“No, he ain’t, and if you knew ‘im, you wouldn’t even claim such a fool thing.”
Stung, Tarah drew a breath. “Well, no matter what sort of man he is, the Bible instructs children to honor their parents.”
“I don’t hold to no religion, Tarah. So I don’t much care what the Bible has to say about the subject.”
Stifling a gasp at the irreverence, Tarah searched for a way to reach Laney, but the girl jumped to her feet. “Look, lady, I don’t need no lectures. I’m near twelve years old, and soon as I can, I’m gettin’ away from that old drunk.”
So the man was not only slovenly; he indulged in liquor. That explained a lot. The girl’s age surprised Tarah. She was no taller than seven-year-old Jack and quite a bit skinnier. Surveying Laney critically, Tarah decided the child was half-starved.
“Wait, Laney. Don’t go yet. It’s a bit early for lunch, but I’m getting a little hungry. Do you want to share with me?”
Laney’s eyes grew stormy, her lips twisting into a sneer. “I don’t need yer charity.”
“Oh, honestly.” Tarah stood and made her way to Abby. “I packed more food than I can possibly eat.” Knowing she’d be away from the house most of the day, Cassidy had insisted Tarah pack enough food for an army. Tarah had thought it silly at the time, but now she was glad for Cassidy’s forethought. “If someone doesn’t help me eat it, most of this will go to waste.” Tarah pulled a blanket from the saddlebag and spread it on the ground.
“Well…” Laney eyed the leftover chicken and thick slices of bread Tarah set on the blanket.
“You might want to go to the river and wash your hands,” Tarah suggested.
“What fer?”
“Because they’re dirty. You shouldn’t eat with dirty hands.”
“That so?” She shrugged. “Don’t guess it’d hurt nothin’ to swish ‘em around a little.”
“I’m sure it wouldn’t,” Tarah drawled.
Laney returned a moment later, wiping her wet hands on the filthy trousers. Tarah cringed. It hardly did any good for her to wash. The dirt was apparently ground in so deep, a good scrubbing would be necessary to get her hands clean. Laney didn’t seem to notice and ate with abandon, barely swallowing one bite before taking another.
Nibbling on a slice of bread, Tarah watched the girl down three pieces of chicken and two slices of bread. At Tarah’s insistence, she accepted the only piece of apple pie left over from supper the night before.
Rubbing her stomach, Laney emitted a loud belch, then groaned. “Don’t think I’ve ever had such good food. You folks eat like that all the time?”
“My ma is a wonderful cook.”
“Thought ya said yer ma was dead,” Laney challenged.
“She is. I told you my pa remarried.”
“Oh.” Laney stood. “I best get back to the house ‘fore Pa wakes up and starts hollerin’.”
Tarah stood and faced the girl. “Laney, I teach in town. Will you consider coming to school?”
“Yer the teacher?” Her brown eyes narrowed suspiciously. “That’s right.”
“Then why ain’t ya at school?”
Heat rushed to Tarah’s face. “I took the day off.”
“Never heard of a teacher playing hooky b’fore.”
Tarah laughed. “Someone is looking after my class for me. I didn’t leave them to their own devices. So how about it? Think you might like to come?”
“And yer the teacher, huh?”
“That’s right. I’d love to have you there.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she shrugged. “Well, seein’ as how ya shared yer food with me…” She inclined her head. “Guess it wouldn’t hurt nothin’ to try it out. But if I don’t like it, ya cain’t make me stay.”
Tarah’s heart soared. A giddy feeling enveloped her, and she grinned. “Thank you, Laney. I hope you’ll like school.”
Hungrily Laney eyed the two remaining pieces of chicken and the bread still left on the blanket.
Tarah cleared her throat and stooped to wrap the leftovers in a napkin. “Would you mind taking this home with you? I’m heading into town and would rather not have it in my saddlebag. The smell will attract every dog in Harper.”
Light flickered in the girl’s eyes. “Guess I could. Ben’ll probably like it.” Her lips turned down bitterly. “If Pa don’t grab it away from him.”
