A Marriage for Meghan (5 page)

Meghan paled. “Oh, my!
Mir leid
,” she apologized as she opened her arms wide. The six-year-olds ran into a huge group hug. “I didn’t know,” she explained in
Deutsch
over and over.

Catherine had to look away when she noticed tears on her sister’s face. Joanna allowed them another minute, and then she calmly took charge of the reading group. Soon the rest of the class were copying spelling words to write twenty times, while the youngest practiced the alphabet from big block letters mounted above the chalkboard.

Both sisters had crept to the back of the room. They squeezed onto the eighth grade benches to observe Joanna juggle balls in the air expertly. Meghan sat with the girls, but Catherine settled next to the boys, whose behavior improved dramatically with her close proximity. When dismissal time arrived, Catherine breathed a sigh of relief. The sisters told Joanna goodbye and walked out into the bright sunshine. Meghan’s face was as long as a winter shadow.

“I’ll never learn to be good teacher,” she moaned. Her tone sought neither pity nor a denial. She merely stated the obvious.

“That’s not true.” Catherine reached for her sister’s hand. “You will master classroom management given enough time, along with my help and guidance.”

“Do you mean you’ll stay until I learn? You’ll come every day?” Meghan’s face brightened with hope. “I have never wanted
anything
so much as I want to be a teacher—a good teacher.”

Catherine drew Meghan close to her side. “I’ll stay as long as I’m needed. Even if Isaiah has to build a temporary cabin behind the school.”

Meghan hugged her tightly. “You’re the best
schwester
in the world.
Danki.
”

“You remember that when we’re sharing a bathroom again and both trying to get ready for work. In the meantime, let’s go home. Our poor horse needs his oats. I hadn’t planned to stay this long today. And we have cookies to eat along the way.”

Just as they climbed into the buggy, a voice called out. “Wait up, Meghan.” Jacob Schultz stepped out from the row of pine trees where he’d parked his two-seater buggy. “I’ve come to drive you home.”

Meghan jumped at the sound of the male voice behind them.
Jacob Schultz. Will I get no peace from that man?
She’d just seen him yesterday and accepted a ride home. If they kept this up, word would get around the district that they were courting. She slowly turned to face him but remained on the buggy’s step. “Hello, Jacob. You came out two days in a row? You should better plan your errands. I’m riding home with my sister.”

He ducked his head into the buggy and tipped his hat. “Hullo, Catherine. You back home from Abigail’s?”

Catherine shifted on the seat. “
Jah
, for the time being I am. I’ll be helping Meghan in the classroom.” She looked at her sister. “If you would prefer to ride home with Jacob, my feelings won’t be hurt.”

“And let you eat all the oatmeal cookies?” asked Meghan, sitting down beside her. “Not a chance.” She turned her best smile toward Jacob. “
Danki
for the offer, but Catherine and I should discuss what happened today in class. Apparently, I need more teaching pointers than I thought. When we get home, we’ll have chores besides dinner to fix. So this might be our only chance.”

“Sure, I understand,” he said. “Were those boys acting up again? Don’t forget my offer to speak to them
privately
.”

Meghan reached under the seat for an extra lap robe so he wouldn’t see her roll her eyes. “That won’t be necessary.”

Jacob removed his hat and leaned further into their buggy. His green eyes sparked with the late afternoon sun. “Pardon me for speaking in front of your
schwester
, Meggie, but I wondered if you’re coming to the Sunday’s singing. It’s at our house this time, and I’ve split so much wood the barn will be as warm as a July afternoon. If you can catch a ride there, maybe with Catherine, I’d be happy to give you a lift home.” He clutched his hat to his chest like an old-fashioned gentleman in storybooks.

Meghan shook her head. “Catherine won’t be attending socials while her intended is away in Kentucky.”

“One of your
bruders
then. I know James and John seldom miss events where unlimited cookies and sweets will be served.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “I won’t promise, but I’ll try to come. We must be off now, Jacob. The horse is hungry and growing restless.”

He pulled back his head of fiery red-blond hair. “Hope you’ll come on Sunday. And nice to see you again, Catherine.” He disappeared from view as Meghan clucked to the horse and shook the reins.

Catherine waited to speak until they had reached the township road. “You shouldn’t have referred to Isaiah as my intended, Meghan. We probably won’t announce our engagement until the fall around harvesttime.”

“That wasn’t the only thing I shouldn’t have done.” Meghan slumped down under the warm woolen cover.

“What do you mean? I thought you liked Jacob. He’s been your friend for ages. I still remember how you two fished for hours on the riverbank and brought home a bucket of trout for Abby to fry. You would sneak off swimming with him while
mamm
thought you were reading or sewing in the meadow. You were such a tomboy!”

Meghan smiled at the pleasant memories. “I
do
like him, but I also know he’s in the market for a wife. I’m only nineteen, Cat. I want to be a teacher, not find myself in the same pickle Joanna Kauffman is in.”

“Meghan!” scolded Catherine, but she couldn’t keep from laughing. “Joanna doesn’t consider herself to be ‘in a pickle.’ She and her husband are looking forward to the birth of their first
boppli
. She can barely contain her joy.”

