Lyn Cote (3 page)

Ellen noted that Gunther, working with the men on the ground, wasn’t paying attention to the work going on around him. He was staring across at Amanda. She then recognized him as the young
man Amanda had slipped out to see that first day she’d come to town.

Over the hammering, she heard Mr. Lang’s voice rise, speaking in German, sounding as if he were scolding someone. She caught the name, “Gunther.”

She saw Gunther glare up at Mr. Lang, then grudgingly begin to work again.

Ellen felt sympathy for the younger brother. Why was Mr. Lang so hard on him? He was just a boy, really.

Johann bowed. “I go. Goodbye!” He pulled on his cap, gave her a grin and ran toward the children.

Mrs. Ashford pursed her lips, looking peevish. “I hope you don’t have trouble with those Dutch boys.” She nodded toward the unhappy Gunther. “That one’s too old for school and Mr. Ashford told Mr. Lang so.”

Ellen agreed. A sixteen-year-old could stir up all kinds of trouble at school, not only for the other students, but for her. Mr. Lang, of course, probably hadn’t thought of this. She drew in a breath. “I’m sure he thinks it best for his brother.”

“Well.” Mrs. Ashford sniffed. “I think the homesteading law should have specified that land was only for Americans, not for foreigners.”

Ellen bit her tongue. The homesteading law had been designed specifically to attract people from other countries to populate the vast open area east of the Rocky Mountains. There simply weren’t enough American-born families to fill up those vacant acres.

Ellen recalled Mr. Ashford’s whisper that Kurt was respectable even if a foreigner. It must be difficult for Mr. Lang to face this prejudice against immigrants day after day. Even though she didn’t agree with Mr. Lang’s treatment of his brother, she felt a keen sympathy for him—he and his charges had a difficult path ahead of them in so many ways.

This very feeling of sympathy led Ellen to resolve to keep her distance from Mr. Lang as best she could.

* * *

Hours later, the lunch bell rang. The men washed their hands at the school pump and gathered around the tables. While the women served the meal, the older children were permitted to sit by their fathers and listen to the men discuss the progress of the school building.

Despite her decision to keep her distance, Ellen tracked Mr. Lang’s whereabouts and listened to catch his words.

For distraction, she insisted on donning an apron and whisking away empty bowls to replenish them. As she approached Mr. Lang’s table, she heard him laugh—his laughter was deep and rich. Just as she reached him with a heaping bowl of green salad, he turned and nearly swept the bowl from her arms.

“
Tut mir leid!
I’m sorry!” he exclaimed, reaching
out and steadying her hold on the bowl with his
hands over hers.

The unexpected contact made her smother a gasp.

“No harm done.” She set the bowl on the table and stepped back, slightly breathless. Perspiration dotted his hairline and his thick, tawny hair had curled in the humidity. She nearly brushed back a curl that had strayed onto his forehead. The very thought of it made her turn away as quickly as possible to get back to work.

As she made her way to the next table, she noticed Mrs. Ashford’s daughter pause before slipping into the trees. The girl looked over her shoulder in a furtive move that announced she was up to no good.

Ellen recalled how Gunther had earlier been staring at this girl. A kind of inevitable presentiment draped over Ellen’s mind. She glanced around. Gunther was nowhere to be seen.

What to do? After listening to Mrs. Ashford’s opinion of foreigners, Ellen didn’t want to think of the repercussions in this small town if someone found the two young people together. And she didn’t want people gossiping about Amanda—she knew how that stung.

She excused herself and followed Amanda into the cover of the trees, threading her way through the thick pines and oaks. She hoped the young couple hadn’t gone too far.

She also hoped she wouldn’t find them kissing.

When she glimpsed Amanda’s navy blue plaid dress through the trees, the young girl was testing the flexed muscle of Gunther’s upper arm. A timeless scene—a young man showing off his strength to a young, admiring girl. Innocent and somewhat sweet. However, that wouldn’t be how the Ashfords would view it.

At that moment, she heard footsteps behind her. She swung around to find Kurt Lang facing her. She jerked backward in surprise.

