Brightest and Best (36 page)

Gray startled Margaret. She had stayed late in the school building on Monday, hearing other teachers close their classroom doors and fall into step with one another down the back stairs more than an hour ago. It was essential that lesson plans were clear and specific for the following day and all supplies arranged in an orderly fashion. When Margaret finally left the building, exiting through the front door so the woman who worked in the office would know the last teacher was gone, she did not expect to find Gray Truesdale waiting for her.

He leaned one shoulder against the brick of the building, straightening when he saw her come through the door.

“Mr. Truesdale,” Margaret said, reverting to the neutral cordiality of the early days of their acquaintance.

“May I speak to you?” Gray said.

“Of course.” Instantly, a lump formed in Margaret’s throat.

“I may have spoken harshly the last time we met,” he said. “And I missed sitting with you in church yesterday. I looked for you after the service.”

“I didn’t feel up to attending,” Margaret said.

“It’s your church, too,” Gray said. “I would never want you to stay away because you are angry with me.”

“I’m not angry,” Margaret said. She ached with disappointment over his views, with grief for what might have been.

Gray ran his thumb and forefinger over the brim of the hat in his hand. “The preacher spoke about humility. Maybe I need to learn some.”

Optimism flickered, struggling against the harsh wind of the words they had spoken to each other.

“I’d like to come for pie on Thursday,” Gray said.

Margaret shifted her satchel to the other hand. “I have preserves made from the blackberries you brought me. It seems only right that you should help eat them.”

He offered that crooked smile Margaret found so difficult to resist.

The lump in her throat softened. She would make pie. It was a small town and they attended the same church. One last evening of pie might make it easier to find the necessary geniality for an amicable break.

If Margaret had told Gray what she intended to do the following day, she was certain he would have changed his mind about the pie.

M
argaret pulled the car up close to the Hilty farmhouse and checked once again to be sure she had not left clutter on the seats. Living alone and driving alone most of the time cultivated a habit of leaving books and papers on the backseat as if it were an ordinary storage shelf in her bungalow. But today the seats had to be cleared. Today she needed space for six passengers. It would be tight, but Margaret was certain the Amish mothers would do whatever it took to see their children.

Rachel and Ella were waiting on the porch and descended the steps. Margaret scurried around the car to hold a door open for them.

“What about your class?” Ella asked once they were on their way.

“I arranged for a substitute teacher,” Margaret said. “It’s allowed under extenuating circumstances.”

“I’m surprised your principal would consider this extenuating circumstances,” Ella said.

“I said I had a personal matter that required immediate attention.” It was none of Mr. Tarkington’s business what Margaret did with her day. In four years of teaching at the Seabury school, Margaret had only availed herself of the services of a substitute on two other occasions, both involving abrupt illness. By now the substitute would be reviewing the clear and specific lesson plans Margaret had left. Her pupils would notice no difference in classroom routine.

“I don’t have the words to thank you for taking us.” Rachel was squeezed in between Ella and Margaret, leaving the backseat available for four more mothers.

“It’s the right thing to do,” Margaret said. “Where do we go next?”

“To the Glicks’,” Ella said. “Mrs. Hershberger is leaving her
boppli
there. The littlest Borntrager boy will stay with Mrs. King.”

Margaret nodded in satisfaction with the plan. Margaret had warned the mothers there would not be room in the car for their small children still at home and that she was uncertain whether young ones would be admitted at the Wayfarers Home. The Masts and Bylers did not have any children younger than those who had been removed.

“I’m so worried about Seth,” Rachel said, rubbing a hand over her eyes.

“He and Tobias are close in age,” Ella said. “They’re probably together. And the Mast brothers. They’ll all help each other.”

Just like their parents.
Some of the boys were old enough to be in high school. They would be fine. The girls were younger, though. Margaret couldn’t think of any Amish girl at the Wayfarers Home older than eleven or twelve. Who was looking after them?

After several more stops, four mothers crammed into the backseat and settled care packages on their laps. Margaret did not have the heart to tell them they might not be allowed to leave gifts.

This time she knew just where she was going and drove confidently up the long driveway before parking outside the front doors and turning off the engine.

Rachel’s eyes widened at the enormity of the brick building. “It would take three or four of our church districts to fill this place.”

“This is no place for children,” Mrs. Hershberger muttered from the backseat. “Couldn’t an
aunti
or a
grossmudder
take in a child who is truly orphaned? Have they no families at all?”

“I don’t know,” Margaret said. “Let’s focus on the nineteen children whose mothers are right here in this car.”

“Do they know we’re coming?” Ella asked.

“I phoned ahead.” Margaret opened her car door and stepped out. “Let me speak on your behalf while you pray to see God’s mercy in the faces of your children.”

Margaret led the way. Ella intentionally fell to the back of the line, watching to be sure the other mothers were holding themselves together as they approached a structure that could have contained all their homes and still had room for chickens and cows.

Other mothers.
Ella loved Tobias, Savilla, and Gertie. Together with Gideon, they were going to become a family in a few weeks. She would throw herself in the path of danger for any one of them. If Ella’s maternal instincts surged as hard as this, she could only imagine what this day was like for the women whose wombs and arms had carried their children since the first spark of life.

Margaret held open the front door, and the Amish mothers shuffled inside, uncertain.

Margaret pointed. “We’ll go to that desk. They are expecting you.”

