The Lesson by Suzanne Woods Fisher Page A

abruptly stopped talking. The two men stared at Chris.
    “I think I found that part you were looking for.” Chrisknocked on the singletree that kept the traces from working their way off on their own. “See? It works.”
    Hank came over to check it out. “LOOK AT THAT! Well, wonders never cease.”
    Elmo sized up Chris as if he had just noticed he was there. The way he looked at Chris made him nervous. It was like the man was peering into his soul. “And who are you?”
    “That’s Amos’s hired help. New to town.” Hank looked over at Chris. “Son, I didn’t catch your name.”
    “Chris Yoder.”
    “Chris Yoder, this is Bishop Elmo.” Hank pulled on the trace holders to make sure they were taut.
    The bishop. The bishop? Oh, this was not good. Not good at all.
    Bishop Elmo, cheerful and bespectacled, took a step closer to Chris. “New to Stoney Ridge?”
    “Really new. Just arrived.”
    “Any relation to Isaac Yoder?”
    Chris shook his head.
    “Melvin Yoder?”
    Chris shook his head more vehemently. He did not want to start down that long road of dissecting family trees. Two thoughts ricocheted through his mind at that moment. One, that Bishop Elmo would ask why he hadn’t seen him in church more often once he discovered how long Chris had been here. That could be answered easily—they really just arrived a few weeks ago. A second and far more dangerous question was that the bishop might inquire—no, definitely would inquire, by the way he looked at that moment—as to where Chris had come from. Actually, it was surprising that he’d been able to evade the question so far with Amos Lapp and a few other people he had done odd jobs for, thanks toBud at the hardware store. Chris quickly searched his brain for something to comment on, hoping it might redirect the conversation.
    He held up the bit in his hand. “I left the horses in the field while I fixed this bit. It sure is a hot day. I’d better get back to work.” He rushed off to the barn before Bishop Elmo could squeeze in another question.
    And still, Elmo managed to call out, “I’ll expect to see you in church in two Sundays, Chris Yoder.”
    Church. A feeling of dread washed over Chris. He would be found out.
    Stop it! he told himself fiercely. They’d come this far, hadn’t they?

4
    M .K. didn’t think it was possible for Day Two as a teacher to be worse than Day One, but it was. The school had never been so noisy, including all of M.K.’s eight years as a student. All over the room there was a clatter of books and feet and a rustle of whispering. Whichever way she turned, unruliness and noise swelled up behind her. She didn’t think anything could have been more disruptive to a classroom than yesterday’s fire in the trash can, until Eugene Miller left during today’s noon recess—taking three other eighth grade boys with him. M.K had a horrible feeling that each day, fewer and fewer students would return after lunch. By Friday afternoon, the schoolhouse would be empty.
    Six-year-old Barbara Jean had started the exodus yesterday when she disappeared during lunch.
    M.K. gave permission for Barbara Jean to go outside to the girls’ room, but then she was gone for so long that M.K. panicked. She raced outside. Where was Barbara Jean? M.K. was hesitant to call out her name. It was unlikely that she’d left the school, wasn’t it? But she wasn’t in the girls’ bathroom, nor the boys’. In just a matter of minutes, she had lost a child. Barbara Jean had gone missing.
    Finally, M.K. found Barbara Jean behind the big oak tree, playing with her doll. “Oh, good!” M.K. said, flooded with relief. “I thought I’d lost you!” She was sure Barbara Jean had gone home.
    But why should it matter if a few pupils slipped off to go home?
    She didn’t know why, but it did matter.
    Fern had been right about one thing: M.K. was going to have to figure out how to get through this teaching job. For two weeks and three more days.
    But how?