The Imposter by Suzanne Woods Fisher Page A

you’ve been stung by a bee. There’s a clean rag on my desk and a glass of water you can dip it into. That might help the swelling.” Quietly, she whispered, “And then sit up front on the bench next to my desk.”
    Luke took his time about getting onto his feet and made a face at the whole process, dramatically unfolding himself from a desk that was too small for him. He waited for a moment, a sneer on his face with one hand on his injury, standing tall above Birdy, who was still kneeling.
    She tried to appear unperturbed. Slowly, she rose to a standing position, towering over Luke, until he had to lift his chin to face her. By the time she reached her full height, he looked uneasy. And then his shoulders slumped and he trudged up to the front bench, glaring at each student as he went.
    Catching a second wind, Birdy marched to the front of the class to resume roll call. She hoped that sitting on the front bench might cure Luke’s cheekiness for the rest of the day, though she did keep hearing snickers. The rest of the class reeled off names without further event until the last student of all. Nathan Kropf, a boy who was making another stab at eighth grade. He was a sweet boy, an earnest one, and his mind moved as slowly as his large body. “Teacher Birdy, I just thought you should know someone stuck a sign on your backside.”
    Birdy gasped and reached behind her to feel a piece of paper. She grabbed it: “The Jolly Green Giant.” She looked down. Her dress. It was her favorite, a sea green that had a shimmer to it, a color she particularly loved because it always gave her a boost of confidence. No longer.
    She could see she had her work cut out for her.

    High, thin clouds kept the sun dim, and David hardly saw a shadow as he walked down the road. Tired from brooding—tired of brooding—David turned his thoughts to his blessings: his six children, each one so unique, so dear to him. The work God had given him as a minister, to look after the spiritual needs of those entrusted to his care.
    And the store.
    For David it was always the best moment of the day when he arrived at the Bent N’ Dent to start the morning. To his way of thinking, an Amish store was the heart of a community. Nearly every church member, old to young, flowed through that front door in the course of a week, giving him a chance to see how each one was faring. He thought back to two days ago, when the five elderly sisters from the Sisters’ House came in for their weekly groceries. They had lived together for so many years that they had grown to resemble each other, wizened and bent as apostrophes and nearly telegraphic in their talk. He had great affection for them and was saddened to see how rapidly Emma’s dementia was advancing. She could no longer recall her four sisters’ names, though last Sunday, he had noticed that she could remember the verses of every hymn sung at church.
    Strange, how the mind held some information and dispensed with other.
    David smiled to himself as he poured tablespoon after tablespoon of fresh coffee grounds into the coffeemaker. Yes, he loved being a storekeeper and all this store represented.
    The door flung open. Freeman Glick filled the doorway, as commanding a figure as Moses, and bellowed, “David,” as if identifying David to himself. Freeman’s brother Levi peered over his shoulder as he pronounced, “I’m here on church business.”
    â€œStrictly business,” Levi echoed.
    Freeman Glick always looked freshly ironed, with a touchof starch. Not his clothing; Freeman himself. His shaggy brown eyebrows knitted, contemplating David in either bewilderment or extreme irritation, it was always hard to tell which. A hard look came into those dark eyes.
    â€œWould you like some coffee, first?”
    â€œI don’t drink coffee,” Freeman announced.
    â€œHe don’t,” Levi added.
    Freeman stepped forward with a frown