A Courtship on Huckleberry Hill

by Jennifer Beckstrand

  Wally had already defied her several times, and they’d only been in school two weeks. His schoolwork was shoddy, at best, and his attitude was worse. After three days of cleaning up after school, he’d finally stopped propping his foot on his desk, but now he used it to trip the little kids when they had the misfortune of passing his desk. Elsie prided herself on keeping her temper firmly in control, but Wally had tempted her resolve many times.

  She couldn’t help but be impressed with how cleverly he had manipulated everyone and everything around him. The children catered to him, and not because they felt sorry for the one-legged boy. For sure and certain, they were afraid of him. Wally Sensenig was a bully pretending to be a victim, and Elsie had no idea what to do about him or how to help.

  One thing she could not do was appeal to his family. Wally’s bruder was the most foul-tempered, unreasonable person Elsie had ever had the misfortune of meeting, no matter how breathtakingly good-looking he was.

  When she had looked up that day and seen him standing in her classroom, her heart had tripped all over itself, and she was thoroughly disgusted with herself for reacting that way. Wally’s bruder was sinfully handsome, with a mop of curly, light-brown hair and a day’s growth of stubble that made him seem mysterious and discontented. Even his scowl was attractive, like some tortured hero from a romance novel. That was, until he opened his mouth. She’d never met anyone quite so rude, and as a teacher, that was saying something.

  She probably shouldn’t be so hard on him. Wally had manipulated his bruder just as he had every other person in his life.

  He was clever that way.

  But that didn’t mean Sam Sensenig had a right to storm into her school and yell at her. Ach!

  Wally had come to school the next day gloating like the king of the hill. He’d marched right up to her desk first thing. “My bruder said he told you what was what.”

  She had pretended to look puzzled for half a second. “Your bruder? Which one was he? I’ve had so many parents visit in the last few days.”

  Wally had frowned in confusion. “My brother Sam. He said you’d better not pick on me or he’ll tell the school board.”

  She had tapped her finger to her cheek. “Ach, yes, Sam. He seems like a very nice person. He wanted to make sure you’re learning all you can. We had a very nice visit.”

  That was not the reaction Wally had been looking for, and he had crept back to his seat and kept his mouth shut for a good half hour.

  He had no doubt expected Elsie to turn into a little mouse and let Wally have free rein of the whole classroom. He was quite put out when Elsie had made him stay after school and wash desks again. And empty all the garbage cans—not an easy task on crutches. Elsie had fully expected to see Wally’s bruder a second time in as many days, but Wally must have felt unsure enough that he hadn’t mentioned it to his bruder.

  Gute. Elsie would have been perfectly content never to lay eyes on Sam Sensenig again.

  She stuck a new roll of toilet paper in the dispenser and put the two extras on the shelf next to the toilet. She’d ask the children to keep a close eye on the porta-potty. Maybe the toilet paper thief wouldn’t dare a second time.

  “You were making fun of me because I’m crippled,” she heard from a voice just outside the porta-potty. It was Wally. No one else could manage to sound threatening and whiny in the same breath.

  “We were not. Max and me just wanted to play catch, that’s all.”

  “You looked at me the whole time you were throwing it,” Wally said. “You know I can’t play softball because I only have one leg. Do you think I’m a freak?”

  “Nae, Wally. No one thinks you’re a freak. We’re all sorry about your leg.”

  Elsie held her breath. Not only did the porta-potty stink to high heaven, but she was listening carefully for any sign of physical contact. If Wally started hitting Johnny Wengerd—at least that’s who it sounded like—she would throw that door open and make sure that boy got all five-foot-one inches of her wrath.

  “Softball is not allowed at this school,” Wally said. “If I can’t play, no one can play.”

  “You think he’s a freak, Johnny. Admit it.” Reuben Schmucker was there too. It made sense that Wally would have someone to back him up.

  “I do not.”

  Despite her misgivings about how sanitary the porta-potty was, Elsie pressed her ear to the door. She didn’t think they’d moved away, but she heard nothing but silence.

