A Promise for Miriam (8 page)

“Why must they treat the hurt one that way? Nature’s so cruel.”

“Maybe,” her
dat
replied. “Or maybe by pushing him away, by nudging him constantly, even by running at him with their antlers, it causes him to grow stronger
.”

When she only looked at him skeptically, he’d shrugged and then continued. “His defenses grow stronger. His hurt leg heals faster because it must or he won’t eat
.”

“
But it’s wrong
, dat.”

“Deer don’t know right or wrong. They only know survival and instinct.”

At the time, the thought had depressed her for some reason, but as she’d grown older she’d replayed that scene in her mind many times. Sometimes driving home from school she’d come across coyotes feasting on a deer carcass, usually one that had been hit by an automobile. Occasionally as she watched the boys play in the fields after church, she’d notice one of the smaller ones being left out. Even on the school grounds children were teased.

She always stepped in and defended the child, but in her mind she heard her father. Did such behavior make the child stronger? She couldn’t say. She only knew teasing was wrong and she wouldn’t abide it.

Over the years the ones teased had grown strong—and she thanked God for that. They found their place within the community and childish differences were put away.

For Grace that path seemed blocked because she wasn’t able to speak for herself.

Tossing over onto her back, Miriam tried again to see the ceiling of the room. The answers weren’t there, but they were somewhere. There was a side of this problem she was missing, just out of her vision.

She had prayed each night and each morning that God would help her attend to Grace’s needs. Since she had started teaching, she always prayed before beginning her school day. She’d heard about the
Englisch
schools where spoken prayer was no longer allowed, but she imagined most of those teachers prayed silently before approaching the front of their classroom as well.

Esther had once said that a room full of students had a way of bringing out the believer in you, either that or it would convince any woman to take up baking bread, knitting scarves, or even making cabinets. Without faith their job would be impossible.

So what was she missing?

Helping Grace find her voice would allow her to defend herself, but there was something more. Miriam’s mind flashed back to the three times she’d caught students teasing the young girl. Each time it had only been little singsong names, and twice other children had rushed to Grace’s defense before Miriam had managed to intervene. What else had she seen?

A turtle! That was it.

She sat up in bed in the pitch-dark room, the connection so perfect that she wanted to clap her hands and wake Esther. She wanted to share it with someone.

Grace’s attitude each time had been that of a box turtle. Shoulders slumped, head down, body turned slightly—it was as if she’d thought she might be able to disappear, and then the others would leave her alone.

Yes, Miriam wanted to help Grace find her voice.

But in order to do that, she first needed to help Grace find her confidence.

Lying back down and turning over to her right side, she suddenly had two good ideas for how to accomplish both things. The question was whether Gabe would allow it.

Gabe rose well before daylight, which had been his custom in Indiana. The only thing that had changed since their move to Wisconsin was he had twice the work to accomplish each day.

Pulling his suspenders over his shoulders and then reaching for his coat, he trudged through the kitchen. He paused long enough to look longingly at the
kaffi
pot on the stove, but decided he didn’t have the time.

The forecast called for snow, possibly record amounts. He was hoping the repairs he’d done to the roof of the barn would hold, but it would depend on how much snow fell and how heavy it was.

Glowering at the dilapidated structure as he tramped toward it, he decided he’d like to meet the man who built it. He’d happily give him a free lesson in construction, especially construction for northern climates.

First off, the pitch was wrong. It was much too flat and couldn’t possibly stand the weight of a heavy snowfall. Apparently it hadn’t stood the weight in the past, which would account for the portion of the roof that had fallen in. Why it had never been repaired was another question.

The house had stood empty for nearly a year, according to the Realtor who sold it to him. Though it was dirty from misuse, it was fundamentally sound. The amount of damage in the barn could not have occurred in twelve months. Had the previous owner stopped farming before he’d moved? How long had the structure been abandoned? And why?

Gabe was late returning from the barn, which justified burning breakfast—again. At least it did in his mind, and Grace didn’t complain. She didn’t complain verbally. She did squirrel up her nose and leave half of the oatmeal in her bowl, but then again, maybe she wasn’t hungry.

Sometimes he interpreted her silence in his favor.

Today he’d give himself a break because the snow was still falling and the roof on his barn hadn’t fixed itself.

“Ready for school?”

Grace nodded and ran for her coat, pausing at the back door long enough to retrieve Miriam’s basket, which had held last night’s dinner.

It wasn’t until they were halfway down the lane that he noticed she’d put on a few pounds since breakfast—quite a few.

“What’s under the coat?”

She gave him her most innocent, wide-eyed look.

“That might work with someone who hasn’t known you all your life, Grace Ann, but it won’t work with your
dat.
What’s under the coat?”

As her luck would have it, Eli’s buggy pulled up at the end of the lane, and Grace tugged on his hand.

“I don’t want you to be late either,” Gabe agreed, “but that doesn’t mean you’re going to get away with what you’re doing.”

He allowed her to pull him toward the horses and buggy. Because they were the farthest farm from the school, Grace was the first student picked up and the last one dropped off, other than Eli’s own kids. They sat at the windows, waving at his daughter as she hurried up the steps.

“Hold it,” Gabe said, when she would have taken her seat without finishing their conversation.

