by BJ Hoff
“But I thought—I mean, you’ve never mentioned even the thought of leaving Skingle Creek.”
The other nodded. “That’s because I hadn’t thought about it before now. I love the town, you know that, and the church. I love these people. But I’m convinced God has another plan for us. And I think part of that plan has to do with Selma and Huey.”
“You’ve changed your mind about the adoption?”
“Oh, goodness, no! Your father’s lawyer has already started the paperwork for us. He’s filed the petition, and when I talked to him by phone last week he said he believed the adoption would go through quickly now that Lazlo’s prison sentence is in effect. He’s trying to work through the red tape as quickly as possible.”
Jonathan felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. He was only vaguely aware of Maggie’s hand covering his. “I don’t quite know what to say, Ben. This is the last thing I expected.”
“I know. And I’m truly sorry to dump it on you like this, without warning. But I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for certain I had a definite call. And I also had to make sure I can legally move the children with us.”
When Jonathan made no reply, he went on. “I genuinely believe this may also be God’s way of helping Selma and Huey. I’ve been concerned just what it would be like for them to stay here, where they’ve been so unhappy and where there are constant reminders of their parents and everything that happened. I’m convinced that getting away from the bad memories will be best for both of them.”
Jonathan hadn’t thought of that, and as much as he hated to admit it, he supposed Ben was right. But life without this friend whom he’d come to love as a brother? He couldn’t even imagine such a thing.
“I simply don’t know what to say, Ben.”
“We’ll miss you and Regina terribly,” Maggie put in.
“Yes,” Jonathan murmured. “Terribly.”
Ben leaned forward even more. “Jonathan—Maggie—I hope you’ll be happy for us. We’re excited, Regina and I, about the future. We hate to leave our friends, of course, especially the two of you. But we’re finally going to be parents! We love those children, you know that. And if God wants me with a new congregation, He has a reason. In all honesty, I’m looking forward to this.”
Jonathan looked up and studied his old friend. And then he saw it: the conviction and genuine eagerness. And something else. A look of expectancy, as though he were waiting for a word of affirmation or at least some acknowledgment that Jonathan was happy for him.
He struggled to find the words Ben seemed to be waiting to hear. How could he not wish his friend well when he was so clearly convinced that God had placed a call upon his heart and when he was so intent on heeding that call? He had stood by Jonathan for years, as a counselor and spiritual confidant as well as a friend. Whatever it took, Jonathan could not bring himself to disappoint the man seated across from him.
Even so, with that awareness came a great sorrow. Still, he knew what he needed to do. He stood and approached his friend, who also got to his feet.
“You know I want only what’s best for you,” Jonathan said, his voice not as steady as he would have liked. “And if this is God’s will—well, then we both know it will be the best.”
He extended his hand, and Ben took it between both of his. “Thank you, my friend. That means a great deal to me.”
“When will you tell the congregation?” Jonathan asked after the moment’s emotion subsided.
“Next Sunday.”
“That’s going to be difficult. For you as much as the people, I expect.”
Ben nodded. “I can scarcely bear to think about it. I was hoping you and Maggie would pray for me tonight and during the service tomorrow.”
Maggie got up with the sleeping Gracie in her arms and came closer. “You can be sure we’ll do just that, Pastor Ben. When will you be leaving? Or do you know yet?”
“I hope to stay until a new pastor is in place,” he said. “I don’t want this to be any more inconvenient for the people than absolutely necessary. If possible, I’ll help my replacement settle in before I leave.”
“No one can ever replace you,” Jonathan said firmly, still feeling somewhat ill about the evening’s unexpected turn of events.
“Now, Jonathan,” the other said, “I’m going to speak to you as your pastor instead of as your friend. Don’t you be thinking that way. I’m trusting you to pray with the rest of the congregation that God will send exactly the right man here who will not only replace me, but be a better pastor to the people than I’ve ever been.”
“Impossible!”
“I mean it now. I’ll not have you thinking that way. No man is irreplaceable.” He paused, a faint smile touching his features. “Although I’ll have to admit that as friends go, I’m not likely to find another like yourself. But when it comes to preachers, I fully expect you and the congregation to be blessed with someone very special in no time at all.”
His words puzzled Jonathan a little. He almost sounded as though he knew something he wasn’t telling them. Still, Ben could be unintentionally cryptic, usually because his mind was continually working, always racing ahead.
In any event, this was scarcely the time to speculate, not with his own thoughts and emotions in such turmoil.
Later that night, after they’d tucked Gracie in and prayed together, Maggie sat down beside her husband on the edge of the bed and took his hand. “I’m so sorry, Jonathan.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “I know how hard this must be for you. And you were so happy when you came home, so enthusiastic about your time with the miners.”
He ran a hand down the side of his face and shook his head. “It was just so unexpected.”
“I know. But even if you’d had more warning—some sort of preparation—it wouldn’t have made it any easier. The two of you have been such good friends for so long.” She stopped and then added, “You’ll stay good friends, of course. Louisville isn’t so far that we can’t take turns visiting now and then.”
