The Amish Teacher's Gift

Book 1: Love and Promises

by Rachel J. Good

Genres: Amish & Mennonite; Christian Romance; Women's Fiction; Clean & Wholesome Romance; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

" The Amish Teacher's Gift might have been the first book I've read by Rachel J. Good, but it won't be my last." -- Shelley Shepard Gray, New York Times bestselling author A Teacher's Love Widower Josiah Yoder wants to be a good father. But it's not easy with a deaf young son who doesn't understand why his mamm isn't coming home. At a loss, Josiah enrolls Nathan in a special-needs school and is relieved to see his son immediately comforted by his new teacher, a woman whose sweet charm and gentle smile just might be the balm they both need. With seven siblings to care for, Ada Rupp wasn't sure she wanted to take on teaching, too. But the moment she holds Nathan in her arms, she realizes she'll do all she can to help this lost little boy. Plus, it gives her a chance to spend more time with Josiah. Falling for a man in mourning may be against the rules, but his quiet strength is the support Ada never knew she needed. And, together, they could have the loving family she'd always hoped for.

Release date: April 24, 2018

Publisher: Forever

Print pages: 385

Sample

Chapter One

Ada Rupp balanced on her chair and reached overhead to finish stapling the row of alphabet letters across the front of the classroom. Below her, Mary Elizabeth kept both hands clamped on the wooden chair to steady it. Ada smiled down at her sister. She wasn’t sure how much help a six-year-old would be if the chair tipped, but she appreciated her youngest sister’s thoughtfulness.

Placing one hand on the blackboard for support, Ada eased herself to the ground, careful not to snag her skirt hem on the stacks of boxes behind her desk. She’d wait to open the boxes and set out the school books until after tonight’s potluck.

After Ada’s feet were firmly on the newly washed and swept floorboards, her sister blew out a loud breath. Ever since Mamm died a few months ago, Mary Elizabeth had been clingy, but as the first day of school approached, she refused to let Ada out of her sight.

Three of the scholars’ mothers had cleaned the schoolhouse earlier that week, and today five of Ada’s seven siblings had pinned up colorful bulletin boards to decorate the classroom before the singing that evening. Sadie, at age ten, alternated between taking care of the younger siblings and taping words to objects around the room.

“Danke for your help,” Ada said to her sisters and brothers as she strolled around the room to check all the details. “Everything looks wonderful.” She couldn’t have done it without them. Usually a few scholars helped the teacher set up, but with all of her students having special needs, Ada was grateful for her siblings’ assistance. The room was ready, but Ada wasn’t sure she was.

“This was fun,” Sadie replied as she taped up one last sign. “It does look nice, doesn’t it?”

Desks were fanned in a semi-circle around Ada’s desk. Rather than using traditional rows, this would allow Ada to keep a closer eye on all her scholars. Behind the desks, they’d set up rows of chairs for the singing and several tables for the food. Everything was ready—everything except her fluttering nerves.

Drawing in a deep breath, Ada tried to calm the anxiety in her stomach as she went over the list one last time: Lukas and Will—autism; Lizzie—Tourette’s syndrome; Emily—hearing impaired, Down syndrome; Nathan—hearing impaired, tantrums.

Although she’d studied books all summer, ever since the bishop asked her to teach at the special needs school, Ada still felt inadequate for the job. Her only qualification had been knowing sign language to communicate with her five-year-old brother, David. She’d learned quite a bit from her studies, but there was a big difference between book learning and real life. What if she couldn’t help these students?

*  *  *

As the buggy jolted along the rutted lane, Josiah Yoder glanced over at his mamm. “I’m not so sure this was a good idea.”

Behind them, his six-year-old son, Nathan, ricocheted from side to side, his screeches echoing in the small enclosed space.

“He’ll settle down soon. He always does.” Mamm’s quiet words could barely be heard over Nathan’s screams.

Her reassurance did little to ease Josiah’s concerns. In less than five minutes, they’d be at the schoolhouse, and he’d have to face his son’s teacher. He’d been dreading this evening, and the closer the day came, the higher his anxiety spiked.

