Love Is Patient Romance Collection

by Vetsch, Erica; McDonough, Vickie; Barton, Janet Lee

  Instead of returning the pleasant greeting, he merely grunted and gestured to the children. “These are startin’ school today. That one”—he pointed to the eldest—“is Elsie. Next is Joy, and the boy is Micah. Last name’s Delaney.” He almost sneered when the name fell from his lips. “You kinder mind what the teacher tells you, or I’ll take a strap to you.”

  Three pairs of eyes glistened with tears and the little boy’s lower lip trembled. Mr. Zimmermann climbed back onto the wagon seat. “You go find your uncle Hank when school’s out.” With that Mr. Zimmermann released the brake and whistled to the team.

  The trio stood huddled together, eyeing Amelia with fear-filled eyes. Only then did she realize she was scowling, but the children had no way of knowing her displeasure was not aimed at them. She fixed a smile in place and stepped toward them. The little boy started to cry.

  “Now, there’s nothing to be afraid of.” She reached to pat Micah’s head and the child shrank from her.

  She pulled her hand back and tried a different approach. “Elsie? You must be the oldest. It looks like you’re doing a fine job of taking care of your sister and brother.” She sent the little girl a beaming smile. “Come inside where it’s warmer and you can tell me all about yourselves. I brought some sugar cookies to school today.”

  At the mention of cookies, Micah wiped his nose on his sleeve and followed his sisters into the schoolhouse.

  Amelia glanced at the little watch pinned to her bodice. The other students wouldn’t begin arriving for at least another fifteen minutes. She directed the three siblings to one of the front benches and retrieved a cloth-covered pail from her desk.

  She offered each child a golden-edged cookie. Elsie and Joy whispered a thank-you, but Micah observed her with wide, solemn green eyes, as though weighing her trustworthiness. Her heart twisted within her breast. She wanted to take the little fellow and hug him. Instead, she held out a cookie.

  “My name is Miss Bachman, and I’m very happy to meet you.” They munched their cookies while Amelia continued. “Elsie, can you tell me how much schooling you’ve had?”

  Elsie wiped crumbs from her mouth. “We ain’t never went to school before, but Mama taught us letters and numbers, and I can read.”

  “I can read, too.” Joy lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders.

  Elsie clucked like a hen. “No, you can’t. You just know all the letters.”

  Amelia smiled, but in the back of her mind, Elsie’s reference to Mama intrigued her. Where was their mother, and why was Mr. Zimmermann carrying them to school? “Well, that’s a very good start. Do you have a paper tablet and pencil?”

  Elsie and Joy shook their heads in unison, their yellow braids flopping against their chins.

  “That’s all right. You can borrow mine today.” Amelia’s heart lifted just a little when a hesitant smile poked a dimple into Joy’s cheek.

  “Can I learn to read today?”

  Amelia couldn’t stay her hand from reaching out to cradle the side of Joy’s face. “It will take more than one day, but we’ll get started today.” The glow in the little girl’s eyes reflected her name.

  Amelia instructed the three Delaney children to wait until she had cleaned the chalkboard and swept the floor so she could walk them to the Zimmermanns’ Sunday house. Mr. Zimmermann’s harsh tone and uncaring attitude still irked her, but she wasn’t going to allow the children to wander the town searching for their uncle Hank alone.

  Elsie wanted to carry Amelia’s lunch pail, and Joy begged to carry her paper tablet, while Micah shyly tucked his hand into Amelia’s. The four of them walked uptown and turned on Lincoln Street. As they approached the Zimmermann house, Amelia’s eyes widened. The few boards and posts that Hank had nailed in place that morning had expanded into an extension off the back of the house. It still lacked a roof and one wall, but the structure was definitely taking shape.

  “Mr. Zimmermann.” Amelia raised her voice to be heard above Hank’s hammering. Instantly, all three children halted and hung back.

  When Hank poked his head around the corner to respond, Micah cried out, “Uncle Hank.” The child dropped Amelia’s hand and raced toward his uncle. The girls also relaxed and ran to claim a hug from the man whose blue-plaid shirt was speckled with sawdust.

  Amelia’s heart smiled.

