A Courtship on Huckleberry Hill

by Jennifer Beckstrand

  “Maybe it’s time to stop,” Sam said, after Maggie had made a diving catch of one of Wally’s fly balls. “You’re getting tired.”

  One thing Wally did well was pout. He pursed his lips and fixed his jaw in an unmovable line. “I’m not tired. I want to keep hitting.”

  Perry stood up from his catcher’s position and tapped his mitt against his leg. “You can’t just hit, Wally. Miss Stutzman says you have to get on base.”

  Wally’s frown etched itself into his face. “I hate Miss Stutzman.”

  For a second, Sam did too. Couldn’t she be satisfied that Wally could hit the ball? He wrapped his fingers around the back of his neck. Gotte’s way was not hate, and it would do Sam well to remember who was responsible for Wally’s sudden interest in softball.

  “Maybe you can run on the new leg.” Perry was wise beyond his years. Wally wouldn’t be pushed, but he could handle a little nudge.

  Wally stared at his fake foot as if he’d forgotten it was there. “Not fast enough,” he mumbled.

  Perry picked up the bat and handed it to Wally. “But you could practice. Just like you practice hitting.”

  “Okay,” Wally said, pressing his lips into a determined line. “Throw me another ball, Sam.”

  Sam was convinced that they should quit and save the running practice for another day, but it was hard to say no to Wally when he had his heart set on something. Sam ambled back to his invisible pitcher’s mound and threw a pitch. Wally swung with every ounce of power he had left and sent the ball flying over Maggie’s head.

  “Ach,” Maggie said as she turned and ran for the ball.

  “Go, Wally. Go!” Perry shouted.

  Wally dropped the bat and seemed to catapult himself in the direction of first base. He took three astoundingly strong steps before coming down hard on his prosthetic leg. The leg buckled under him and snapped at the knee joint. Wally screamed as he fell. The pin must have detached from the leg. His artificial leg jutted out from his real leg at a right angle.

  Sam dropped his mitt and sprinted to Wally’s side. Wally grasped his knee and screamed in agony. Sam pushed back his pant leg and gasped. The fabric sleeve had come off and the metal joint had grazed Wally’s stump, leaving a big gash and a stream of blood. Maggie, Danny, and Perry stood over him, watching with horror-stricken faces at the sight of Wally’s bleeding stump.

  Sam lifted Wally into his arms and carried him to the house. “Maggie, get some water and towels. Perry, bring the leg.”

  Wally clamped his hands around Sam’s back and buried his face in the crook of Sam’s neck. “I’m never using that leg again,” he wailed. “I hate it. I hate softball. I hate Miss Stutzman.”

  Hate was not Gotte’s way, but Sam was still going to have words with the teacher. It was time to put a stop to this nonsense once and for all.

  Chapter Eight

  Dear Sam,

  I am wonderful sorry that you and your family couldn’t make it to dinner last night. We had mushroom-ricotta lasagna, and it was delicious. My granddaughter was especially downhearted that you could not come. She puts on a brave face, but I know she is truly longing for a husband. If you could please go to the singing tomorrow night at Eicher’s house, I would be forever grateful. I have talked her into going, but she doesn’t suspect that I have arranged it so you two can meet. Please don’t tell her that I set the whole thing up. I’ll do my best to be sure she’s wearing her pink dress.

  Felty will deliver this letter on his way to the market. I hope he finds you home.

  Much love,

  Anna Helmuth

  P.S. I have enclosed three pot holders and a dishrag.

  Sam folded Anna Helmuth’s letter and put it in his pocket. His problems were piling up like Mamm’s mending. Mamm had taken to her bed again, Anna Helmuth wanted him to marry her granddaughter, and Wally’s leg was bruised all the way up his thigh.

  He couldn’t do much about Mamm when she got like this. Naomi and Rosemary, his married sisters, often came over during the day to sit with Mamm and try to make her feel better.

  The singing tonight was a more pressing problem. He needed to find Anna’s granddaughter and tell her—nicely—that he wasn’t interested and that Anna shouldn’t waste any more pot holders on him. Then he needed to corner the new teacher and try to have a reasonable conversation with her about Wally. Wally would not be playing softball ever again, and she would stop insisting that he did.

