“Nonsense,” Uncle Oscar had roared when he and Aunt Beulah met Abigail at the train station and she repeated her mother’s concerns about their health. “Indeed, I wrote your mother that we were in need of help. Now that the harvest is in, the time has come for the children to return to class. What we need is a teacher, not a nursemaid. Your last letter indicated a certain restlessness with your situation at home. I thought you might benefit from a change of scenery. I also believe that you are the person we need to fill the void.”
“Is there no one here in town who might suit?” Abigail had been surprised at the heartiness of both her aunt and uncle. They certainly looked as if they were perfectly capable of managing without her.
“There was,” Aunt Beulah replied, pursing her lips as if reluctant to speak further on the matter. “Unfortunately, she had other plans.”
“She ran off with a peddler,” Uncle Oscar announced with a shake of his head. He studied Abigail closely. “Do you think you can manage twelve students, Abigail? The older boys are sure to put you to the test.”
Abigail smiled. “I have nine brothers and sisters, Uncle.”
“And you have parents to help manage there. This will be different. How old are you?”
She realized that serving as the community’s schoolmarm was certainly more appealing than helping her aunt with the daily housekeeping, which is what she had been doing back home in New York. She sat tall on the buggy seat. “I am nineteen.”
Her uncle winked at her. “Good. Old enough to have the good sense the Lord endowed you with and still young and spry enough to manage a classroom. You’ll do fine. Classes begin in two weeks.”
But now, two weeks later, the women gossiping outside the butcher shop were not the only doubters in town. The first Sunday that Abigail had accompanied her uncle and aunt to services, she had taken her place, as was the custom, in the front pew on one side of the church with the other unmarried women and young girls. Once seated, she had the feeling she was being watched. Of course she had expected curiosity, but this feeling was different. She risked a sideways glance and saw a man seated across the aisle who was not much older than she was. His was not a gaze of natural curiosity. No, this man was scowling at her. More to the point when she met his eyes, he did not have the grace to look away. If anything, his frown deepened.
“That’s Aaron Miller,” the girl seated next to her whispered. “Is he not the most handsome man you’ve ever seen?” She did not wait for an answer. “He has the largest farm in the area, and he has not yet married, and—”
“Rebecca!” A woman two pews behind them hissed the girl’s name, and she folded her hands in her lap and bowed her head. But she cast her eyes sideways at Abigail and smiled.
For her part Abigail could not seem to resist one last glance across the aisle that separated the men from the women. The man was still staring pointedly at her, his lips pressed into a hard, unyielding furrow of disapproval. Abigail turned her attention back to her uncle, who was speaking to the congregants, but her mind overflowed with protests. What right had this man to judge her in any way? They had not yet been introduced, and therefore he certainly had no grounds for disapproving of her. He could not possibly be more than three years her elder and—The girl, Rebecca, nudged her as the congregation joined in the first hymn of the morning.
Three hours later when the service ended and the women had filed out the side entrance and into the small kitchen to set out the noonday meal, Abigail did her best to melt into the activity. She made no effort to contribute to the buzz of chatter, having learned on her first such attempts to engage others in conversation that anything she might say about life back in New York would be met with silence. But Rebecca—who could not be more than fourteen—seemed determined to continue the exchange she’d begun during services.
“I cannot wait for our classes to begin,” she said as she helped Abigail slice pies into eight even pieces. “Father says I am already too old for schooling and should by now know everything I need, but I made him a bargain. I told him that I would work doubly hard helping with the planting in spring if he would allow me one more year.” She smiled shyly and lowered her voice. “My mother says that my father spoils me.”
“I take it your father has agreed to your bargain?”
“He has.”
“Well then, I shall be pleased to have you in the class.” Abigail smiled at the girl as the two of them carried pies into the sanctuary that had been converted into a dining room. The benches they had sat on for the service had been placed around the room and in some cases stacked to form tables to hold the spread of food. As she placed the pies on one of the tables, Abigail looked up and into the eyes of the farmer Aaron Miller.
“Guten Morgen,” she said and was surprised that her voice faltered. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Ich bin—”
“I know who you are, Abigail Yoder,” he replied, cutting off her words almost before she could speak them. It was the way of their faith to address people by full name rather than by title so as not to give the idea that one person was more important than another. On the other hand, it certainly appeared to Abigail that Aaron Miller might prefer a title such as Mr. or Herr. “What I do not yet know,” he continued, “is whether or not you are up to the task of schooling our children.”
No wonder the man had never married. What woman would put up with such rudeness? Abigail smiled, hoping to disarm him. It did not work. “Perhaps you would like to come to my class and observe my methods,” she said.
“I fully intend to do just that,” he replied then abruptly turned away.
♦ ♦ ♦
In Aaron Miller’s opinion, Abigail Yoder was far too young, far too high-spirited, and above all, far too pretty to be effective as the town’s teacher. The last woman in the role had also been pretty and high-spirited, and look how that had turned out. Aaron had been prepared to ask Sarah Detweiler to be his wife. The entire community had simply assumed their union would take place in the autumn. But that spring, Sarah shocked everyone by leaving in the middle of the night. A peddler had set up his wagon on the outskirts of their little community and hawked his wares to anyone who passed that way—including Sarah.
