Tarah's Lessons

by Tracey V. Bateman

  Feeling a rumble in the pit of his stomach, he pulled out his pocket watch and noted the time. “All right, children,” he said. “Put away your books and stand to your feet. It’s time for lunch.”

  The room rustled with the sounds of closing books, desktops opening then dropping shut, and the children scooting from their seats.

  “Who wants to say the blessing before we get our lunches out?”

  A shuffling of feet answered, and not one pair of eyes met his gaze. “Oh, come now. No volunteers? I suppose I could pick someone.”

  He glanced around at the room of suddenly very subdued students. “Jo?”

  “Oh, Uncle Anthony. Pick someone else!”

  “Come up here,” he replied firmly. “You can certainly say a prayer over lunch.”

  With eyes sparking, she stomped to the front, stopping when she reached the desk.

  Soft laughter filled the room.

  “That’s enough, class,” Anthony said. “Go ahead, Jo.”

  Blue eyes flashed as she jutted her chin. “Bow your heads, folks,” she said. “It’s time to pray.”

  The little scamp could do without the sarcasm and dramatics, Anthony thought. But at least she didn’t out and out refuse to obey.

  “Our most gracious heavenly Father,” she began, her voice deepening. “We thank Thee for Thy most holy presence.”

  Indignation rose up in Anthony at the obvious imitation of his own prayers on Sunday mornings. The children snickered. He raised his head and opened one eye to look at his niece, then widened his scope to take in the rest of the children. Every eye was open and watching Josie.

  She waved her arm with a dramatic flare. “Have mercy on this group of sinners, Lord. They don’t know how close they are to the pit of hell.”

  Now, he’d never prayed that in the service. She must have heard his private prayers. The little eavesdropper!

  “Josie Raney! That’s quite enough. Go back to your seat.”

  With a toss of her thick, blond braids, she headed for her desk, a smug grin playing at the corners of her lips.

  “Bow your heads,” he commanded. After a quick blessing over the food, he dismissed the class for lunch, his own appetite suddenly gone.

  While the children ate lunch and had recess, Anthony pulled out a large, hollowed-out sandstone he had placed in the desk drawer that morning before the children arrived for school. Inside the stone, he had packed clay made from the soft earth at the bank of the river. He pushed at the mixture to be sure it was still soft, then nodded.

  As a preacher, he would be remiss in his duties if he didn’t give the children a lesson for their souls as well as for their minds. Knowing how they fidgeted during his Sunday sermons, he had prayed for a creative way to get his message across in a manner children could understand. An idea—too much to be coincidence, he thought—had come to him in the night. Filled with anticipation, he had awakened extra early to go to the river and collect the materials needed to carry out the message.

  By the time he rang the bell to end recess, he was ready to begin. When the children were settled and quiet, he decided to let them in on the change in routine.

  “We’re dispensing with lessons for the rest of the day—”

  A cheer rose up from the students.

  “But you’re not leaving early. We’re going to have a little Bible lesson.” He picked up his Bible from the desktop.

  Walking around to the front of the desk, he eyed the children, noting the look of dread on each face. Heat crept up the back of his neck.

  Help me, Lord. Let these children understand the message You’ve given me to share with them.

  He leaned against the desk and opened his well-worn Bible to Jeremiah eighteen and began to read. “Then the word of the Lord came to me, saying, ‘O house of Israel, cannot I do with you as this potter?’ saith the Lord. ‘Behold, as the clay is in the potter’s hand, so are ye in mine hand, O house of Israel.’ ”

  Anthony closed the Bible, set it back down on the desk behind him, and looked out over the schoolroom. “Anyone know what that means?”

  He received a roomful of blank stares in response.

  A sigh escaped his lips as he held up the sandstone for the students’ inspection.

  “Who would like to try to shape something out of this rock?”

  Jeremiah Daniels’s hand shot up.

  “Jeremiah? You’d like to try?”

  “Nah, Preacher. You lived in the city too long. You can’t make nothing out of an old rock.”

  “You don’t think so? What would you say if I were to tell you that some folks’ hearts are just like this stone?”

