by Unknown
One noticeable change in the classroom came from Rufus Baxter. Just as Liza had suspected, Rufus began to emerge a different boy in Clement Bartel’s absence. Apparently, his self-esteem suffered to such a degree that he’d failed to reveal his identity outside of Clement’s influence. So intent had Rufus been on replicating Clement’s every act that, without him there, he seemed at a loss how to misbehave, one incident yesterday proving Liza’s observation.
It had been an unusually lovely day, the kind that came so rarely at November’s onset, so Liza had allowed an extra five minutes of afternoon recess time. An energetic game of baseball had ensued, despite the chilly air, with even the younger children allowed their times at bat. Liza paused at the back entry to watch, proud of how they had all learned to accept each other’s differences. Had Clement been amongst them, he’d have had a fight going for certain—someone complaining about the little ones playing, their slower reflexes holding up the game, or their incompetence affecting the score. Yet these children seemed not to care about age or size differences, everyone laughing and enjoying the temporary freedom from their confining little classroom.
When Liza waved the big handbell signaling the end of recess, Thomas Barrington put up a fuss. “Aw, can’t we stay outside just five more minutes, Miss Merriwether? Our score is tied.”
“Yeah,” the Hogsworth twins begged in unison. “Five more minutes can’t hurt none.”
Liza laughed. “You’re lucky I gave you the extra five minutes to begin with. Now hurry inside. We have more work to do before the day’s end.”
Someone moaned, and it seemed the entire class had turned a hopeful look on her, as if their pleading eyes might change her mind. That was when Rufus spoke up. “Come on, you guys. Teacher said it’s time to go in. ’Sides, ain’t nothin’ wrong with a tie. Jus’ means both teams won.”
With that, Rufus had made his way toward the building and past Liza with, wonder of wonders, the younger children following suit.
She’d known from the start there was goodness in Rufus. Now it was a matter of making him believe it.
If there was one thing that troubled Liza about Clement’s ban from school, it was Rosie Bartel’s strange behavior. Rather than blossom in her older brother’s absence, she’d taken to distancing herself, replacing her usual cheery smile with a somber face. When Liza had asked her if she was all right, she’d merely nodded, saying she was tired.
“Aren’t you getting enough sleep, Rosie?” Liza had asked.
The child merely nodded her head and asked, “Can I go back to my seat now?”
“Of course,” Liza had told her, fighting dark thoughts as she’d watched the child trudge back to her desk, shoulders slumped.
Lord, I can’t help but feel that something is amiss. Please keep Rosie safe. I don’t trust her father, and I certainly don’t trust Clement. I saw what he was capable of when I met his stepmother.
Yes, something was amiss all right, and with God’s help, Liza meant to find out what it was.
Cold winds blew in from the west. Liza shivered at her desk while correcting today’s assignments and reflected on the change one day could make in the weather. Yesterday the sun had shone; today the clouds prevented any hope of even getting a glimpse of rays.
Her students’ voices carried over the tempestuous winds, their shouts of cheerful play during the noon break making the gloomy weather inconsequential. She smiled to herself, pleased that they didn’t seem to mind the cold temperatures. She must remind them at close of day to begin dressing more appropriately, however. Many were still arriving at school in thin jackets and sweaters.
Liza dipped the end of her pen into the inkwell and penned the words “well done” at the top of Sarah Jenkins’ essay on the life of George Washington. Just as she laid the paper down and reached for the next, the front door opened, forcing Liza to look up.
“Mrs. Winthrop! What a pleasant surprise,” she fibbed.
The woman moved with her usual confidence, her lovely gown of navy blue topped with a jacket of the same color, its fur collar wrapped snugly around her neck, a fine, plumed hat arranged nicely on her head. Despite the winds, not a hair on Mrs. Winthrop’s head had gone astray. The only thing that indicated she’d been in the elements was the faint glow of her round cheeks.
