school, and that was before she’d made him angry.
“I shouldn’t have pushed so hard and so early. He probably does know what is best for his dochder. They needed time to adjust. How long have they been in our community? Less than a month? But I expected him to trust me with my new ideas.”
Esther didn’t say anything. Instead, she set aside her quilting, walked into the kitchen, and returned a few minutes later with two cups of hot herbal tea. Sitting next to Miriam on the couch, she handed her one.
After Miriam had taken a sip, which made her feel better, she said, “That’s it? That’s all you have for me? Hot tea?”
“No. But I thought I’d let you stew a little longer before I straightened you out.”
Miriam laughed for the first time all night.
“You’re a gut teacher, Miriam. You know that and I know that.”
“You are too—”
“Listen. Don’t talk.” Esther’s eyes danced in amusement over her cup as she took another sip of the fragrant brew. “I’m a fair teacher, and I know it. I enjoy working with the older kinner, and it’s been a wunderbaar thing for me until my time to marry. But it’s different with you.”
Esther tucked her feet underneath her. “You love your students as if they were your own. That’s why you pushed Grace and why you pushed her dat. He pushed back. So what? Let him lick his wounds. He’s a big man. He’ll be all right.”
Miriam studied her friend for a moment and realized again how much she would miss her next year. “You’re sure?”
“About which part?”
“All of it.”
“Oh, yes. I’m sure.” She set her empty cup of tea on the end table and then moved back to the rocker to resume quilting.
The night settled around them. Miriam picked up a book and began reading it. She’d almost put Gabe Miller from her mind when Esther started giggling.
“Something funny about that quilt?”
“I was trying to imagine how mad he was on Sunday.”
“Pretty mad. Face scrunched up, creases between the eyes, jaw clenched…you know the look.”
Esther quilted a few more stitches. “Any idea if he’s keeping pigs?”
“Pigs?”
“ Ya . I was thinking if he’s still as angry as he was, he might be feeding our casserole to his pigs. Wouldn’t that be a sad use of our cooking? We try to do a good deed by sharing our dinner—using up the extra we were going to cook next week—and Gabe Miller feeds it to the pigs.”
“I don’t see why that’s so funny.”
“Maybe you could write a story about it.” Esther kept sewing and rocking. “Submit it to the Budget. And you could give it to Grace to illustrate. Who knows? It might be the thing to get her talking again.”
“I don’t believe they print fiction.”
“Your story could be the first, and it wouldn’t exactly be fiction.”
Miriam might be a good teacher, but she recognized a terrible idea when she heard one. Putting her and Gabe Miller’s fight into the Budget was not something she would be doing—even in fictional form. But Esther’s idea did start her thinking about Grace and ways she might coax the girl into talking.
Nothing that would anger Gabe of course. She wouldn’t want to repeat that encounter. Perhaps she could think of a way to motivate the little girl. She’d learned from experience that every child was inspired by something different. She’d already figured out that Grace was a teacher-pleaser. All she had to do now was come up with a way to combine her teacher-pleasing urge with what Miriam wanted—what deep down inside Gabe wanted.
Put those two things together, and the result might be a little girl’s beautiful voice.
Chapter 7
T hree hours after she’d gone to bed, Miriam continued to toss and turn beneath the covers. She’d flopped back and forth so often she was sure she had the quilt wrapped completely around her like one of the ancient Egyptian mummies the older Stutzman boy had given a report on last week.
Her younger students enjoyed
“I shouldn’t have pushed so hard and so early. He probably does know what is best for his dochder. They needed time to adjust. How long have they been in our community? Less than a month? But I expected him to trust me with my new ideas.”
Esther didn’t say anything. Instead, she set aside her quilting, walked into the kitchen, and returned a few minutes later with two cups of hot herbal tea. Sitting next to Miriam on the couch, she handed her one.
After Miriam had taken a sip, which made her feel better, she said, “That’s it? That’s all you have for me? Hot tea?”
“No. But I thought I’d let you stew a little longer before I straightened you out.”
Miriam laughed for the first time all night.
“You’re a gut teacher, Miriam. You know that and I know that.”
“You are too—”
“Listen. Don’t talk.” Esther’s eyes danced in amusement over her cup as she took another sip of the fragrant brew. “I’m a fair teacher, and I know it. I enjoy working with the older kinner, and it’s been a wunderbaar thing for me until my time to marry. But it’s different with you.”
Esther tucked her feet underneath her. “You love your students as if they were your own. That’s why you pushed Grace and why you pushed her dat. He pushed back. So what? Let him lick his wounds. He’s a big man. He’ll be all right.”
Miriam studied her friend for a moment and realized again how much she would miss her next year. “You’re sure?”
“About which part?”
“All of it.”
“Oh, yes. I’m sure.” She set her empty cup of tea on the end table and then moved back to the rocker to resume quilting.
The night settled around them. Miriam picked up a book and began reading it. She’d almost put Gabe Miller from her mind when Esther started giggling.
“Something funny about that quilt?”
“I was trying to imagine how mad he was on Sunday.”
“Pretty mad. Face scrunched up, creases between the eyes, jaw clenched…you know the look.”
Esther quilted a few more stitches. “Any idea if he’s keeping pigs?”
“Pigs?”
“ Ya . I was thinking if he’s still as angry as he was, he might be feeding our casserole to his pigs. Wouldn’t that be a sad use of our cooking? We try to do a good deed by sharing our dinner—using up the extra we were going to cook next week—and Gabe Miller feeds it to the pigs.”
“I don’t see why that’s so funny.”
“Maybe you could write a story about it.” Esther kept sewing and rocking. “Submit it to the Budget. And you could give it to Grace to illustrate. Who knows? It might be the thing to get her talking again.”
“I don’t believe they print fiction.”
“Your story could be the first, and it wouldn’t exactly be fiction.”
Miriam might be a good teacher, but she recognized a terrible idea when she heard one. Putting her and Gabe Miller’s fight into the Budget was not something she would be doing—even in fictional form. But Esther’s idea did start her thinking about Grace and ways she might coax the girl into talking.
Nothing that would anger Gabe of course. She wouldn’t want to repeat that encounter. Perhaps she could think of a way to motivate the little girl. She’d learned from experience that every child was inspired by something different. She’d already figured out that Grace was a teacher-pleaser. All she had to do now was come up with a way to combine her teacher-pleasing urge with what Miriam wanted—what deep down inside Gabe wanted.
Put those two things together, and the result might be a little girl’s beautiful voice.
Chapter 7
T hree hours after she’d gone to bed, Miriam continued to toss and turn beneath the covers. She’d flopped back and forth so often she was sure she had the quilt wrapped completely around her like one of the ancient Egyptian mummies the older Stutzman boy had given a report on last week.
Her younger students enjoyed
Similar Books