When Bishop Laban Troyer recommended this school, he mentioned this was the girl’s first year of teaching. Josiah would have preferred someone more experienced, someone who could handle Nathan’s acting out, rather than a nineteen-year-old new teacher. The next nearest special needs school was more than ten miles away if his son proved too disruptive. He’d worry about putting his son on a school bus, but he wouldn’t have time to take Nathan there in the mornings before work, which meant his son would have to be homeschooled. Josiah couldn’t ask Mamm to do that. Josiah, Nathan, and Mamm had moved from Ohio to Lancaster two weeks ago so Mamm could help his older sister Linda with her restaurant. From five until ten every morning, Mamm baked desserts for the seasonal menu. Caring for Nathan in addition to that exhausted her.

Nathan’s screams decreased to grizzling, an indication he was about to fall asleep. From the time he was an infant, the rocking motion of the buggy had soothed him to sleep. It never mattered how rough the road; even jostling and jouncing worked its magic. Tonight, though, Josiah hoped Nathan would be drowsy and calm, but awake, when they arrived.

“Can you keep him from falling asleep?” Josiah asked his mother. Waking Nathan meant dealing with a growling, grouchy child.

Mamm swiveled her head. “Too late. He’s curled up on the seat with his eyes closed.”

Josiah groaned. Why couldn’t his son have waited a few more minutes?

When they pulled into the school yard, several other buggies were already parked. Josiah urged his horse as far from the others as he could. If Nathan woke, he didn’t want his son’s cries startling the other horses.

After he’d stopped the wagon, Mamm touched his arm. “Why don’t you go in and meet the teacher? I’ll stay out here with Nathan.”

“I don’t want to leave you here alone. He’s hard to handle when he wakes.”

Mamm’s tired smile was meant to calm him, but it only added to his anxiety. “Don’t worry,” she said. “You’ll know when he wakes and can come help.”

Unfortunately, she was right. Nathan’s wake-up screams resembled a fire alarm. He and everyone else in the building would know when his son woke.

With a nod of thanks to Mamm, Josiah hopped down from the buggy and strode toward the school building. He’d greet the teacher and hightail it out of there.

Before he reached the door, it swung open. The young woman silhouetted in the doorway looked even more youthful and inexperienced than he’d expected. And if the tension lines around her eyes and lips were any indication, she was extremely nervous. Not the best combination to handle his son’s volatile personality.

She stepped forward and flashed a bright smile that took his breath away. “Welcome. I’m so glad you’ve come. I’m Ada Rupp.”

Josiah blinked and struggled to put together a coherent sentence. “Josiah Yoder. My son, Nathan, will be in your class.”

“Wonderful.” Ada’s mouth was still stretched into a smile, but it lost some of its brilliance, and the tightness around her eyes reappeared as she peered behind him as if searching for his son.

He gave her an apologetic smile. “Nathan’s not with me. Well, he is, but he’s not here.” His neck warmed, and heat crept into his face. He was stammering like an idiot. “I mean, he’s out in the buggy.”

“Please bring him in. Most of the other children are here with their families.”

“He fell asleep on the drive here, and I don’t want to wake him. He’s had a long day.” Although that was the truth, it wasn’t the whole truth, and Josiah squirmed inside. Lying to his son’s teacher would not get them off to a good start. Taking a deep breath, he continued, “Actually, I don’t want to wake him because he has, um, outbursts. Temper tantrums, I guess you’d call them. They can be quite violent sometimes. My wife…” He swallowed hard, unsure whether he could keep his words steady.

“I understand.” Ada reached out a hand and laid it on his sleeve as if comforting a child, but his reaction to her touch was definitely not childlike. He jerked away, feeling disloyal to Ruth’s memory.

The teacher’s cheeks pinkened. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

He regretted his hasty reaction. He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings. “It’s all right.” His tone sounded gruffer than he intended, and he tried to soften his next words. “I just wanted to introduce myself, but I have to go now.” He started to hurry away.