He looked at her. “That’s true. And we’ll want to stay in touch with the children as well.”
Maggie nodded, hoping to encourage him. “And they’ll want to stay in touch with you. You mean a lot to Selma and Huey.”
“No more than you do. And you’re right, we won’t lose touch, but—”
“But it won’t be the same,” she said softly, squeezing his hand.
“No. No, it won’t. But then nothing really stays the same, does it?”
The sadness in his tone made Maggie want to weep. But that was the last thing he needed from her. Instead, she framed his face between her hands and held his gaze. “We’ll stay the same, Jonathan. We will.”
She saw the effort it took for him to return her smile. “We’ve already seen quite a lot of change in our lives, don’t you think?”
“Life changes. But what we have together won’t change. Not ever. No matter what.”
He studied her for a moment, then covered her hands with his and brought them to his lips. “No matter what,” he promised.
He kissed her, and Maggie’s heart opened to him like a window to the warmth of the morning sun.
Chapter Twenty
A New Teacher in Town
The temple the Teacher builded
Will last while the ages roll,
For that beautiful unseen temple
Was a child’s immortal soul.
Author unknown
Maggie remained vigilant, even when there was no word from Richard Barlow for another two weeks, but her days were too busy to dwell on her fear that he would eventually show up in Skingle Creek.
She had all she could do to keep up. The school board hadn’t located a teacher to replace her, so she spent every spare minute she could manage between classes and after school preparing lessons and projects ahead, hoping to make things as easy and as convenient as possible for Jonathan or the teacher who would ultimately take over her classes. Her time at home was t
aken up with Gracie and Jonathan, in addition to drafting out some early chapters for a new children’s book she had in mind.
For months now her publisher had been urging her to provide them with a new manuscript. Although she loved the process of developing a story and creating the people for that story, she found it difficult—some days impossible—to spend any quality time on the work. Perhaps when she was no longer teaching she’d be able to make more progress on the manuscript, but for now she had other priorities.
Jonathan also was busier than ever. To his surprise there had been three applicants for Maggie’s position. In conjunction with the school board, he’d begun to hold interviews, only to come home thoroughly disgruntled after each. Apparently most of the board would have agreed to any of the three, none of which, according to Jonathan, was qualified. He worried that the board members simply weren’t looking past the need to hire a teacher—any teacher.
“They would have hired this last fellow—a martinet if I ever saw one. Why, he gave every indication that he doesn’t even like children. I ended up just shy of an all-out quarrel with Ernest Gibbon,” he told Maggie.
The bank president was known to be contentious when least expected. More than once Jonathan complained that if Gibbon couldn’t find a point to argue, he’d create one. “The man is enamored of his own voice.”
After hearing about the “martinet” and the other applicants so far, Maggie could only agree with Jonathan. Not one of them sounded as if he belonged in a classroom. Hopes for hiring a teacher in the near future were looking dimmer all the time.
At least his work with his singing miners was going well. More than well. The rehearsals were a high point in his week, and Maggie was relieved he enjoyed them so much. To her way of thinking, if the men to whom he was devoting his time received even half the blessing Jonathan insisted he did, then the benefits of the choral group definitely ran in both directions.
Maggie hoped his work with the miners would also help ease the approaching loss of his friend, Ben Wallace. She could only imagine how difficult it was going to be for the two men to say goodbye. For her part, she considered herself doubly blessed in that Jonathan was not only her husband, but her best friend as well. She wouldn’t want to face the onerous task of saying goodbye to a special friend.
As she bundled Gracie up for their outing, she smiled at the thought that she also had a new friend these days: Anna Tallman. At least she hoped they would become good friends. Certainly they never ran out of things to talk about. Indeed, any time they were together they seemed to find something else they shared in common. Maggie fervently hoped Anna and Kenny would stay in Skingle Creek; already she didn’t like to think about the possibility of saying goodbye.
Anna was far enough along in her time that she no longer went out, so today Maggie would visit her instead. Jonathan was dropping her and Gracie off on his way to the school, where he and the board would be conducting yet another interview before his afternoon rehearsal with the miners. He hadn’t much liked the idea of interviewing on a Sunday, but there was always difficulty getting all the board members together on weekdays.
Maggie suspected Kenny was a bit uneasy about leaving Anna alone in case the baby put in an early appearance. He had stopped one evening the past week to see if Maggie would keep Anna company this afternoon while he and his father drove out to the Runyan farm to pick up some eggs and other produce.
Maggie tied Gracie’s cap and tugged her blankets snugly around her. She tweaked the babe’s nose, eliciting a squeal and a bubble from the rosebud mouth.
“This,” she told her daughter as she lifted her into her arms, “is going to be fun. But we’d best get downstairs before your papa loses his patience with us.”
Jonathan stood at the table near the back of his classroom studying the application for today’s interview before the others arrived. He hadn’t told Maggie the applicant’s identity yet; he’d been surprised himself when he learned who was interviewing today, so he decided he would wait to see how the meeting went before saying anything.