  Just as she was about to emerge from Smelly City, Wally spoke. “Bring me a quarter every day for the rest of the year, and I’ll forget you laughed at me.”

  “I’ve only got five whole dollars.”

  “Then bring me five dollars, and I’ll forgive you. But I’m warning you, never play softball again, or I’ll tell Teacher you make fun of cripples. She’ll give you the ruler.”

  Elsie bit down hard on her tongue. How dare Wally use her to scare poor Johnny Wengerd. She’d never, ever used the ruler on a child in her life, even though she was sorely tempted to show it to Wally Sensenig. Apparently Wally liked to invoke a higher authority when he made his threats. He’d done it with his brother. But Wally would soon learn that those tricks wouldn’t work on her.

  “Okay, Wally. I’ll bring the money tomorrow,” Johnny said, and even from inside the porta-potty, it was plain he was close to tears.

  Their footsteps faded, and Elsie finally felt safe to come out. Just in time too. She had almost given in to the urge to pass out from the fumes.

  Elsie had heard the expression hopping mad before, but she had never actually known what it meant until now. She stomped back to the classroom, too angry to think about ringing the bell. The scholars would get a few extra minutes of recess while her blood cooled to a simmer.

  Elsie would not put up with that type of behavior in her school, no matter how big of a tantrum Wally’s brother threw—no matter if the school board fired her tomorrow.

  She paced back and forth between two rows of desks, thinking of all sorts of appropriate consequences for Wally Sensenig. She wouldn’t use the ruler or any other form of corporal punishment. The Amish taught nonviolence, and Elsie believed that applied to the classroom too. Children learned best in an atmosphere of love, not one of fear or shame. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t demanding. She expected the very best her scholars could give her, and they loved her for it—or at least, she hoped they did.

  Wally was a special case. He was manipulative and clever, pitiful and unlovable all at the same time. And his brother had let him get away with bad behavior for too long. Elsie heaved a sigh. Wally was thirteen years old, almost fourteen—big for his age, which was why he thought he could bully the other kinner—but he was also just a boy. Adolescent boys were full of spice and energy, and they could be mean and stupid. Wonderful stupid.

  But that wasn’t a reason to give up on them.

  Elsie had never given up on one of her students, even when they gave up on themselves, like Wally had. Wally wasn’t a lost cause, by any means. All anyone had to do was look at his leg to see he’d been through something horrible. No one, no matter how old, would have been able to handle all that pain and all those emotions and come out undamaged—that included Wally and his entire family.

  Wally’s fater was deceased. According to one of the boys she’d met at the last gathering, Wally’s bruder Sam had responsibility for the farm and for the family. He was just as confused and lost as Wally was. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so harsh with him.

  She shook her head. Sam had been rude and abrasive. He got everything he deserved. But she could at least understand why he had reacted the way he did. It was probably all he could do to keep things together at home.

  Unfortunately, all this insight didn’t solve the problem of what to do about Wally right now. She couldn’t allow him to bully his classmates, but she couldn’t force him to be nice either. If she wanted a real change of heart, it would have to come from Wally himself.

&n
bsp; Elsie sat at her desk and pulled open the bottom drawer. It was time to give Wally a lesson he’d never forget, and she would do it at second recess today. Wally would make a wonderful fuss, and Sam Sensenig would be at the school so often, he’d probably have to set up a tent on the front steps. He’d do a lot of yelling and scowling and gnashing of teeth.

  Elsie squared her shoulders. She could handle Wally’s big brother, and maybe teach him some manners in the process. Unfortunately, she couldn’t snub her nose at the school board. Wally needed her, and somehow she would make Sam understand. But would she have a job long enough to see it through?

  * * *

  Elsie was so antsy, she could barely sit through the arithmetic lessons, and she was the teacher. She finally gave in five minutes before she was supposed to dismiss them for recess. “Students,” she said, rising from her desk and lifting her softball mitt into the air. “For recess this afternoon, we are going to play a big softball game with the whole school.”

  An audible gasp spread throughout the room like a leak from a bicycle tire. Elsie stole a look in Wally’s direction. He pressed his lips together and stared down at his math paper as if he were suddenly very interested in his times tables. He wasn’t happy about this. Not happy at all.