“Wait,” Ada called after him.

When he turned to face her, she appeared flustered. She hesitated a moment before fluttering a hand toward the buggies. “Would it be all right if I peeked in at him? So I’ll recognize him on Monday?”

Josiah wanted to say she’d have no trouble recognizing him by his ear-piercing squalls, but he held his tongue and only nodded. She’d discover that soon enough. No point in worrying her. She deserved a few more days of peace before school started.

When she stepped off the porch to accompany him, she barely reached his shoulder. Someone that small and slight shouldn’t be alone in the schoolhouse with the scholars, especially not if they were all as troubled as his son. Perhaps he should ask if she had an assistant. Part of him wished he could volunteer for the job of protecting her, but that wouldn’t be acceptable.

When they reached the buggy, Mamm smiled. “I’m Barbara Yoder, Nathan’s grandmother, and you must be the new schoolteacher.”

Ada returned the smile. “Yes, I’m Ada Rupp. It’s very nice to meet you. I came out to see your grandson.” She turned to Josiah.

The blue of her eyes reminded him of Nathan’s crystal-clear ones, and the last rays of sunset illuminated the golden highlights in the hair left uncovered by her kapp. He almost forgot why they’d come out to the buggy. Mentally he shook himself. This was his son’s teacher; he had no business thinking about her looks.

“He’s on the backseat,” he managed to explain.

She stood on tiptoe to peer inside, and her expression softened. “Oh, how sweet.”

Josiah stepped up beside her to glimpse what she saw. He didn’t often have an opportunity to view his son like this. Curled up, hugging his green terrycloth rabbit to his chest, eyes closed in sleep, Nathan appeared angelic.

“I’ll look forward to teaching him,” Ada whispered.

Not once you’ve met him, Josiah almost said aloud. Maybe he should warn her, though. How could he in good conscience unleash his son’s furious outbursts on someone so sweet and innocent?

*  *  *

Ada returned to the schoolhouse, her cheeks on fire. She regretted calling out as Josiah headed across the parking lot. The families in the schoolhouse must have seen her chase after him, but they had no idea his mamm had accompanied him because his buggy wasn’t visible through the windows. Ada hadn’t even started her first day of teaching, and already she’d made a major mistake. Everyone would assume she’d been out there alone with a man—a married man.

Mary Elizabeth hurried toward her. “Where were you?” she demanded.

“Outside meeting one of the scholars.” Ada’s words came out breathless, and she tried to steady her voice. She had to put Josiah out of her mind.

Her sister’s brow wrinkled the way it did before she cried. “I looked all over for you.”

Ada tilted Mary Elizabeth’s chin up and gave her a warning look. “You promised me you wouldn’t cry, remember?”

“I’m not,” Mary Elizabeth insisted, although her eyes were damp and she sniffled.

Ada set a hand on her sister’s shoulder and drew her close. “I’m a teacher now. I have to do my job.” Although her duties didn’t necessarily include trailing after Josiah Yoder and requesting to see his sleeping son. Ada tried not to dwell on that thought. Beside her, Mary Elizabeth grasped a fistful of her skirt and hung on tight.

Another buggy rolled into the school yard. The last scholar. With her sister still clinging to her skirt, Ada held open the door but couldn’t resist checking to see if the Yoder buggy was still visible. All she could see were puffs of dust in the distance.

Betty Troyer emerged from the buggy, holding a foil-covered casserole dish. Pasting a smile on her face, Ada forced herself to pay attention to the newcomers. Bishop Troyer hitched the horse to a post, before helping his sixteen-year-old daughter, Martha, from the buggy. Then Martha, in turn, assisted her nine-year-old brother, Lukas.

Martha’s round face lit with a smile as soon as she spied Ada in the doorway. Holding her brother’s hand and waving excitedly, she limped toward the schoolhouse, and Ada responded with a genuine grin. As usual, Lukas never met her eyes.

“Gut-n-Owed,” Ada said to the family. She also signed it, although with Martha’s hearing aids and lip-reading abilities, she most likely understood the spoken phrase.