Henry Piper was a member of the school board. The man had always been a private person. Some in town speculated that he was somewhat of a hermit and perhaps even eccentric. To save him, Jonathan couldn’t imagine Henry in a classroom surrounded by children. Yet rumor had it that Piper was well-educated, that he had even studied law before returning to the area to help care for his mother and sister after his father’s death. Not long after his return, Henry’s mother also died, his sister married and moved away, and Henry was left alone on the farm. For years he rarely came into town except for school board meetings and weekly church services.
Henry walked into the room just then, and Jonathan took a second look. Seldom seen in anything other than overalls and a flannel shirt—usually with a pipe in his mouth and the pungent smell of tobacco circling his head—today the middle-aged farmer was decked out in a well-tailored dark blue suit, his silver hair brushed and shining. No pipe, no tobacco.
Jonathan again glanced at the application in his hand, surprised to find that Henry was only in his early fifties. Up until now he would have taken him to be older. The suit and tie whittled a few years off his age. It wasn’t that Jonathan hadn’t seen the man in his Sunday best before, just never up close. Henry attended the Baptist church a few miles out, so they seldom ran into each other.
They shook hands and made small talk for a few minutes until the other board members filed in and exchanged greetings.
Matthew shot a quizzical look in Henry’s direction, and then arched an eyebrow at Jonathan.
Ben Wallace was there too, of course. As president of the school board, he introduced today’s applicant. The skepticism of the other board members couldn’t have been more obvious. For the most part, they remained silent, obviously expecting Jonathan to conduct the interview.
As soon as everyone was seated, Ben led them in prayer. Jonathan then made an attempt to put Henry at ease. “Well, Henry, I think I speak for us all when I say we’re surprised to see you here—but pleased, of course. We had no idea you’d be interested in a teaching position.”
From the other side of the table, Henry Piper leaned slightly forward and straightened his eyeglasses on the bridge of his nose. “To tell you the truth, Mr. Stuart, neither did I. As it happens, I believe the Lord placed this on my heart. That’s why I’m here.”
Jonathan paused for a moment at the man’s frankness, then cleared his throat and started in on the questions he asked every applicant. “Do you have any teaching experience, Henry?”
The man nodded. “I do, yes, sir. I taught at an elementary school in Frankfort for three years and before that I studied law.”
Jonathan glanced up from the application. “I had no idea, Henry. Did you finish law school?”
“No, but I have my college degree. I only went to law school in the first place because of my uncle Eber. He talked me into it. I never wanted to be a lawyer. I left law school and took some more classes to finish my degree. Then I started teaching.”
Jonathan studied the man across from him. “Did you like teaching?”
Henry Piper nodded eagerly. “I liked it a lot. Had it not been for my family needing me back here, I expect I’d have gone on teaching in Frankfort.”
Jonathan took note of the deeply seated intelligence that brimmed in Henry’s eyes and the air of composure the man emanated. He’d always suspected that Henry Piper was, by nature, a gentleman. A gentleman farmer perhaps, but a gentleman all the same.
“So you have some kind of a teaching certificate, do you, Henry?” Ben Wallace asked.
“I brought it with me,” Henry said, handing the paper to Jonathan. “It’s been a long time since I’ve used it, but I’ve kept it up to date just in case.”
Jonathan scanned the certificate and found everything in order. “I’m curious as to why you’d want to take up teaching after so many years out of the classroom,” he said, watching the other man closely.
“I know it might seem a bit strange,” Henry replied. “But I’ve missed teaching. Even after all these years, I still miss it. I liked being with children. And just being in a schoolhouse with books and chalkboards and lessons—” He stopped, a faint pink stain rising up his neck and face. “Maybe that doesn’t make sense—”
“On the contrary, Henry,” Jonathan said, “it makes a great deal of sense. I expect I’d never stop missing the classroom if I had to leave teaching for some reason. Being a teacher is what you are, not necessarily what you do.”
Henry brightened. “Yes!” he exclaimed, grateful for Jonathan’s understanding. “That’s it exactly!”
“Well, one thing concerns me—” Ernest Gibbon put in.
The others turned to look at him, and once he had their attention, he went on. “Don’t take offense, Henry, but the idea of an unmarried man like yourself as a schoolteacher might not set very well with some of the parents.”
His words fell with a thud and brought total silence to the room. A few of the men looked at each other. Matthew looked at Jonathan, who felt compelled to offer an observation.
“Ernest, did you forget that I taught here for many years before I was married?”
Gibbon didn’t seem inclined to meet Jonathan’s eyes. “We all know that.”
That was all he said. But what was he really saying?
“Your point, Ernest?” asked Ben Wallace. “I don’t know that anyone here has a problem with hiring a teacher who’s also a bachelor. It certainly didn’t have a negative effect on Jonathan’s work. If anything, he had more time to devote to the children than a married teacher might have had.”
As if he realized his words could be taken the wrong way, Ben turned to Jonathan. “I don’t mean that you don’t give the children enough of yourself now that you are married, Jonathan.”
Jonathan waved away his friend’s attempt to explain. “I know what you mean, Ben.” But he did wonder what Ernest Gibbon wasn’t saying.
