Hope at Dawn (6 page)

Irritation leapt inside him, despite knowing the question wasn’t entirely unfounded. “Every farm in our township but one has ancestral ties to Germany. Does that bother you?”

“No.” She kept her chin tilted up as she said it, and yet a flicker of wariness in her green eyes belied her response. “I only hope the children will know I don’t plan to continue…” She visibly swallowed. “I will be dispensing with some of the practices of the last teacher.”

The resentment he’d harbored over all his family had suffered the past few weeks roiled inside him, despite knowing Livy Campbell wasn’t to blame. He was powerless to stop his next words from pouring out with the tide of frustration. “Worried you might have a whole room of little Kaiser-praising loyalists? The last teacher was accused of spying, too. But that won’t be a problem for you, will it, Miss Campbell? You’ll beat out any lingering love for the fatherland, won’t you?”

Her eyes widened at his accusation, then narrowed with barely controlled anger. “You certainly have some nerve,” she fired back. Her brow furrowed and she gripped her coat tightly against her. “You don’t know anything about me or what I can handle or what sort of discipline I plan to administer, so don’t mock me with your sarcasm. If you want to be a German patriot, that’s your choice, but don’t assume you know what I think or feel.”

Her answering fury, and the memory of Joe and his mob, cooled Friedrick’s bitterness by a few degrees. He couldn’t afford to court trouble—not when he’d just been given this job. He realized his hands had balled into fists. Relaxing them, he softened his tone. “I assure you, I am not a German patriot. My loyalty is, and will always be, to this nation and her allies.”

Livy arched her eyebrows. “Then how come you’re not in Europe fighting for America?”

Friedrick folded his arms and took a determined stance. There was no need to hide the answer from her tonight, now that she knew he was German-American. “I have a farm deferment,” he said simply without apology.

“I see.” She gazed coolly at him. “That’s certainly preferred to risking your own life or limbs for the cause.” The cynicism behind her barbed words reminded him that she very well could have family fighting overseas.

“My father’s dying, Miss Campbell.” He locked his eyes with hers. She fell back a step. Whether from his scrutiny or his answer, he didn’t know. “If I had gone overseas to fight, my stepmother and half siblings would’ve had to run the farm alone while caring for him, too.”

“I—I’m sorry. I just presumed you didn’t want to—”

“Participate?” he finished with a bitter laugh. “Believe me, it would be much easier than staying behind.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “Especially when I have to answer to judging busybodies like yourself,” he muttered.

He didn’t say it quietly enough, though. The muscles in her delicate jaw clenched. “I think it’s time you left, Mr. Wagner. And don’t bother with the wood anymore. I’m perfectly capable of chopping it myself. I wouldn’t want you to have to help a judging busybody.”

If he hadn’t been so mad, he might have been inclined to laugh at her stubbornness. He had no doubt she could fend for herself. Her aim with the fire poker might have been a bit off, but she could hold her own in a verbal battle.

“Suits me fine,” he grumbled as he stomped out the door. He didn’t bother to shut it. Let
Miss Capability
do it herself.

He marched to the wagon, regret nibbling at his conscience. If word got back to Foster that Friedrick had made an enemy of the new teacher, he’d surely be fired. He didn’t have to like her, but he could be civil.

He drew on every ounce of willpower to turn around. She hadn’t completely closed the door. “There’s something you need to know.” Friedrick prided himself on sounding calm.

Livy glared at him, but she didn’t slam the door shut.

“If you light the school stove in the morning, the children who live close by will see the smoke and know class is back in session. Word will spread to the others.”

Without waiting for a reply, he climbed onto the wagon seat and slapped the reins. He couldn’t get away from here fast enough. He’d foolishly believed Livy was different, at least until she’d found out who he really was.

Friedrick turned the horses toward home, not sparing a glance at the cabin. His eyes narrowed on the stars above him. There were other things as constant as the heavens—people’s prejudice, for one. He was kidding himself if he thought things would change anytime soon for him and his family. As long as the war lasted, they would be viewed as a target, a threat. That wasn’t going to change, and the sooner he accepted it, the better.

