Tarah's Lessons

by Tracey V. Bateman

  “I just don’t know what these folks expect.”

  Ma removed the bacon from the skillet and set it on a platter. “I don’t think they expect much, Anthony,” she said thoughtfully.

  Surprised, Anthony shot a glance at his mother. He hadn’t meant to speak aloud.

  Setting the platter on the table, Ma stared down at him with a tender smile. “They just want to hear the Word preached with love and authority from someone who knows the heart of God.”

  Well, that pretty well summed him up, he figured. He loved these people enough to be concerned for their eternal souls and preached with so much authority it took him all Sunday afternoon to recover from the exertion.

  He preached what he had been taught to preach: Show the people their sin and give them the opportunity to repent. Surely that was the heart of God. Still, if that were the case, why wasn’t he seeing positive results?

  “I don’t know, Ma,” he said. “Seems to me the congregation is half the size it started out to be. If I don’t do something, I’ll lose the rest of them, too.” Then he’d be asked to leave at the end of the three-month trial period. The thought of failing clenched his gut.

  Ma rested a thoughtful gaze upon him. “Have you prayed about this?”

  Raking his fingers through his hair, Anthony released a long, slow breath. “I pray constantly for the people in this town. I’ve never seen such an unresponsive group.” He met her gaze, suddenly feeling the need to unload his frustration. “Do you know the people who have stopped coming to the services are meeting out at the Johnsons’ place on Sunday mornings?” It cut him to the core and more than wounded his pride that the folks would opt to share the Word among themselves rather than come to his services.

  “I heard something about that.” Ma’s voice held a twinge of sympathy as she sat and gave his hand a gentle pat. “You just have to concentrate on the members of your flock and not worry about those who feel they need to meet elsewhere.”

  “I reckon you’re right. Still, it’s puzzling.”

  “I don’t want to be telling you your business, Son, but it might do some good for you to get to know the members of your congregation better.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged, and her pensive gaze held his. “Seems to me I hear an awful lot of folks inviting you to Sunday dinner, and yet you’re always right here at my table.”

  Anthony shot her a wide grin. “Why should I go eat somewhere else when the best cook in Kansas is right here in my own home?”

  “Oh, now. You stop exaggerating.” But her eyes crinkled at the corners for an instant before she grew serious once again. “I just think maybe folks would like a chance to visit with you outside of the church. Let them get to know the real Anthony instead of just Reverend Greene.”

  The thought had never occurred to him before, but as he rolled the idea around, it seemed to make sense. “You think that might make a difference?” Anthony almost cringed at the desperation in his voice.

  “Couldn’t hurt. People want to know their minister cares about their everyday lives and not just their spiritual condition. Remember, the Bible states that Jesus ate with His disciples. He washed their feet and answered all of their questions. Tending sheep is much more than just feeding and watering.”

  “Ma, sometimes I think you should have been the preacher and not me.” He drained his cup and stood.

  “Where do you think you’re going? You haven’t had your breakfast yet.”

  He flashed her another grin, feeling more lighthearted than he had in weeks. “Coffee’s all I need today. With Blane doing the chores, I didn’t have a chance to work up much of an appetite. Besides, I want to get to the church early and look over my notes before the service. If I don’t get a move on, I won’t have time.” He gave her another quick peck on the cheek and headed back toward his room.

  “Don’t forget to take a razor to those whiskers,” Ma called after him.

  Anthony stopped and turned to face her. “I thought I might let them grow.” He rubbed his hand over his jaw, already irritated with the itchy growth.

  “I see.”

  At the look of understanding on Ma’s face, Anthony’s ears heated up. He knew better than to think a man’s outward appearance mattered. These people were more than willing to give him a chance in the beginning, knowing full well how young he was. A beard and mustache were not going to make a difference if he couldn’t somehow find a way to reach their hearts.

  Clearing his throat, he turned without another word and strode to his room to dress in his Sunday suit and get rid of those irritating whiskers.

