Brightest and Best

by Newport, Olivia

  Ella looked around the store. She saw an English couple with a small child, who likely would soon discover the treat of Lindy’s well-crafted toys, and an English man standing in front of a dining hutch and nodding at the salesman’s explanation of its features. At the back of the store, a woman wearing a light wool dress bent over an oversized ledger. They could have been in any shop in town.

  “You don’t see anything odd, do you?” Lindy asked.

  Ella shrugged. “I guess not. Everyone looks ordinary.”

  “I’m probably just on edge. I get a thing in mind, and then it won’t leave.” Lindy waved off the thought. “I can’t even describe who it is I feel watching me. Don’t pay any attention to me.”

  Ella now turned her face toward the window that looked out on the street, where people went about their business in unremarkable ways. Some stopped for a glance in the shop’s window, which featured a small table and chairs set attractively, but most walked briskly past on their way somewhere else. No one seemed to loiter.

  “I’d better let the owner know the toys are here,” Lindy said. “Then I’ll be on my way and try to keep my spooks to myself.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Seething irritation tarnished the shine of exuberance Margaret usually felt on the first day of a new school year. When she accompanied the deputy and superintendent to the Wittmer farm, she had nursed a frantic hope that she might buffer the encounter. Instead, Gideon’s refusal to say with certainty that all three of his children would be in the consolidated school incensed both officials, sending them charging off to other farms with an even more stern approach. Margaret’s efforts to coax and cajole yielded no satisfaction for anyone. When the trio returned to town, after being stonewalled at four farms, Mr. Brownley insinuated that if the Amish children did not attend school, he might have to reconsider her principal’s assurance that she was a highly capable teacher.

  Margaret made the rounds, introducing herself to mothers and leaving small gifts that seemed feebler with each visit, and at the end of two weeks she still had no clear inclination of what the Amish would do. In fact, she had growing doubts that even the English families would cooperate until after the fall harvest when they no longer needed the unpaid labor of their children.

  On September 9, Margaret was outside the school even before Mr. Tarkington arrived to unlock the building. The classroom was ready. She had nothing else to do but wait for her students, but she wanted to be in an environment where she was certain she could maintain order.

  Margaret straightened books. She had refrained from unburdening herself with Gray Truesdale on the Amish matter. He was a strong man. He would want a woman who could manage her own affairs.

  She checked the chalk in the long tray running along the base of the blackboard, making sure a fresh piece was positioned every eighteen inches, and thought about Deputy Fremont. If ever a man knew nothing about children!

  Raising the lid to every desk, Margaret ensured she had placed a sheet of art paper from the art cabinet in the downstairs corridor for each child. Her students were six-year-olds, and children who enjoyed school were more likely to learn their words and sums. Art on the first day would help set the tone.

  She imagined the bus rumbling out to the farms and stopping at the designated corners to collect the children, beginning with the most outlying acres and gradually moving back toward Seabury. How many would get on?

  She picked up the pages of her attendance list and seating chart and tapped them to precision at the corners.

  Children are resilient, Margaret reminded herself. This would not be the first time she had students who were uncertain about entering a classroom. Very, very few failed to adjust to the classroom structure and expectations. First graders from the farms would be learning the same reading and spelling and arithmetic they would have learned had their one-room school not collapsed. There would just be a few other subjects as well.

  Running a finger down the list of names, Margaret settled on the last alphabetical entry. Wittmer, Gertrude.

  “I want to go.”

  David’s tone was respectful, controlled—and more adamant than Ella had supposed him capable of. Why had she not noticed before this how tall he was?

  “Seth will go.” Jed replaced the Bible he used for morning family devotions on the shelf. “You will stay here on the farm. I can’t spare you.”

  David spread his feet, bracing his stance. “I’ve lived here less than a year. You always got along without my help before this.”

  “I’ve made my decision.” Jed adjusted his glasses on his face.

  “What about my decision?” David said. “You never even asked me what I thought was right to do.”