Before she could say anything, Mr. Lang glimpsed the couple over her shoulder. His face darkened. He opened his mouth.

Impetuously, without thinking about her actions, Ellen shocked herself by reaching up and gently pressing a hand to Mr. Kurt Lang’s lips.

* * *

The lady’s featherlike touch threw Kurt off balance. He grappled with the cascade of sensations sparked by her fingers against his lips.

“Please, you’ll embarrass them,” she whispered, quickly removing her hand as her face flushed.

She was so close, her light fragrance filled his head, making him think of spring. He fought free of it. “They need to be embarrassed,” he replied emphatically. “I see you follow the girl Gunther likes. Then I see Gunther is not at table. He is not to flirt with this girl. He is too young.”

“But do you want everyone to hear, to know?” she cautioned.

Kurt thought about the wagging tongues, and realized she was right. “No. But I must discipline him. He must do what he is supposed to.”

The lady bit her lower lip as if she wanted to say more but then she fell back.

“Gunther.” He snapped his brother’s name as a reprimand.

In an instant, Amanda dropped her hand, blushing. Gunther jerked back and glared.

“We’re not doing anything wrong,” Amanda said in a rush.

The schoolteacher preceded him toward the couple. “No, you aren’t,” she said evenly, “but slipping away like this would not please your parents, Amanda. Why don’t you go back before you’re missed?”

Kurt admired her aplomb. She was definitely a lady of unusual quality.

“Yes, ma’am.” Amanda snuck a last look at Gunther and then hurried away.

The lady schoolteacher sent him an apologetic look filled with an appeal for the young couple. Why did women want to coddle children?

When the two females had moved out of earshot, Kurt told his brother what he thought of such a meeting. The boy flushed bright red and began to answer back.

Kurt cut him off. “You embarrass me in front of your teacher.”

Instead of apologizing, his brother made a rude sound and stalked away. Kurt proceeded back to the tables.

The other men were finished eating. With the hot sun blazing down, they lingered at the shaded tables, talking and teasing one another about minor mishaps during the morning’s work. Kurt envied their easygoing good humor, wishing he could participate, but inside, he churned like the Atlantic he’d crossed only months before.

He could not afford to lose his brother as he’d lost his father.

An older man sitting in the shade away from the tables in a rough-hewn wheelchair with his feet propped up motioned for Kurt to come to him.

Kurt obeyed the summons. “Sir?”

The older man reached out his hand. “You are Mr. Kurt Lang from Germany. I’ve seen you come to worship and I’ve been wanting to meet you, but my days of calling on folk are over. I’m Old Saul.”

“I hear you were pastor before Noah Whitmore.” Kurt shook the man’s hand and sat on a stool beside his chair. “I’m pleased to meet you, sir.”

“Just call me Old Saul.”

Kurt digested this. People here thought differently about social status. Few wanted titles of respect beyond Mr. and Mrs. or Miss. It puzzled him. But he was never left in doubt of their low opinion of him, an immigrant.

Old Saul nodded toward the lady schoolteacher. “I didn’t think I’d still be here to greet Miss Thurston, but God hasn’t decided to call me home just yet.” Then he looked directly into Kurt’s eyes. “You carry a heavy load. I see it. You’re strong but some burdens need God’s strength.”

The old man looked frail but his voice sounded surprisingly strong. Kurt didn’t know what to make of what he’d said, yet for the first time in many days, Kurt relaxed, feeling the man’s acceptance deep within his spirit.

“It’s hard starting out in a new place,” Old Saul continued, “but you’ll do fine. Just ask God to help you when you need it. God’s strength is stronger than any human’s and God is a very present help in times of trouble, Mr. Kurt Lang. Yes, He is.” Then the older man’s gaze followed the lady teacher.

Kurt could think of nothing to say so he watched the schoolteacher, too. Even though she was dressed simply, she had that flair that lent her a more fashionable look. He thought of her following the Ashford girl and his brother, trying to protect them from gossip. She must have a caring heart.

Miss Ellen Thurston, the lady schoolteacher.

