The Teacher's Bride

by Kathleen Fuller

  Selah looked at him again. “You haven’t shaved,” she said. “And yer hair is a mess.”

  He tried to smooth it down, but then gave up.

  “Are those the same clothes you had on yesterday morning?”

  He nodded.

  Her eyes softened. “You do care.”

  Again, his heart seemed to pinch. “Of course I do. I apologize if I’ve said or done anything to make you think otherwise.” He paused. “Is that why you ran away?”

  She sighed, and then she plopped on the bed.

  He sat down next to her. “Why did you leave?”

  “Because of a mann.” She looked down at her jeans and sweatshirt. Her hair was loose and reached her waist. It was also tangled. “I’ve been seeing someone,” she said, looking at him. “An English mann. I met him in Barton when we first moved here. He was nice, handsome, and I felt gut around him. Hopeful. I thought he was the answer to everything.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m so unhappy,” she whispered. “I have been for a long time, long before I came here with you. And I shouldn’t be. I have a gut life. I thought when I joined the church things would be right, that I would feel that happiness and peace other people seem to have so easily. But I didn’t.” She looked down at her lap. “I thought having a fresh start in a new place would help, but that didn’t happen either. Then I met Oliver. He was fun. I sneaked away to meet with him at night even though I knew it was wrong.” She blew out a breath. “Yesterday I thought if I went to him, if I left the church and told him I wanted us to be together, then I would be happy. I know it sounds stupid and wrong, but at the time I felt desperate.”

  “What did he say?”

  Selah paused. “I don’t know. I didn’t see him. I stood outside his haus, but I couldn’t make myself go to the door. I went to an all-night diner instead. Then I came here. Deep inside I knew I was making a mistake. That I had made so many mistakes.” She looked at Christian, her eyes filled with tears. “What’s wrong with me?” she whispered.

  He put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned her head against him. He’d had no idea she was going through this much turmoil. He also didn’t completely understand it. It seemed like she didn’t understand it either. “We’ll figure this out,” he said.

  “How?”

  “By going back to New York and talking to Mamm and Daed.”

  She lifted her head. “Nee. I don’t want to do that. They won’t understand.”

  “Maybe not, but we can start there. Selah, I think you might be depressed.”

  She pulled away from him. “I’m not crazy.”

  “I’m not saying you are. Depression doesn’t equal insanity. But it is a real thing.” He moved his arm from her. “I’ll geh with you.”

  “What about yer students?”

  He smiled. “I happen to know an excellent substitute teacher. They’ll be in gut hands.”

  Selah sniffed. “You’d leave yer job to help me?”

  He nodded. “Of course. I’m willing to learn what I need to do to help you.” He half-smiled. “You know I’m always eager to learn.”

  She threw her arms around him. “Danki, Christian. I love you.”

  He hugged her back. “I love you too.”

  Ruby sat in the hickory rocker on Timothy’s front porch and looked out at the yard. It was chilly this evening, and the sun was setting behind the horizon. She glanced at the book in her lap, but she hadn’t really been reading it. Her mind had been on Christian and Selah, praying that everything was okay.

  A stronger wind kicked up, making her shiver and pull her dark-blue pea coat closer to her. She should have brought out a scarf. She closed the book and rose from the chair as a buggy pulled into the driveway. The driver brought the horse up short and then got out. When Ruby saw it was Christian, she dropped the book in the chair and went to meet him.

  “Is Selah all right?” she asked when she reached him.

  He nodded. “For now.”

  Ruby searched his face in the dim light of dusk. He looked exhausted. He also wasn’t wearing a coat. “It’s cold out here. Do you want to come inside?”

  He shook his head. “I only came to ask a favor before I talk to a neighbor about boarding Einstein. First thing in the morning I have to geh to New York for a little while. Could you take over mei class for me, for at least a week?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

  “The substitute folder is on mei desk.” He paused. “The only thing I can tell you is that Selah needs me.”

  “So you’re both going back.”

  “Ya. Will you tell Timothy and the school board it’s an emergency situation?”

  “I will.”

  Relief crossed his face. “Also, about Selah running away—”

  “I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Gut. Martha’s family agreed not to either.” He looked down at her. “Danki. I knew I could trust you.”

  Something moved inside her. Not pride or happiness, or even satisfaction. But she was glad she could help Christian. She was glad she had earned his trust.

  “If you’ll give me your phone number, I’ll be in touch and let you know when I’ll be back.”

  Ruby had a pencil and her calendar in her apron pocket. She ripped out a page she’d never used. “Here’s both our shanty number and Patience’s new cell phone number. She just got it for emergencies.”

  “Thank you,” he said when she gave him the paper. “You might have to come up with a few more lessons for the students in case I’m gone longer than a week.”

  She was suddenly doubtful. “A-all right . . .”

  “Ruby.”

  She looked up at him, and through the weariness and stress on his face she saw a calmness. “Ya?”

  “You’re a gut teacher. I believe that. You need to believe it too.”

  That made her chest feel lighter with happiness. “Danki.”

  “I have to get back home. I dropped Selah off before coming here.” He started to back away. “When I come back, we have some things to discuss.”

