The Amish Teacher's Gift

by Rachel J. Good

  Her siblings slipped out of the room and headed to bed, but Ada sat there, still stunned at the powerful emotions Josiah had brought to reading the book.

  As if deep in thought, Josiah stood slowly and set the book on the nearby table. Then he turned to Ada, and his face softened as he stared down at his sleeping son. “He looks so comfortable,” he said.

  “He’s asleep,” she whispered.

  A small half smile crossed his face. “I know from his breathing.” He swallowed hard. “I’ve learned to tell, because the only time I can get close to him or sit next to him is when he’s sound asleep.”

  “Oh, Josiah,” Ada breathed. She almost added, I’m so sorry, but sensed he wouldn’t want pity. Yet the picture of him so desperate for closeness broke her heart.

  “We should go.” Josiah crossed the room and bent to take his son from her arms, leaving her chilled where Nathan’s small, warm body had nestled. “Thank you for the meal and—and this.” He motioned with his chin toward the couch and Bible story book.

  Before Ada could say anything, he continued, “Tonight and the night I babysat are the first times I’ve read to my son since—since…”

  Ada pressed her lips together to prevent an exclamation of pity from escaping, but a small breath hissed out. How lonely he must be. “You’re welcome to share story time with us anytime.” Oh, Ada, what are you doing?

  Josiah looked taken aback. “Thank you, but I don’t think…”

  Of course not. It wouldn’t be appropriate for a widower to continue visiting her like he was tonight. Not while he was still in mourning. And not with all the children asleep and no one to chaperone.

  Ada hung her head and mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for. Your invitation was kindly meant.” A note of yearning underlay Josiah’s words. “I wish I could take advantage of the offer, but…”

  “I know.” Ada couldn’t meet his eyes.

  Josiah shuffled his feet. “Well, thank you for dinner. It was delicious.” He started toward the door.

  “Oh, I thought we could talk a bit about how to tell Nathan.” She tried to keep the disappointment from her voice.

  Looking torn, Josiah glanced down at Nathan. “I should get him home.”

  “If he’s getting heavy, you could put him on the couch.” Why was she trying to get him to stay, when she should be encouraging him to go?

  Josiah shook his head. “I shouldn’t.” Yet instead of continuing toward the door, he moved toward the couch and lowered Nathan onto it.

  Ada’s heart skipped with joy.

  Josiah stood, his back to her, bent over his sleeping son. With one hand, he smoothed down Nathan’s bowl-cut bangs.

  Did he plan to stand that way while she spoke? “You could have a seat,” she said softly.

  To her relief, he lowered himself onto the sofa beside Nathan. Ada chose the wooden rocker for its safe distance from the couch. That way, she wouldn’t reach out and touch him, no matter how much she was tempted.

  He went back to running his hand over Nathan’s hair. “I can’t do this when he’s awake, so I have to take advantage of it when I can.”

  “I understand.” It must be painful not to be able to touch his son lovingly during the day. Ada felt guilty about her exasperation with Mary Elizabeth. She should be grateful that her sister clung to her.

  “I appreciate you doing this for us. To think I might be able to communicate with him and have him understand, I can’t thank you enough.”

  “I’m happy to do it.” Seeing Josiah and Nathan rebuilding their relationship would be wunderbar. “There is one thing I’ve been thinking about. After I’ve taught Nathan enough sign language and words like heaven, God, and”—she hesitated a moment—“death…”

  Josiah winced and rubbed his forehead, shading his eyes from view.

  “It might be good,” Ada said gently, “to have a psychologist or grief counselor present when we tell Nathan the news.”

  “Ohhh.” Josiah sounded as if he were in pain. Burying his face in his hands, he mumbled, “I’ve been living with the pain for all this time, but it will be the first time he’s heard.”

  “I know.” It took a great effort not to scoot the rocker closer, not to reach out and put a hand on his arm. Her heart longed to comfort him, but her conscience won. She gave him a few minutes to absorb the information before offering, “Would you like me to teach you some of the signs I’ll be teaching Nathan?”