Rather than share her secret with the others, Grace stepped closer to him, close enough that he could smell the children’s shampoo he’d bought for her at the general store.

“Show me,” he said.

With a pronounced frown, she unbuttoned the top of her coat, revealing Stanley’s box.

“Why—”

She stopped him with a finger to his lips and then quickly rebuttoned her coat and ran to her seat.

“Heavy snow coming,” Eli noted.

“Heard it could be up to twelve inches.”

“
Ya
, I heard the same. That would be a lot for us, especially if it fell all at once and so early in the winter.”

Gabe nodded and stepped away from the buggy’s door, but Eli didn’t shut it. Instead, he looked toward him, and then he leaned forward and glanced past him to where the roof of his barn was just barely visible. “If you need help bedding your animals down until you have time to repair the barn, I could come back after I drop the
kinner
off.”

Gabe stared out at the snow piling up on the ground. It was a beautiful sight now, at less than an inch. If it continued to fall all day and into the night, he wouldn’t be thinking it looked so nice.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m sure you have your own place to tend to.”

“I do, but I wouldn’t volunteer the time if I couldn’t afford to give it.”

Gabe knew he should accept the man’s help. Maybe it was pride, stubbornness, or the fact that he didn’t yet know how to judge when he was in over his head, but he raised his hand and waved goodbye to Grace. “We’ll be all right, but
danki
.”

Something passed between the two men then.

Gabe wasn’t sure what it was. Perhaps a moment of raw honesty. All he knew was that he had to turn away from the look in Eli’s eyes and turn back toward his barn, which was even now falling in on his animals. Back toward his day of work and the cold, burnt oatmeal on his stove.

He hadn’t come here to make friends, and he was determined he didn’t need them.

He’d find a way to do this on his own.

Somehow he’d become convinced it was better for Grace and better for him this way—alone and independent.

At this point, he doubted he’d ever feel different.

Chapter 8

M
iriam and Esther allowed the children to play outside for twenty minutes after they had eaten their lunch.

“Do you remember the time your
bruder
Noah ambushed the Stutzman twins on the way home?”

“Remember?” Miriam gazed outside at the snow, the children, and the fun they were having, and suddenly it seemed she was seven years old again. Seven years old and riding home in the buggy with her brother. “Noah made us all help with his snowball stockpile. It took us three afternoons because we had to do it on the way home and still get there in time to do our chores. We thought he was
narrisch
when he’d piled up more than two hundred and fifty snowballs.”

“That many?” Esther laughed so hard some of the younger children who had chosen to stay inside and play checkers turned to look at her in surprise. “Did you actually count them?”

“He made me. He said he wouldn’t build a new pen for my puppies unless I helped him. My job was to count while the others made snowballs. We were like the furniture factory over on the interstate, only we specialized in snow!”

“Why was he after the twins?”

“I didn’t find that out for years. They had bested him the summer before…that time it was buckets of water, set up for when he walked out of the barn. He’d, um, been spending some time in there with a certain young lady.”

“Oh, my. So it was revenge?”

“Of a sort,” Miriam said, not adding that the young lady was now her brother’s wife. “When the twins came walking around the corner, they didn’t stand a chance. Back then their parents owned a farm that was less than a mile from here, so they often walked. He had my other brothers lined up where the road narrows, and they each had a huge pile of snowballs.”

“Your brother became the king of snow fights.” Esther sighed as she looked out at the white flakes still coming down.

“Don’t worry about the storm,” Miriam said, patting her on the arm. “Even if it is as bad as they say, at least it will make for a good three-day weekend.”

“So no school tomorrow?”

“Probably not. We’ll have the children write notes this afternoon saying school is closed on Friday, and whether we open Monday will depend on the weather. Someone from the school board will be by later this afternoon to give us a final decision, and then we’ll be ready to sign them. I’m sure our students will be terribly disappointed.”

Esther smiled. “Oh,
ya
. I always hated snow days.”

“No doubt you still do. Think of it this way—it’ll give you an extra day to sew.”

“And it’ll give you an extra day to decide what to do with Stanley.”

Miriam shook her head, the strings of her prayer
kapp
falling forward as she did. “I’ve received a lot of gifts since I began teaching, but never a mouse.”

“The note was very sweet.”

They both stared at the sheet of paper Miriam had pinned to the board near her desk. Written in Grace’s young penmanship, which was improving by the day, it read,

MiRiam,

I’d like to give you Stanley. He is the Bestest thing I own.

GRAcE

“I’ll think of something,” Miriam murmured. “I don’t think my
mamm
or my dog would appreciate a mouse in the house.”

As she rang the bell to call the children inside, she realized what she needed to do. It was a bit manipulative, but because she had decided it was in Grace’s best interest, she didn’t feel too badly. So much of teaching was directing students’ behavior. You did it for their own good, and because they didn’t always want to do what was best for themselves.

Not all students wanted to study arithmetic, memorize multiplication tables, learn to spell correctly, or commit to memory the states and their capitals. So teachers gave grades and came up with rewards, which worked much better than punishments.

She’d make a deal with Grace, one that she hoped would return Stanley to Gabe Miller’s home and, in the process, move Grace one step further along the path she’d planned out for her.