  Encouraged by the children’s now rapt attention, Anthony forged ahead. “Some hearts are hardened because they don’t believe in Jesus. Others believe in Jesus and then allow sin into their hearts until slowly they become hardened again.”

  A quick scan of the children’s faces spurred Anthony to move to the object lesson before he lost them. He pulled out his pocketknife, then sat on the desk. “Anyone who wants to can come up here and gather around the desk. I want to show you something.”

  The seats emptied as the students made their way to the front, curiosity written upon each face.

  “Lord, forgive me of my sins.” Slowly, Anthony chipped off a piece of the sandstone with his knife. “Lord, I want to live for You.” Again, he chipped away at the stone. The children watched in silence. Father, help them to understand.

  “Lord, I want Jesus to be my Savior.” Another piece of stone slipped away onto the sod floor.

  He stopped when the stone was half the original size. “Any questions so far?”

  Jeremiah Daniels raised his hand again.

  “Yes?”

  “Preacher, you been sinning?”

  Anthony felt the wind whoosh out of him.

  “Oh, Jeremiah. Everyone sins. Even preachers. This stone represents a human heart without God. When we ask for forgiveness, the stone begins to fall away, like so. . .” He chipped away a few more pieces. “You see, it’s difficult to do what’s right when there is so much sin in our hearts.”

  He continued to break away the pieces around the clay. “Every sin, every act of disobedience, makes the stone bigger, and it’s difficult for God to shape our hearts into what He wants us to be. But when we repent, the stone begins to fall away. Does that make sense?”

  “You mean like when I tell a lie to get out of thrashing, I get rocks in my heart?”

  “Figuratively speaking,” Anthony drawled.

  “Or doing mean things to the teacher?” Emily asked, cutting her gaze first to Luke, then to Josie. Luke’s ears turned red. He scowled at his sister.

  Anthony nodded. “The Bible says we are to respect those in authority over us. And we shouldn’t do mean things to anyone, regardless of who they are. Each sinful act makes it that much easier to do it again unless we repent.”

  “You know, that’s true,” Jeremiah spoke up. “First time I stole a sourball from the mercantile, my heart started beatin’ real fast. But I didn’t get caught, so I figured I’d do it again. And it was a lot easier after that. Think some of that stone built up so my heart wouldn’t beat so fast, Preacher?”

  Emily spoke before Anthony could answer. “Stealing’s just plain wrong, Jeremiah Daniels,” she declared, hands on hips. “You probably have more rocks in your heart than all of the rest of us put together, except maybe Luke, since he’s so mean to Tarah.”

  “When was the last time you had a sourball?” Jeremiah asked hotly.

  Emily tossed her orange braids. “Just last night. My pa brought us some from Tucker’s. But he didn’t steal them,” she said pointedly. “He bought them fair and square.”

  “Well, no one’s bought me any since my pa died last year.” He glanced up at Anthony with eyes that begged him to understand. “Sometimes my mouth just itches for the taste of them ol’ sourballs. But Ma says there’s no money for such things. Guess it’s still wrong, huh?”r />
  With great effort, Anthony swallowed past the lump in his throat. He reached out and smoothed the boy’s hair, then quickly pulled his hand away so as not to embarrass him. “I’m afraid so, Son,” he said, finding his voice with difficulty. “Sometimes doing what’s right is hard. But it makes a boy into a real man with godly character in the long run.”

  Anthony decided this was as good a time as any to drive home the point of the lesson. He chipped at the last of the stone to reveal the clay within.

  Glancing at Jeremiah’s contrite face, he extended his hand toward the boy. “You said I couldn’t make anything out of the rock, but what about this? Think you could mold this into something?”

  A shrug lifted Jeremiah’s thin shoulders. “Sure.” He took the ball of clay.

  The children remained silent as the mound slowly took shape in Jeremiah’s hands.

  “It looks just like a turtle!” Emily said, admiration glowing in her green eyes.

  “Is that what you wanted to make, Jeremiah?”

  “’Course. Or I’d have made somethin’ else.”

  “What if you had wanted to make a turtle out of the clay but couldn’t get to it because of the stone around it?”