  In a choked voice, he said, “Yes, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Of course,” she said in such an inviting way, her cheeks burned.

  “It shouldn’t take long,” he said eagerly. “At least I hope not. I’d really like to know a few signs that might make it easier for me tomorrow morning.”

  A few signs wouldn’t take long. Part of her wished for an excuse to keep him here longer. “What ones did you want to learn?”

  “Would Nathan know the word for school?” Josiah glanced down at his sleeping son, and his jaw tensed. “I thought it might ease his fears when I take him out of the house in the morning.”

  “Oh, that makes sense. I did try to teach the scholars the word school from the first day, along with their names.”

  “So he’d know David’s? And yours?” Josiah’s eyes searched hers. “He likes to be around you, so if he knows he’s going to see you, it might calm him.”

  Ada nodded. “He knows both our names.” She demonstrated the sign for school first, and then their names.

  When Josiah had mastered those, he stood. “These should help, and maybe as I learn to communicate with him”—he lifted Nathan gently without waking him—“he’ll understand I’m not as awful or scary as he thinks I am.”

  “I’ll work to teach him the concepts he needs to know. Once Nathan knows the truth, he’ll realize he has nothing to fear.”

  But he would have much to mourn.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The construction crew was wrapping up at the end of the day on Friday when a white pickup pulled up and Lyle Anderson emerged. Ralph called the crew together. Josiah stayed near the back of the group, so he didn’t call attention to himself.

  “The project winner for this area has been chosen,” Anderson said, “and I’ll be announcing that shortly. First, though, I hope we’ll have many willing volunteers who’ll donate time to the special project.”

  “Huh? They expect us to work for free? After a long day on the job?” Clint spat out. “He’s got to be crazy.”

  Marcus sidled up next to Josiah and jabbed him with an elbow. “Bet you’ll volunteer, won’t you?”

  “If I can,” Josiah replied. If he didn’t have Nathan to care for, it would be easier, but he’d try to give as much time as he could, no matter what project had won.

  “What for?” Clint demanded.

  Marcus leaned past Josiah to address Clint. “The Amish believe in helping others. Isn’t that what God wants you to do?” He nudged Josiah, who nodded.

  Clint circled his index finger around beside his head. “Crazy, man.”

  Lyle made a show of opening the envelope and unfolding the paper. “The advertising department chose”—he paused as if expecting a drum roll—“playground equipment for a special needs school.”

  Josiah sucked in a breath. No one else would have submitted a request like that, would they?

  “This project was submitted by”—Lyle’s face twisted as if he smelled fresh manure—“Josiah Yoder.” He singled Josiah out in the crowd and added an insincere “Congratulations.”

  Marcus whistled and clapped Josiah on the back. “Way to go, man. At least you’ll be donating your time to a project you chose.” He shuffled his feet in the dirt. “You can count on my help.”

  “Thanks.” Josiah grinned at him. He could hardly wait to tell Ada the good news.

  Lyle Anderson called for volunteers and several men, including Marcus, stepped forward.

  Clint grumbled, but then said,
“If you were willing to help people out, I guess I should too. Besides it’s for little kids.” He walked up to stand beside Marcus.

  After dismissing the other men, Lyle turned to the volunteers. “Here’s how this will work.” He outlined the plan and then passed out work schedules. “As you can see, we’re planning to start tomorrow and get this done as quickly as we can, so we’ll devote the next few weekends to it.”

  The schedule in Josiah’s hand indicated Sunday work hours. “I’m sorry,” Josiah said, “but I can’t work on Sundays.”

  “He goes to church,” Marcus told Lyle.

  “So come after church,” Lyle snapped.

  Marcus laughed. “Guess you don’t know how long those Amish church services last. All morning and almost all afternoon, ’cause they eat together afterwards.”

  “Wouldn’t find me sitting in church for that long,” Clint piped up. “I could barely make it through the hour service at Christmas and Easter. Those are the only two my mom dragged me to as a kid.”