“That’s well and good for the Kauffmans, but I hope to enjoy many years of teaching school. I don’t intend to marry until I’m at least as old as you.”

Catherine wrinkled her nose. “Twenty-three is not old.”

“Sorry. I just meant I plan to work before settling down as someone’s wife.” She gazed over the fields of glistening snow and felt a wistful longing for something she couldn’t name.

“Okay, Miss Teacher. Let’s talk about today. Do you understand what went wrong when Joanna put you in charge of the class?”

Meghan was grateful for the change of subject. “I do. First, I didn’t realize that the young ones couldn’t read yet. I need to read to them while they follow along. Second, when Joanna said the students should tell the parable in their own words, she didn’t mean verbally. She meant they should write the story down on paper. You can’t have several groups talking at once; it’s too distracting. And, finally, I should have stopped the boys’ horseplay after the
first
paper wad hit the trash can.”

“That’s correct,” said Catherine. “From what I saw this afternoon, Joanna has only one verbal activity going on while the other groups work quietly. She keeps an eye on the lesson up front, while her other eye watches the rest of classroom. That way mischief doesn’t get out of hand.”

“It’s a good thing I have twenty-twenty vision in both eyes,” said Meghan, patting her sister’s arm. “And I’m very glad you showed up today. Now, where are those cookies?”

Meghan settled back with her snack to review the day’s events in her mind. She wanted to prepare herself for tomorrow…and forget about Jacob Schultz, with his courting buggy and flashing smile.

Bishop Gideon Yost was a contented man that January evening. His
fraa
had prepared his favorite meal—baked pork chops, chunky applesauce, pickled cauliflower, and mashed yams with cinnamon butter. Patting his stomach, he pulled on his boots and coat. His middle daughter was back home and would be a good influence on his willynilly youngest child. His sons had shoveled the driveway all the way to the road. And Ruth had baked an extra apple pie for him to take to the neighbors. As he walked the short distance to Stephen’s house, he gave thanks for his blessings, including that the deacon lived next door. A man needed a strong cup of coffee and an occasional pipeful of tobacco with a friend during trying times. And Stephen could be counted on, provided an apple pie with crumb topping was involved.

Although neither man’s wife allowed tobacco smoke indoors, Stephen had partially enclosed his back porch on two sides. It comfortably accommodated their evening discussions in all but the foulest weather.

“Good evening,” called Gideon when he spotted the deacon coming from the barn.

Stephen approached, carrying his battery lantern. “What have you got there? Pie?” He peered through the thick lenses of his spectacles.

“
Jah
, pie. Any coffee left?”

“Of course. Come inside, Bishop.” Stephen paused for him to catch up.

“
Nein
, my boots are too muddy. I’ll wait on the porch. Bring a knife and two plates and forks besides the coffee.” Gideon headed around the house without waiting for an answer. They both knew each other well.

A few minutes later Stephen appeared with a laden tray, which he set down on a low table. Two rockers and some plastic lawn chairs completed the furnishings. Gideon had already lit the porch’s kerosene heater. The men contentedly rested their boot heels on the metal ring around the stove. As the deacon filled mugs with hot black coffee, Gideon sliced two large pieces of pie.

“As I promised you and the other brethren, my daughter Catherine has moved home to help in the classroom.” Gideon accepted a mug and passed over one plate.

“
Gut, gut
. Paul will be happy to hear that.” Stephen smiled at the crumb topping and flaky piecrust. “Did I tell you what’s in store for the remaining winter?” The deacon consulted
Raber’s Almanac
on a daily basis.

The bishop listened to a forecast of cold temperatures, more snow, and blustery winds—as one would expect—while swallowing his first bite of sweet apples and buttery crust.

But the neighbor’s other news did nothing to warm the chilly night. “Did ya hear, Gideon?” asked Stephen, sipping his steaming coffee with care. “Someone took a baseball bat to every mailbox on County Roads 72 and 89. Not one house has a box left standing for tomorrow’s delivery.”

Gideon pulled his white beard and began rocking. “Kids!” he muttered. “Up to no good. If we find out who’s responsible, we’ll make them pay for the boxes and replace every single post. I hope they’re not from our district.”

Stephen rocked too, closing his eyes. “What are the chances of finding out who they were? But I tell you, folks on those two roads are hopping mad. It’s bad enough to contend with the county snowplow drivers who can’t seem to tell where the pavement ends, but now we have vandals in the neighborhood? Some of those mailboxes had already been replaced this year.”

The bishop set down his plate and fork. His appetite for the pie had waned. “Such a waste of money, besides the time it takes to replace posts in winter. I’ll ask around in town for information tomorrow. Maybe somebody can point us in the right direction.”

The two men sat in silence, each deep in thought. Both had abandoned the pipe notion. Instead they rocked in their chairs, listening to the house creak and groan as the wood siding contracted and snapped from the cold.

One problem solved, while another pops up right on its heels. The Lord never promised us paradise on earth, did He?