  She nodded, not completely sure what he was talking about but not wanting to pry. Selah was his priority now, and she admired him for that. “Have a safe trip.”

  He nodded, and then he climbed back in the buggy. She watched him leave before going inside.

  As soon as she was in the house she found Timothy and explained the situation. He frowned. “He left just like that?”

  She nodded. “Like I said, it’s a family emergency.” That was the truth.

  Timothy looked at her. “I sense there’s more to this.”

  Ruby bit her lip but didn’t say anything.

  Finally, he said, “All right. Tomorrow I’ll let the rest of the

  board know about Christian leaving and you substituting again. Just promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Nee pets!”

  She laughed. “Trust me. I learned mei lesson.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Selah sat at her parents’ kitchen table, her hands in her lap, while her mother filled a glass with water from the sink.

  She stared down at the oak table, wishing she hadn’t listened to Christian when he insisted they come here. When they arrived from Birch Creek this morning, he’d said very little to Mamm before leaving the two of them alone to talk. As usual, when it came to her mother, she didn’t know what to say.

  Mamm set the glass in front of her, sat down, and then folded her hands on the table. “I haven’t heard from you for over two weeks,” she said, looking straight ahead.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I haven’t heard from Christian either, except when he called Saturday to ask if I’d seen you.” Mamm touched the side of her white kapp. “Out of sight, out of mind, I see.”

  If she wasn’t so tired, Selah would have rolled her eyes. Her mother could fan a flame of guilt in an instant. And if she’d wanted to talk to them, why hadn’t she called them?<
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  “I still don’t know why you felt the need to leave.” Mamm finally looked at her. “Christian’s decision, I understand. But yer home is here.”

  It doesn’t feel like it. Birch Creek didn’t feel like home either. Neither place was right. Nothing was right. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She sniffed and wiped them away.

  “Selah?”

  She looked up. Her mother’s tone had changed, and a flicker of concern flashed in her eyes. Selah sniffed again and straightened. “You’re right,” she said, grasping for the composure her brother seemed to constantly have. “I shouldn’t have left.”

  “Why are you crying?”

  “I’m not.” She blinked and glanced away.

  “Did something happen to you in Birch Creek? Is that why you’ve returned?”

  Selah almost laughed at how alike Mamm and Christian were. Formal, direct, detached. But she had seen a different side of her brother since their move. He was also compassionate and caring. Her mother was, too, in her own way. But Selah needed more. More of what, she didn’t know. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she whispered.

  “Wrong with you?” Mamm pushed up her silver-rimmed glasses. “There’s nix wrong with you. You’re fine the way you are.”

  “What way is that?” Selah turned to her.

  Mamm blinked. “You’re . . . you.” She stood from the table. “Now, stop talking nonsense and unpack yer things. You can help me prepare lunch. Yer father is working from home today.”

  But Selah didn’t move. She stared at the glass of water in front of her. She didn’t want to unpack or help with lunch, or even take a sip of water. She wanted to shrink in her chair until she was . . . nothing.

  “Selah, did you hear me?”

  She didn’t respond. Mamm wouldn’t understand. No one could.

  “Selah?” Mamm put her hand on Selah’s shoulder.

  Her eyes remained fixed on the glass of water.

  Mamm grabbed a chair, moved it closer to Selah, and sat

  down. “Now you’re worrying me.”

  Her anxious words broke through Selah’s haze. It wasn’t like

  her mother to express worry. She looked at her. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” She patted Selah’s hand awkwardly.

  But her tone had a slight softness to it, reminding Selah

  of the few times over the years her mother had comforted her, mostly when she was a little girl. As she grew older, she’d experienced less comforting and more insistence on keeping her emotions to herself, the way Christian did. The way Mamm usually did. But Mamm wasn’t doing that now, and that gave Selah a bit of courage. “Christian thinks I’m depressed,” she said.

  A flicker of surprise entered Mamm’s eyes. “What do you think?”

  Tears slipped down her cheeks again. “I don’t know.”

  After a long silence, Mamm said, “Is that why you left? Because

  you’re depressed?”

  Selah shrugged. “Maybe. I’m not sure . . . about anything.” Her mother took a handkerchief out of the pocket of her

  apron and handed it to Selah. “Are you in . . . trouble?” she asked, averting her gaze.

  Knowing what she meant, Selah shook her head and stared at the tabletop again. “Nee.”

  Mamm nodded, and there was no mistaking her relieved expression. “Would you be willing to talk to someone?”

  Selah lifted her head. “What do you mean?”

  “I should have seen the signs,” Mamm said, her voice quiet, as if she were talking to herself and not Selah. “Yer aenti Keturah went through the same thing when she was yer age. I just didn’t think . . .” Mamm shook her head. “I didn’t think it would happen to you.”

  “What?”

  “Depression. Keturah has struggled with it her entire life.”

  Selah was shocked. Her aunt was one of the sweetest, happiest people she knew. “Really?”

  Mamm nodded. “Would you be willing to talk to her about how you’re feeling? I don’t know exactly how she’s managed to cope with it, but I know she’ll give you gut advice.” Mamm paused. “She’s also a gut listener. Unlike me.”

