Lyn Cote - The Baby Bequest

“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

Ellen’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.