  Sam scrubbed his hand down the side of his face. He’d have to soften his demands if he wanted a reasonable conversation instead of one where she got defensive and he got angry. He’d treated her unfairly the last time they’d met, and Sam was man enough to admit it. Danny and Perry had both confirmed her story, and even though Wally’s feelings had been hurt, it seemed Miss Stutzman hadn’t done it intentionally. He probably should apologize for making some assumptions.

  He clenched his teeth. Why should he be the one to apologize? The teacher had made Wally play softball. It wasn’t Sam’s fault that Wally had hurt himself.

  The Eichers had swept out their barn until it looked like die youngie could have eaten off the cement floor. It was the middle of September, and the weather was perfect for a singing. Sam stood beside the open barn door, scanning the arriving people for any sign of a girl in a pink dress. He was concentrating so hard, he didn’t even see Rose Mast until she was right beside him.

  “Sam,” Rose said, beaming like a pair of headlights. “You came! I almost made myself sick, I was that afraid you wouldn’t come.”

  “I have to . . . uh . . . jah. I came.”

  Rose stuck her bottom lip out in a pout. “But you didn’t come back to the barn raising on Friday. I waited for an hour.”

  Sam expelled a long breath. “I know. I’m sorry. Wally wanted to practice hitting, and then he fell and cut his stump.”

  “Cut his stump? Oh, no! Is he okay?”

  “He’s bruised, but I think he’s going to be okay.”

  Rose leaned closer. “Lizzy says the new teacher makes them play softball every day, and Wally gets out every time.”

  Sam nodded. “He wanted to practice hitting. He says he wants to hit one over the teacher’s head and make her mad.”

  Rose frowned. “She shouldn’t make them play. Wally must feel so humiliated.”

  “Jah,” Sam said. “It’s time to put a stop to it. I don’t want to see Wally get hurt worse than he already is.”

  “Of course not. Doesn’t that teacher have any compassion?”

  Speaking of that teacher, Sam did a double take when Miss Stutzman came strolling down the lane wearing a wonderful-pretty soft lavender dress. The color accented her green eyes, like a lilac bush at the height of its glory. Her beauty almost made Sam forget how unpleasant she could be.

  Sam recognized the moment she caught sight of him. Her smile disappeared, and she lowered her head and veered to her left, no doubt hoping to pass through the barn door without being seen. He had come specifically to talk to her. He wasn’t going to let her get away. “Here comes the teacher.”

  Rose made a face. “She’s so stuck up.”

  “Denki for being on my side.”

  “I’m always on your side, Sam.”

  “I need to talk to the teacher. Go in without me. I’ll come find you.”

  Rose’s mouth relaxed into a smile. “You will? Okay. Put that teacher in her place. For Wally’s sake.” She turned up her nose and flounced into the barn.

  The teacher kept drifting to her left in hopes of avoiding him altogether. Sam quickly stepped in front of her, blocking her path to the door. She had no excuse but to at least acknowledge him.

  She flinched as if expecting him to smack her or something. He frowned. Did she truly think he was that horrible? “Guten owed, Sam.” It sounded like a challenge. He’d already put her on her guard, and he hadn’t said a word. But this time he wasn’t on the attack. He wanted to reason with her. Wally had been hurt, and Sam no longer believed that
the teacher purposefully wanted to harm his bruder. She may be stern and unfeeling, but she would want what was best for Wally.

  He hoped.

  He shouldn’t have been so hostile the first two times they had met. She probably didn’t think he was capable of a calm discussion. Unfortunately, he got a little irrational when it came to Wally’s well-being.

  The teacher tried to step around him, but Sam blocked her way. “Miss Stutzman, I need to talk to you,” he said. His tone would have soothed a newborn buplie.

  She looked as if she’d just eaten a whole plate of dandelion greens. “You have completely ruined two perfectly gute days in just two weeks, Sam Sensenig. Are you bent on ruining the singeon too? Because if you are, I think I’ll go home.”