  Three

  Tarah closed the door after the last of her students filed into the schoolhouse following their lunch break.

  Only two more hours, she consoled herself as she walked to her desk. Then she could go home and nurse her pounding headache—depending on how long it took Luke to write his punishment sentences for the day.

  Yesterday, she had made him write: “I will not place bent nails in any other student’s chair.” One hundred times. Today he would have to write: “I will not place frogs in any other student’s lunch pail.” Why he would want to do such things was beyond Tarah. If he wanted to spend his afternoons writing sentences, that was his choice, even if it meant she had to stay after school as well.

  Rapping on the table with her ruler, she called the school to attention. She released a frustrated breath as the clamor continued. The three McAlester girls screamed and ducked when a slate pencil flew across the room. Tarah rapped again—harder. “Take your seats immediately!”

  “Ow! Let go!” Emily’s cry of pain echoed off the walls.

  “Jeremiah Daniels,” Tarah called above the chaos. “Turn loose of Emily’s braid and go stand in the corner.”

  The boy glared back at her, defiance sparking in his eyes.

  The room grew quiet as the children watched the exchange. They waited, as did Tarah, to see what Jeremiah would do.

  Please, God. Make him obey me.

  She met his gaze evenly. “In the corner. . . Now!”

  He scowled but slowly slipped from his seat and made his way to the corner.

  With a relieved sigh, Tarah turned to the other students. “The rest of you pull out your readers and just. . .be quiet for a few minutes.”

  Wearily, she sank into her chair. Crunch!

  A sense of dread hovered over Tarah like a thick, black cloud about to burst. Pressing her palms to her desk, she pushed herself to a standing position, pinning Luke to his wooden bench with her gaze. She gathered a slow breath and glanced at her chair. Fury rose inside her at the sight of messy egg remains. She twisted and found the rest of the shell and yoke stuck to the backside of her new calico dress.

  The children snickered until she glared at the room, hands on her hips. That was it!

  “Luke,” she bellowed.

  After almost four weeks of absolute chaos, he had finally driven her to her breaking point. Standing in the corner didn’t bother Luke; writing sentences certainly didn’t deter him, and Tarah had decided telling Pa and Ma was no longer an option. She had to show them she could handle things on her own. And right now, she was going to do just that.

  “March yourself up here this instant, young man.”

  “What’d I do?”

  His look of innocence only infuriated her more.

  Snatching up her ruler from the desk, she faced him. “You know very well what you did, and it’s not going to happen again.”

  Tarah gathered in another breath for courage. She had never believed in corporal punishment in the schoolroom, but now she understood why other teachers used the ruler on their students. Sometimes other forms of punishment just did not work. “Hold out your hand.”

  “But, Tarah, I didn’t—”

  “When we are in school, you will address me as ‘Miss St. John’ like the other children,” she said through gritted teeth. “Now hold out your hand.”

  “Miss St
. John?”

  Tarah turned at the sound of Josie’s quavering voice. The little girl sat white-faced in her seat, worry clouding her eyes.

  Tarah gave her a dismissive wave. Of course, Josie didn’t want Luke to be whipped. More often than not, they were partners in crime. Well, that was too bad. This time Tarah was getting the upper hand. She’d show them all they couldn’t get away with terrorizing her anymore.

  “But Miss St. John—”

  “Sit still, Josie. I’ll be with you in a moment,” she snapped.

  Turning her gaze back to her brother, Tarah almost gasped at the tears in his eyes. She pushed away the compassion threatening to melt her resolve and raised her brow. “Well?”

  Slowly, he gave her his palm.

  Tarah flinched as the ruler came down with a resounding smack.

  “Please, Miss St. John.” Josie slipped from her seat and made her way to the front.

  “Wh–what is it?” Tarah whispered, unable to pull her gaze from the look of betrayal on Luke’s face.

  “It wasn’t Luke.”

  “What do you mean?” Panic tore across Tarah’s heart.

  “I–I put the egg on your seat. Luke didn’t know anything about it. Honest.” The little girl slowly inched her hand forward, palm up. She squeezed her eyes shut while she awaited her punishment.

