Brightest and Best (37 page)

“Go,” the receptionist whispered. “Hurry.”

Ella raced down the hall and scooped up Gertie in her arms.

The director appeared from his office. “What’s going on?”

Ella ignored him. It was quite obvious what was going on. Gertie buried her face in Ella’s shoulder.

The clipped steps behind Ella belonged to Margaret.

“Now if you would please send someone for Miss Hilty’s other children,” Margaret said.

“This is thoroughly unorthodox,” the director said.

Ella took Gertie’s face between her hands to examine every inch of it. “Are you all right?”

“I don’t like it here,” Gertie said loudly. “They never let me talk to Tobias and Savilla. I only get to see Hans when it’s time for our reading lessons. And they won’t tell me why Hans went in that room.”

Tears blurred Ella’s eyes. “Hans went in there to see his
mamm
.” Gertie kept her hands clasped behind Ella’s neck.

“You can see their affection is genuine,” Margaret said to the director. “If you care for these children at all—”

The director tilted his head, and the young woman awaiting his bidding started down the hall. She opened the door to the visiting room.

“You won’t have long,” he said.

Inside the room, tears and laughter intermingled. The children hated the clothes they were forced to wear, and no two of them had been assigned to the same dormitory room. They sometimes saw each other across a classroom or the assembly room, but rarely were they allowed to speak freely with each other and it must always be in English, not Pennsylvania Dutch. Ella’s chest felt as though it might cave in with the isolation they described. Sitting in opposite corners, two women in navy blue wool dresses watched the movements in the room. Every few seconds, Ella’s eyes went to the door, looking for Savilla and Tobias.

When the door opened, it was Gertie who saw them first and shot off to greet her siblings. Whatever manner in which they might have irritated each other at home dissolved in the embrace. Ella waited for their eyes to lift and opened her arms to Tobias and Savilla.

Questions spewed from all three of them, and Ella had few answers. She could only tell them that Gideon was with the other fathers. She hadn’t been to see them—none of the women had managed a visit to Chardon—but Mr. Eggar brought news that they were well. Tobias promised to pray for his father.

The large round clock opposite the door seemed designed to greet everyone who entered the visitation room and remind them that their minutes were few. As if on cue, exactly one hour after the mothers had entered the room, the two women in blue stood up and announced it was time for the children to return to their classrooms. One of them opened the door to reveal the three younger women who would escort their charges on their return.

Ella held on to Gertie as long as she dared. In the end, it was sensible Savilla who wordlessly pried Gertie’s grip off of Ella’s neck while a visible lump formed in Tobias’s throat.

And then they were gone. The room fell into a choked hush.

Margaret drove most of the way home hearing only the machinations of her automobile, the shifting gears, the rhythmic thump of tires, the engine threatening to sputter for more fuel.

“I want my children back,” Mrs. Hershberger finally said.

“And my husband,” Rachel said.

“I never thought I would say this,” Mrs. Borntrager said, “but it’s time for them to do whatever is necessary.”

“Whatever is necessary for what?” Mrs. Mast challenged. “To bring our families home, or to do what is best for them in the long run?”

Margaret kept her eyes on the road. Beside her, Ella took in a long, slow breath.

I
t’s the bishop!” Isaiah lurched toward the bars of the jail cell.

Gideon, who had been praying silently at one end of the bottom bunk, opened his eyes immediately and pushed himself off the bunk. Men in both cells lined up along the cell doors and watched a uniformed guard escort their spiritual leader into this forgotten corner of the
English
justice system.

“This is our pastor,” Gideon said. “Please admit him.”

The guard shrugged. “He’s not on the list.”

“What list?”

“I have a list of approved visitors on my desk,” the guard said. “He’s not on it. He stays on this side until your attorney comes.”

Bishop Garber nodded. “It’s all right. Mr. Eggar brought me in his automobile. He will park and then come in.”

The guard withdrew to the end of the hall, and through the bars the bishop shook each father’s hand with a prolonged grip.

“Bishop,” Isaiah said, “have you come to tell us what we must do?”

“I have come to pray with you and for you,” the bishop said. “You are caught between obeying God’s command to submit to the government He has ordained and obeying God’s command to train up your children in the way they should go. I don’t make light of the decision you face.”

The decision had become considerably more complex after six nights in jail. The men’s resolve to act as one faltered more with each day away from their wives and children.

“When we were baptized,” John Hershberger said, “we all promised to submit to the church. Bishop, if you tell us what to do, whatever it is, none of us would find shame in submitting to you.”

The bishop shook his head. “I’ve never been that kind of bishop, and you know it. I didn’t ask to be a minister, much less to have the bishop’s lot fall to me. You also promised to be willing to serve as a minister, if called upon. In this situation, we must all minister to each other.”

John sighed and stepped away from the bars. “It all seemed so clear in the beginning—at least to me. I didn’t want my children in that town school. Now they will go to an
English
school whether or not I like it, so I might as well have them at home with me at night.”

Chester Mast shuffled his feet.

“Chester?” the bishop said. “Would you like to speak?”