  Sam wanted to kick himself. He had made himself unpleasant, when he had only been trying to make the teacher see reason. Didn’t she understand that? Hadn’t she ever dealt with protective parents before? “I don’t want to ruin anything. I just want to talk to you.”

  The teacher looked past Sam, and her expression brightened considerably. Sam turned as Carolyn Yutzy and Matthew Eicher came up behind him. Matthew was younger than Sam, and single. The girls liked him because he had golden-blond hair and a gute face. Carolyn was a pretty, sturdy brunette who had a twin sister. Carolyn was smart and sensible, and Sam liked her a lot, but he wasn’t keen on socializing with anyone right now. He had to talk to the teacher.

  Matthew held out his hand to shake. “Hallo, Sam. We don’t see you at many singings.”

  “Carolyn!” the teacher said, grabbing Carolyn’s hand as if they had been best friends since first grade. “Denki for inviting me. Did you save me a place?”

  “Wait,” Sam said, and all three of his companions stared at him as if expecting some big announcement. “I need to talk to the teacher before the singing starts. In private.”

  The teacher squared her shoulders. “Can’t you be satisfied with harassing me on school days?”

  Carolyn narrowed her eyes in Sam’s direction and put her arm around the teacher. “Don’t be rude, Sam. You can talk later.”

  Sam wasn’t one to be put off. “I’m not going to yell or get mad.”

  Carolyn’s eyes became barely visible slits on her face. “You yelled at Elsie?”

  The teacher linked elbows with Carolyn. “We had a disagreement. That’s all. Can you show me where to sit?”

  Sam folded his arms across his chest and shuffled to the right to keep the teacher from passing him again. It felt like they were doing a dance. “I just want to talk, Miss Stutzman, and I promise I’m going to be wonderful nice. Won’t you feel better to hear what I have to say now instead of wondering through the whole singing?”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Not really.”

  “Not if you’re going to yell at her,” Carolyn said.

  Sam growled softly. “I’m not going to yell.”

  “You’re snarling,” Carolyn said. “And your nostrils are flaring.”

  Matthew chuckled. “Maybe you should talk to him, Elsie. We don’t want him to have a stroke.”

  “I’m not going to have a stroke.” Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets in an attempt to appear less threatening. “Miss Stutzman, there’s been an accident, and Wally’s been hurt.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it might convince her to listen.

  The teacher caught her breath. “Ach, du lieva! What happened? How bad is it?”

  It did Sam’s heart gute to see that the teacher was concerned for Wally. “Can we talk?”

  “Is Wally all right?” Carolyn said.

  Sam had to backpedal a little or there’d be four Amish fraas and three elders at his house by morning. “He’s going to be fine. It’s a small injury, but something the teacher needs to be aware of before tomorrow.”

  Carolyn eyed him with suspicion. “Okay then. But only if Elsie agrees.”

  Elsie nodded reluctantly. “Save me a spot.”

  Carolyn and Matthew strolled back into the barn. Sam glanced inside. Rose sat on a bale of hay, her eyes following every move he made. At least one person cared about how he was feeling. He turned back to the teacher, who looked doubtful and concerned at the same time. “Do you mind if we sit at the table over there?” He pointed to a picnic table that sat under a tree in the Eichers’ yard, out of sight of the barn.

  The teacher nodded and trudged to the picnic table as if she wanted to get this over with. She sat on one side, and Sam sat on the other. “Tell me what happened to Wally.”

  Sam laced his fingers together. “On Friday he asked me to help him practice hitting the softball.”

  The teacher raised her eyebrows. “He wanted to practice hitting? Has that ever happened before?”

  “Nae.”

  She burst into a smile. “He wanted to practice,” she said, almost to herself. “He wanted to practice.” She turned her smile in his direction and nearly blinded him. “This is very gute news.”

  “Nae, it isn’t. He got hurt.”

  “Go on then. What happened?”

  “He couldn’t hit with his crutch, so Perry convinced him to put on his fake leg.”

  Her smile got wider. “He put on his prosthetic leg? This truly is the best news.”