As the woman began removing her navy woolen gloves, one finger at a time, Liza couldn’t help but think about the contrast she made to her scantily dressed students.
“To what do I owe the honor of your visit?” she asked while standing and pasting a smile on her face. She held to the edge of her desk with both hands, something about the woman’s presence always making her feel wobbly on her feet.
Lord, help me keep my wits about me even though this woman makes me unduly nervous. The hasty plea floated on the wings of a cold draft, the result of Mrs. Winthrop having left the door ajar.
Mrs. Winthrop’s nose seemed to point a bit higher as she scanned the contents of the classroom, her eyes going from floor to ceiling as if to assess the purpose of each teaching tool. “Rocks in the classroom?” she asked, signifying the tin bucket containing a hundred or more pebbles.
“They make fine counting tools as the children work on their sums.”
The woman snorted. “They can’t memorize their facts?”
“Well, yes, but concrete objects are handy for teaching them the concepts.”
She huffed again but failed to respond. Then she turned toward the window that overlooked the playground. “I see that they seem to be playing well.”
“Yes, I have done my best to instill in each of them a sense of respect.”
“With the exception of Clement Bartel, I assume?”
Liza’s stomach did a strange twist as she eyed the woman’s demeanor, trying to discern the purpose for her visit, let alone the crude comment.
“Obviously Clement is a hard case. He is a very stubborn and rebellious young man,” Liza said to Mrs. Winthrop’s back, the woman’s gaze never wavering from the children at play.
“So you admit that you could not handle him.”
“I—I will confess his disruptive behavior made teaching difficult. He also interfered with my students’ ability to learn.” Liza loosened her grip on the edge of the desk when she glanced down at her white knuckles.
At last, Mrs. Winthrop cleared her throat, skimmed a hand across one of the desks as if to check for dust, and then turned to face Liza. “I understand you had a run-in with Clement a few weeks ago.”
Liza felt heat rush to her face. “I sent you a complete report.”
“And I have reviewed it carefully. I’m sure it was all quite unpleasant for you.”
Why now did the woman comment on the matter? Since Liza had not heard from her in response to the incident, she figured Mrs. Winthrop had dismissed it entirely, having assumed Liza had handled it correctly.
“Yes, very unpleasant,” Liza said. “And it would have been much worse had it not been for Mr. Broughton’s timely appearance. Sheriff Randolph commended Ben, uh, Mr. Broughton’s quick actions. Why, I…” Liza halted her next words when she spied the lady’s pinched look.
“Now you’ve hit upon something that concerns me,” Mrs. Winthrop said. “Why would Mr. Broughton come checking on you in the first place?”
Liza didn’t like her snappish tone, but she tried not to let it show. “He noticed that I hadn’t come home yet.”
“Does he make a habit of keeping his eye out for you?”
“Yes, I mean no. He is my neighbor, after all.”
“I had wondered all along at the wisdom in that,” Mrs. Winthrop stated simply.
“Pardon me?”
“When Mr. Broughton offered his place, I balked at first. It didn’t seem proper, but there was little else we could do, you see. After all, his offer seemed more than generous.”
“My living arrangements should be of no concern to you, ma’am.”
Lord, give me patience with this woman. And please add so
me unconditional love while You’re at it.
“Oh, but they are. I understand from several of the townsfolk that Mr. Broughton has been seeing you to and from school on a daily basis. Surely, you can see the inappropriateness of such an action.”
“His children accompany us.”
The woman squeezed her lips in a tight line. “You’re not suggesting they serve as qualified chaperones.”
“Mrs. Winthrop, I don’t need a chaperone.”
“Are you forgetting the conditions of your contract? No unseemly behavior with anyone of the opposite gender will be tolerated.”
“There is no unseemly behavior.”
Mrs. Winthrop threw a halting hand in front of Liza’s face. “I must insist that you not accept any more rides with Mr. Broughton. To do so would be to put you in breach of contract and could very well cost you your job. In addition, I will not have you flaunting your presence in this classroom after hours.”