  “This project has to get done.” Lyle’s authoritarian tone made it clear he’d accept no excuses. “You can skip church this weekend.”

  “We don’t have church this Sunday. It’s an off-Sunday, but I still can’t do it.”

  Clint’s gaze bounced from one to the other. His secretive smile revealed how much he was enjoying this exchange. “What’s an off-Sunday?”

  Marcus answered before Josiah could. “They only go to church every other week. Can’t say I blame ’em. Sitting on those hard benches for hours, you’d need some time off.”

  Lyle, his face flushed, leaned toward Josiah threateningly. “You don’t have church, you show up at the job site.”

  “No, sir, I can’t. I won’t work on the Lord’s Day.” Josiah spoke slowly and calmly to lower the tension. “I’m happy to work extra hours the rest of the week.”

  Lyle’s face reddened. “I let you get away with that hat even though it might lead to a lawsuit. I won’t be thwarted on this.”

  Ralph touched his arm. “There’s probably a law about forcing people to do something against their religion. Besides,” he added in a conciliatory tone, “this is volunteer work.”

  “And the person who proposed the project seems the least inclined to volunteer,” Lyle sneered. He flipped a hand in the air and turned away. “This project has to be done by the date on the paper. All the advertising is set. If it isn’t finished, Ralph, your head’s the one on the chopping block.”

  Marcus leaned over and whispered to Josiah, “You’re brave to defy him twice, but I wouldn’t go for a third time, or I bet your head will be on that chopping block.”

  Josiah suspected Marcus was right, but he couldn’t go against his church’s teachings.

  * * *

  On Saturday Ada woke with an idea for the schoolhouse. She hurried her siblings through their chores and then hitched up the wagon. Mary Elizabeth begged to go along, so the two of them set off on a trip into town. When Ada pulled in front of an appliance store, her sister’s eyes grew round.

  “What are we doing here?” she demanded as Ada tied the horse to a hitching post. Mary Elizabeth hung back as they entered the store and clutched Ada’s apron when they approached the man behind the counter.

  “How can I help you?” he asked. “I don’t suppose I could interest you in the washer/dryer specials we’re running.” His droll expression made it clear he was teasing. Then he sobered. “We do have some wringer washers and gas-powered refrigerators.”

  Ada smiled to let him know she wasn’t offended by his earlier joke. “Actually, I’m a teacher, and I wondered if you had any empty refrigerator cartons. I’m hoping to do a project with my class.”

  “Of course. Let me check in the back.” He headed toward the stockroom, but called over his shoulder, “How many do you need?”

  “Two would be good.”

  He returned dragging two large cartons and helped her load them in the wagon and even tied them down. Ada thanked him and, with Mary Elizabeth dragging on her apron, crossed the street to the hardware store for duct tape and a craft knife.

  “What are you going to do with these?” Mary Elizabeth asked as they climbed into the wagon.

  “You’ll see,” Ada said, and drove to the schoolhouse.

  When she pulled into the driveway, she jerked her horse to a stop. Large trucks filled the school yard, and men were unloading wood and metal.

  “What’s happening?” Mary Elizabeth asked.

  “I don’t know.” If the bishop or school board had planned any renovations, they would have told her. And they’d use Amish workers. These men were all Englisch, except for one man with his back turned who was wearing a straw hat.

  That back looked familiar. Josiah.

  Ada clucked to the horse and moved the wagon off the driveway and onto the grass. Then she tied the horse to a tree, told Mary Elizabeth to stay in the wagon, and marched up the driveway toward Josiah.

  Whistles and catcalls followed her progress through the school yard, and Josiah spun around.

  “Ada? What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask the same thing.” She waved a hand at the trucks and men. “Why are they here?”

  “I, um, well, it’s a long story.” Josiah rubbed the back of his neck. “You mentioned you wanted a special playground for your scholars, so I drew up some plans based on what you described.”

  “You’re building a special playground?”

  When he nodded, she could have kissed him. Well, maybe not kissed him. That would never be appropriate. Reluctantly, she pulled her gaze from his lips. But definitely hugged him. If that were allowed. Which it wasn’t.