“Is Ben your brother?”
“Yep. He don’t walk so good.”
“Why not?”
“Horse stepped on him a couple years back.”
The story grew more heartbreaking with each new chapter, and pity clutched at Tarah’s heart for the unknown boy. “Maybe you could slip him the food when your pa’s not looking.”
Laney grinned. “Think I’ll do that, Teacher. You goin’ to school tomorra?”
Suddenly Tarah wanted nothing more than to return to her classroom and teach. Luke or no Luke, she was determined to be a success. If she made a difference in only one child’s life, it would be worth the effort. “Yes, I am. I really am, Laney.”
Giving her a curious glance, the girl clutched the bundle of food to her chest and inclined her head once more. “Reckon I’ll prob’ly see ya then.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
Wordlessly Laney turned and wandered away as suddenly as she had appeared.
With renewed resolve, Tarah turned back to the blanket. She shook it out, then stuffed it back into the saddlebag. Casting one last glance across the wide-open prairie, she watched as Laney’s retreating form grew smaller.
If she made a difference in only one child’s life…
Chapter 5
Releasing a self-satisfied breath, Anthony leaned back in his chair. The day was going pretty well so far. No disruptions. The children attended their studies diligently with only an occasional whisper here and there. Apparently after all the commotion of the day before, they didn’t want to push their substitute teacher. Anthony was grateful, but he hoped the compliance would last should Tarah decide to return to her classroom.
Feeling a rumble in the pit of his stomach, he pulled out his pocket watch and noted the time. “All right, children,” he said. “Put away your books and stand to your feet. It’s time for lunch.”
The room rustled with the sounds of books closing, desktops opening then dropping shut, and the children scooting from their seats.
“Who wants to say the blessing before we get our lunches out?”
A shuffling of feet answered, and not one pair of eyes met his gaze. “Oh, come now. No volunteers? I suppose I could pick someone.”
He glanced around at the room of suddenly very subdued students. “Jo?”
“Oh Uncle Anthony. Pick someone else!”
“Come up here,” he replied firmly. “You can certainly say a prayer over lunch.”
With eyes sparking, she stomped to the front, stopping when she reached the desk.
Soft laughter filled the room.
“That’s enough, class,” Anthony said. “Go ahead, Jo.”
Blue eyes flashed as she jutted out her chin. “Bow your heads, folks,” she said. “It’s time to pray.”
The little scamp could do without the sarcasm and dramatics, Anthony thought. But at least she didn’t out and out refuse to obey.
“Our most gracious heavenly Father,” she began, her voice deepening. “We thank Thee for Thy most holy presence.”
Indignation rose up in Anthony at the obvious imitation of his own prayers on Sunday mornings. The children snickered. He raised his head and opened one eye to look at his niece, then widened his scope to take in the rest of the children. Every eye was open and watching Josie.
She waved her arm with a dramatic flare. “Have mercy on this group of sinners, Lord. They don’t know how close they are to the pit of hell.”
Now he’d never prayed that in the service. She must have heard his private prayers. The little eavesdropper!
“Josie Raney! That’s quite enough.
Go back to your seat.”
With a toss of her thick blond braids, she headed for her desk, a smug grin playing at the corners of her lips.
“Bow your heads,” he commanded. After a quick blessing over the food, he dismissed the class for lunch, his own appetite suddenly gone.
While the children ate lunch and had recess, Anthony pulled out a large hollowed-out sandstone he had placed in the desk drawer that morning before the children arrived for school. Inside the stone, he had packed clay made from the soft earth at the bank of the river. He pushed at the mixture to be sure it was still soft, then nodded.
As a preacher, he would be remiss in his duties if he didn’t give the children a lesson for their souls as well as for their minds. Knowing how they fidgeted during his Sunday sermons, he had prayed for a creative way to get his message across in a manner children could understand. An idea—too much to be coincidence, he thought—had come to him in the night. Filled with anticipation, he had awakened extra early to go to the river and collect the materials needed to carry out the message.