Kurt drew in a breath and before anyone caught him staring at her, he turned his attention back to Old Saul.
She is far above me, a poor farmer who speaks bad English.

Chapter Three

E
llen’s heart beat fast as she prepared to ring the handbell on the first day of school. Children, obviously scrubbed and combed and wearing freshly ironed clean clothing, had begun gathering over the past half hour and milled around the school entrance.

Then she glimpsed trouble. Mr. Lang marched into the clearing, his face a thundercloud. He grasped his brother Gunther’s arm and headed straight for her. Little Johann ran behind the two, trying to keep up.

Oh, no,
she moaned silently. Didn’t the man have enough sense not to make a public scene?

As she rang the bell, the children ran toward her, looking excited. But when they reached her, they turned to see what she was looking at with such consternation, and watched the threesome heading straight for her.

Ellen racked her brain, trying to come up with some way to avert Gunther’s public humiliation. In the moment, she only managed to draw up a welcoming smile.

“Good morning, Mr. Lang!” she called out in a friendly tone, hoping to turn him up sweet.

She watched him master the thundercloud and nod toward her curtly but politely. She turned to the children, hoping to move them inside. “Children, please line up by age, the youngest students in the front.”

Some jostling and pushing happened as the line shifted.

Mr. Lang halted at the rear. Gunther tried to pull away from him, but couldn’t break free. Looking worried, Johann hurried past them to the front of the line as instructed.

“Eyes forward,” she ordered when children turned to look back at Gunther. She set the school bell down on the bench inside the door and then asked the children their ages and did some re-sorting in the line. She sent the children in row by row, keeping Gunther and Mr. Lang at the rear.

Finally, the older children went inside. Mr. Lang released Gunther to go with them with a sharp command in German.

Ellen stepped forward, intercepting Mr. Lang before he could turn away. She lowered her voice. “I wish you hadn’t called so much attention to Gunther. He already stands out as it is.”

“Gunther disobeyed. He is my brother, Miss Thurston. I must do what I think is best.”

Helpless to better the situation, Ellen struggled in silence. Obviously Gunther had balked at coming to school. Mr. Lang had excellent intentions, but this public humiliation would only bring more adverse attention from the other children. Was there ever a schoolyard without hurtful taunting?

“Perhaps you should take a moment to remember your school days, recall how children treat newcomers,” she said in an undertone.

He looked up, showing surprise.

Hoping she’d given him something to think about, Ellen turned to go inside to take charge of her classroom.

Gunther slouched on the bench by the back door as if separating himself from the rest. She didn’t say a word, hoping to let the whole situation simmer down. How was she going to gain Gunther’s cooperation and reach him?

From her place with the other older children, Amanda Ashford peered at him until Ellen gently reminded her to face forward.

At the front of the class, Ellen led the students in a prayer, asking God to bless them as they began the first year together in this new school, smiling as brightly as she could. With a heavy heart, Ellen sighed. This promised to be a challenging year of teaching. However, uppermost in her mind was the image of Mr. Lang. His square jaw had been clamped tight and his eyes had been angry, but underneath she’d seen the worry.

What drove the man to push his brother so? And how could she help Gunther—and Mr. Lang?

* * *

By the end of the day, Ellen had the beginnings of a headache. The children for the most part were well behaved but most of them had little or no experience in a classroom with other students. Concentrating on their own lesson while she taught a different lesson to another age group taxed their powers of self-control.

Ellen had kept order by stopping often to sing a song with the children. This had occurred to her out of the blue and worked well, bringing a release of tension for her as well as the students. Grateful that the school year started in warm weather, she also had granted them a morning and afternoon recess in addition to the lunch recess.

Now their first day together was nearly done. From the head of the classroom, she gazed at her students, fatigue rolling over her. “Students, I am very pleased with your performance on this, our first day together. I think that I have been fortunate in starting my teaching career with a very bright class. However, we must work on concentrating on our studies. I haven’t punished anyone today for not listening and not sticking to their own work, but I may have to tomorrow. Do you take my point?”

“Yes, Miss Thurston,” they chorused.

“I will do better,” Johann announced in the front row.