  Hank squatted to corral all three children in his arms. He tugged on the girls’ pigtails and ruffled Micah’s hair. “What are you rascals doing here?”

  Amelia stepped forward. “Your father dropped them off at the school this morning and told them to find you when class was dismissed.” She raised her eyebrows in a silent question.

  Hank stood and pointed toward the door. “Elsie, there is some bread in the cabinet and a jar of jam on the table.” The siblings trotted inside, leaving Amelia waiting for an answer to her unspoken inquiry.

  Hank glanced over his shoulder and blew out a stiff breath. “First of all, let me explain. I’m not their uncle Hank. They are actually my cousins, but my father thinks it’s disrespectful for them to call me Hank without some kind of title in front of it.” He brushed sawdust from his sleeve. “My father’s baby sister, Laurene, was fifteen years younger than him. My parents disapproved when she married an Irishman about nine years ago. Last week my father got a telegram saying Aunt Laurene and her husband had been killed in a wagon accident and the three children were being sent here.”

  Amelia’s stomach clenched in sympathy for the three orphans, but misgiving filled her as well to think of them growing up under Mr. Zimmermann’s harsh hand. “They were very frightened this morning.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Hank muttered the remark that sounded more like he was talking to himself than to her. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “My father doesn’t want them. He said he’s already raised his children and doesn’t intend to raise these. On Sunday, he said he was going to send them to the orphanage, so I’m a little surprised to see they are still here.”

  The disturbing revelation made no sense to Amelia. “He told me they were starting school today. Maybe he changed his mind.”

  Hank snorted. “Nothing changes Thornton Zimmermann’s mind.” Instantly, regret softened his features. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  Amelia’s insides churned at the uncertainty the children faced. At least they appeared to love their “uncle” Hank, and if the way he greeted them was any indication, the feeling was mutual.

  Chapter 4

  Vater, how could you say such a mean thing to those kids?”

  Thornton Zimmermann thumped his coffee cup down on the table and turned to face his son with rage in his eyes. “I am the head of this house. I make the decisions. Der kinder are not my responsibility. My sister and her Irish husband whelped them and now I am expected to raise them? Nein! I already raise my kinder.” He cast a withering look at Hank. “Ja, I raise my son to be a farmer and he wants to be a woodcutter.”

  Hank sucked in a breath. He would not shout at his father no matter how angry he was or how much he disagreed with him. Instead, he pointed across the room at his brother, who waited in silence for their father to head out to the fields. “Vater, can’t you see how much George loves planting and harvesting? He’s the one who should take over the farm one day. I came here this morning hoping I could make you understand the gift God has given me to craft things out of wood, but this isn’t about me being a craftsman.”

  “Bah! Craftsman!” The elder Zimmermann turned away. “I have fields to plow.”

  Hank took three strides and blocked him. He pointed out the door where Elsie, Joy, and Micah huddled together, crying.

  “Look at those children out there. They’ve already lost their parents. We are the only family they have. How could you tell them you’re sending them to an orphanage?”

  His father’s face mottled beet red. “You do not question what I decide. I have fed them for over two weeks. The letter finally comes and says there is no room at the
orphanage in San Antonio. The director says he writes to Austin and Abilene. Or maybe kinder will go to Dallas, but they will go! As soon as I have word from the place”—Vater pointed his finger in Hank’s face—“they will go.”

  Hank stared at his father. When had the man become so hateful? Was this his fault? Was Vater so angry at him for not following in his footsteps that he’d take it out on innocent children? Hank clenched his fists at his sides as anger boiled within him.

  Hank glanced across the room at his mother, but Lydia Zimmermann shook her head at him, a warning in her eyes. There was no point in trying to talk to his father like this. He turned and stalked out the door.

  Three tear-stained faces tipped up to look at him when he approached. His heart splintered at the sight of their blotchy cheeks and red-rimmed, swollen eyes. A cool March wind stirred the dust, creating muddy streaks tracing their sorrow.

  Hank pulled out his bandanna and dipped it in the horse trough. Lowering himself to one knee, he blotted each child’s face, talking in low, soothing tones.