“We’ve come this far,” Chester said. “We’ll never know what might come of it in the end if we don’t see it through.”

Determined footfalls approached.

“Here’s your Mr. Eggar,” the bishop said.

Two guards accompanied the attorney and allowed all the men to file into one cell before withdrawing down the hall to monitor from a distance. The fathers leaned against the walls, eager for Mr. Eggar’s report.

“I continue to work toward your release,” Mr. Eggar said. “We have an arraignment hearing on Thursday morning. I’ve confirmed with the judge’s clerk that we are on the docket and stressed that the delay is approaching the outside limits of ‘unnecessary delay.’”

Gideon worked his lips in and out as he listened. The sheriff’s department seemed to rely on the general ignorance of the Amish about specific rights within the legal system.

“What does that mean?” Jed asked.

“They’ll formally read the charges, and we’ll enter a plea of not guilty,” Percival said.

“But we are guilty, aren’t we?” John asked.

“We’re not giving up,” Percival said. “We want this to go to trial. That’s where we get to make our case.”

“What if we lose at trial?” Jed asked.

Silence fell.

“What if I said I would pay the fine and send my children to school?” John asked finally.

“Then you would plead guilty,” Percival said. “Is that what you wish to do?”

“I know I want to go home to my family,” John said. “What if the long way around is a lot longer than any of us imagined?”

Gideon stepped away from the wall, paced the center of the small cell, and turned in a complete circle.

“If Mr. Eggar determines that it is an option to pay the fine and obey the school laws,” Gideon said, “then each man must decide whether this choice is in the best interest of his family.”

“I want to go home,” John said.

“I want to see it through,” Chester countered.

The others stared at one another, silent.

Margaret slept more deeply on Tuesday night than she had in weeks. It might have been simply because the day’s emotions had exhausted her, along with the Amish mothers, but she preferred to believe she slept the sleep of the righteous. She had done the right thing. She had acted on behalf of the defenseless. She had cared for the—temporary—orphans and widows, just as the Bible told her to do.

The morning sky was still gray when Margaret left her home on Wednesday morning ready to resume her normal responsibilities at the school. If the substitute had encountered any difficulties or been unable to get through all the lesson plans, she would have left notes. Margaret wanted to review the situation long before her pupils arrived. The woman who worked in the school’s office was always first to the building, making her rounds with the keys, and Margaret intended to be the second arrival.

In her classroom, she reached for the switch that would rouse the electric lights to overcome the dim gloom of early morning. Margaret had taught long enough in a one-room schoolhouse that was never electrified to be grateful for the transformation that came with the simple touch of her fingers. She scanned the room. The rows of desks were in satisfactory alignment, and on the center of her own desk was one white sheet of paper with neat script. Margaret pulled out the chair and sat down to read the substitute’s report.

Four students absent on Tuesday, it said. One more than on Monday, and all with influenza. At least that was the substitute’s opinion.

Steps in the hall so early—well before she expected any of the other teachers—startled Margaret, and her spine straightened as she cocked her head toward the open classroom door. A moment later, a man’s form filled the space. Margaret rose to her feet.

“Mr. Brownley,” she said. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” Brownley stepped into the room. “I understand you were not present here yesterday.”

“That’s correct.” Margaret’s throat went dry.

“Now, Miss Simpson, you and I have known each other for some time now.”

Brownley began to pace the perimeter of the room, a habit that irritated Margaret more each time she witnessed it.

“Four years,” she said, though only in the last few months would the superintendent have recognized her as one of his teachers in any circumstances outside her classroom.

“And you are happy working for our school district?”

Margaret stretched her lips into a wan smile. “Quite.”

“Then I must admit I find it confounding why you would put your position at risk as you have.” Pace. Pace.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Ah, but I believe you do.” Brownley stopped moving at last and turned to face her, hands behind his broad back. “I have it on good report that you were seen yesterday driving off one of the Amish farms with a number of Amish passengers. This happened at a time of day you should have been here discharging your duties.”

“I followed protocol in requesting the time away,” Margaret said, “and made suitable arrangements for my classroom.”

“I originally engaged your help to be sure the Amish students consolidated with minimal disturbance,” he said. “I’m sorry to say your efforts disappointed me.”

“Perhaps,” she said, “if you had not taken matters back into your own hands without waiting for the benefits of the woman’s touch you espoused to desire, I would have succeeded.”

There. She’d said it. She might as well continue.

“You asked for my help, and I gladly rose to the challenge,” Margaret said. “With a bit more time, I might have been able to assure the Amish families that our school administrators were capable of listening to their very reasonable concerns. Instead, you ensured that they would see me as no more than a puppet without even the strength of strings to do as it was told.”

“Your job was to serve the interests of the committee.” Brownley glared.

“I am a teacher, Mr. Brownley. My job is always to serve the interests of the children.” Margaret returned the glare.

Brownley resumed pacing. When he reached the door, he turned once again to face her. “Miss Simpson, when is your contract due to expire?”

“Not until June 30.”

“Ah.” He put one hand on the door. “You do understand that there are always extenuating circumstances that may void a contract.”