  All the strength drained from Tarah, and the ruler dropped to the desk with a clatter.

  “Luke, I—”

  “May I go back to my seat, Miss St. John?” Despite his stormy gaze, his bottom lip quivered.

  Tarah nodded. With great effort, she faced her class. The wide, questioning eyes and even fearful expressions on some of the younger children’s faces were more than she could bear. “School is dismissed for the day,” she croaked. “Tell your parents I–I’m not feeling well.”

  Somehow, she managed to stand on wobbly legs until all of her students but Luke silently gathered their belongings and left the school. He walked to the blackboard. Folding his arms, he stared daggers through her.

  “What do I write today?”

  Filled with remorse, Tarah couldn’t blame him for the belligerence in his stance and tone. “N–never mind, Luke. Go on home, and tell Ma I’ll be along later.”

  Silently, he walked to his desk and grabbed his things.

  “Luke,” Tarah said, tears nearly choking her.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to explain.”

  Luke shrugged. “Didn’t bother me none.” He slipped outside before she could say more.

  Unmindful of the mess, Tarah sank back into her seat. Folding her arms atop the desk, she pressed her forehead onto the backs of her hands. Sobs shook her body.

  It’s just too hard, Lord. I can’t do it.

  ❧

  “I can’t give ya any more credit until ya pay what ya owe. And that’s all there is to it.”

  Anthony tried to pretend indifference to the exchange between the ragged stranger and the storekeeper but found himself unable to look away.

  “Please, Tucker,” the man begged. “You know I got them two youngsters to feed. I’ll pay ya soon as I sell off a pig.”

  Anthony surveyed the man’s shabby, thin clothing and greasy hair. He figured it must have taken a lot of courage for a fellow to swallow his pride and ask for help. Compassion rose up within him.

  What would it hurt to extend the man credit for a little while? He glanced at the storekeeper, and his heart sank. Tucker was having none of it. “Look, John, ya promised the same thing last month an’ the month b’fore. I just can’t do it.”

  Unable to endure the look of misery on the man’s face, Anthony stepped up beside him. “Look, Tucker, just put his order on my account.”

  The creases on Tucker’s face deepened. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Preacher,” he said, warning thick in his voice.

  “You let me worry about that,” Anthony replied. He extended his hand to the ragged stranger.

  A nearly toothless grin split the man’s face as he reached out a filthy hand and gripped Anthony’s. “I’m obliged to you, Sir. An’ dontcha worry none, I’ll pay ya every last cent, soon as I sell that pig.”

  “I’m sure you will. I’m Reverend Greene.” Anthony felt his chest swell at the admission. “I haven’t seen you and your family before. Just move into the area?”

  “That’s a fact. Got two fine youngsters at home waitin’ fer me.”

  “We’d love to see you and your family in church on Sunday.”

  The man shuffled and scratched at his long, matted beard. “Well now, Preacher, we ain’t much for religion an’ all that. But seein’ as how yer bein’ so generous an’ all. . .”

  “Oh, no. There are no strings attached to this. But I hope you and your family will come to church anyway. We’d love to have you.”

  “Here’s your order, John.” Tucker grudgingly pushed a box filled with supplies across the counter. Anthony glanced inside and frowned at the pouch of tobacco and two bottles of Healy’s Magic Elixir lying on top.

  Jenkins nearly leaped at the box, grabbed it up, and headed for the door. “Much obliged, Preacher,” he mumbled before the clanging bell announced his departure.

  Tucker shook his head as Anthony handed him a list of his own. “That was a mistake, Preacher. Jenkins is a no-account if I ever seen one.” He moved away from the counter to fill the order. “And I seen plenty of his kind in my day, I can tell ya.”

  “Took a lot of guts to ask for credit after you turned him down.”

  “Guts.” Tucker snorted and grunted as he lifted a twenty-five-pound bag of flour from the shelf. “He was in here yesterday and the day b’fore and the day b’fore that.”