Some of the students tittered.

Ellen frowned at them, letting them know this mocking would not be tolerated. And she didn’t reprimand Johann for speaking out of turn, since she liked his eager reply and most other students nodded in agreement. “I am sure each of you will. You are fortunate to have parents who care about you enough to build a school. Now pick up your things and line up as we did to go out for recess. I will meet you at the door.”

Ellen hadn’t planned to do this, but she recalled that her favorite teacher had always waited at the back of the schoolroom and had spoken to each of them on their way out. She had looked forward every schoolday to those few precious words meant just for her.

She took each student’s hand in turn and thought of something pleasant to say, showing that she had noticed them specifically. Each student beamed at the praise, and she promised herself to end each schoolday this way.

Finally, she faced Gunther and offered her hand. “Gunther, I hope you’ll find school more pleasant tomorrow.”

He accepted her hand as if her gesture in itself insulted him and he wouldn’t meet her gaze. Then he stalked off with Johann running to keep up with him, talking in a stream of rapid German.

She slipped inside and immediately sank onto the bench at the back of the room as if she could finally lay down the load she’d carried all day. If Mr. Lang had been there, she would have gladly given him a good shake.

* * *

During afternoon recess two days later, Ellen watched the younger children playing tag. Then she noticed that the older children had disappeared. Where? And why?

Then she heard the shouting from the other side of the schoolhouse, “Fight! Fight!”

She ran toward the voices and unfortunately the younger children followed her.

There they were—Gunther and Clayton sparring, surrounded by the older boys and girls. As she watched, horrified, Clayton socked Gunther’s eye. Gunther landed a blow on Clayton’s jaw, making his head jerk backward.

She shouted, “Stop!”

At the sound of her voice, the older children surrounding the two combatants fled from her.

She halted near the two fighting. The fists were flying and she didn’t want to get in the way of one. “Clayton Riggs, stop this instant! Gunther Lang, stop!”

Neither boy paid the slightest attention to her. She couldn’t physically make them obey. Or could she? She ran to the pump. Soon she ran back. The two were now rolling around on the ground, punching and kicking each other.

She doused them with the bucket of cold water.

The two rolled apart, yelping with surprise and sputtering.

“Stand up!” she ordered. “Now!”

Gunther rose first, keeping his distance from the other boy. Clayton, though younger than Gunther, matched him nearly in height and weight, rolled to his feet, too.

“Both of you, go to the pump and wash your face and hands. Now.” She gestured toward the pump and marched them there, hiding her own trembling. She was unaccustomed to physical fighting and it had shaken her.

She stood over them as if they were two-year-olds while they washed away the dirt and blood from the fight. The cold water had evidently washed away their forgetfulness of where they were. Both looked embarrassed, chastened. Possibly wondering what their elders would say?

She then waved them into the schoolhouse and told them to face the opposite walls near the front. She called the rest of the children inside then.

No child spoke but as they filed in, all of them looked at the backs of the two miscreants. A question hung over them all. What would the teacher do to Gunther and Clayton?

She was asking herself the same question. She knew that Clayton had been taunting Gunther for two days—subtly in class and blatantly on the school ground. She had tried to keep them busy and apart, hoping to prevent fisticuffs. She’d failed.

Now she went to the front of the classroom and faced her students. “I didn’t think I needed to tell any of you that fighting on school grounds will not be tolerated.”

“Are you going to paddle them?” a first grader asked in breathless alarm.

“The idea that I would have to
paddle
any one of my students is repugnant. I expect my students to show self-control in every situation. No matter what the provocation, fighting is no way to settle an argument. Gunther and Clayton will stand the rest of the day, facing the wall in shame.”

The same first grader gasped. Some of the children gaped at her.

“If any more fights take place, I will have to inform the school board and they will mete out corporal punishment. I am a lady.”

She added the last as her justification and she saw that her instincts had proven true. The other children nodded in total agreement. Miss Thurston was a lady, and ladies didn’t paddle students.

Dear Lord, please don’t make it necessary for me to talk to anybody about this.