T
he alarm clock’s insistent ring jerked Livy awake the next morning. She rubbed her tired eyes and climbed, unseeing, from her bed. As she started across the floor, her big toe connected with a hard knot in the floorboards. Pain shot up her foot. Groaning, she flopped back onto the mattress and rubbed the injured limb. What a fitting omen after her less-than-restful night.

She hadn’t been able to quell her fury over Friedrick Wagner’s arrogance, but once she had calmed down, confusion replaced her anger. Where was the kind young man she’d danced with on her birthday? She’d gotten a glimpse of him before their argument and afterward when he’d offered the helpful information about the stove. But his ill opinions, and the accusation of her being a “judging busybody,” still stung her memory.

And to think I entertained the idea of kissing him for telling me about the teaching job.

With an indignant shake of her head, Livy limped to the bureau and carefully selected a striped blouse and a green, high-waisted skirt for her first day of school. If anyone came…

Friedrick had likely woken the neighbors last night and repeated all of Livy’s comments. The thought made her already unsettled stomach lurch with fresh nerves. She needed this day and the next and the rest of the school year to go well, or she’d have to return home. There she’d be forced to once again face the absence of her brothers and Robert’s insobriety.

“No.” She slammed the drawer shut to emphasize her determination. She wouldn’t let Friedrick’s remarks or actions tear her down. She would go over to the school, light the stove, and prepare for the day, as if all the students were coming.

Once she was dressed, Livy eyed her humble kitchen. Despite her resolve to be strong, she wasn’t sure she could eat anything. She settled on grabbing an apple from yesterday’s lunch hamper. If her stomach felt better later on, she would eat it. She bundled into her coat and hat and pocketed her keys. The short walk to the schoolhouse was still a cold one.

Livy shivered as she unlocked the door and stepped into the frigid room. Beside the stove, she found a neat pile of kindling and wood that hadn’t been there yesterday. There was only one explanation—Friedrick Wagner.

She easily dismissed the nice surprise with the reminder he’d likely brought wood to the school first before barging into her cabin last night. Which meant she didn’t owe him any more gratitude. This thought, however misguided, eased her guilty conscience.

What was it about this man that made her speak without thinking? she wondered as she worked at starting a fire. She’d seen and experienced plenty of heartache and frustration with Robert, and yet she’d never lost her temper with him.
Perhaps I should have.
There was something almost liberating about sharing what she truly felt, instead of hiding it.

She forced her mind off the insufferable Mr. Wagner and soon had a strong fire going. When the room began to thaw, Livy removed her coat and hung it in the tiny cloakroom. She straightened the already straight desks and managed to down a few bites of her apple.

After peeking out one of the windows at the road, she checked the clock on the wall. Forty minutes past eight. School was supposed to start in twenty minutes. Had any of the children seen the smoke from the schoolhouse chimney? Would anyone come?

Her stomach wound tighter and tighter as she paced the room, from the blackboard to the stove and back. Finally she dropped into her chair and pulled out one of her sketchbooks. She closed her eyes as the end of the pencil found its way between her teeth. What should she draw?

Unbidden, Friedrick’s handsome face materialized in her mind. She’d visualized it plenty since the night of her birthday, but today, his image was sharper with recent memory. Like the way his blue eyes had lit up with appreciation as he studied her in her nightgown last night. Or the way his tall, strong frame seemed to fill the cabin.

She recalled how his undisguised joy at seeing her again, at least at first, had made her stomach quiver with strange delight. She hadn’t felt that dancing. But her memory argued otherwise. There
had
been a moment, after he’d smiled at her on her birthday, when she felt that same tremble of excitement. She couldn’t recall Robert inspiring such emotion in her, even when he kissed her, though she found his kisses pleasant enough.

Livy opened her eyes and scowled at the blank sheet of paper. She didn’t want to sketch a picture of Friedrick. Or think about him or dwell on what feelings he might have stirred inside her. Right now the only emotion she felt toward the man was contempt.

She decided on a quick sketch of her family’s farm, but she hadn’t managed more than a few strokes of the pencil when the school door clattered open. Jumping up, Livy smiled with relief as an older boy and a young girl quietly put away their things and slid into their desks.