  “We’ll work in the south pasture today,” Jed said.

  Seth stood at the door running one thumb and forefinger along his suspenders while gripping his metal lunch bucket in the other hand. Ella glanced at Rachel, who averted her eyes from the quarrel brewing between her husband and son. Ella didn’t blame her. She had no wish to watch it boil over, either. Up to this point, David had not outright defied Jed. Ella sprang up from her chair, crossed the room, and put a hand on Seth’s back to guide him out the door before closing it behind her.

  “What is your daed going to do?” Seth asked.

  “What he thinks is best because he cares about both of you.” Ella’s answer was swift and honest. “You don’t mind if I walk with you to the bus, do you?”

  Seth shrugged. “I know the way.”

  “Of course you do. But it might help your mother if she knew that the arrangements the English made have worked out.”

  Seth was a mild child, without the complexity that pulsed under David’s usual outward respect of his elders. He would do whatever would be easiest for his mother.

  Seth’s designated bus corner—and David’s, were he allowed to attend school—was three-quarters of a mile down the main road at the end of the Glicks’ lane. To attend the one-room schoolhouse, Seth had walked more than twice as far last year. Still, Ella hated to think of him standing on the side of the road on a dark, frigid morning when winter came, wondering if the bus would be on time.

  Mrs. Glick stood at the corner with two of her children. Ella tried to remember how old they were—was it seven and eight or eight and nine? The girls were so alike in size and coloring that Ella had trouble keeping them straight.

  The Mast boys were there also, their lunch buckets already set aside to free their hands for tossing pebbles into a small creek across the road. Seth shrugged out of his jacket to join them with his superior aim. Ella contemplated their ages as well. At least one of them was older than fourteen and headed for the high school.

  “David is not coming?” Mrs. Glick stood with her daughters on either side of her, arms around their shoulders protectively.

  Ella shook her head.

  “What a difficult day,” Mrs. Glick said. “We will pray for God’s care for all our hearts.”

  “He does not fail us,” Ella said. She peered down the road in the direction Gideon would come from. His three children were also assigned to this bus stop. Ella’s head pivoted between watching Seth, who showed no sign of trepidation about attending an English school, and watching for Gideon.

  When her vigilance was rewarded and Gideon’s buggy swayed into view, Ella let her breath out. She hadn’t known what to think. They spoke of the question every time they saw each other, yet she hadn’t been sure he would put his children on the bus. His horse clip-clopped toward Ella, and she made sure to have a smile on her face, both for Gideon and for the children.

  Gertie and Savilla jumped out of the buggy in matching green dresses, black aprons, and braids securely pinned against their heads under their kapps. Tobias took his time. From the buggy bench, Gideon’s eyes settled for a few seconds on each of the assembled children.

  Ella approached the buggy.

  “David didn’t come,” Gideon said.

  “He wanted to.”

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nbsp; “Jed has said all along that he saw no benefit in taking the boy out of the fields when he already finished his book learning.”

  “And you,” Ella said. “You’re here with all of your kinner.”

  The head of every student and adult at the corner turned toward the clattering of an unfamiliar vehicle, all of them curious about the English bus. The front end looked like most of the vehicles that rumbled down this road from time to time. A black hood housed the engine, with an open bench behind the steering wheel. The bus stopped in the middle of the intersection.

  Mrs. Glick’s girls broke away from the stance they had held so dutifully. Curiosity widened the eyes of all the children. Even the older boys abandoned their pebble tossing.

  “It looks like a cage in a wagon,” Gertie pronounced.

  The comparison was apt. A sturdy wagon base spanned the wide rear axle, and wooden framing rose from the wagon—where she presumed there were benches—to the roof above. On a fine day like today, canvas flaps were rolled and restrained up against the roof. When winter came, they could easily be let down to offer protection from the elements. It would still be very cold.

  Ella had once ridden in an automobile, but she doubted any of the children gawking at the bus had. A few hands pushed out from the interior, followed by faces looking over the horizontal timbers of the wagon’s framing.

