by Amy Clipston
He finished eating his supper and then placed the dish, utensils, and glass in the side of the sink holding the frothy water. “It was appeditlich. Danki again.”
“Gern gschehne.” Marie started washing Mike’s plate. “I’m going to head home after the dishes are done. I’m not certain if I’m coming tomorrow or if Janie is. I need to see if she plans to go to the market.”
Gratitude swelled inside of him as he watched her work at the sink. What would he do without his cousins?
“I can’t thank you enough. I don’t know how I could handle my dat’s dialysis treatments and failing health without you and Janie.” Mike rubbed his temples where a headache brewed. “When he was diagnosed three years ago, I never imagined his kidney failure would progress so quickly. I could never care for my dat, work at the shop, run the household, and care for John by myself. You and Janie have been a blessing to us.”
Marie smiled. “That’s what family is for. You go on and get your rest. I can tell you’ve had a tough day.”
“Danki.” Mike paused and studied his cousin. “You’ve noticed how much worse my dat is getting too, haven’t you?”
Marie sighed as a frown stole her smile. “Ya, I have.”
“I can’t stand the thought of losing him.” His voice hitched on the last word.
“Don’t worry about that right now.” Her eyes were full of determination. “Trust God.”
He nodded and went down the hallway, stopping when he reached the door to his father’s bedroom. Loud snores rumbled. Mike pushed the door open and peered into where Dat lay on his right side, facing the door. The snores echoed throughout the large room that included a double bed, two dressers, and a plain, tan wing chair. A wheelchair sat in the corner, awaiting his father’s next trip to the kitchen for a meal.
It seemed as if it were just yesterday that his father was working beside him at Bird-in-Hand Builders, teaching him how to create wishing wells and large wooden baskets that served as planters. His father had built the company with his brother, Timothy, and opened the doors before Mike was born. Now it was up to Mike to keep the business going for his dat, but he was thankful his uncle and cousin were there too.
What would I do without my family? The question echoed through his mind again.
Mike backed out the door and pulled it shut with a quiet click. As he moved to the stairs, he found John sitting on the bottom step.
“Johnny?” Mike asked. “What are you doing down here?”
“Waiting for you.” John’s voice was small and his blue eyes were hesitant. Mike hoped John hadn’t been eavesdropping as he shared his deepest fears with Marie.
“Would you like me to read to you tonight?” Mike offered.
“Ya.” John’s eyes brightened with excitement. “May I pick the book?”
“Of course you may.” Mike started up the stairs behind his little brother. Daily, Mike struggled to be the father figure John deserved, but he always doubted himself. He was only twenty-four, and he had no parenting experience. At the same time, he had memories, and some of his favorites were of when his parents read to him. Mike had lost his mother, Esther, when he was only ten. Still, Mike would never forget the nights when she read to him until he fell asleep.
Mike’s stepmother, Vera, who had been John’s mother, had also passed away, and now Mike was the only immediate family member who could read to him. Their father was too ill most of the time.
Mike followed John to the second floor, where his bedroom and John’s were both located. They made their way to John’s room, and John rushed to his bookshelf and picked a book. Then he snuggled under the covers on his bed as Mike sat down on its edge.
As Mike opened the book, he again thought of his mother and stepmother. John’s mother should be the one reading to him, or at least his father, but Mike would do his best to take care of his precious brother. He missed his stepmother, but his worry for his father ran deep into his soul. Nightly he prayed for his father’s health, and also prayed that his brother would do better in school. God would see him through this difficult time in his life, but Mike also had to do his part of playing mother and father to his brother.
CHAPTER 2
“OKAY, SCHOLARS. IT’S TIME FOR THE FIRST GRADERS’ READING time,” Rachel said as she stood at the front of the classroom the following morning. “We’re going to read aloud today. It’s Lena’s turn to choose the book. The rest of the class can work on math. Teacher Malinda is going to hand out the math sheet, and I want the first graders to come to the front of the room.”
Lena and Luke hopped up from their chairs and hurried to the front. Lena retrieved three reading books from the first-grade shelf behind the teacher’s desk and then they both stood in front of Rachel with their books open. John, however, remained in his seat, staring down at the wooden top of his desk.
Rachel turned toward Malinda, who shook her head after she gave the other students their math sheet to complete.
“John,” Malinda said. “Did you hear Teacher Rachel? It’s time for the first graders to read. Please get your book. Lena has it at the front of the classroom for you.”
John continued to stare down at the desktop.
“John?” Rachel moved to his desk. “Did you hear us?”
John didn’t look up.
“John?” Rachel squatted down next to him and gently touched his little leg. “Are you all right?”
The boy turned toward her and frowned.
“It’s time to read aloud. Can you read?”
John shrugged.
Rachel turned toward Malinda, who also shrugged. Should she allow him to disobey her or should she insist he follow the class rules? Her inner voice told her to order him to obey, but her intuition advised her to let him stay in his seat. After all, it was only his second day in class.
What if John can’t read at all and his former teacher embarrassed him by pushing him to read aloud in her class? Rachel couldn’t risk humiliating him and ruining any chance of earning his trust. She wanted to help him, encourage him, and protect him. She thought of Mike’s sad eyes. She had to keep her promise to him and take good care of his younger brother. Having him read along with the class was the best solution.