A man met them in the hallway. While the gray-haired woman Margaret had met on her first visit stared at the huddle of rich-hued dresses and black aprons, Margaret introduced him as the director of the children’s home. One by one the mothers gave their names and the names of the children.

“I’ll Ella Hilty,” Ella said. “I’m here to see Tobias, Savilla, and Gertrude Wittmer.”

The director arranged his glasses on his nose and consulted his list. “My information indicates that the Wittmer children have no mother.”

“I’m engaged to their father,” Ella said quickly. “Our wedding is only a month away.”

A wave of sympathy flushed through the man’s face, but his words were firm. “I’m afraid we have no provision for such a circumstance. Anyone might come in and make such a claim. It’s for the safety of the children. You understand.”

Ella’s mouth fell open, her heart beating its way up her throat.

“We most certainly do not understand,” Margaret said calmly. “The children know Miss Hilty well. They understand that their father will marry her soon. I have observed no discord between them on this matter.”

Ella forced herself to breathe, and the air flowing out of her lungs cradled a prayer of gratitude for Margaret’s presence.

“Think of how the Wittmer children will feel,” Margaret said. “The other Amish children will see their mothers, and the Wittmers will know someone came for them as well and you prohibited the visit.”

The director cleared his throat. “I will have to consult the state guidelines, but I make no guarantee.”

“What about our children?” Mrs. Hershberger wanted to know. “Where are they?”

“They’ll be brought to you,” the director said. “They are in classes throughout the building, so it will take some time to gather them.”

“We had an appointment,” Margaret said. “Why are the children not ready?”

Ella put a hand on Margaret’s arm and said to the director, “Just tell us where you’d like us to wait.”

He turned to the woman at the desk. “Will you please take the mothers to the visiting room where they may wait more comfortably?”

“And the others—Miss Simpson and Miss Hilty?” the woman asked.

The director sucked in his lips slightly and turned to Ella and Margaret. “I’ll have to ask you to wait out here until I have ascertained your status.”

“I will gladly wait out here,” Margaret said, “but I will insist that Miss Hilty see her children. Otherwise you will hear from Mr. Eggar, the attorney representing the children’s fathers.”

“Mr. Eggar has already been in touch,” the director said. “We are both responsible to the court for our actions. I intend to be above reproach.”

“I hope that does not also require you to be above compassion,” Margaret said.

Again, Ella touched Margaret’s arm. One might think the director held hostage Margaret’s own offspring.

“I’ll wait out here,” Ella said. “Is that bench acceptable?”

The director gestured toward the bench directly across from the reception desk. “Please make yourselves comfortable. The rest of you may follow the receptionist, but let me remind you that this visit will be closely supervised.”

The director withdrew to his office.

Ella and Margaret sat on the backless bench. Ella did not even wish for a chair with a back or any other comfort that might compromise her vigilance. She watched the five mothers trail after the woman to a door, which she held open for them. Ella leaned forward for a glimpse of the space where mothers and
kinner
would be reunited.

“This is not right,” Margaret muttered.

Though her heart begged for release from captivity within her rib cage, Ella sat with her hands calmly crossed in her lap. A moment later, three young women left the director’s office, dispatched—Ella hoped—to bring the children from their classrooms.

“If the director does not return promptly, I will advocate once again for you to see your children.”

Ella’s shoulders softened and gratitude again overflowed for the
English
who understood her heart. Perhaps Margaret’s own experience as a teacher helped her know how quickly and firmly affection might grow with a child.

One by one, the young women returned, shepherding children into the visitation room. Most of them moved quietly through the halls.

The first time the door opened, Mrs. Mast shrieked at the sight of her boys.

The second time, it was Seth who came down the hall and Rachel’s sobs that escaped the visiting room.

Then Mrs. Borntrager.

The young women returned to the classrooms, returning each time with one or two children. It seemed to Ella that they had begun with the older grades and were working their way down to the younger classes.

“They didn’t bring Tobias,” Ella said.

Margaret took her hand. “You
will
see your children.”

The students grew younger with each escort. Mrs. Hershberger’s voice went shrill at the sight of her children.

“They skipped Savilla, too,” Ella said.

“Has the man no heart?” Margaret said. “Gideon’s children are bright. They will see that the others are going and know that someone has come for them.”

The Byler children came at last, Hans trailing after his older siblings. Ella swallowed hard.

The sound she heard next was the most beautiful cacophony ever to reach her ears. Down the hall, a child’s demands grew more insistent with each clattering step.

“If Hans gets to go, why can’t I?”

Margaret and Ella grinned at each other and stood up.

“Gertrude!” The young escort spun on one heel, holding tight to Hans Byler’s hand. “Go back to class immediately.

“Is Hans in trouble?” Gertie asked.

“No. Go back to class.”

Ella’s eyes widened. Gertie’s yellow hair fell around her shoulders above a blue plaid jumper and white blouse intended for a girl at least two years older.

“What have they done to our children?” Ella whispered.

“I won’t go back without Hans.” Gertie stomped a foot, something she never would have done at home.

The young woman escorting Hans opened the door to the visiting room and gave him a gentle push between the shoulder blades through the door frame before sealing the room again.

“What’s in there?” Gertie wanted to know.

Then, in a moment that Ella wished she could ponder in her heart for the rest of her life, Gertie’s curls bounced with the rotation of her head and her gaze found Ella.

Ella started toward Gertie. The receptionist was on her feet. Gertie was already hurtling toward Ella, out of reach of the young escort’s efforts to contain her.