Brightest and Best (45 page)

Gideon dropped the fork he was using to so patiently toast a piece of bread over the front burner. The implement bounced once and skittered across the kitchen floor while Gideon reached for a towel to wrap around the handle of the iron skillet where the eggs had quickly become inedible.

Before today, he had never felt unable to feed his own children. Fried eggs and toast hardly constituted a challenging menu.

His mind had been on James and whether, once the children were on the bus to school, he would be able to coax their great-uncle to eat something. The counters and icebox were still mounded with food left from the visitation on Saturday and the funeral on Monday. He should have let the children have whatever they felt like for breakfast rather than feeling obliged to prepare the breakfast Miriam would have given them.

It was bad enough that he was sending them to school today—and on the bus. Now their bellies might be empty as well.

Gideon set the skillet in the sink, where it sizzled in the half inch of water he’d forgotten to drain last night.

“How would you like ham sandwiches for breakfast?” he asked, tossing a loaf of Mrs. Glick’s bread to the table and spinning around to get Mrs. King’s ham from the icebox. He had already packed Mrs. Glick’s roast beef in the lunch buckets.

Tobias picked up a knife and began slicing ham.

“Will Ella be here when we get home from school?” Gertie asked.

“I think so,” Gideon said. After yesterday’s service, she said she would be back to restore order to the kitchen, but Gideon maintained that there was no need for her to come as early as breakfast. He could manage.

And he would have, if he were not worried about James.

What words would suffice?

What words would have sufficed when Betsy died?

None.

But James must eat before he endangered his own health.

“Is it sixteen?” Gertie asked.

“Sixteen what?” Gideon muttered.

“
Daed
!” Savilla said for the second time in as many minutes.

Gideon looked from one daughter to the other.

Tobias plopped a slice of ham on a plate and slid it toward Savilla, who cut a clumsy chunk of bread from the end of the loaf before passing both items to Gertie.

“She means the wedding,” Tobias said. “Sixteen days until the wedding.”

“Am I subtracting right?” Gertie asked. “December 19 minus December 3 equals sixteen days.

Gideon opened the icebox again, looking for nothing in particular but hiding his face from his offspring.

“Yes, you’re subtracting correctly,” he said.

“And then Ella will cook our eggs?” Gertie said.

Gideon dodged her question. “I promise not to burn them tomorrow.”

“Maybe we should just have leftover apple strudel tomorrow,” Gertie said, unconvinced.

“Finish your breakfast,” Gideon said. “I’ll drive you to the bus stop today.”

When they climbed out of the buggy at the bus stop twenty minutes later, the bus already rumbling toward them, Gideon scrutinized his children once again and hoped he was not forgetting something that might embarrass them later. They had their lunches. The girls’ hair was not as tidy as Miriam would have managed, but neither was it as disastrous as it might have been. Their
kapps
covered most of the mess anyway.

“We’ll be all right,
Daed,
” Tobias said. “I’ll make sure they’re all right.”

“We’ll get better at this,” Gideon said.

“Sixteen days!” Gertie said.

Gideon pulled over to the side of the road and waited for his three to board the bus with the other children. Watching the bus grow smaller as the distance increased hardened his stomach, and he puffed his cheeks and exhaled slowly at what he was about to do.

“Gideon.”

Ella’s voice startled him as she stepped out from behind a tree on the side of the road. He had planned to go home first, to check on James.

And to muster his resolve.

But here she was. He saw now that her horse and cart were nearby.

“I told you to rest this morning,” he said, “and not to come for breakfast.”

“I didn’t come for breakfast,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure …”

“I know. Thank you.” He got down from his buggy bench. “I want to talk to you.”

She glanced around before turning her face up for a kiss. Gideon obliged, hoping Ella would not sense the regret in his lips.

“What’s wrong?” She stepped back.

He held her hand, studying the spread of her fingers in his palm. “Ella, I think you should be the person who becomes qualified to teach at our school.”

She pulled her hand out of his grasp and stepped back farther. “But Gideon—”

“I know. Sixteen days. Gertie is counting.”

“Don’t you want—”

He reached for her hand again and pulled her toward him. “Of course I do.” With his hand cupping her chin, he held her face and her gaze.

“I don’t understand. We can’t … not if … especially now … after Miriam …”

“I know it’s not what we planned,” Gideon said quickly. If she came to his house today, she would see for herself the mess he had made of things, and it was only the first morning on his own. What would it be in a month or a year? “I wanted to talk to you last week, on the day of the meeting, and then Miriam got sick.”

“We’ve hardly had a moment alone,” she said.

“James is right. We need an Amish teacher, and it would be wrong to ask of Lindy what Isaiah suggests.”

Fright passed through Ella’s eyes.

Gideon inhaled and exhaled with deliberation. “I love you, Ella Hilty. And you will be my wife. We have our whole lives ahead of us. We must think about the community right now. Can we live with ourselves if we do what we choose only for ourselves at the cost to so many others?”

“But I’ve never heard of a woman who continued to teach in a one-room schoolhouse after she married. Even the
English
would not do that.”

“I know,” he said softly.

“But the children,” she whispered.

“We’ll talk to them together. Gertie will see you every day. You’ll be her teacher!”

“Oh, Gideon.”

Disappointment racked her features. What had he done?

“I’m not qualified,” Ella said. “They’ll never approve me.”

“Mr. Eggar tells me there is a test you can take. Mr. Brownley has agreed to administer it next week.”

“Next week!”

“If you pass it, you will receive provisional qualifications. They will test the children in June to determine their progress. I
know
you can teach the children what they need for their test.”