  “We can’t have you going to school with dirty faces. What will Miss Bachman think? Besides, if you climb up on old Fritz with stripes on your cheeks, he’s liable to think you’re a tiger and buck you right off.” He wiped the last of the dirty tears away from Micah’s cheeks and the little boy looked up at Hank.

  “Fritz won’t buck me off. You said he’s too old to buck.”

  Hank feigned surprise. “Did I say that?” When all three children nodded, he forced a smile he didn’t feel and stood. “Well, maybe I did. Now, if we don’t hurry, you’re going to be late for school.”

  “I don’t want to go to school today.” Tears again filled Joy’s eyes.

  “Here now.” Hank bent to cup her chin. “Miss Bachman would miss you something fierce if you didn’t go to school. She told me you’re learning to read.”

  Joy nodded.

  “How about if you come to the Sunday house after school and read to me what you learn today?”

  Joy shrugged. “I guess so.”

  “All right, then. Do you have the lunch pail Aunt Lydia packed for you?”

  Elsie held it up.

  “Then we’re ready to go.” Hank scooped Elsie up and lifted her onto Fritz’s swayed back while the gray horse dozed at the hitching rail. He positioned Joy behind her sister, and Micah sat in the front where Elsie could hold on to him.

  “Everybody all set?” He swung up onto his own horse. “C’mon, Fritz. It’s time to get these kids to school.”

  Amelia led the first and second graders as they recited their addition tables in unison, but her gaze continually wandered to the three empty seats the Delaney children usually occupied. Although she tried to convince herself not to worry, her heart refused to listen.

  “All right, first and second grade. Take out your tablets and copy the addition problems I’ve written on the chalkboard. Third and fourth graders, come to the front bench for reading. I want the older grades to go to the back corner where you will find some maps of the United States to study. When you’ve—”

  The clopping of hooves cut her instructions short and she glanced out the window. A sigh of relief rippled through her.

  “Freda Braun, you will be in charge of the reading group. Page thirty-seven. I must step out for a minute. Everyone has their assignments.”

  She exited the classroom in time to see Hank help the Delaney children off the swaybacked plow horse. The instant she caught sight of their puffy, red eyes, fear gripped her heart.

  Hank bent to tuck Micah’s shirt into his pants and smooth the boy’s unruly straw-colored hair. “Come to the Sunday house when class is dismissed. I’ll see you then.”

  Amelia touched the top of each child’s head and gave them a reassuring smile. “Go on in and find your seats. I’ll be there in a minute. I want to talk to your uncle Hank.”

  Elsie took Micah’s hand and led him toward the door, but Joy wrapped her arms around Hank’s waist and clung.

  “Are you gonna make us go away, Uncle Hank?” A fat tear trickled down her cheek.

  Amelia met Hank’s gaze, holding her breath and waiting for his answer. His smoky eyes were a study in anger. The fear she felt when she first saw the children doubled. What had transpired to make the children so late and upset them so? She was afraid to ask.

  Hank stooped to speak to Joy at her eye level. He brushed loose tendrils of hair from her face. “If it was up to me, you wouldn’t have to go anywhere, sweetheart. But it’s not my decision to make.” He cupped her chin. “Do you remember the Bible story we read last night?”

  Joy sniffed and nodded.

  Hank thumbed her tears away. “Jesus is the Good Shepherd and He knows His sheep. No matter where His sheep are, He looks after them.” He folded her fingers within his. “That means wherever we are, Jesus promises to take care of us, even if we are far away from each other.”

  The child buried her face in Hank’s shirt and mumbled, “But I don’t want to be far away. I want to be here.”

  Amelia gently peeled her away from Hank. “Joy, sometimes hard things happen in our lives and we don’t have a choice. But the hard things don’t mean that our love for each other goes away.”

  A twinge of guilt stabbed her. Growing up watching her parents’ cold hearts and resentful demeanor was hard, and when she left home she didn’t have the love of her parents to take with her. But Joy didn’t need to know that.

  She pulled the child into a hug. “Suppose you go behind the schoolhouse to the pump and wash your face. Then we will have our reading lesson.”

