A Marriage for Meghan (7 page)

At midday, because the earlier light flakes had grown into heavier flurries, the students stayed inside and ate lunch at their desks. But Catherine decided a half hour of outdoor play might expend some pent-up energy, allowing for a less restless afternoon.

“Meghan, please take the students who have cleared their desktops outside for recess. But everyone must remain on the blacktop or graveled areas—no one on the ball field today. It will be too wet in the grassy areas.” Catherine spoke in the firm, clear voice they had heard Joanna use all week.

Meghan shuddered inwardly, remembering her first session of playground duty. She’d organized a fun-filled kickball game that the
kinner
enjoyed, but their skirts and pants had become woefully wet. Many girls complained they were cold, and she’d heard more than one sneeze that afternoon. Joanna had stoked the fire to keep the room as warm as possible, raising the strong odor of wet wool for the rest of the day. The smell had reminded her of the visit to a neighbor’s sheep barn one rainy spring day. She had prayed that night for no one to develop pneumonia due to her misjudgment.

“All right,” said Meghan with far less assurance. “For those who are ready, put away your lunch boxes and get your boots and coats.” She stayed to help the younger ones sweep crumbs into their small palms to dump into the wastebasket and then walked into the outer hall holding the hands of two girls. Much to her dismay, Meghan saw that the boys had rushed out of the building without waiting for her. Only a handful of older girls remained.

The taller-than-average Annabeth lingered with her bonnet strings untied. “Owen said we don’t have to wait for you. He said you would come out once you finished wiping the
bopplin’s
noses.”

Meghan frowned, but true enough, several first graders did need tissues along with help putting on their boots. By the time she and her bevy of girls reached the playground, a game of dodge ball had started close to the swings. However, she saw no seventh or eighth grade boys in the game. She craned her neck left and right, temporarily ignoring the girls’ questions and attempts to share their stories. To her dismay and disappointment, Meghan spotted the boys in the ball field, immersed in an already wet-looking kickball game. The orange ball flew through the air, spinning drops of water with every kick.

“My goodness,” she muttered. “You girls stay here on the blacktop. Do not follow me.” She marched toward the game with her back stiff with indignation. Unfortunately, the shoveled playground area ran out before the ball field began. Perching at the edge, she cupped her hands around her mouth. “You boys come back here! You heard Catherine’s orders to stay out of the snow.”

Perhaps it was due to the wind whistling through the trees or maybe her vocal capacity matched her diminutive size, but not a single head turned in her direction. She glanced back and spotted the cluster of girls, waiting where she’d left them. A column of smoke curled from the schoolhouse chimney toward the low clouds, but no face appeared in the window to offer assistance.

I am an adult woman, and I will be minded by my students if I am to have any
future in teaching,
she thought. Because they were supposed to stay in shoveled areas, she hadn’t slipped on her own cumbersome outer boots. Glancing down regretfully at her new leather boots, she marched through the six-inch snow to reach the field.

“You boys need to
immediately
get back to where you’re supposed to be!” she said as forcefully as possible when she reached them.

Several seventh graders instantly left their positions in the outfield, but the eighth graders stayed where they were. “Owen Shockley, you come here right now. I wish to speak to you.” But instead of heeding her, Owen pitched the ball to the next player. The boy kicked the ball high to left field and sprinted to second base, an orange feedbag filled with straw to stand out against the white snow.

Without warning, a large hulking figure materialized from the stand of pines. He strode toward the kickball players with singular purpose. Meghan recognized the tall, powerfully built man as Jacob Schultz, who could easily heft a two-hundred-pound calf from the mud. Jacob reached Owen before she could even think what to do and grabbed the boy. His fingers spanned Owen’s upper arm, even with a heavy winter coat on. He said something in Owen’s ear, waited a moment, gave the boy a shake, and then the two marched toward her. Owen was looking quite docile under Jacob’s control.

As Meghan’s shock over the intrusion abated, anger rushed into its place. She breathed in and out noisily until they reached where she stood.

Jacob said, “Meghan, Owen here has something to say to you.”

Owen stared at the ground, not looking at her. “I’m sorry, Meghan, that I didn’t mind you and Catherine.” His voice was soft but angry.

“
Miss
Meghan,” thundered Jacob.

“Miss Meghan,” mumbled Owen.

She exhaled her held breath. “All right. I want you and the other eighth grade boys to go inside and put your heads down on your desks. Your recess is over.” She tried to sound as stern as possible, and then she waited for the boys to disappear from sight. Unfortunately, her little group of young female followers had crept closer during the discipline of the troublemakers.

Meghan turned to Jacob, who looked rather pleased with himself. “I’ll walk you back to your buggy.” She couldn’t speak to him with so many little ears nearby.

Along the way he took hold of her elbow. “I don’t mind sticking around. I thought I could split that load of firewood somebody dropped off. I can stack it near the back door before I drive you home tonight.”

She thought steam might burst from her ears by the time they reached his buggy. She pulled her arm free from his touch. “This ground isn’t icy. I can walk just fine. And John promised to stop by and split the load sometime next week before we run out.”

“I don’t mind, Meg. There’s not much for a farmer to do this time of year. And I’m all caught up sharpening cutting implements for folks.”

She glanced around to be certain they were alone. “What exactly did you say to Owen Shockley?”

He blinked in the bright sunshine. “Only that if he wished his arm to remain fit for spring baseball season, he had better mind you.” He smiled with satisfaction.