  Gute. The more she could ruffle his feathers, the better. Wally was about to get thrown twenty feet outside of his comfort zone.

  Some of the children glanced doubtfully at Wally as if wondering if they needed his permission to play. Elsie clapped her hands to divert their attention. “Grab your mitts,” she called, smiling as if the greatest adventure awaited them just outside. Some of the children jumped to their feet. Others tentatively put their papers in their desks and dawdled, as if expecting Elsie to tell them she was only joking about a softball game.

  “I left my mitt home,” Lizzy Mast said, her gaze flicking to Wally’s face.

  “You can borrow someone else’s when they go up to bat,” Elsie said.

  Little Mary Zook, a new first grader, stood beside her desk with her finger in her mouth. “But what about Wally? It’s not nice to leave him out.”

  Reuben Schmucker folded his arms across his chest as if daring Elsie to try to make him budge from the desk. “Jah. We don’t play softball. It hurts Wally’s feelings.”

  Elsie smiled as if she had some very gute news to tell. “It is so thoughtful of you to think of Wally, but we’re not going to leave him out. He is going to play with us.” She gave Wally the most pitiful, most sympathetic look she could muster. “Unless you’re afraid to play.”

  Wally frowned. “I’m not afraid.”

  “Gute. Then let’s go.”

  The children trickled down the stairs, the ones who even bothered to bring their mitts to school anymore picking them up on the way out the door.

  Wally’s frown turned into a scowl. “I’m not afraid,” he said, plunking his good leg on the desk. “Are you blind or just plain stupid? I’m missing a leg. I can’t play.”

  She decided to ignore the “stupid” remark. Softball was the battle she needed to win. “You can play. You’ve got one gute hand and another pretty gute hand. It’s not that hard to hold a bat and hit the ball.”

  Wally grew more and more surly. “I’m not playing.”

  Elsie shrugged. “Suit yourself. If you don’t play, you have to be one of the bases.”

  His eyes widened to twice their size. “I’ll get stepped on.”

  “Then come and play—or are you afraid you can’t even hit as well as the first graders?”

  “I can’t hit better than anybody. I’m crippled.”

  Elsie cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t think you’re a cripple. You’re missing a leg. So what. I’m a girl, but I can still hit better than you or Reuben.”

  Reuben finally stood up. “You can’t hit better than me.”

  “I’ll bet I can,” Elsie said. Her smug smile was sure to irritate both of them.

  Reuben swatted Wally in the shoulder. “I want to play. Come on. We’re better than her.”

  Wally narrowed his eyes in Reuben’s direction. “Go play. What do I care? You’re not my true friend anyway.”

  Reuben slumped his shoulders. “Okay. I won’t play.”

  Elsie pretended not to care either way. “You both still have to come out. And you each have to be a base.” She had to work very hard to keep from laughing at the looks on both their faces. They obviously were astounded by the thought that Miss Stutzman would actually make them be bases for reals.

  They were slow, but she was insistent. She found them each a mitt—even though they protested they weren’t playing—and shooed them out the door. Outside, Jethro Glick and Tobias Raber were tossing a tennis ball with each other. There were also three softballs getting passed around. Wally and Reuben stood with their backs to the backstop, no doubt trying to decide if they should defy the teacher and sit on the steps or join a team so they wouldn’t get stepped on.

  Elsie had two eighth grade girls, Ida Mae Burkholder and Ellen Zook, pick teams. Reuben and Wally were the only eighth grade boys. Was it any wonder they thought they ruled the roost?

  Ida Mae, a bright, mature, very sweet girl, cleared her throat and chose Wally Sensenig first thing. Elsie could have hugged her. Wally almost gave himself whiplash, he turned so fast. The surprise on his face was priceless. Someone had actually picked him. He immediately wiped all emotion from his face and shrugged as if he couldn’t care less, but he slowly ambled around the backstop on his crutches and stood next to Ida Mae, who gave him a shy smile and a nod.

  Reuben got chosen second, and since he didn’t have to prove his friendship anymore by not playing, he pumped his fist in the air and ran to Ellen’s side.