  “That so?” Anthony asked, a twinge of unease creeping into his stomach. “I’ve never seen him around here. Where’s he from?”

  A shrug lifted Tucker’s thin shoulders. “Don’t know and don’t care. But he owes me seventeen dollars. And he ain’t gettin’ another thing from this store ’til he pays up.”

  “Do you happen to know where his homestead is?”

  “He ain’t got one. Al Garner found the whole slovenly family squattin’ in the old soddy he built back in ’55 when he first moved into the area. Would have thrown them out, but for the little girl and crippled boy.”

  “It was the Christian thing for Al to do. I’m sure the Lord is pleased with his generosity.”

  Tucker set the last of Anthony’s supplies in a large crate and snorted again. “It was a fool thing to do if ya ask me. He’ll never get rid of that no-account. Already feeds his family most of the time.”

  Anthony tried to contain his irritation, but Tucker’s coldhearted remarks were beginning to go against his grain. “Well, you know the Lord did say if a man asks for your shirt, give him your coat, too.”

  Leaning an elbow against the counter, Tucker pointed a finger at Anthony, his eyes glittering with determination. “Let me give ya a little advice, Preacher. Get ready for a cold winter, ’cause if ya let Jenkins hornswoggle ya, you’ll be goin’ without a coat b’fore the week’s out. And most likely your boots, too.”

  “Maybe so,” Anthony shot back. “But I can’t just turn my back on a family in need.”

  “Don’t that Bible ya like to quote also say something about a man having to work or he don’t eat?”

  “Well. . .”

  Tucker gave a curt nod. “Thought so.” As though it settled the matter, he grabbed the account book and began to tally.

  “Make sure you add Jenkins’s supplies to my account, Tuck.”

  “That’s what I’m doin’ right now.”

  “Good.” Anthony clapped his hat on his head and picked up the heavy crate. “And I hope to see you in church this Sunday. We’ve missed you the last couple of weeks.”

  “Been busy, Preacher. Now dontcha forget I warned ya about Jenkins.”

  “I won’t. But I think you’ll be surprised when he pays you your mone
y and proves you wrong.” At least he sure hoped the man made good on his promise. Otherwise Anthony would look like the fool Tucker obviously thought him to be.

  Straining under the weight of the crate filled with supplies, Anthony stepped from Tucker’s Mercantile into the bright autumn day.

  “Why, Anthony, how lovely to see you.”

  He nearly dropped the wooden box as Louisa Thomas came out of nowhere and clutched his arm.

  “Hello, Louisa. Fine afternoon we’re having, isn’t it?” He smiled politely.

  “Just heavenly. I love autumn weather the best.” She beamed up at him and tightened her grip. “My, you are strong, aren’t you?”

  He could hold his own, but those supplies were getting awfully heavy. If she didn’t turn him loose pretty soon, he’d be forced to ask her to step aside.

  Apparently oblivious to his plight, Louisa continued to smile enchantingly at him. He had to admit the attention was flattering, and he didn’t want to be rude, but. . .

  “Excuse me, Louisa.” His voice sounded strained to his own ears.

  “Oh, now, don’t tell me you haven’t the time for a little chat.” She pursed her lips into a pretty pout. “I’ve hardly seen you at all since you got back to town.”

  “I know, but. . .”

  Anthony felt his grip loosen on the crate and feared any second the entire load would fall and land on the lady’s toes.

  “I am absolutely not going to let you go unless you promise to have a picnic with me after church on Sunday.”

  He had planned to ask Tarah to accompany him on an outing Sunday but, given the circumstances, perhaps he should accept Louisa’s invitation instead.

  “Okay. That sounds fine,” he said with a grunt.

  “Wonderful. It’ll give us a chance to catch up on the last two years.” Thankfully, she turned loose of his arm to clap with delight. “I’ll make you a delectable lunch. And a chocolate cake for old time’s sake. How does that sound?”

  “Sounds pretty good. I’ll be seeing you.”