One evening just before dusk, Aaron had been on his way back to his farm, enjoying the scent of apple blossoms and the warm breeze of May, when he noticed Sarah laughing and talking to the peddler. Then she entered the living quarters of the man’s colorful wagon, and Aaron had wrestled with whether or not he should confront her then and there. Instead, he had walked on, aware that he was far too upset to hold a rational conversation with her at the moment. He decided he would call on Sarah the following day when he would not have the presence of the peddler. Clearly, he and his intended needed to come to an understanding. But by morning, both the peddler and Sarah were gone. Sarah had left a note for her parents. Her father had declared her dead to the family. Her mother had fought to hide her tears, and the entire town had buzzed about the scandal for days. Aaron had chosen Sarah to be his wife, not because he loved her, but because she seemed the most likely candidate. Yes, she was immature, but he had been certain that hard work and the children they would have would soon temper that. She was bright and in excellent health. She came from a good and pious family.
And now here was yet another woman seemingly made in the mold of Sarah Detweiler. He had already heard the gossips and matchmakers in their midst speculating on whether or not Aaron might find Abigail Yoder a suitable candidate for wife and mother now that Sarah was gone. Little did they understand that over the months since Sarah’s betrayal, he had deliberately turned his thoughts away from matrimony and instead was determined to focus on the welfare of the community in general and the children in particular. If the newly established Mennonite community of Hope, Wisconsin, was to thrive, it would be because the children stayed and took on the shops and farms of their parents. No, Aaron Miller was finished with thoughts of marriage and a family for himself. It appeared
to him that God’s will for him was that he place his energy into the building of the community—and he saw having the proper teacher in the classroom as the place to begin.
Of course there was the fact that Abigail Yoder was the niece of their bishop, Oscar Yoder, the patriarch of the community. Oscar and his wife, Beulah, had founded the community, drawing relatives and friends from the East to Wisconsin’s rich farmland over the last decade. If anyone deserved credit for the growth of the community, it was Oscar. But he and Beulah had not been blessed with children, so Aaron wondered if they could possibly understand the problems that he saw in bringing their niece to Hope.
He scanned the spare and plain room that served as Hope’s church and community hall as he stood in a corner and ate his pie. Surely among the women of the community there was someone who would make an excellent teacher. If he could only identify another candidate, perhaps he might convince the elders that it would be best to place the children’s welfare in the hands of someone local—someone who knew their ways. But as if she were bathed in light, Abigail Yoder drew his gaze once again. The fact that he could not seem to stop looking at her irked him. He told himself that it was because of his concern regarding her suitability for the position. But the truth was that when he looked at her, he was not thinking of her possibility for failure—or worse for causing more harm than good. He was struck by the way her eyes seemed to sparkle with interest as she spoke to young Rebecca Janzen. He was unable to look away from the way her rose-colored lips formed the words she spoke. He saw a wisp of her white-blond hair that had escaped her bun and prayer cap and was tickling her cheek. He felt the ridiculous need to tuck that errant curl behind her ear.
With the determination of a man born to discipline, Aaron turned away and found himself facing her uncle.
“Aaron, the harvest is in?” For weeks the men of the community had helped each other harvest their fields, stock their haylofts for the winter, and take their crops to market. The women had worked equally hard canning the produce and preparing meals for the men.
“It is and bountiful, thanks be to God.”
“You have met our niece?”
“We spoke. She brought the pies to the table.”
“And you chose well, I see,” Beulah said with a smile as she joined her husband. “Abigail made that pie.”
“Pride does not become you, my dear,” Oscar scolded his wife, but he was smiling. “On the other hand, that does look mighty good.”
“I’ll see if there is a slice left,” Beulah said, patting her husband’s arm before threading her way through the crowd to the serving table.
Aaron cleared his throat. “Elder Yoder, I was thinking that given recent events surrounding the school and the welfare of the children…”
The older man’s face reflected sympathy—perhaps even pity. “Abigail is young, Aaron, but she is not Sarah.”
“Still, perhaps if one of the elders had kept a closer eye…”
“I am quite certain that Abigail would welcome anyone who would like to visit the classroom and observe her teaching.”
“I was thinking that now that the harvest is finished and I have some time, perhaps I might assume that responsibility on behalf of the community.”
“Excellent idea.” And then Oscar Yoder did the most astonishing thing. He winked at Aaron and said, “After all, my niece seems to have sparked the interest of at least two other eligible young men.” He nodded to where Josef Hamm and Samuel Lemke were edging their way closer to Abigail. Aaron was shocked to feel a jolt of distress that seemed inordinately close to jealousy.
♦ ♦ ♦
Abigail understood that it was not wise to be the center of attention, especially when it came to the eligible men in the community. Once again she was aware of the older women gathered in small cliques, their mouths working and their eyes shifting in her direction. When she saw two of the younger men moving her way, she put her arm around Rebecca’s shoulder and said, “Perhaps you could introduce me to some of the other students.”