“Good morning,” she said cheerfully. They nodded back without speaking. She wouldn’t let their reticence unnerve her—she had students.

A steady trickle of children filtered into the school, some looking as young as five, some nearly as old as her brother Allen. All of them remained silent, shooting Livy wary glances, as they sat down. One or two of the younger girls sent shy smiles in her direction, to which Livy responded with a little wave. Apparently she had a ways to go before winning the rest of the students’ trust.

When the door ceased banging open, Livy counted the number of children seated before her. There were fifteen students altogether—more than she thought would see the chimney smoke. Had someone, possibly Friedrick, let those farther away from the school know she had arrived? If so, the man was proving to be a wealth of contradictions.

She waited until exactly nine o’clock, then she straightened her shoulders and greeted the students with a genuine smile. “Good morning, class. I’m Miss Campbell, and I’m excite—”

A tiny girl with tight, reddish-brown braids raised her arm.

Livy clasped her hands together, hoping to appear patient despite the interruption. “Do you have a question?”

The braids bounced as the girl gave a vigorous nod.

“And your name is?”

“Yvonne. Yvonne Fischer.”

“Hello, Yvonne. What is your question?”

“Is Miss Lehmann coming back?”

A chorus of murmurs filled the room before Livy could ask, “Who is Miss Lehmann?”

“Our teacher,” a tall boy in the back said, his chin tipped at a defiant angle.

Livy squeezed her fingers tightly and tried to maintain the calm demeanor she’d been instructed by her college professors to display. “I am your teacher now. At least until the end of the school year.”

“But what happened to Miss Lehmann?” an older girl asked. “One week she was here, then the next there was a notice on the door saying the school was closed.”

Livy opened her mouth to tell them the truth—their teacher had been fired—but as she stared into their innocent faces, she knew she couldn’t do it. No wonder they watched her with suspicion. Their former teacher had disappeared on them and no one had bothered to explain. If their parents hadn’t felt the need to tell them Miss Lehmann had been accused of being a spy and had broken the language law, then Livy wouldn’t either.

“I don’t know where Miss Lehmann went,” she answered honestly. “But I’m sure she would be here if she could. In the meantime, I will be your teacher and I’m looking forward to getting to know—”

The crash of the door and the rush of footsteps interrupted her introduction for a second time. A boy and girl, still in their coats, hurried into the room and slid into their respective desks.

“Sorry we’re late, Teacher,” the boy said as he placed his lunch at his feet. The smile on his face looked anything but repentant. “Our farm’s the farthest out. Plus we had to help Friedrick with his chores ’cause he got an extra job.”

Friedrick? These had to be the half siblings he’d mentioned. “We’ve only just started. What are your names?”

“Harlan Wagner, ma’am. And that’s my sister, Greta.” He pointed a thumb at the cherubic-looking girl across the aisle.

Friedrick had sent his siblings to school—to
her
school—despite his sour opinion of her. Livy glanced down at her joined hands in confusion. The man was certainly a study in paradoxes. She pushed the thought aside to greet the newcomers.

“We’re glad you made it,” she said.

The older girl raised her hand.

“You are?” Livy inquired.

“My name’s Anna. And Miss Lehmann didn’t tolerate tardiness.” Livy read the unspoken challenge in Anna’s gaze—this was a test. If Livy pardoned Harlan and Greta, she might appear weak to the rest of the class. But she also didn’t want to punish them for what seemed to be a plausible reason for being late.

“Thank you for bringing that to my attention, Anna.” Livy turned from her to Harlan. “Are you and Greta typically late, Harlan?”

The boy shook his head. “Not really. It takes us longer to walk here. But now we’re helping Friedrick in the morning, too.”

Livy bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. She had to maintain an orderly classroom and prove her mettle as a teacher, but she didn’t want to fault Harlan and Greta for helping their brother either. With no previous teaching experience to fall back on, she would have to use what she’d learned watching her parents raise seven children. As she considered what they might do in a similar situation, an idea popped into her mind.