  “You were listening when I spouted off about all the things I wanted for the schoolhouse?” Ada couldn’t believe he’d actually paid attention.

  “Of course, and the pictures in the catalogs too. I tried to find a way to get them for you. I told you they could be made for a lot less money.”

  Ada sucked in a breath. “You’re paying for all this?”

  “No, no, my company is. They had a contest, and I submitted plans for the playground. My plans were chosen just yesterday, so I didn’t have a chance to tell you.”

  Ada stared at him dumbfounded. “This will all be free?”

  “Yes, all you have to do is keep the children away from the construction area for the next few weeks. I wouldn’t want to see anyone get hurt.”

  “I see. That should be easy to do.”

  Ada was at a loss for words. All around her men were carrying huge wooden beams, unloading equipment. For a playground. Her playground. One she’d only dreamed about. “Oh, Josiah, thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

  She blinked back the wetness in her eyes and gazed up at him. A mistake. Even blurred by moisture, he looked good. His rugged face, broad muscled shoulders…Ada, stop! She forced herself to stare at the ground by her feet.

  “You’re welcome,” Josiah said, his voice husky. “I hope the scholars enjoy it. I know you said it would benefit their sensory motor skills.”

  He’d even remembered that? She’d prattled on and on that night and at the center, excited by all she’d learned. And he’d cared enough to pay attention to everything, even the small details.

  “So what are you doing here on a Saturday?”

  Josiah’s question startled Ada. What was she doing here besides entertaining thoughts about him that she shouldn’t? “I, um…” Think, Ada. The wagon. The appliance store. “I planned to work on a project,” she said in a rush, gesturing toward the refrigerator boxes. “I’ll do it at home instead.”

  The tilt of his head invited her to explain more, so she added, “I wanted a multi-sensory room like they have at the center, but that’s impossible. So I’m going to cut one side off each box and duct-tape them together. With a small door cut in it, it’ll make a little hideaway.”

  “What a great idea,” he said. “Very clever and inexpensive.”

&nb
sp; Inside, Ada was preening, but she needed to deflect his praise and rid herself of hochmut. “It was nothing,” she mumbled. “I want to help the students learn.”

  “You do a great job of that. Nathan has learned so much. And you’ve gone beyond your duties in offering to teach me sign language.”

  “We should start your lessons. Could we meet after school on Monday?” Ada hoped she didn’t appear overeager.

  “That would be wunderbar.” The smile that accompanied his words flipped Ada’s heart upside-down.

  “Hey, Yoder,” one of the men called. “Stop flirting and get over here to help.”

  A scarlet flush swept across Josiah’s cheeks. “I apologize. I’d better get back to work. Our company has a tight deadline for finishing.”

  “I understand. Thank you so much for doing this.” Ada hoped she didn’t sound like she was gushing. “I’m so glad the bishop approved of the project and…” Ada’s words trailed off as a sickish look crossed Josiah’s face. “Are you all right?”

  “The bishop,” he croaked. “I forgot to ask him.”

  “Oh, no.” Ada took in the trucks, equipment, and supplies. “You can’t ask everyone to wait while you get his permission.”

  “No, the boss set a strict schedule. And I can’t leave until we’re done. By then it’ll be too late.”

  “I drive right past his house on the way home. I could stop and tell him you need to talk to him and give him some insight as to why the playground will be so helpful to the scholars.”

  “That would be wonderful, thanks,” Josiah said, a worried look in his eye.

  Ada turned to go, but said over her shoulder, “And thank you for doing this.” Their eyes met, and Ada almost stumbled under the intensity of his gaze.

  Turning her head, she forced herself to focus on the wagon. Now that she knew Josiah was a widower, she had difficulty reining in her emotions. All the feelings she’d tried to deny, to push under the surface, came bubbling up, increasing her attraction to him. But she had no business thinking about him in that way. He was still in mourning. But she couldn’t help clinging to hope for their future.