“Flaunting? I have not…” Fresh anger swam to the surface, blurring her vision.
“And one more thing,” Mrs. Winthrop said, her chocolate eyes swirling with ire. “Little Lili Broughton has whispered to her friends about your personal visits to her home. It seems the word has gotten out to several parents. I’m sure you recognize how unacceptable this sort of behavior is.”
Liza could scarcely blame Lili for talking to her friends. Naturally, she thrilled at Liza’s visits. Still, she would have to speak to the child about the downfalls of boasting. “I have paid a visit to all the homes of my students,” Liza said, forcing calmness.
“But Mr. Broughton is the only widower. That is one visit you could have forfeited for the sake of decency.”
“I also visited Mr. Brackett. As you know, he is a widower, as well.”
To that, Mrs. Winthrop nearly toppled. Putting a hand to her throat, she made a show of coughing. “I can assure you my brother-in-law poses no threat to your respectability.”
“And Mr. Broughton does? What of Jonathan Atkins? Would it be inappropriate to be seen with him?” Liza asked, sudden boldness running through her veins.
“He is a minister,” Mrs. Winthrop said in haste. “That is quite different.”
“But I don’t see…”
“I believe this conversation has ended, young lady,” Mrs. Winthrop said with abruptness. “I shall let myself out.”
Liza counted her breaths, taking care not to say something she would later regret, while Mrs. Winthrop donned her cold-weather gear and made for the door. Laying her hand to the doorknob, she said without turning, “You would do well to pay heed to what I’ve said, Miss Merriwether. There are other teachers about should you have difficulty adhering to the demands of your contract.”
***
Ben drove the team home, Molly bouncing happily on his lap and Lili engaged in her usual ceaseless chatter.
“How come Miss Merriwether didn’t ride home with us, Papa?”
“She said she preferred walking tonight.”
Actually, she’d insisted, but Ben kept that tidbit of information to himself. The look of utter determination on the woman’s face, along with something else quite indiscernible, had warned him against arguing. He’d seen a similar look plenty of times before and learned the futility in trying to change her mind. Of course, he would watch for her lantern to come on later, and if it didn’t, he would go looking for her. He wouldn’t let her off the hook that easily, not after her recent encounter with Clement Bartel.
There was to be a meeting of the church assembly that evening concerning the hiring of a full-time minister. Reverend Miller had announced just two Sundays ago that his failing health prohibited him from continuing his circuit. It was past time that the community sought a full-time minister, namely the very qualified Jonathan Atkins. Support had risen up all around, with Ben being Jon’s number one supporter. No one else was better suited for the position, or had greater vision. The people of Little Hickman would do well to hire him on the spot. If they didn’t, some bigger congregation was sure to grab him.
After supper, Ben would knock on Liza’s door to see if she wanted a ride to the meeting. If she refused, then she would have to stay at home. He would not have her walking three miles to a meeting after dark, and that was all there was to it.
***
Liza heard the nicker of approaching horses and glanced out the frosted window in time to see Jon’s wagon coming over the crest. After school, she’d spotted him talking to Doc Randolph outside his office on her walk toward home. As soon as he’d glimpsed her, he’d waved farewell to Doc and come bounding across the street to greet her, his boots kicking up dust. Laughing at his antics, she’d welcomed his presence, happy that should Mrs. Winthrop see them together, there’d be no objection. That is quite different, she’d said, he is a minister.
Piffle. Minister or not, he was still a man, and a fine-looking one at that, never mind that she wasn’t attracted to him in a romantic sense. And she was beginning to see that Jon viewed her similarly. Somehow, they had fashioned a friendship that required little in terms of obligation, which suited her just fine. Perhaps he sensed her heart was elsewhere. Whatever the case, the casual way in which they treated one another had made it easy for her to ask him for a ride to tonight’s meeting.
“I would love to escort you to the church tonight,” he’d said, looping an arm through hers. “I need the support of friends, and I consider you one of my best.”
