day. She had written an account of her encounters with the Amish. Only time would tell whether she had persuasively alleviated their hesitations. The report did not contain her own hesitations or the self-chastisement over what she might have said differently.
A few minutes later, on an ordinary sunny August Wednesday morning, Margaret stood in front of the superintendent’s desk as he leafed through the pages of her report.
“This is a good beginning,” Mr. Brownley said. “I see several opportunities here for strengthening your alliance with the Amish as we move forward.”
Alliance?
Margaret would not have used that word in describing her only partially successful course of action.
“What is your next step?” Mr. Brownley removed his black-rimmed reading glasses and raised his gray eyes to Margaret.
“Is my report lacking?” Margaret said, confused.
“On the contrary.”
“Sir?”
“I am not unaware of the special nature of a relationship with the Amish,” Brownley said. “You’ve done well at communicating the stipulations of the law. Inviting their prominent parents to tour the school was a good strategy to help them prepare for the transition. But we do need to be sure they complete the transition. I suspect that even after the first day of school on September 9, we will discover we do not have uniform compliance.”
“Yes,” Margaret said, “I would agree that not all the parents will accept the new schools at the same rate.”
“And this is why we need you to continue as an intermediary. We must have compliance. It will not be acceptable for us to turn our heads when we are aware of children who become truants.”
“I hardly think it will be a case of children deciding to become truants.”
Brownley waved his hand. “The end result will be the same. Whether by their choice or their parents’, they’ll be truant, and I will not tolerate the rate of truancy in my district that might result if the Amish children are not in their assigned classrooms.”
“What about the children who are not Amish?”
“Some of their parents may resist, but they will come around. They will understand the law and adapt. The Amish may understand the law and defy.”
“Is that not a harsh judgment? They have done nothing wrong so far.”
“September 9, Miss Simpson. That is the day that matters. Then we will know where we stand with them. I want you to make sure we accomplish our goal.”
Margaret tilted her head. “Perhaps you can be more specific in your instructions to me.”
“You’ve shown yourself capable, Miss Simpson.” Brownley rose, paced to the door, and opened it. “I look forward to your reports. Shall we say twice a week for now?”
Margaret swallowed hard. She could not force the Amish parents to send their children to school. Keeping her jaw from slackening in shock required intentional manipulation of her facial muscles as Margaret exited the building and stepped again into the sunlight. She turned vaguely in the direction of her home, walking slowly with the wide brim of her hat angled toward the sidewalk and seeing people’s shoes rather than their faces.
When the sound of a pair of men’s work boots fell into step with her creeping pace, she looked up.
“Gray!”
“Good morning.” He smiled. “It’s my good fortune to be hauling for the mercantile today, or our paths might not have crossed.”
Margaret stopped walking and looked into Gray’s expectant expression. Her lips opened and closed several times without producing sound.
“Margaret, are you all right?”
She gripped her satchel with both hands. Still no words came.
Gray put a hand to the side of her face, transferring his comforting warmth and sureness. Something calmed within her.
“Mr. Brownley has asked—assigned—me to continue as an intermediary with the Amish families. He has some concern they may not send their children to school. I have no idea on God’s green earth what he thinks I could
A few minutes later, on an ordinary sunny August Wednesday morning, Margaret stood in front of the superintendent’s desk as he leafed through the pages of her report.
“This is a good beginning,” Mr. Brownley said. “I see several opportunities here for strengthening your alliance with the Amish as we move forward.”
Alliance?
Margaret would not have used that word in describing her only partially successful course of action.
“What is your next step?” Mr. Brownley removed his black-rimmed reading glasses and raised his gray eyes to Margaret.
“Is my report lacking?” Margaret said, confused.
“On the contrary.”
“Sir?”
“I am not unaware of the special nature of a relationship with the Amish,” Brownley said. “You’ve done well at communicating the stipulations of the law. Inviting their prominent parents to tour the school was a good strategy to help them prepare for the transition. But we do need to be sure they complete the transition. I suspect that even after the first day of school on September 9, we will discover we do not have uniform compliance.”
“Yes,” Margaret said, “I would agree that not all the parents will accept the new schools at the same rate.”
“And this is why we need you to continue as an intermediary. We must have compliance. It will not be acceptable for us to turn our heads when we are aware of children who become truants.”
“I hardly think it will be a case of children deciding to become truants.”
Brownley waved his hand. “The end result will be the same. Whether by their choice or their parents’, they’ll be truant, and I will not tolerate the rate of truancy in my district that might result if the Amish children are not in their assigned classrooms.”
“What about the children who are not Amish?”
“Some of their parents may resist, but they will come around. They will understand the law and adapt. The Amish may understand the law and defy.”
“Is that not a harsh judgment? They have done nothing wrong so far.”
“September 9, Miss Simpson. That is the day that matters. Then we will know where we stand with them. I want you to make sure we accomplish our goal.”
Margaret tilted her head. “Perhaps you can be more specific in your instructions to me.”
“You’ve shown yourself capable, Miss Simpson.” Brownley rose, paced to the door, and opened it. “I look forward to your reports. Shall we say twice a week for now?”
Margaret swallowed hard. She could not force the Amish parents to send their children to school. Keeping her jaw from slackening in shock required intentional manipulation of her facial muscles as Margaret exited the building and stepped again into the sunlight. She turned vaguely in the direction of her home, walking slowly with the wide brim of her hat angled toward the sidewalk and seeing people’s shoes rather than their faces.
When the sound of a pair of men’s work boots fell into step with her creeping pace, she looked up.
“Gray!”
“Good morning.” He smiled. “It’s my good fortune to be hauling for the mercantile today, or our paths might not have crossed.”
Margaret stopped walking and looked into Gray’s expectant expression. Her lips opened and closed several times without producing sound.
“Margaret, are you all right?”
She gripped her satchel with both hands. Still no words came.
Gray put a hand to the side of her face, transferring his comforting warmth and sureness. Something calmed within her.
“Mr. Brownley has asked—assigned—me to continue as an intermediary with the Amish families. He has some concern they may not send their children to school. I have no idea on God’s green earth what he thinks I could
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