When Strawberries Bloom (14 page)

Lizzie sighed as she stared out the window to the tops of the old apple trees in the pasture. She decided she was truly, from the bottom of her heart, happy for Mandy. And then she admitted wryly to herself that what took away the worst of that awful sting of jealousy was John’s plans to farm with his brother. John was handsome, and, of course, there had been a time when Lizzie would gladly have accepted his offer to go out, but those cows definitely put a damper on any romance.

Vaguely she wondered if Stephen’s uncle in northern Pennsylvania was a serious farmer and if Stephen would want to farm after working with his uncle. She couldn’t even remember what Stephen looked like anymore. She wondered idly if he had a girlfriend picked out by this time. Probably.

Suddenly, she picked up her pencil and started writing on a sheet of scrap paper. She scribbled her name, Elizabeth Glick, leaving an empty space beneath it. Slowly, she wrote Joshua and Emma, then John Zook and Amanda Glick. Smiling pensively, she drew a question mark in the empty space beneath her name. Slowly she erased it and lightly wrote “Stephen” in that space. Leaning back, she nibbled on the end of her pencil, wondering how she would feel if he called her and asked her to go with him to a restaurant. It would be nice, but … slowly she erased the name.

Dear God in Heaven, she prayed, You know the space is still empty. I am no longer running away from you. I’m just walking, and I think I am listening for real this time. Guide me and show me the way like you showed Emma, and now I think Mandy, too, so … just show me the way. Amen.

T
HE CLANGING OF LIZZIE’S
alarm clock jolted her out of a deep, peaceful slumber. Turning over, she pressed the button to stop the annoying jangle before pulling the covers up over her shoulders and snuggling down for a last moment of comfort before facing her day. Just as she started to doze, the abrupt memory of what this day held jarred her consciousness, and her eyes flew open.

Today she had to make a speech to the pupils. She could no longer push things away or pretend that there was nothing wrong or hope that this rebellion would fade away. She had to face this problem head-on, not wavering in her ambition to correct it nor run away from it. Did God know how nervous she was? Was courage something he supplied at the last minute? Probably he would. Well, actually, he was going to have to help her, because just the thought of making a serious speech in front of those upper-grade boys turned her knees to jelly.

Dear God, please help me, she prayed, but then she couldn’t think of any words to continue her prayer. She supposed that was enough anyway, rolled over, threw back the covers, and got out of bed.

Mandy was helping Dat and Jason in the barn, so the upstairs was quiet as Lizzie brushed her teeth, pinned her cape to her dress, and combed her hair. She took extra pains to make sure she looked nice, carefully rolling her hair sleekly along the side of her head before pinning her hair in a bob.

How would she start her speech? How about, I have to talk to everyone this morning? No, that sounded too … well, she didn’t know. Before we start our work this morning, we need to have a discussion. No, that would never do. It wasn’t really a discussion. The pupils were going to have to be told how it was.

Setting her mouth in a determined line, she leaned forward over her dresser to pin her covering, asking God again to help her, to go with her to school today.

Mam smiled at Lizzie, and they talked about the events of the day as she packed her lunch. The thought of food made Lizzie’s stomach churn unexpectedly, so she didn’t bother packing much.

“Are you on a diet, Lizzie?” Mam asked, as Lizzie clicked the lid of her lunchbox shut.

“No. Remember, Mam, this is the day I have to straighten out the problem in school,” Lizzie said, nervously pleating her sleeve with her fingers.

“Oh, yes, that’s right. Well, I’m certainly glad I’m not you. But you’ll do fine, I’m sure. You always did have more pluck than Emma or Mandy when it came to something of this nature. God surely knows who the schoolteacher is in this family.”

“Really, Mam? You really mean it? You think I’m an honest-to-goodness schoolteacher?” Lizzie asked, her mouth open in disbelief.

“Why, of course, Lizzie. You’re doing a great job!”

And so Lizzie went off to school carrying Mam’s encouragement like a banner of bravery, which really is what it was. It was amazing what a bit of praise from Mam could do, she thought. It bolstered her failing spirit and gave her a great big warm, woolly cloak of love that wrapped around her all day.

The children arrived in groups, chattering and laughing as usual. Their enthusiasm dampened Lizzie’s, especially as they came in the door smiling their usual noisy, “Good morning, Teacher!” Oh, I’ll just ignore it. They look so innocent and unassuming this morning, she thought for a moment.

But when the older pupils came in to put their lunches in the cloakrooms, some with averted eyes or mumbling an unintelligible version of “Good Morning,” her resolve bounded back with more determination than before. Definitely something needs to be done, she thought.

Morning devotions went as usual, although some of the boys scuffled their feet on the way to singing class, punching each other, lifting smiling eyes to Lizzie as if daring her to make them stop it, while the girls quietly giggled.

Lizzie’s heart sank but she stared back steadily, saying nothing because she wanted to avoid a confrontation in singing class.

Singing was quite an accomplishment that morning, with her heart rapidly beating and her mouth feeling as dry as sandpaper. Tears threatened to spring to her eyes at the slightest thought of her speech, but she bravely withstood any sign of emotion, knowing there was no other way if she wanted to retain her dignity and authority.

After everyone was seated, the lower graders dipped their heads, reaching into their desks for their arithmetic books, knowing out of habit that their class came first.

Lizzie stood behind her desk, clutching the back of her chair until her knuckles turned as white as her face. She took a deep, shaking breath.

“This morning,” she began, her voice quavering, “we’re going to have to have an understanding.”

The classroom became as quiet as the lull before a storm as the students sat up in their desks. They laid down their pencils and placed their books on their desktops. The students in the lower grades glanced uneasily over their shoulders at the older students.

Lizzie steadied herself before continuing. “I’ve noticed recently that there seems to be an atmosphere of rebellion among the upper grades, which is slowly filtering down to the little ones.”