  “I’d do what you did and chip off the stone.”

  “Well, what if you didn’t have anything to chip it off with?”

  “Then I don’t guess I could’ve done it.”

  “Exactly.” Anthony’s spirit soared. “God wants to form our hearts into what He wants us to be, but if we are hardened against His hands, He can’t do it. But the knife here,” he said, “is just like telling God you’re sorry. It chips off pieces of stone until all that’s left is the clay. Then God can begin to mold us just like He wants to.” He scanned the small circle of children around him. “Remember the Scripture I read when we started?”

  Their blank faces confirmed they had already forgotten.

  “Like clay in the potter’s hand, so are you in My hand. Remember?”

  Every head nodded.

  “I want you to think about whether your heart is soft and easy to work with or hard like stone.”

  The door opened, allowing sunlight to filter into the room. Anthony’s heart lurched at the sight of Tarah, standing with a confused frown on her face.

  “Hello, Miss St. John,” he said with a grin. “We were just finishing up a Bible lesson. Think anyone would object if we let them out a bit early today?”

  “I suppose that would be all right.”

  The children cheered and scrambled to their desks to grab their belongings.

  Jeremiah hung back. “You know, Preacher,” he said, a reflective frown scrunching his brow. “If you preached like this on Sunday, a lot more folks would come and listen to you.”

  Stung, Anthony didn’t know what to say, but he felt like the boy expected a thanks. “Well, thank you, Jeremiah, I’ll keep that in mind.”

  The boy nodded and turned to walk to his desk.

  “Jeremiah, do you want to take this?” Anthony held out the turtle.

  Flushing with pleasure, Jeremiah walked quickly to the desk and took his creation. “Thanks, Preacher!” Then he was off in a flash.

  With a grin, Anthony glanced up at Tarah, who had made her way to the front amid the scramble of children.

  She eyed the floor in front of her desk critically. “What in the world did you do, Anthony?”

  Tarah scowled, awaiting Anthony’s explanation.

  “We’ve been having an object lesson.”

  “An object lesson?” She glanced into his grinning face.

  Anthony nodded. “You don’t think I could pass up a chance to preach to a captive audience, do you?”

  Tarah tried to hide her horror. Those poor children! Then feeling guilty for her thoughts, she plastered a smile onto her face and swallowed hard. “How did it go?”

  Anthony shifted off the desk with a shrug. “Started out a little slow, but I think they got what I was trying to show them.” Kneeling down, he began to pick up the pieces of stone from the floor. “We talked about how sin makes our hearts stony, but repentance chips away at the stone until all that’s left is a heart easily molded into what God desires us to be. That’s what all this mess is about. I wanted to show them instead of just preaching at them.”

  Tarah’s stomach jumped. Was her heart as hard as this stone where Luke was concerned?

  Shaking off the thought, Tarah bent down to help Anthony clean up. Her hand brushed against his, sending her heart racing as they reached for the same piece of stone.

  Raising his head, Anthony searched her face. Tarah felt heat rush to her cheeks.

  “How was your day off?” he asked in a soft, velvety voice.

  Tarah stood and brushed at imaginary specks of dirt on her dress, trying to compose herself. “Nice,” she said. “I appreciate you filling in for me.”

  Anthony stood as well and moved to the open window. “Should I plan to come in tomorrow?” He tossed out the pieces of stone and pulled the shutters closed. Brushing his hands together, he strode back to the desk.

  “No. I met a girl down by the river today who said she might come to school tomorrow. I need to be here just in case she shows up.”

  “A girl?”

  Tarah nodded. “Did you know there is a family of squatters living on Mr. Garner’s land?”

  Anthony nodded. “I met Mr. Jenkins in the mercantile yesterday, as a matter of fact. But that was the first I’d heard of them. The little girl you met is his daughter?”

  “She didn’t tell me her last name, but I assume so.” Tarah walked around the desk and sank into her chair. “Oh, Anthony, it’s enough to break your heart. Laney was filthy and wore torn, thin clothing. Not even girl’s clothing, but boy’s trousers and a button-down shirt.”