  Elsie had twenty-three children in her class. They divided into teams of twelve. She put herself on Reuben’s team because she wanted to pitch to Wally. The goal was to make him very, very angry.

  Elsie’s team was up to bat first. Wally limped all the way out to the edge of the field where it was unlikely he’d get a ball hit to him. He was on the team, but it was obvious he didn’t want to make a fool of himself trying to field a ball. That was fine with Elsie. Wally was on the team. That’s all she could hope for. Yet.

  They let the younger children bat first, so it was a short inning, but die kinner laughed and squealed and jumped for joy even when they got out. Elsie’s heart swelled three sizes. No child should go through a school day without the chance to play softball. Wally had gotten his way for far too long.

  Elsie insisted on pitching for her team. She lobbed easy ones in for the little kids to hit and faster and harder ones for the older students. Johnny Wengerd was her first baseman and a crackerjack catch. He never missed a ball if it came within five feet of him. After three innings, everybody on the other team had batted but Wally.

  Elsie bit her bottom lip as Ida Mae handed him the bat and said, “It’s your turn, Wally.” It sounded like a question.

  Wally stared at the bat in Ida Mae’s hand. He narrowed his eyes and scanned the faces of his teammates, almost as if he were daring them to laugh at him. Almost as if he wanted them to laugh at him.

  Of course he wanted them to make fun of him. Their laughter would give him a reason to make them feel guilty about ever playing softball again and to feel even worse about poor one-legged Wally Sensenig. But Elsie hoped that there was some small part of him that wanted to play for the fun of it, wanted to hit and run just like the other kids. That was the part of Wally she had to help him capture. Hopefully, he hadn’t buried it so deep that it couldn’t be found.

  Everyone on the ball field seemed to be holding their breath. Surely Wally was disappointed that no one was inclined to laugh or even snicker. Did he not realize how frightened they were of him? Toby Byler, a brave second grader, dared to give Wally an encouraging smile. Wally ignored him.

  Tossing one of his crutches aside, Wally took the bat from Ida Mae. He half limped, half hopped to home plate, clutched his crutch handle wi
th his left hand, and lifted the bat in his right hand. He wasn’t going to be able to hit much of anything like that, and he certainly wasn’t going to hit anything very far. What he really needed was another leg to stand on. A prosthetic leg would do the trick.

  Elsie tossed a nice, easy ball over the plate. She wanted Wally to hit it. The lesson would come afterward. He swung the bat wildly and missed, throwing himself off balance and nearly toppling over. He righted himself, turned around, and glared at his teammates. Surely now they would give him a reason to throw a tantrum. With eyes wide, his teammates held deathly still, as if even the slightest movement would cause an explosion. Even Wally’s brother Danny seemed to understand the importance of this moment. He didn’t budge. Elsie wanted to cheer. What gute, kind, smart children they were.

  Wally raised his bat again, and Elsie did her best to lob one right in the path of Wally’s swing. He chopped awkwardly at the ball and managed to make contact. The ball pinged off the bat and bounced three feet behind home plate.

  “Foul ball!” Johnny called.

  With that small bit of success, Wally grew more determined. He tapped the bat on home plate then pointed it at Elsie. “I’m hitting it over your head this time, Miss Stutzman.”

  Elsie arched an eyebrow and smiled. “Oh no, you won’t.”

  With singular concentration, Elsie tossed the ball right over the plate where Wally would have the best chance of hitting it. It was a wonderful-hard swing, especially considering he had one hand around his crutch. The ball glanced off the bat with just enough power to make its way back to the pitcher’s mound. Elsie couldn’t have asked for a more perfect hit—almost as if Gotte was directing where that ball landed.

  For a split second, Wally didn’t seem to know what to do.

  “Run, Wally!” Ida Mae yelled.

  Wally dropped his crutch and furiously started hopping toward first base. He hadn’t a prayer of making it unless Elsie “accidentally” dropped the ball or purposefully overthrew Johnny at first. One of the children might not have been brave enough to field the ball and do what had to be done, but Elsie was, and she did.