  Sam deepened his frown so that she knew this was nothing to smile about. “The leg helped him hit better, but when he tried to run, he fell and got a big cut on his knee.”

  The teacher winced. “Ach. That’s too bad. The leg will take some getting used to.”

  “He’s not going to get used to it. He’s never going to wear it again.”

  She tilted her head as if to get a better look at him. “Why not?”

  “He’s got a bruise the size of a soup bowl.”

  “So?”

  “It hurts too much to wear, and it hurts too much to play softball. I’m sure you can understand why he shouldn’t play softball anymore.”

  “Nae, I don’t understand.”

  “I told you. It hurts him. But I don’t mind if the other children play. Wally understands.”

  She shook her head. “He hurt his leg, but that’s no reason to quit softball.”

  “He hates it. He only plays because you make him.”

  She rested her palms on the table and leaned in. “He asked you to help him practice hitting. It doesn’t sound to me like he hates it.”

  Sam pressed his lips together. The teacher needed the truth, whether she liked it or not. “He told me he wants to hit one over your head because he hates you.”

  To his surprise, the teacher giggled. “Of course he does. That’s as good a reason to play as any.”

  “Haven’t you heard a word I said? Wally hurt his leg. I watched him fall and then had to listen to his screams as we bandaged up his leg. I’m never letting him go through that again. I don’t care what the other kids do, but I must insist that Wally not play softball.”

  The teacher caught her bottom lip between her teeth and studied Sam’s face for so long, he wondered if she was memorizing his eyebrows. “Sam,” she said, in a low, husky voice that he found quite unsettling, “Wally is a born leader, and he could be an inspiration to these children—an example of someone who never gives up. But all he’s good at is making people feel sorry for him. You want Wally to be comfortable and free from pain. You treat him as you see him—like a poor little boy who can’t do anything because he will get hurt—but that won’t make him happy, and that certainly won’t make a man out of him.”

  “Wally is missing a leg. It’s cruel to expect too much of him. Wally thinks you’re mean.”

  “Of course he thinks I’m mean. I’m the only person who has demanded anything of him for years.”

  “No one should demand anything of Wally.”

  “Why not? He’s not a baby.”

  Sam opened his mouth to argue but snapped it shut again. What . . . what was she talking about? He demanded things of Wally. Wally didn’t have chores on the farm, but Sam made him keep his video games straight and mad
e sure he took a bath every day and never let him leave the house without combing his hair.

  Nausea crept up on him like a raccoon on the roof. He pressed his palm to his forehead and leaned his elbow on the table. Wally wasn’t a baby, but he hadn’t washed a dish, milked a cow, or mended a fence in four years. Sam rarely said no to Wally. He got cookies and milk every day after school, courtesy of Maggie. He got food brought to him on a tray because it was too hard to walk up the stairs for dinner. When Wally had a problem at school, he snapped his fingers and Sam was right there to solve it with the teacher. If Wally wanted revenge, all he had to do was show enough tears and his bruder Sam would jump to his defense. He’d been so pitiful that he’d even convinced Sam to have their home wired for electricity so he could play video games all day. The only thing Sam had demanded of him was that he go to school, and even then, Sam hadn’t expected much. School was enough. Wally hadn’t been required to learn anything.

  Sam’s world came crashing down around him right there at the picnic table. He had turned Wally into a spoiled, lazy, selfish little boy who got everything he wanted because Sam felt sorry for him. It was no one’s fault but his own.

  Sam covered his eyes with one hand. “Tell me about the money.”

  “The money?”

  “You said Wally takes money from the other children.”

  The teacher shifted on the bench. “That is a story for another day.”

  He locked his gaze with hers. “Please tell me.”

  She stared into the cornfield. “Wally and Reuben Schmucker make the other children give them money—usually during recess. When I know of it, I replace the money that gets taken.”

  The bile rose in Sam’s throat. He didn’t want to believe it, but now that he considered it, it could be the only explanation for Wally’s impressive collection of video games. “Why don’t you make him stop?”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “It’s very easy. You should have told me. I’ll make him stop.”