“You
threatened
my student?
I
must be the one to demand respect. And there’s no need for him to call me ‘Miss’ Meghan. The bishop wishes no big separation between those who instruct and those who learn.”

He scratched a stubbly chin. “Seeing that you’re barely a hundred pounds, I thought adding the ‘Miss’ might give you a little extra oomph.”

“
Danki
for the concern, Jacob, but I prefer you not interfere.” She shifted her weight to the other hip and crossed her arms.

He looked taken aback. “I’m sorry, Meg, but I can’t stomach those rascals disrespecting the gal I intend to marry.” His face turned bright pink as he grasped his suspenders.

Her eyes grew round as an owl’s. “We are not betrothed, Jacob! You had better get that idea out of your head right now!” The tension from the confrontation welled up and spilled over. She stamped her wet boot, causing his horse to prance.

His coloring deepened to a shade of plum. “I thought you really liked me. You always gave me that impression.”

“I
do
like you. But you’re my friend, nothing more.”

“You sure could have told me that a little sooner, Meghan Yost! Before I stupidly fell in love with you,” he sputtered. He pulled the reins loose, climbed into the buggy, and released the brake. “You would think a
friend
might have done me the service.”

It was a good thing she jumped back because he slapped the reins down so hard the buggy lurched forward like at the start of a race.

Meghan slowly returned to the classroom for the longest afternoon of her life too.

Gideon didn’t sleep well that night. He’d tossed and turned, waking fitfully more times than he could count. Finally, with dawn beginning to brighten the eastern sky, he swung his legs out of bed. Reaching for his robe, he tried not to wake his wife.

“Hmm,” said Ruth, turning toward him. “It’s too early and too cold to get up. Get back under the covers where it’s warm until spring arrives. We have two strong sons to milk cows and feed livestock, plus two fine daughters to gather eggs for breakfast and start a pot of coffee.” She tugged the quilt over her head.

He smiled and patted her well-rounded hip. “I can’t sleep anyway. Might as well stoke the stove so it’ll be toasty warm when my bride gets up.”

“Once I smell bacon frying and know for sure coffee is ready, I’ll think about getting up.” The heavy quilt muffled Ruth’s words.

“Good idea.” He stood stiffly and walked to the window that overlooked the neighbor’s fallow field across the road. Peering down on a wintry tableau, he thought he saw something odd. Gideon rubbed a dry patch in the condensation and stared at three large animals standing in the street. “What on earth?” he muttered. As he peered into the near darkness another beast ambled up, swinging her head from side to side as cattle love to do. “Are our cows in the middle of the road?”

“What’s wrong,
ehemann
?” Ruth sat up in bed.

“Nothing to worry about. Lie back and wait for the scent of bacon. I’m probably seeing things, but I’ll go check.” Gideon quickly pulled on trousers under his nightshirt and hurried downstairs. He donned his coat, hat, and boots faster than his arthritis usually allowed him to move. If his livestock were in the middle of the road, they might get hit by a car. A fast driver wouldn’t see them in time to stop, endangering both man and beast alike.

He strode through the frigid air to the barn, where yellow light glowed in the window. Inside he spotted one of his sons carrying a feed sack toward the horse stalls. “James,” he called. “The cows—where are they?”

Without breaking stride, James swung the hundred-pound bag from his shoulder, tipping it to fill the stanchion. Not a single kernel hit the floor as he expertly cut off the stream when the corn reached the top. “They’re still in the field,
daed
. I haven’t brought them in to milk yet. Every water trough had to be freed of ice and refilled, plus I want to get the horses fed. They’re probably banging their heads against—”

Gideon didn’t let him to finish. “Come outside, son. A fence might be down. I spotted some of our—”

James didn’t wait for his father to finish. He dropped the sack and sprinted out the door as only the young and nimble can. “John!” he hollered. “Get down here. We need you.”

His brother’s head appeared in the loft where he’d been repositioning hay bales closer to the edge.

“Livestock might be loose,” called Gideon. John wasted no time getting down the ladder and out of the barn with his father close behind. James had already vanished into the thin light of dawn.

In the five minutes it took Gideon to find his sons, the sky had lightened enough to see cattle milling in and across the road. John and James flew into action, shouting and waving their hats to direct them back onto Yost land. Gideon stood in the road, waving his lantern back and forth to warn any approaching traffic. Fortunately, no cars appeared by the time the boys finished their roundup. The Yosts only owned twenty head for the family’s milk, cheese, and butter needs.

Once they had herded the cows into the barn, the horses were easier to locate. James approached his barrel racing Morgan in the hay field and easily slipped a bridle on him. Then he mounted and chased down the horse Meghan once had ridden, along with the standardbreds used with the buggies. Hunger finally convinced their Percherons it was time to come home. Under a cover of snow, they found no grass to graze, so the bucket of oats in their barn stall became an enticing incentive.

With their livestock safe, Gideon and his sons looked for the cause of the near disaster. In full daylight the answer was evident. All the pasture fences along the township road for the length of their property had been pulled down—in both directions. For a moment, the three men stood scratching their heads until they realized they had been vandalized.

The bishop watched James grow angry, so he quickly calmed him down. “Easy, son. No real harm done—no accidents and no lost livestock.”

“It’ll take days to put up fencing in this weather. Many of the rails will have to be replaced.” James slapped his hat against his thigh.

“Then we’ll have something to keep us busy. Idle hands make things easier for the devil.”