  Selah looked at her mother’s hands. They were clasped again, but the knuckles were white. When was the last time her mother had comforted her? Reassured her? She couldn’t remember. Then she realized it didn’t matter. Her mother was here for her now, and that gave her hope. “Ya,” she said, wiping her eyes with the handkerchief. “I’ll talk to her.”

  “And I’ll keep this conversation between you and me. Nee need for yer vatter or bruder to know anything about it.”

  Selah nodded. “Danki.”

  Mamm relaxed her hands. “We should pay Keturah a visit now. You don’t have to explain anything to her right away unless you want to, but I think being around more familye will be a nice activity. The men can fend for themselves for lunch.”

  This was the mother she was used to, a woman who took control and planned the next step. That had irritated her in the past, but now she welcomed it. “Ya,” Selah said. She even managed a small smile. “I think so too.”

  Christian adjusted his hat as he walked toward the barn. Ambled was a more precise word, and if he could avoid going to the barn at all, he would. But his mother had told him his father was sharpening his tools out there. Since Christian’s goal was to make sure Selah and their mother talked, he had little choice but to say hello to Daed.

  He stopped a few feet in front of the barn door, remembering the last conversation they had, which had turned into an altercation. How would their encounter turn out today? Christian didn’t want to compound his sister’s problems, so he took a deep breath, determined not to let his father get to him, no matter what he said.

  Christian entered the barn, which was divided in half—two stalls for horses, one of which was empty, and the back half, which was his father’s workshop. He’d seen Hank, Daed’s horse, nibbling on grass in the small pasture next to the barn when he and Selah arrived. He could hear the faint scrape of a blade sharpener as he ventured to the workshop.

  He paused and watched his father sharpen a hickory knife on a small whetstone on top of an old table pushed against the barn wall. His father was archaic in his trade, using tools that had been handed down from his grandfather. A meat cleaver, a scraper, and several smaller knives were laid neatly on the table next to the stone. Daed’s shoulders were hunched as he bent over the stone. Christian waited until he was finished, not wanting to surprise him. His father could become engrossed in his work to the point of forgetting his surroundings.

  When Daed picked up the blade for inspection, Christian cleared his throat. Daed turned, his brow lifting. “What are you doing here?” he said, placing the knife on the table and picking up the cleaver. He ran his thumb across the top of the metal edge, without cutting himself. Christian had tried to emulate that one time and ended up with several stitches. His father applied the blade to the whetstone. “Don’t you have a job to do?”

  “I have a capable substitute working in my stead.” During the bus ride here, he’d thought about Ruby and the students in his classroom, but he didn’t worry about them. He trusted Ruby, grateful she allowed him to keep his focus on addressing Selah’s difficulties.

  “Still using fancy English, I see.” Daed ran the blade against the stone again.

  Christian cringed. The sound had always given him the shivers. “Is this better?” he said, switching to Dietsch.

  Daed shrugged. “Suit yerself.” Scrape.

  Deciding to ignore his father’s testy attitude, he said, “I see you’re doing well.”

  Scrape.

  “Do you, uh, need some help with anything?” Christian asked.

  “Doing fine on mei own.” Scrape.

  Christian clenched his teeth. “I will be here for a few days, so if there’s anything I can do—”

  “I guess chasing little kinner around all day isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.” Daed eyed him.
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  “I don’t chase kinner all day,” he said, feeling his hackles rise. His father knew every button to push, and sometimes Christian suspected he enjoyed the results. He breathed in again. “As a member of the school board, you know firsthand how important a gut teacher is for the success of the school.”

  “So yer school’s not successful.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  He turned back to the stone. “Then I’ll ask you again. Why are you here?”

  Scrape. Christian was tempted to grab the whetstone and throw it out the barn window. Instead, he shoved down his growing irritation. “Selah and I wanted to see how you and Mamm are doing.” He’d let Selah decide what she wanted their father to know about the real reason.

  Daed turned in his chair and laughed. “How we’re doing? We’re fine. In fact, better than fine.” He narrowed his gaze. “Now we’re free to do as we please.”

  Christian flinched, as if his daed had threatened to throw the cleaver at him. He also recognized the subtext of his words. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be the sohn you wanted,” he said, fighting to keep the wobble out of his voice.

  Scrape.

  “How long are you going to resent me for choosing mei own path?”

  The blade hovered above the stone. Daed set it down. “I don’t resent you,” he said.

  You could have fooled me. “Disappointed, then.”

  “I won’t deny that.” He picked up the hickory knife he’d previously sharpened. “Do you know how old this tool is?”

  Christian did, but he remained silent, knowing what his father was going to say next.

  “Four generations. Four generations of butchers, dating back to Europe. A trade that has kept food on the table and clothes on our bodies.” He turned, still holding the knife. “A trade you rejected because it wasn’t gut enough.”

  Stunned, Christian said, “Is that what you think?”

  Daed shrugged again, his expression vacant. His father was the more expressive of his two parents, but right now he was so emotionless Christian wanted to shake him. “The Ropp men don’t use fancy words or read fancy books,” Daed continued.

  “I’m an anomaly.”