Betty followed her children to the porch. “I’m sorry we’re late.” Once her children had gone inside, she lowered her voice. “Lukas was in one of his moods tonight and threw a fit about coming. Martha convinced him to get into the buggy, but he brought his comb. I hope he won’t cause any disruptions.”

“I put two chairs on the other side of the room, away from the crowd. I thought he’d prefer to sit there with Martha, so the singing and talking won’t disturb him as much.”

“Danke. That was a good idea.” A long, slow sigh hissed from between Betty’s teeth. “That way if he starts flicking his finger along the comb, it may not bother others.”

In her studies, Ada had read about stims, the repetitive movements children with autism used to self-soothe. Lukas often ran his fingers along a comb during church services. Stims might not be acceptable in a regular classroom, but she’d allow it in hers. She wanted him to feel comfortable the first few weeks. She’d also set his desk apart from the others to lessen the noise and distraction.

If loud sounds upset Lukas, though, would Nathan’s outbursts be a problem? Perhaps she should have spent more time talking to Josiah to find out about his son’s “temper tantrums,” as he’d called them. No doubt, her conscience warned, that was the only reason you wanted to spend more time with him. Ada recalled his twinkling eyes, his reddish beard, his…

Bishop Troyer cleared his throat, and she jumped. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?” she asked, relieved he couldn’t read her mind.

“Jah, I did.” He raised one bushy eyebrow. “You are nervous about tonight?”

“For sure and certain.” That was not the only reason for her edginess, though. She gave him her full attention.

“I said the school board met and decided you should have an assistant. Martha will help you.” He glanced past her into the schoolroom, a fond smile playing across his lips as his daughter led Lukas to his seat.

“I’m sure she’ll be a wonderful gut help.” Martha would be a hardworking assistant, and she’d be a calming influence on her brother. She’d been several grades behind Ada in school. Because of Down syndrome, Martha had struggled with lessons, but she’d always worked hard until she learned the material. She’d be patient with the slower learners. Best of all, she had a cheerful disposition and loved everyone she met.

“I’m glad you’re pleased.” Bishop Troyer smiled and stepped into the classroom. “I’ll announce it tonight.”

Ada convinced Mary Elizabeth to take a seat next to Sadie. Then, fists knotted at her sides and her knees shaky, Ada walked to the front of the room. After swallowing the lump of fear blocking her throat, she gave the crowd a wobbly smile.

“Welcome, everyone, I’m so glad you could come out tonight. I’m looking forward to the school year and getting to know each of the scholars. I hope you’ll tour the room and help your child feel comfortable here.”

Ada had prepared a longer speech, but having so many eyes fixed on her made her nervous, and her mind went blank. She moved on quickly to the next part of the program. “Why don’t we start by singing ‘The Finish Line’?”

She hummed to get her pitch, but her voice squeaked on the first notes. Luckily, the crowd soon drowned out her feeble attempts. After they had sung in German and English, Ada invited Bishop Troyer to come forward to share his news.

In a loud, booming voice, he announced, “The school board has chosen Martha Troyer as the assistant for this school.”

Martha squealed and clapped at the news, but Lukas shrank back and covered his ears. Immediately, she sobered and leaned toward him. “It’s all right,” she whispered.

Staring about warily, Lukas lowered his hands, but remained hunched away from the rest of the audience.

Ada hurried over. “Perhaps Lukas would like to sit at his desk while everyone eats.” She pointed to the desk that was some distance from the others.

“You’d like that, Lukas, wouldn’t you?” Martha reached for her brother’s hand and escorted him to the front of the room.

After he sat at the desk, everyone bowed their heads for prayer. Then mothers lifted the lids from the platters or serving bowls they’d brought and set out the drinks. Ada stepped back until everyone was served. Then she filled a plate and circulated to talk to her students. She’d just taken a bite of a tangy ham and cheese bun when she passed Emily’s grandmother Mary huddled together with Betty, their backs to her.