  The Byler children, Ella noted, and the King children. The Henderson boy, an English, grinned as if he had never done anything so exciting in his entire life. Ella recognized a couple of English girls who rolled their eyes at the silliness around them. The bus would make one more stop, closer to town, for the last of the children assigned to this bus. At least one other bus would make a separate route picking up children who lived in the opposite direction from town.

  The bus driver lumbered off his bench and down the one step to the ground. He consulted a sheet of paper. “Let’s see, Glick?”

  “Here,” the two girls chimed.

  “Climb aboard.” The driver pulled a pencil from over his ear and made two check marks. “Kaufman?”

  Seth raised a hand.

  “Should be two,” the driver muttered. “Seth and David.”

  “I’m Seth. My brother is not coming.” Seth placed one foot on the step and hoisted himself into the bus.

  Ella’s stomach clenched as she watched the English cavern swallow the unsuspecting boy.

  “The superintendent is not going to like this.” The driver pursed his lips and drew a careful circle around David’s name. “Mast?”

  The oldest students of the corner clambered aboard.

  “Let’s see,” the driver said. “That leaves Wittmer. Three.”

  Ella sucked in a breath and held it.

  Gideon bent over and spoke to his young daughters. He had made his peace with this moment. Savilla was a sensible child. Gertie was simply relieved that she did not have to go to the school that had collapsed around her. She was younger and more impulsive than Savilla, and as much as it seemed impossible that his youngest was old enough for school, Gertie was ready.

  “Savilla, you are the older one,” he said, looking into their matching green eyes. “You must look after Gertie. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Daed.” The girls spoke in unison.

  “You do as you’re told. Follow instructions. Remember your manners. Don’t lose your lunch pails.”

  “Yes, Daed.”

  With his hands on their shoulders, Gideon turned his daughters around. They held hands as they got on the bus, Savilla patiently waiting for her small sister to manage the high step into the bus. Gertie immediately stuck her head out and waved.

  The driver consulted his list again before looking at Tobias. “You the Wittmer boy?”

  Tobias nodded.

  “Let’s go, then. We have a schedule to keep.”

  Tobias looked at his father.

  Gideon cleared his throat. “Tobias will not be attending school. He is needed on the farm.”

  The driver tapped his paper. “I can’t do anything about the Kaufman boy who didn’t show up, but Tobias Wittmer is standing right in front of me. He needs to get on the bus.”

  “He’s not going. I’m his father, and this is the decision I’ve made.”

  “The law says he needs to go to school.”

  “The law does not know my boy,” Gideon said. “He was one of the brightest students in our school. Miss Coates said he was doing eighth-grade work two years ago. I need his help, and the consolidated school will not teach him what he needs to know to farm.”

  “I’m not in charge of what they teach,” the driver said. “I’m just supposed to get the students to school.”

  Gideon looked up at the sun. “As you said, you have a schedule to keep.”

  The driver puffed out his cheeks and shook his head while he carefully circled Tobias’s name. “You’ll be hearing from the principal.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Gideon.” Ella put a hand on his arm.

  “It’s all right.”

  His eyes fixed on his little girls, Gertie hanging out of the bus to wave enthusiastically and Savilla trying to tug her sister back to safety. Ella forced herself to wiggle her fingers at the girls. Whatever she felt at their departure into the English world, even for a day, must be magnified in Gideon’s heart.

  “Not too late to change your mind,” the driver said. “Be a law-abiding citizen.”

  Gideon shook his head.

  “Are you sure?” Ella asked.

  “No. Yes.”

  The bus’s engine roared to life and the driver put it in gear. Ella’s vision clouded with the dust the oversized tires thrust into the air, and she covered her mouth to cough.

  “Gideon Wittmer, what have you done?”

  Mrs. Glick. Ella had nearly forgotten she was there. Simultaneously, she and Gideon turned to face their neighbor’s bulging eyes.