She’d laughed. “You have more friends than I can hope for in a lifetime, Jon.”
He’d tipped his head at her as they walked along. “I doubt that. From what I hear, you are doing a fine job as Hickman’s schoolteacher.”
Without her realizing it, her shoulders dropped. “Tell that to Mrs. Winthrop, would you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I get the distinct feeling she doesn’t approve of me.” There’d been no point to dragging the young preacher into her tale of woes. Best to keep this particular problem between her and the Lord. God would see her through, of that she was certain. He had brought her to Little Hickman for a reason, and she was sure it was for teaching its children.
“Being confident of this very thing, that he which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.”
The verse from Philippians had nearly stopped her in her tracks when it came to mind, but she’d managed to keep pace with Jon.
“Don’t worry about Iris Winthrop. She and Clyde tried for years to have a family of their own. When they couldn’t, she made it her mission to make everyone around her equally unhappy. Poor Clyde; I don’t know how he sticks with her but for the grace of God and the sweet distraction that must come from running his store.”
Liza had covered her mouth to stifle an iniquitous giggle. “Reverend Atkins, you shock me.”
He’d laughed. “Iris is not a bad person, really. She’s just had some hard knocks. Unfortunately, she’s never learned that God can take the ugly things of life and turn them into beautiful. Until she does, she will do everything in her power to make everyone miserable.”
“You seem to know her well.”
“Not really, but I treat her with as much kindness as I can muster, and every now and then I have to ask God for an extra dose.”
Again, she’d giggled, happy that he’d managed to redirect her otherwise gloomy thoughts.
“Jon!” she now called, opening her cabin door and letting in a gust of cold night air. “I’ll be right there!” He waved a friendly greeting from his high wagon perch as she closed the door again.
She threw on her long wool coat, secured her matching hat, and then doused the single light in her window before pulling on her mittens.
Taking a satisfied look around her cozy cabin, she reopened her door and bumped headlong into Ben Broughton’s brick-hard chest.
Whistling winds did little to calm her frayed nerves at the sight of him, his dark eyes running the length of her, the abs
ence of a smile setting her off balance.
“I came to offer you a ride,” he mumbled, “but I see it wasn’t necessary.”
Her gaping mouth couldn’t come up with a suitable reply.
“Ben!” called Jon, his voice barely reaching them due to the hard, driving winds. “You’re welcome to hitch a ride with Liza and me.”
“No!” Liza objected loud enough for Jon to hear. Ben’s frown grew, as did his obvious hurt and confusion. “I mean, Ben, I don’t mean to hurt your feelings,” she said, quieter now, “but I, well, it might not be appropriate if both you and Jon, well…”
“I see what you mean,” Ben said, stiffening before her eyes. “Three is a crowd, right?”
“What? No…I don’t mean…”
“Don’t try to explain, Liza. I understand that you want to be alone with Jon.”
With a prompt turn, and before she could manage another word of denial, Ben waved a hand at Jon and called, “I’d just as soon drive my own rig. Thanks anyway.”
“You sure, Ben? I’ve plenty of room.”
But Ben had disappeared into the darkness without another word.
Chapter Nineteen
The vote had been almost unanimous—almost, but not quite. Most surmised it was the elderly Mrs. Crunkle and her counterparts, the widows Jacobsen and Marley, who opposed the appointment of a full-time minister, claiming they’d managed all these many years with Reverend Miller, and what use was it to hire someone on a permanent basis? Of course, it mattered little to them that the Reverend Miller had recently resigned his position as circuit rider, and they would therefore be without a minister if they failed to vote in Jon. Ben had no idea where their thinking took them, so he chalked it up to old age.
The meeting had been brief, as church assemblies go. Most were eager to see the young Jon Atkins become their pastor. He had fresh ideas, a vision for the future, compassion for people, and a deep love for the Lord. Add to that the fact that he could preach their socks off, and he was a shoe-in for the job.