As she had suspected, Rebecca was only too happy to do so. In minutes Abigail found herself surrounded by eight small children—boys and girls, several of them Rebecca’s siblings. An older girl and two older boys kept their distance but were clearly curious about their new teacher. Abigail focused on learning the names of the children and pairing them with their parents and siblings. Once she had greeted each child and said how much she looked forward to seeing them in class, she asked her aunt to introduce her to the parents. All the while, she felt the eyes of Aaron Miller following her.
The farmer stood in a corner of the room, eating his pie and speaking to no one. It seemed to Abigail that the others avoided approaching him or engaging him in any conversation. She could not deny how handsome he was—tall and broad shouldered with thick russet hair and the tanned skin of someone who spent much of his day outdoors. He wore a creamy white collarless homespun shirt, black trousers with black suspenders, and the traditional flat-brimmed black hat. He was clean-shaven as befitted his station as a single man, and she was fascinated by how clean his large hands were, down to the fingernails that for many working men were never entirely free of dirt. When she lifted her gaze back to his face, he had brought his fork almost to his lips, but stopped. And he was staring right back at her.
She felt the color rise to her cheeks and turned away.
“Have you met Aaron Miller,” her aunt asked, knowing as well as anyone in the hall that Abigail and the farmer had spoken earlier.
“Not officially.”
“Well, no time like the present given that your uncle tells me he has volunteered to oversee your work—at least in the beginning.”
“I…why would anyone feel it necessary to—”
Aunt Beulah patted her arm. “Oh, that’s right. You haven’t heard.” In low tones she relayed the story of Abigail’s predecessor eloping with the peddler just before the start of spring planting the previous year. “It’s common knowledge that Aaron had set his sights on her to be his wife.”
So that explained the scowl and the doubt she saw in his pale blue eyes whenever he looked her way. She bristled at the unfairness that he might assume that, just because she was young and unmarried, she was no different from the former teacher. She hooked her hand through her aunt’s elbow and steered her toward the farmer. “Let’s get this settled once and for all,” she said through gritted teeth.
Chapter 2
Aaron set his empty pie plate on one of the benches as he observed the new schoolmarm and her aunt advancing on him. Beulah Yoder was smiling uncertainly, as if she was unsure of what was about to happen. The schoolteacher’s mouth was set in a thin, determined line, and her dark brown eyes were flashing with indignation. Aaron stood straight and tall as he would when facing any coming storm.
“Aaron Miller, I believe you have not yet officially met my niece Abigail,” Beulah Yoder began when they were as yet three feet away. “May I introduce Abigail Yoder?”
“Ja. Wilkommen, Fraulein.” He nodded curtly as she stopped just short of standing toe to toe with him. She gazed up at him from her position several inches shorter than his own six feet, yet he could not help but feel she was meeting him eye to eye.
“It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, and I wish to assure you, Aaron Miller, that I have no plans that should bring either you or the rest of the community cause for alarm. If you would like to hear my credentials for teaching the children, I would be more than happy—”
Aaron stiffened, shocked by the forthright impertinence of her speech. “Our children are our future, Fraulein. This is perhaps not what you have known in your village. This is a small farming community that is dedicated to making a haven for the families currently residing here and the generations yet to come.”
She squinted her eyes at him, and for one short moment he thought he had succeeded in overcoming her objections. But then she smiled, and while her smile muddled his thoughts when it came to mainta
ining control of the situation, there was a quirk to that smile that suggested she might be about to laugh at him.
“I see,” she said, her voice now soft and respectful. “Perhaps your presence in the classroom will work to the children’s advantage, then, because we are but weeks away from Christmas. I understand that traditionally the children present a pageant on Christmas Eve. It had been my thought to present a very special pageant for the community.”
Aaron was relieved to see that the woman’s aunt seemed to grasp at least the fact that her niece might be a bit too freethinking for their little community. “The children have always—” Beulah began.
“Yes, Auntie, I know you told me what has happened in the past. But this would be very special—a telling of the Christmas story in such a way that the children would never forget—in a way that would inspire them.” She turned her attention back to Aaron.
He swallowed hard. “I have a farm to manage as well as my duties here in town, Abigail Yoder,” he said.
“Precisely. It is your farm that is the key. I assume you have a menagerie of livestock? Sheep? Cows? I suppose it would be too much to ask for camels, but dare I hope for a donkey?” Her lips twitched. The woman was indeed laughing at him.
“What is it you are talking about?” he grumbled and was pleased to see that Beulah Yoder seemed equally dismayed.
“A pageant with all the trimmings—kings and shepherds and a manger in a stable with livestock as appropriate. No roosters, please. They do tend to speak out at the most inopportune times.”
To his consternation, her aunt clasped her hands together. “Oh Abigail, that does sound quite wonderful. Do you really think we can manage?” This last she directed to Aaron.
In fact, both women were gazing up at him with hopeful smiles, and in the case of the teacher, twinkling eyes. “Is it also your plan to instruct our young people in the basics of reading, writing, and learning their sums?”
A Plain and Sweet Christmas Romance Collection Page 52