* * *

Later, Ellen rose from the table at the end of another evening meal at the Ashfords, who had finally agreed to let her pay them for providing her meals. Ellen could cook over a woodstove but could only make tea or coffee on the hearth in her quarters.

Though the meal had been delicious, the pleasure had done little to raise her spirits. The lady of the house gazed at her questioningly and then glanced toward Amanda, who was clearing the table. Mrs. Ashford had apparently picked up on Ellen’s preoccupation and Amanda’s forlorn mood during the meal.

“I hope everything is all right at school,” the lady of house said with a question in her voice.

Ellen decided that everyone would soon know what had happened so she might as well be frank. “I’m afraid that two boys came to blows during recess this afternoon.” The fight had ended in a nosebleed for Clayton and a black eye for Gunther.

“It wasn’t Gunther’s fault,” Amanda declared from the doorway to the kitchen. “That Clayton boy was making fun of how he talks and calling him names all day. Gunther ignored it till the Clayton boy started saying nasty things about Gunther’s uncle and little Johann.”

Both Mrs. Ashford and Ellen turned to the girl, stunned. Amanda had never shown such spirit before. Yet Ellen wished Amanda had kept her peace.

“I’m afraid I can’t allow fighting between students,” Ellen said patiently. “Even if there is provocation. I must maintain order.”

“Quite right,” Mrs. Ashford agreed. Unfortunately, she added, “I knew that Dutch boy would make trouble.”

“It wasn’t Gunther’s fault!” Amanda stomped her foot.

“That will be enough sauce from you, miss.” Mrs. Ashford’s face reddened. “Now get busy washing the dishes before I wash your impertinent mouth out with soap.”

On this unhappy note, Ellen said her thanks and descended the steps into the deep honey of twilight. Since she’d moved into her quarters, a large room behind the schoolroom, she’d dreaded the lonely evenings, which gave her too much time to fret, which she began as soon as she touched ground.

What should she do about Gunther Lang? Why didn’t his older brother realize the situation he’d put Gunther in? Her mind drifted back to home and brought up her sister exchanging vows with Holton. How long did heartbreak linger?

When she walked through the trees into the schoolyard, she was surprised to glimpse Kurt Lang, sitting dejectedly on the school step, clearly waiting for her as his horse grazed nearby. Of all people, he was the one she felt least ready to face—she had no doubt he’d come to discuss the fight.

“Mr. Lang,” she said.

He jumped up and swept off his hat. “Miss Thurston, I am sorry I am come so late. But I know Gunther had a fight. Please, I ask—do not put him out of school.”

Ellen walked toward him, trying to gather her scattered thoughts. This disturbing man put her at a disadvantage. He was handsome like Holton, but he never tried to charm her like Holton. Mr. Lang reminded her more of a determined bull.

Nothing she’d said so far concerning Gunther had made the least impression on him. She knew in her heart that there was nothing she could do to help Gunther fit in—too much separated him from the other students. But how could she make this man believe her? See he was doing harm to his brother?

Glum about her prospects at persuading him, she sat down on the school step, facing the river. He sat down a polite distance from her. For a few minutes neither of them talked. Finally, she cleared her throat. She would try once more.

“I realize that you want Gunther to learn more English so he is better prepared for life here.”

His powerful shoulders strained against his cotton shirt. “Yes, that is so.”

Her heart went out to him, a man trying to raise a teenage brother and a little boy by himself. Nonetheless, why did he have to be so stubborn? “But Gunther is too much older and too sensitive about being different from the others. Making him sit with little children won’t work.”

“Gunther must learn to obey.” Mr. Lang’s words rang with deep feeling.

She tried to imagine what was driving this man to continue to put his younger brother in such a difficult situation. Maybe if she talked about her family, he might reveal something about himself.

“I have a younger sister.” She didn’t mention that her elder brother was full of himself or that she’d had a baby brother, too. It cost her enough to speak of her sister Cissy and what her sister had unwittingly put her through. She paused a moment, grappling with her own rampant emotions. “My parents made the mistake of always saying to her, ‘Why can’t you be more like your sister?’”