  “You stood right here and watched me put my children on that bus.” Mrs. Glick scraped her shoe through the dirt. “My little girls.”

  “My little girls are also on the bus,” Gideon said.

  Mrs. Glick pointed at Tobias. “The other boys got on, and some of them are older than your son.”

  “I cannot cross my conscience,” Gideon said.

  “What will the other fathers think?” Mrs. Glick jabbed a finger in Ella’s direction. “And Jed Hilty! Did the two of you decide together to do this?”

  “We talked about it,” Gideon said, “but I don’t make another man’s decision.”

  “I know Mrs. Mast didn’t want those boys to go on the bus. What are you going to say to her about keeping your boy home?”

  “I do not imagine we will discuss it,” Gideon said. “The matter is between Mrs. Mast and her husband.”

  “But the law!”

  “There are new laws about education,” Gideon said, “but there are also laws about religious freedom. Isn’t that what brought our ancestors to America two hundred years ago?”

  Mrs. Glick huffed and tied her bonnet in a firm knot before pivoting and stomping toward her home.

  “Maybe she’s right, Daed.”

  Tobias’s voice surprised Ella, and she riffled through her memories of the last few weeks for any sentence she’d heard him speak on the subject of school or a remark Gideon might have passed on about something his son had said. She came up with nothing.

  “It’s all right,” Gideon said.

  “But Daed…”

  Gideon put an arm around his son’s shoulders, as Ella had seen him do countless times in the last few years.

  “Are you saying you want to go to school?” Gideon asked.

  Tobias hesitated. Ella could not tell whether he was considering disagreeing with his father or simply wanted Gideon to be safe.

  “We’ll talk more at home,” Gideon said. “Why don’t you drive the buggy home? I’ll see you there. I feel like a walk.”

  Tobias looked from Gideon to Ella before shuffling toward
the horse and finding the reins. Ella watched him put the buggy into motion and drive past them before reaching for Gideon’s hand.

  He squeezed her fingers. “It’s all right.”

  “You keep saying that,” Ella said.

  “It’s true.”

  “But it’s risky.” Slowly they began to walk toward the Hilty farm. “You’re breaking the law.”

  “So is your father.”

  “I know.” Her voice caught. “I’m worried about both of you.”

  “We are in God’s hands.”

  “What if there are consequences?”

  “The authorities are blustering,” Gideon said.

  “How can you be certain?”

  He lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “Perhaps I’m not. But why will they concern themselves with Amish young people? We pay our taxes, and they leave us alone. That’s the way it has always been. They are blustering for the sake of their own people, not for us.”

  Ella pressed her lips together. Gideon made a good point. The Amish population in Geauga County was fairly significant, but no one had ever disturbed their way of life. They lived on their own farms, took care of each other, and asked little of the English. Why should the English care now?

  But the deputy had been to see Gideon with the superintendent. Official correspondence reminding everyone of the laws had arrived in the mailboxes of all the Amish families.

  “What if they press the issue?” Ella said. “What if you’re wrong and they do care?”

  “Then I will be wrong about that,” Gideon said, “but I will not be wrong about our right to express our religious beliefs. Even the English laws protect that.”

  “I’m nervous, Gideon.”

  “I know.”

  “I wish I could be as calm as you are.” Ella sighed. “I should get home. Rachel and Daed and David—I don’t know what to think.”

  “Seth will be all right.”

  “It’s David I’m worried about.”

  At the sound of the bell, students who had attended Seabury Consolidated Grade School the previous year responded by jostling out of their social groups and into grade-level lines. Margaret’s job in this annual first-day ritual was to assist and redirect any students who seemed uncertain what to do. She ambled through the recess play area while students scrambled into formation and spoke quietly to children who looked confused about the procedure, pointing toward the lines they should join. These children were in three categories: first graders starting school, older students who were new to the district, and Amish, with their expansive, startled eyes sponging up the motion around them and the details of the building before them.