“Next week, Gideon?”

He kissed her. “This changes nothing between us except the date that will appear on our marriage license.”

“I have to think. To pray.”

Even in the morning chill, heat flooded Ella, and she let her shawl drop from her shoulders. Gertie was not the only one counting down the days until the wedding. Her trunk was half packed to move to Gideon’s. They had waited for Jed and Rachel to marry and settle in. They had watched other couples marry as soon as the harvest ended. It was their turn. Ella was ready to marry. Her siblings, scattered in other districts, had made arrangements to travel. Rachel, even amid the distractions and travails of the last few weeks, was slowly scouring and rearranging the house for a winter wedding.

This
winter.

Now Gideon wanted to wait—how long?

“Of course you should have time to think,” Gideon said. “I’m sorry that circumstances mean I had to blurt out my thoughts so clumsily. But Mr. Brownley will want a prompt answer, or he may put off the test date for weeks, even months.”

“I don’t even know what I need to study to be ready for a test next week,” Ella said. Panic welled. “Even if I did agree to finish out this school year, what about next year?”

If Gideon and James were set on an Amish teacher, would they not merely postpone the question? How long did Gideon expect Ella to wait? Who else was willing to take the test next?

“You ask wise questions. I wish I had all the answers,” Gideon said. “But sometimes we must walk along the path looking only at the light on each step.”

Ella’s chest heaved, and her narrowing throat held captive the words spinning in her mind.

“No Amish teacher will have the formal training the state looks for,” Gideon said. “The point is to demonstrate a teacher doesn’t need it—that she can teach what the children need in her own way. Perhaps all your years of reading library books, and all the times your father allowed it when others might have disapproved, have brought us all to this moment.”

Ella’s lungs burned.

“I’ll go,” Gideon said. “You asked for time.”

She nodded.

“Will you come to the house later—whatever your answer?”

Another nod. Sentences collided in Ella’s mind, their phrases tangling up in each other. Gideon turned to his buggy, hoisted himself in, and picked up the reins. As his horse began the habitual responses to Gideon’s signals, Ella slowly walked back to her own horse and cart.

The horse neighed and she scratched its ear before arranging herself on the bench. Gideon had turned the corner and was out of her range of vision.

Ella squeezed her eyes shut, flushes and chills taking her by turn.
Gottes wille.
How could she know God’s will? Was it even possible?

Was it God’s will for Nora Coates to marry and stop teaching, or her own desire?

Was it God’s will for the roof of the old school to fall in? Would it have been God’s will if Gertie had been hurt that day?

Had it been God’s will for Chester Mast to build a school on his land, or stubbornness to have his own way?

David’s rebellion. The vandalism in Lindy’s shop. The arrests. The children taken to the home. Influenza. Miriam.

Was it all God’s will? Would this precise moment have come if any of these things had not happened?

The horse began to move, tugging the cart to the left. Ella opened her eyes.

“Whoa,” she said, fumbling for the slack reins.

But the horse continued, and by the time Ella had a firm enough grip on the reins to pull the horse where she wanted it to go, she laughed aloud.

The horse knew the way to Gideon’s farm, a route Ella had taken countless times, especially in the last few months. Perhaps even this moment, when a restless horse presumed to know the human mind, was part of God’s plan.

Ella had never known such a prompt answer to prayer.

She and Gideon could have forty years together, a dozen children, dozens of grandchildren.

Y
ou can do this.” Margaret shifted a pile of books to the right.

Ella had moved into Margaret’s house three days ago when she agreed to take the examination. Every morning, before Margaret left the house to teach her own class, she assigned Ella new topics to study and arranged the relevant books on the dining room table.

“My mind is overflowing,” Ella said. “I can hardly tell the difference between the seventeenth century and the eighteenth.”

“You’re doing very well,” Margaret said.

“I have to sleep sometime.” Ella squeezed her head between her hands. She had expected this week to be busy and next week to be worse—with wedding plans. Instead, she spent three solid days reading and making notes. In the evenings, under electric lights, Margaret quizzed her.

“We’ll rest on the Sabbath,” Margaret said. “Or at least we’ll limit ourselves to conversing on these matters without resorting to opening the books. But it’s only Friday evening. We have all day tomorrow, and then Monday and Tuesday before the exam on Wednesday.”

“I can’t learn all of this,” Ella protested. “You went to high school and then the teachers college. You had years to absorb all of this.”

“And you check out more books from the library than anyone in Seabury,” Margaret responded. “It’s only a matter of organizing what you already know.”

Ella had always thought of herself as one of the most organized people she knew. Looking around at the piles of paper on the dining room table, she concluded she had misjudged the last twenty-six years.

“We have the questions that have been published in the newspaper for the last five years in three different counties of Ohio.” Margaret thumped the stack of old newspapers that the library had allowed them to borrow. “We are not shooting arrows in the dark. The questions on your test will be very similar.”

“That doesn’t help!” Ella said. “‘Trace in early American literature some influences of its English origin.’ When I was in school, our parents approved everything the teachers assigned. I didn’t learn how to answer a question like that.”

Margaret slid three sheets of paper out of an American history textbook. “You’ve already studied my college notes and outlined a fully suitable answer.”

“But I haven’t actually read any early American literature.” Ella picked up a newspaper and said, “And how about this one? ‘How does the knowledge of a scratch on the hand reach the brain? Would knowledge of an injury to an internal organ locate so accurately the place and nature of the hurt? Does the brain control the processes of the internal organs?’”