“I’m not sure she’s the best choice for teacher,” Betty said, “especially not after what happened with her daed.”

Mary shook her head. “I’ll never understand how a child in good conscience could do something like that.”

At that declaration, a lump blocked Ada’s throat, and she choked. The sound made Mary glance over her shoulder and elbow Betty.

Teary-eyed from coughing and her face burning with shame, Ada croaked out, “Good evening.” She forced herself to stand there when all she wanted to do was run and hide. From time to time, she’d overheard people whispering about her, but for the bishop’s wife to openly condemn her to another member of the community cut her deeply.

Mary was the first to recover. She waved a vague hand toward Emily. “I’m sure you’ll do well teaching sign language. Your brother is so proficient at it.”

“And Martha is delighted to be a teaching assistant,” Betty added.

“She’ll do a gut job,” Ada said. “I’m looking forward to having Lukas in class.”

Betty shifted, her hands twisting the sides of her black apron. “Yes, well…”

Across the room, the bishop beckoned to Ada. “Excuse me,” Ada said, and hurried toward him, grateful for an excuse to get away.

The bishop smiled at her. “We passed the Yoders as we were coming here tonight, so I assume you met Nathan.”

“Not exactly,” Ada said. “He’d fallen asleep in the buggy. I, um, talked to his father.” She hoped her cheeks hadn’t turned fiery red.

“Yes, Josiah has quite a lot to deal with. I suggested Nathan might be better here with you, not only for help with sign language but also his tantrums. I’m sure you saw what happened last Sunday.”

“I wasn’t at church. David and Noah were sick, so I stayed home with them.”

“Ach, jah, now I remember. The whole way home, Martha kept asking Betty where you were. She worries about you.”

“That’s sweet of her.”

“She has a good heart. Anyway, Nathan threw such a fit—kicking, screeching, pounding on his daed’s back—Josiah had to carry him out of the service.”

“Oh, my goodness.”

“After church I talked to him about Nathan. The boy’s much too disruptive to attend a regular schoolhouse, so I suggested Josiah bring him here.”

Ada pleated the sides of her skirt with nervous fingers. “I hope I can handle him.” And handle seeing his father every day.

“I have every confidence you will.”

Chapter Two

As the world outside settled into nighttime stillness, peace and quiet reigned inside the Rupp house. Ada slumped onto the couch and drew in a calming breath. Only the sounds of gentle breathing came from the bedrooms. All seven of her siblings had finally fallen asleep. And Daed’s usual snores were absent now that he was no longer here.

Ada untied her work kerchief, unpinned the tight bun at the back of her neck, and ran her fingers through her waist-length hair, letting it ripple around her in waves. She massaged the tension from her scalp before braiding her hair into one long plait with swift, practiced fingers and retying her kerchief. She still had a mountain of chores to complete before bed.

Heaving a sigh, she pushed herself off the couch. She hadn’t finished the dinner dishes before the kitchen erupted into chaos—Grace and Noah fighting, Mary Elizabeth dissolving into tears about starting school, and David upsetting a glass of milk. By the time Ada had sopped up the puddle and set Sadie to mopping the floor, it was bath time. Everyone needed to be squeaky clean for the first day of school tomorrow. All the freshly ironed clothes were laid out. If only she could organize her own life in such a neat, orderly fashion.

Once she’d redded up the kitchen, Ada settled at the table to look over her lesson plans for tomorrow. Sniffles came from the bedroom. She slid the lesson plans into her satchel and hurried to the bedroom. Huddled in a tiny ball, Mary Elizabeth had her face buried in her pillow.

Ada lowered herself onto the bed beside her sister. “What’s wrong?”

Her face tear-stained, Mary Elizabeth peeked up at her. “I don’t want to go to school tomorrow. I want to stay home with you.”

Wrapping an arm around her little sister, Ada pulled her close. “I won’t be here. I’ll be teaching.”

Mary Elizabeth jutted out her chin. “Then I’ll go to your school.”