  With a nod, Anthony hoisted himself back onto the desktop and let his gaze roam Tarah’s face. “Her pa wasn’t clean either, and his clothes looked like they might fall apart any moment.”

  “Children shouldn’t have to live that way. Isn’t there something we can do for them?”

  A shrug lifted Anthony’s broad shoulders. “A man has his pride, I guess. I’m not sure how much help Mr. Jenkins would accept. Of course he did let me. . .”

  Tarah waited for him to continue. When he looked away, she frowned. “He let you what?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just say, I believe he would probably be grateful for anything we could do for him.”

  Though her curiosity was piqued, Tarah realized he wouldn’t elaborate so she decided not to make him uncomfortable by asking questions. Instead, she pursed her lips reflectively. She shifted her gaze to Anthony to find him studying her mouth. Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, she cleared her throat.

  Anthony’s ears reddened, and he averted his gaze, suddenly intent on studying his hands.

  “What do you think we should do?” Tarah asked after taking a moment to compose herself. She couldn’t help the excitement flooding her. Was Anthony finally beginning to notice her? Oh, she hoped so!

  “I guess basic necessities should come first.”

  “Huh?” Mentally kicking herself for being swept away on dreams of Anthony courting her, Tarah stared dumbly, waiting for him to repeat himself.

  “For the Jenkinses. Basic necessities.”

  “Oh, of course.” Honestly! “With winter right around the corner, I suppose they will need clothing first off.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think we should ask for donations? Maybe Mr. Tucker. . .”

  Anthony shook his head. “No. Not Tucker.”

  “Why not?”

  “Jenkins owes him money for supplies over the last couple of months.”

  “Judging from some things Laney said about him, I guess that doesn’t surprise me.” Resting her elbow on the desk, Tarah tucked her chin into her palm. “Anthony?”

  “Yes?” His soft gaze captured hers, and again Tarah lost the capacity to voice her question. An unc
omfortable but short-lived silence hung between them as Tarah recovered her voice. “I was just wondering if you’ve ever known a man given to drink. Laney told me her pa doesn’t work because he’s drunk all the time.”

  Indignation clouded Anthony’s eyes. “Is that right? I didn’t know that or I wouldn’t have. . .”

  Again, he didn’t elaborate.

  “Do you think the folks around here would be willing to help such a man?” Tarah asked.

  “I don’t know.” A frown creased his brow. “Mr. Tucker quoted me the Scripture about a man not eating if he won’t work. He doesn’t seem inclined to do much to help. If he’s spoken to any of the other folks about it. . . I just don’t know.”

  “But what about the children? Laney and her brother—Ben, I believe she called him. The boy’s crippled.”

  Compassion moved over Anthony’s features, endearing him to Tarah all the more. “Don’t fret about it,” he said, giving her a gentle smile. “I’ll ask around and see what I can do. But even if only you and I help, the family will have more than they would have had otherwise. We can’t let the children do without or become sick in the cold weather just because their pa won’t lift a finger to help himself.”

  “Thank you, Anthony. I think this is the right thing to do. I’m so glad you agree and are willing to help me.”

  Leaning over, he reached out and traced a line from her cheekbone to chin. “I guess I’d do just about anything for you, Tarah.”

  A gasp escaped Tarah’s throat. “Y–you would?”

  The door opened suddenly, and he moved away, leaving Tarah to wonder if it had been a dream.

  “Why, Anthony, you’re still here, aren’t you?” Louisa’s singsong voice echoed through the schoolroom as she sashayed to the front of the room.

  A look of guilt flickered in Anthony’s eyes, and he hopped from the desk. Tarah’s temper flared. From the tight, possessive grip of Louisa’s hand around Anthony’s arm, it was apparent she held some claim on him.

  Humiliation started at the top of Tarah’s head and drifted to her toes. How dare he trifle with her affections! She would not be fancy’s fool again where Anthony Greene was concerned. Shooting to her feet, Tarah gave Louisa her brightest smile. “How lovely to see you. I was just leaving.” Turning to Anthony, she was hard-pressed to keep a civil tongue in her head. “Will you close the door on your way out?”