She paused to clear her throat, looking up to see some of the older pupils’ faces turn pale. “I have no idea what started all of this or when it began. It’s just suddenly very evident that some of you older boys seem to get a big kick out of irritating me, or rather, seeing how far you can push me until I lose my temper.”

Lizzie found herself clinging desperately to her desktop for support, willing back the rising flood of tears. “Perhaps it’s all my fault. Maybe I’m being grouchy every day without realizing that I am. At any rate, we need to understand each other, because I can’t go on this way.”

To her absolute horror, a huge, noisy, rasping sob caught in her throat, followed immediately by a torrent of genuine tears. There was nothing to do except stand in front of her class and let all the pent-up frustration and misery of the past month flow down her cheeks. Quickly, she reached for a tissue from the box beside her desk.

“What have I done to encourage you to, well … in plain words, just turn against me like this?”

Fresh tears rose unbidden as her eyes searched the older pupils’ faces, hoping for, and yet dreading, their answers. There was dead silence. Lizzie waited, alarmed to see tears rise in the eyes of the most timid of her little girls. She tried to summon a reassuring smile for her, feeling sorry that she had to put her through this lecture.

Slowly, an upper-grade girl lifted her arm.

“Yes?” Lizzie said.

“It started with the boys.”

Lizzie looked at the boys, her eyes never wavering, until one by one, they dropped their eyes from her gaze. “I know, Rachel. I know that’s where the problem started, but you girls were willing accomplices these past few weeks. But, to be perfectly honest, I can’t put the blame 100 percent on the boys. I know I don’t have a happy, carefree attitude myself. I haven’t come to school and remained enthused about ordinary, everyday lessons. Maybe I was a worse teacher than I thought I was.”

The oldest of the boys, Melvin, raised his hand.

“Yes?” Lizzie said, raising her eyebrows.

“You give us too much work. You’re always pushing us too hard, and we never hear one word of praise. That’s what started it.”

Lizzie’s eyes opened wide in disbelief, and she struggled to maintain her composure. Of all the nerve! Spoiled child! He was so lazy, it wasn’t even funny. How dare he?

“But … but …” Lizzie sputtered. “You’re supposed to do all the assigned work the teacher tells you to do. I can’t cut back on lessons just because the pupils think it’s too much. Don’t you have any spare time at all? Ever?”

Rapidly, heads began to shake back and forth, and a few of the boys snickered.

That’s when a hot, white anger coursed through Lizzie’s veins, and she pulled herself up to her full height, surveying her classroom much as an eagle watched its prey. “All right. That’s enough. I made the mistake of being less than happy some days, grouchy really, and that is my fault. I’m sorry. But you boys are just not doing your job either. You are not trying to do your work nearly as well as you could. As for spare time, the library books are being used much more than necessary. How many of you have a book you’re reading in your spare time?”

Every hand shot up.

“How many of you are finished with yesterday’s vocabulary?”

Only a few of the girls raised their hands.

“And … how many have finished the art I assigned you on Friday?”

Not one hand was raised.

Lizzie sighed before she began again, “So you see, what we have going all wrong is a vicious circle of me being grouchy and you pupils being lazy. None of us has the enthusiasm we should have. But as far as me assigning too much work, I find that extremely hard to believe. How can I offer any praise for lessons that are rarely completed on time or with so little effort put into them?”

Mary, an older pupil, shook her head slowly. That gave Lizzie the courage to continue.

“So there are going to be a few changes. There will be no recess for pupils with unfinished work. I know for a fact that every one of you is perfectly capable of completing every assignment on time, and if any of you has a problem with that, you may raise your hand.”

No one raised their hands. Lizzie sighed as she searched the boys’ faces anxiously.

“Now, does anyone have an idea about how we can all stay enthused and energetic with our work?”

Two of the girls raised their hands.

“Yes, Sally?”

“You could give us points for 100 percent, then have a prize after we have so many points,” she said.

“Not 100 percent! Anything over 92 percent. It’s too hard to get every single problem right,” Allen, one of the boys, shot back.

Suddenly Lizzie saw the opportunity to win over Allen.

“Good idea, Allen! Of course, it is hard to get 100 percent in every subject. But 92 percent is a bit lenient, so why don’t we say 95 percent, or anything over that, is a point?” she asked, smiling at him.

His face reddened, and he looked flustered but said, “Sounds good.”

“All right. That’s what we’re going to do. Now how are we going to keep track of each individual’s points? And, how many points are a fair amount before we have the prize? What will the prize be?”

Over half of the classroom’s hands shot up, some of the children raising their hands as high as they would go while they opened their eyes wide with anticipation, bursting to tell Lizzie what they thought.

One by one, the pupils told her their ideas, until they had come up with a feasible plan. Stars were the answer, they said. Those little foil stars you licked on the back and stuck on a chart. After they each had over 500 stars, the whole school would go on a hike.

“That is just a great idea,” Lizzie said. “Tell you what! The day of the hike, we’ll ask permission to roast hot dogs and marshmallows!”

“Crackers and peanut butter!” shouted a fourth-grader, who instantly slunk down in his seat after receiving some lowered eyebrow looks from the upper-graders.

“I love a burned marshmallow between Ritz crackers with peanut butter on them,” Lizzie said, smiling to reassure him.

That evening, Lizzie found four notes attached to workbooks. Her heart swelled with love and gratitude to her pupils, especially the upper-grade girls who wrote endearing little notes of apology. The boys didn’t write notes, but they may as well have, she thought.

One by one, they wandered up to her desk, starting friendly conversations with Lizzie until they were talking and laughing like old friends. Then they picked sides to start playing baseball on Monday morning, teasing Lizzie because she was no longer the first one to be picked.