because of him.
“I’m sorry.” He clenched the knees of his jeans, muscles standing out on the backs of his hands. “I never meant to hurt her.”
She could only gape at him. “Never meant to hurt her? Your leaving hurt everyone in the community.” Especially her. “Maybe you’ve forgotten that in all the time you’ve been gone.”
“No, I haven’t forgotten. Anything.” His voice softened. “Not you, Leah.”
She laced her fingers together in her lap. It was best, safest, not to respond to that, but the words echoed in her heart. “Are you going to see Rachel?”
“I want to.” He leaned toward her, his eyes darkening in intensity. “Please, you talk to her for me, Leah. Tell her I’m here, that I want to see her.”
“Me?” Her throat clutched. “I can’t do that.”
“You two were always like sisters.” His voice went low and coaxing. “She’ll listen to you.”
Did he have any idea how hurtful it was to remind her that she and Rachel had nearly been sisters? It seemed he didn’t. Or if he did, he could ignore it in his need to accomplish his goal.