  Joy dragged her sleeve across her soggy cheeks and sniffed again. “Yes’m.” She trudged away to do her teacher’s bidding.

  As soon as she was out of earshot, Amelia spun to face Hank. “What happened?”

  He turned away as though looking her in the eye was painful. “Micah heard my father say something this morning about an orphanage, and he asked what an orphanage was.” The dejection in his tone made Amelia shiver. He removed his hat and fidgeted with the brim. “So my father told him and the girls that they weren’t his children and he wasn’t going to be saddled with them, and as soon as he could make the arrangements, they were going to live in an orphanage.”

  Amelia covered her mouth and a gasp slipped between her fingers. “Oh no. How could he be so heartless?” She bit her lip, fearing her outburst may have offended Hank.

  He snorted. “I asked him the same thing. He just blustered that it was his decision. We argued—” He shook his head. “I don’t know what else to do.”

  Amelia plunked her hands on her hips. “Couldn’t you take the children?”

  Hank jerked around to face her. “What?” His eyes widened. “You can’t be serious. I don’t know anything about raising children.”

  “What do you have to know?” She cocked her head. “You need to love them and provide for their needs.”

  Hank’s fist crumpled the brim of his hat. “How am I going to do that? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m working out of my family’s Sunday house and I don’t have customers beating down the door.”

  “But those children need to know they are wanted and loved. Who is going to do that?”

  He opened his mouth but apparently changed his mind. He plopped his hat back in place. “Look, I can’t do what you’re suggesting. How am I supposed to take care of three little kids? Do you really think my father would let me move them into the Sunday house like I owned it? He doesn’t even like me using the place for my woodworking.” He heaved an exasperated sigh.

  Discouragement wilted her posture. She shrugged and turned back toward the schoolhouse. “I just wish …”

  “I know. I wish the same thing.”

  She turned to face him. “Wishing won’t change a thing, but praying might.”

  He looped Fritz’s reins over a low-hanging branch. “Sometimes I’m not sure God hears my prayers.”

  Amelia glanced over her shoulder. She needed to r
eturn to the classroom, but Hank’s remark disturbed her. “Of course, He hears you. Why would you think otherwise?”

  He turned to his own horse, gripped the saddle horn, and swung astride. “Sometimes I wonder if God is as angry at me as my father is.” He spoke absently, as though more to himself than Amelia. “My father refuses to listen to me because I’m not doing what he wants me to do. Does that mean I’m out of God’s will? Wouldn’t He refuse to listen as well?”

  As if suddenly remembering she was there, he straightened and reined the horse around, tugging on the brim of his hat before nudging the horse into a gentle lope.

  Amelia watched him ride away and felt a check in her spirit. Unconsciously, wasn’t she doing something similar? She felt like a hypocrite. She’d encouraged her students to trust God with the new skills and knowledge they were learning, and let Him be the Master of their hopes and dreams. But her own hopes and dreams remained tucked away in a secret place in her heart—like unplanted seeds.

  “Lord God, I couldn’t do what my father wanted to me to do. I just couldn’t.” She paused by the schoolhouse door and fingered the pull rope on the bell. Becoming a schoolteacher was a noble occupation, one in which she could influence young lives and mold their character.

  And remain single.

  She, too, had gone against her father’s wishes. Did that mean she was out of God’s will, and therefore beyond the reach of His ear?

  Chapter 5

  Amelia swept her tiny pile of dirt out the back door of the Sunday house, noticing as she did so that Hank was nowhere to be seen. She’d grown so accustomed to hearing the song of his chisel gliding along a length of wood, or his mallet beating out staccato taps, the absence of the sounds felt lonely. The lean-to addition he’d constructed off the back of his family’s Sunday house testified to his skill. Amelia paused for a moment and studied the lines of the new space he’d created, and wondered if the inside was as efficient and functional as it appeared from the outside.

  Her face warmed with the thought. Why in heaven’s name was she so fascinated by this man? She ordered her attention back to her tasks. Now that the sun was up, she wanted to polish the windows before the Richter family arrived for the weekend. The Saturday morning air held a bit of a chill for late March. She propped open the windows so the house would smell as fresh and clean as the spring breeze.