“I’d like to put this to the class,” she announced. “How can we promote punctuality and still do what we can to assist Harlan and Greta with their new responsibilities?”

Several of the children eyed each other with uncertainty. Finally, the tall boy who’d spoken earlier raised his hand. “What if they got up earlier?”

Livy nodded in acknowledgment of the suggestion, then looked at Harlan. “Could you and your sister wake up ten minutes earlier?”

“I think so.”

“Any other suggestions?” She let her gaze sweep the room.

“Miss Lehmann always used the wooden paddle,” a short boy with round cheeks said, his brow creased with distaste.

Livy fought a similar expression from seeping onto her own face. The sting on her backside and the humiliation of being paddled for making what the teacher deemed “smart remarks” in school felt as fresh as yesterday. She’d had to repeat the experience twice more during her school years, and she’d vowed never to use such discipline on any child—her own or someone else’s. Here was another way she would differ from Miss Lehmann.

“Have you had the paddle before, Greta?” she asked in a soft voice.

The little girl blushed. “Once.”

Spinning on her heel, Livy went to her desk and searched through the drawers until she found the detestable paddle. She removed it and dropped the paddle into the nearby wastebasket with a satisfying
thud
.

“There will be no paddle in this classroom anymore.” A few of the children clapped. Livy bit back a smile. Even Anna looked relieved. “Do we have any other suggestions for dealing with tardiness?”

“What about a grace period?” a girl with dark brown curls suggested.

Yvonne scrunched her face. “What’s that?”

“It means you’re allowed a few extra minutes after school starts to be in your seat,” Livy explained, “before a consequence comes into effect.”

“I like that one,” Anna said. “If you aren’t here by five minutes after nine, then…” She pursed her lips in thought. “Then you have to clean erasers.”

This time Livy allowed her smile to break through. The discussion was a small victory, but one nonetheless. “I think that’s a wonderful solution, Anna. The grace period will go into effect tomorrow. In addition, Harlan, can you and your sister promise to wake up ten minutes earlier and come in quietly?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison.

“That’s settled then.” Livy picked up her sketchbook and pencil and turned to a blank page. “Now that I’ve met Anna, Yvonne, Harlan, and Greta, it’s time to learn the rest of your names. Then we’ll get to work.”

Livy sat in the shade of the school building, bent over her drawing. The happy sounds of the children running and playing, their lunches duly devoured, filled her ears. The morning had gone well, though she didn’t mind the chance to rest for a few minutes and sketch.

“Whatcha drawin’?”

Livy lifted her head as Harlan plopped down beside her. She turned the book so he could see her picture.

His face scrunched in concentration as he studied her work. “Looks like a farm.”

She smiled. “That’s what it’s supposed to be.”

“Is that where you live?”

“Where my family lives.” Livy twisted the book back toward herself. The drawing was nearly complete—just a few more chickens near the barn and the lilac bushes by the porch.

Harlan leaned back against the bricks. “Do you got any kids?”

“No,” Livy said with a chuckle. “I’m not married.”

“Do you got any brothers or sisters?”

She set her pencil down. “I have one sister and five brothers.”

Harlan’s eyes grew wide. “They all live in that house?”

“No. Two of my brothers are fighting in the war right now.”

“Wish I was old enough to fight.” Harlan puffed out his small chest in a way that might have made Livy laugh if they weren’t talking about something so grown-up and awful.

“How old are you, Harlan?”

“Nine.”

“And which side would you fight on?”

Harlan threw her a perplexed look. “For America, Miss Campbell. I know we’re fightin’ Germany and all, and that’s where my mama and papa came from, but we aren’t Kaiser lovers at our house.”

Ashamed at her own question, Livy tempered it with a smile. “I think you’d make a brave soldier, Harlan, though I’m sure your mother and father are very glad you aren’t old enough to go fight.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” He leaned over her drawing again. “Say, can I draw something?”

“All right.” Livy found a blank page and handed the sketchbook and pencil to him. She watched in amusement as he stared hard at the paper.

“What are you doing, Harlan?” a boy named Oliver asked him.