“Will you go get your book from Lena?” Rachel asked him.
John shook his head.
Rachel pressed her lips together while contemplating how to handle this boy. She couldn’t allow him to break the rules, but she also had empathy for his family situation.
She turned toward the other students. “Lena,” she said. “Would you please bring me John’s book?”
The blonde six-year-old took the book from the shelf and brought it to Rachel, who placed it on the desk in front of John.
“Danki, Lena,” Rachel said. “John, we’re going to start with page one of this book. You may follow along.” She turned to page one and then walked to the front of the room. “Lena, would you like to start?”
For the next thirty minutes, Lena and Luke took turns reading a paragraph aloud while Malinda graded math papers at her desk. Rachel frequently glanced toward John and found him still staring at the first page of the book. She began to wonder if he could read at all. Malinda hadn’t mentioned that he was illiterate, but the idea gripped her.
When the reading time was over, Rachel rang a small bell indicating it was time to sing. While the students fetched their song binders and gathered at the front of the room, John remained in his chair.
Malinda touched Rachel’s arm and leaned over to her. “Are you going to make John sing?” she whispered in her ear.
“Let’s see if he’ll join us.” Rachel turned toward John. “Are you going to sing with us, John?”
John met Rachel’s encouraging smile with a frown and then shook his head.
Rachel paused and assessed the situation. Her instinct told her to let the boy remain at his desk. “Fine. We’ll miss having your voice in our small choir, but you can stay in your seat.”
Rachel and Malinda led the stu
dents in singing four songs while John continued to study his desktop. Then Rachel rang the bell, dismissing them for lunch. The students retrieved their lunch pails from a shelf at the back of the room and then rushed out the door for the playground where the students from the larger schoolhouse were starting to gather in a large circle to eat their lunches. It was still warm enough today that the teachers did not have to insist on jackets.
John rose from his seat and slowly moved to the back of the room to retrieve his lunch pail. Rachel stood at the window and watched as he joined the other children outside. She pondered how he’d been excited when he first found his desk on Monday, and he had participated with the class to some degree, but today he refused to participate at all.
“Why didn’t you punish him?” Malinda asked as she sidled up to Rachel. “I never allow one of the kinner to disobey instructions like that.”
“I know.” Rachel scowled as she faced her. “I just don’t understand why he was so froh yesterday but today he’s like a different kind.” Concern nipped at her as she pondered the boy’s ill father. “Do you think something happened at home last night?”
Malinda frowned. “We have to insist the scholars follow the classroom rules, no matter what. Part of our job is to teach the kinner that they have to do as they’re told.”
“I understand that, but I can’t help feeling like something is wrong.” Rachel shook her head. “It’s only his second day at our school. We can ease him into the rules.”
“Ease him into the rules?” Malinda raised an eyebrow. “You know that’s not how it works. You must insist on discipline.”
Maybe I’m not cut out to be a teacher. “You’re right,” Rachel conceded. “I’ll mention this when I write in his journal. I’ll let his bruder know what’s going on.”
“That’s a gut idea.” Malinda crossed the room and fetched their lunch pails from under the desk. “Let’s go eat with the kinner.”
Rachel followed Malinda out to the playground where they ate their lunches while sitting on their lunch pails. Teachers and children alike sat in a large circle that included everyone from both schoolhouses. After lunch the students set their lunch pails aside to play. They formed softball teams and then a game began in the center of the large playground. A smaller group gathered around the swings.
Rachel stood with Malinda by the fence while the children played. She turned and found John standing by himself near the swing set. The swings flew through the air as children screeched with delight.
“I don’t think John knows how to interact with the other kinner,” Rachel said. Sympathy overcame her as John kicked a stone with the toe of his shoe.
“He’ll be fine.” Malinda turned toward the swing set. “We’ll just keep encouraging him.”
“Ya, I suppose so. I just can’t stand to see a kind sad and lonely.” Rachel shook her head. “I always had a freind to talk to on the playground.” Her thoughts turned to Sharon, and her stomach twisted. She never imagined her best friend since first grade would betray her the way Sharon had.
A small girl in the center swing lowered her feet until her shoes scraped the ground, sending an explosion of dust up into the air around her. She stopped the swing and said something to the girl swinging beside her. John walked over to her and pushed her, knocking her from the swing to the ground, where she landed on her bottom.
Rachel gasped, then rushed over to swing set, where the little girl sat stunned. The swing moved back and forth, smacking her in the side of the head twice before she burst into tears and crawled away from it.
“Naomi!” Mary, the teacher’s assistant from the larger schoolhouse, called. “Are you all right? What happened?”
Rachel sidled up to Mary at the swing set. “John pushed her off the swing.” She took John’s arm. “You need to apologize right now, John.”
John muttered something that sounded like “I’m sorry,” but Naomi continued to wail as Mary lifted her into her arms.
Rachel frowned at Mary. “I’m going to talk to him.”
Mary responded with a stiff nod as Naomi sobbed into her shoulder.