By the time he rang the bell to end recess, he was ready to begin. When the children were settled and quiet, he decided to let them in on the change in routine.
“We’re dispensing with lessons for the rest of the day—”
A cheer rose up from the students.
“But you’re not leaving early. We’re going to have a little Bible lesson.” He picked up his Bible from the desktop.
Walking around to the front of the desk, he eyed the children, noting the look of dread on each face. Heat crept up the back of his neck.
Help me, Lord. Let these children understand the message You’ve given me to share with them.
He leaned against the desk and opened his well-worn Bible to Jeremiah eighteen and began to read. “‘Then the word of the Lord came to me, saying, O house of Israel, cannot I do with you as this potter? saith the Lord. Behold, as the clay is in the potter’s hand, so are ye in mine hand, O house of Israel.’”
Anthony closed the Bible, set it back down on the desk behind him, and looked out over the schoolroom. “Anyone know what that means?”
He received a roomful of blank stares in response.
A sigh escaped his lips as he held up the sandstone for the students’ inspection.
“Who would like to try to shape something out of this rock?”
Jeremiah Daniels’s hand shot up.
“Jeremiah? You’d like to try?”
“Nah, Preacher. You lived in the city too long. You can’t make nothing out of an old rock.”
“You don’t think so? What would you say if I were to tell you that some folks’ hearts are just like this stone?”
Encouraged by the children’s now-rapt attention, Anthony forged ahead. “Some hearts are hardened because they don’t believe in Jesus. Others believe in Jesus and then allow sin into their hearts until slowly they become hardened again.”
A quick scan of the children’s faces spurred Anthony to move to the object lesson before he lost them. He pulled out his pocketknife, then sat on the desk. “Anyone who wants to can come up here and gather around the desk. I want to show you something.”
The seats emptied as the students made their way to the front, curiosity written upon each face.
“Lord, forgive me of my sins.” Slowly Anthony chipped off a piece of the sandstone with his knife. “Lord, I want to live for You.” Again he chipped away at the stone. The children watched in silence. Father, help them to understand.
“Lord, I want Jesus to be my Savior.” Another piece of stone slipped away onto the sod floor.
He stopped when the stone was half the original size. “Any questions so far?”
Jeremiah Daniels raised his hand again.
“Yes?”
“Preacher, you been sinning?”
Anthony felt the wind whoosh out of him.
“Oh, Jeremiah. Everyone sins. Even preachers. This stone represents a human heart without God. When we ask for forgiveness, the stone begins to fall away, like so…” He chipped away a few more pieces. “You see, it’s difficult to do what’s right when there is so much sin in our hearts.”
He continued to break away the pieces around the clay. “Every sin, every act of disobedience, makes the stone bigger, and it’s difficult for God to shape our hearts into what He wants us to be. But when we repent, the stone begins to fall away. Does that make sense?”
“You mean like when I tell a lie to get out of a thrashing, I get rocks in my heart?”
“Figuratively speaking,” Anthony drawled.
“Or doing mean things to the teacher?” Emily asked, cutting her gaze first to Luke, then to Josie. Luke’s ears turned red. He scowled at his sister.
Anthony nodded. “The Bible says we are to respect those in authority over us. And we shouldn’t do mean things to anyone, regardless of who they are. Each sinful act makes it that much easier to do it again unless we repent.”
“You know, that’s true,” Jeremiah spoke up. “First time I stole a sourball from the mercantile, my heart started beatin’ real fast. But I didn’t get caught, so I figured I’d do it again. And it was a lot easier after that. Think some of that stone built up so my heart wouldn’t beat so fast, Preacher?”
Emily spoke before Anthony could answer. “Stealing’s just plain wrong, Jeremiah Daniels,” she declared, hands on hips. “You probably have more rocks in your heart than all of the rest of us put together, except maybe Luke, since he’s so mean to Tarah.”
“When was the last time you had a sourball?” Jeremiah asked hotly.
Emily tossed her orange braids. “Just last night. My pa brought us some from Tucker’s. But he didn’t steal them,” she said pointedly. “He bought them fair and square.”