Ada sighed. They’d been over and over this. “I have too many students already, and you’ll be with Sadie and Grace and Noah—”

“David’s going with you.” Mary Elizabeth sniffled and gulped back a sob.

Ever since the school board had agreed Ada could take her younger brother with her to the special needs school, Mary Elizabeth had increased her efforts to go along.

“David will help some of the new children learn sign language. You need to learn to read and write.”

“I’m good at sign language. I can help you.”

Ada smoothed loose strands of hair from her sister’s flushed face. “Yes, you could, but I want you to learn new things. And Rebecca is excited about having you in class. She’s a wonderful teacher.”

“I don’t want Rebecca. I want you.”

“I know.” Ada hugged Mary Elizabeth, whose eyelids were drooping. “Let’s talk about this in the morning.”

Mary Elizabeth mumbled an all right before her eyes closed.

Ada tucked the quilt around her sister and stood. She had no idea how she’d convince Mary Elizabeth when they woke, but for now they both needed their sleep, and Ada had her own worries about tomorrow.

*  *  *

The sun had barely risen when Josiah stood misty-eyed in the doorway of his son’s bedroom. How his wife would have loved to be here today for Nathan’s first day of school. He missed Ruth every day, but moments like this—moments they should have shared—sent sharp, swift pangs through his chest. Why, God? Why couldn’t she be here with us? Nathan needs her so much.

Josiah couldn’t let his sorrow cloud Nathan’s first day of school. He pushed back the waves of pain and tiptoed into the room to gather his son’s clothing. Then he crossed the room to the bed where Nathan lay curled up. His son’s chest rose and fell in a soft, steady rhythm. With his reddish-blond bangs feathered across his forehead, his face wiped free of sorrow, and his stuffed rabbit clenched in his fist, he looked much younger than his six years. Much too young to be starting school.

His throat tight, Josiah braced himself before placing a hand on Nathan’s shoulder to wake him. Nathan shrugged off the hand, slid a rabbit ear into his mouth, and chewed on it. Josiah shook his son gently. Nathan’s blue eyes fluttered partway open, and he glanced around the room. When he spotted Josiah, his eyes widened and he shrieked.

The high-pitched keening scraped along Josiah’s nerves and tore at his already raw heart. He sank onto the bed and wrapped his arms around his son, getting battered by flailing arms and legs. Nathan had always had a temper, but since his mamm died nine months ago, he’d become both inconsolable and uncontrollable.

Nathan stilled for a moment and placed his thumb on his chin with his fingers pointing up. Josiah’s heart lurched. The sign for Mamm. How did you explain death to a six-year-old, let alone in sign language?

Blinking to hold back tears, Josiah first signed, I love you, then he followed up with signs for gone and Mamm.

At the word gone, Nathan jerked back and screeched. Ignoring Josiah’s signs of love and reassurance, Nathan drew the covers over his head, and his whole body shook with silent sobs. Josiah stroked his son’s back through the quilt, but Nathan squirmed away. He refused to allow anyone to comfort him.

Aching to hold and hug Nathan, but knowing it only escalated his tantrums, Josiah waited patiently until his son’s sobs turned into hiccupping sighs. Then he lifted the covers to cradle Nathan in his arms. His eyes squeezed shut, Nathan lay limp and boneless, as if the crying had drained all his energy.

Now might be the best time to dress him, a task that usually spiraled into a daily battle. When Josiah removed his son’s pajamas, Nathan’s eyes flew open, and he stiffened. Hitting and scratching, he fought Josiah’s every effort to put on his shirt and pants. Nathan’s elbow smashed Josiah in the ribs, and he winced. A sharp jab caught him in the abdomen. Getting the suspenders over Nathan’s shoulders was an even greater struggle. After wrestling socks and shoes onto swinging feet, Josiah scooted out of kicking range and gave them both a break before he began the breakfast tussle.

He was already exhausted, and they still had to deal with school. He prayed he’d have enough energy to do the roofing job he had scheduled today. When Nathan’s sobs quieted to moans, he stood, scooped up his . . .