Rachel grasped John’s arm, retrieved his lunch pail, and steered him toward the trailer while mentally debating if the boy was screaming for attention or if he was just a bully.
“Why did you push that little girl off the swing?” she asked him when they reached the privacy of the schoolhouse.
John stared at the toes of his shoes.
“Do you understand that you could have hurt Naomi badly?” Rachel continued. “How would you have felt if she’d broken her arm or leg?”
John lifted his gaze and his blue eyes sparkled with tears.
Rachel gaped. John wasn’t a cruel boy if he felt remorse. His behavior had to be a cry for attention. Was he ignored at home? She cleared her throat.
“You have to be punished for your behavior, John,” she said, hoping she sounded authoritative instead of emotional. “You need to sit at your desk quietly while the rest of the class enjoys recess. If you want to be outside with the rest of the class, then you need to learn how to behave. You can’t go around pushing other kinner. You need to wait your turn for the swing set.”
John lowered his small body into the seat and sniffed.
Rachel picked up his reading book and then remembered she wasn’t certain if he could read. “Can you read, John?”
He shrugged, once again studying the top of his desk.
She decided the shrug was close enough to a yes, and she placed it on the desk in front of him. “You can read while you wait for the class to return.” Then she picked up John’s daily journal from the pile of journals on the desk and began to write.
Dear Mike,
I want to make you aware that we’ve had problems with John at school today. He refuses to participate in class, and he pushed a girl off a swing during recess. I believe we need to schedule a conference to discuss this. I need your help working with John to improve his behavior. Please stop by the school as soon as possible.
Thank you,
Rachel Fisher
Rachel knew it was against the rules to request a conference with a parent or guardian since only the school board chairman was supposed to arrange conferences. At the same time, she felt this was important enough to request a conference herself. She only had John’s best interests in mind, and the sooner they addressed his needs, the better.
She closed the journal and placed it back on the pile. At the end of the day, she would put the journals in the students’ bags so they could take them home. She hoped she could find a way to help this boy who so desperately needed guidance and love.
MIKE DESCENDED THE STAIRS LATER THAT NIGHT. HE’D read to John and then said prayers with him before tucking him into bed. The day had been another long and tiring one as he built planters and took orders from customers. He looked forward to unwinding, and he finally had that chance.
He pulled a pot from a cabinet, added milk, and then set it on the burner of the propane stove. When he was little, his mother had taught him to drink warm milk when he couldn’t sleep, and it had become a habit over the last six months when his father’s health had taken a turn for the worse. He needed all the help he could get turning off his thoughts and finding rest at night.
Mike found John’s bag on the counter and pulled out his daily journal. He opened it, but before he started to read, a thud sounded from the other end of the house.
“Michael!” Dat’s voice called. “Michael! Dummle!”
Mike’s adrenaline spiked with fear as he dropped the journal into the tote bag and rushed toward the back of the house. He found Dat sprawled on the floor of his bathroom.
“Dat.” Mike leaned down, feeling as though his heart had lodged in his throat. “Don’t move. Does anything hurt? Should I call nine-one-one?”
“No, no.” Dat’s voice was thin, and his skin was pale. “Just help me get up.”
Mike took Dat’s arm and gently lifted him to his feet. Dat was
thin and frail, seeming to weigh only half as much as he had before he started dialysis treatments three times a week.
“Why didn’t you ask me to help you to the bathroom?” Mike asked after his father was safely seated on the commode. “You know I’ll always come and help you. I’d rather be certain you’re safe.”
Dat sighed, his tired blue eyes shimmering with tears. “I thought I could do it myself.”
Mike noticed a stream of blood moving down his father’s right arm. “You scraped yourself. I’ll get a bandage.” He searched the storage space under the sink and pulled out a box of Band-Aids and some antiseptic cream. Then he wiped his father’s arm, applied the cream, and affixed the bandage over the small scrape. It seemed strange to take care of the man who had cared for him when he was a small boy. How had the tables turned so quickly?
“I thought I could go to the bathroom by myself, but I fell after I washed my hands. I can’t pull myself up,” Dat suddenly said, breaking the silence. “I don’t have the strength anymore.”
“It’s all right.” Mike touched his father’s thin arm. “That’s what I’m here for. It’s my job to take care of you and John.”
Dat’s lower lip quivered. “That was supposed to be my job.”
A lump constricted Mike’s throat. He couldn’t stand seeing his father emotional. Where was the strong man who had chased after eleven-year-old Mike when he’d set the chicken coop on fire? That had been an accident, but Mike had acted guilty by running away. In truth, he just hadn’t wanted to face his dat’s disappointment.
“Let’s get you back to bed.” Mike’s voice sounded thin and foreign to him. He supported his father’s arms and gently lifted him to his feet. “Do you want me to sleep on the sofa so you can call me if you need anything during the night?”
“No, no.” Dat waved off the question with his free hand as they moved slowly to his room. “You go to your room. I’ll be just fine.”
“No, I’ll be on the sofa. That way I can get here quickly if you need me.” Mike touched the small bell on the nightstand beside the bed. “You ring this as loud as you can if you need me. I’m a light sleeper, so I will come to help you.”