“Well, no one’s bought me any since my pa died last year.” He glanced up at Anthony with eyes that begged him to understand. “Sometimes my mouth just itches for the taste of them ol’ sourballs. But Ma says there’s no money for such things. Guess it’s still wrong, huh?”
With great effort, Anthony swallowed past the lump in his throat. He reached out and smoothed the boy’s hair, then quickly pulled his hand away so as not to embarrass him. “I’m afraid so, son,” he said, finding his voice with difficulty. “Sometimes doing what’s right is hard. But it makes a boy into a real man with godly character in the long run.”
Anthony decided this was as good a time as any to drive home the point of the lesson. He chipped at the last of the stone to reveal the clay within.
Glancing at Jeremiah’s contrite face, he extended his hand toward the boy. “You said I couldn’t make anything out of the rock, but what about this? Think you could mold this into something?”
A shrug lifted Jeremiah’s thin shoulders. “Sure.” He took the ball of clay.
The children remained silent as the mound slowly took shape in Jeremiah’s hands.
“It looks just like a turtle!” Emily said, admiration glowing in her green eyes.
“Is that what you wanted to make, Jeremiah?”
“‘Course. Or I’d have made somethin’ else.”
“What if you had wanted to make a turtle out of the clay but couldn’t get to it because of the stone around it?”
“I’d do what you did and chip off the stone.”
“Well, what if you didn’t have anything to chip it off with?”
“Then I don’t guess I could’ve done it.”
“Exactly.” Anthony’s spirit soared. “God wants to form our hearts into what He wants us to be, but if we are hardened against His hands, He can’t do it. But the knife here,” he said, “is just like telling God you’re sorry. It chips off pieces of stone until all that’s left is the clay. Then God can begin to mold us just like He wants to.” He scanned the small circle of children around him. “Remember the scripture I read when we started?”
Their blank faces confirmed they had already forgotten.
“‘As the clay is in the potter
’s hand, so are ye in mine hand.’ Remember?”
Every head nodded.
“I want you to think about whether your heart is soft and easy to work with or hard like stone.”
The door opened, allowing sunlight to filter into the room. Anthony’s heart lurched at the sight of Tarah, standing with a confused frown on her face.
“Hello, Miss St. John,” he said with a grin. “We were just finishing up a Bible lesson. Think anyone would object if we let them out a bit early today?”
“I suppose that would be all right.”
The children cheered and scrambled to their desks to grab their belongings.
Jeremiah hung back. “You know, Preacher,” he said, a reflective frown scrunching his brow. “If you preached like this on Sunday, a lot more folks would come and listen to you.”
Stung, Anthony didn’t know what to say, but he felt like the boy expected a thanks. “Well thank you, Jeremiah, I’ll keep that in mind.”
The boy nodded and turned to walk to his desk.
“Jeremiah, do you want to take this?” Anthony held out the turtle.
Flushing with pleasure, Jeremiah walked quickly to the desk and took his creation. “Thanks, Preacher!” Then he was off in a flash.
With a grin, Anthony glanced up at Tarah, who had made her way to the front amid the scramble of children.
She eyed the floor in front of her desk critically. “What in the world did you do, Anthony?”
Tarah scowled, awaiting Anthony’s explanation.
“We’ve been having an object lesson.”
“An object lesson?” She glanced into his grinning face.
Anthony nodded. “You don’t think I could pass up a chance to preach to a captive audience, do you?”
Tarah tried to hide her horror. Those poor children! Then, feeling guilty for her thoughts, she plastered a smile onto her face and swallowed hard. “How did it go?”
Anthony shifted off the desk with a shrug. “Started out a little slow, but I think they got what I was trying to show them.” Kneeling down, he began to pick up the pieces of stone from the floor. “We talked about how sin makes our hearts stony, but repentance chips away at the stone until all that’s left is a heart easily molded into what God desires us to be. That’s what all this mess is about. I wanted to show them instead of just preaching at them.”
Brides of Kansas Page 22
