Sam glanced at the schoolroom clock and, as if on cue, his heart started thumping again. Would it do that at eight o’clock in the morning every day for the foreseeable future, even on Sundays?
Shaking his head at himself, Sam grabbed the brass bell off his desk and strode to the schoolhouse door. In the doorway, however, he gripped the bell without ringing it, scanning the schoolyard of students. Most didn’t see him standing there, their games of ball and crack-the-whip continuing unabated.
Sam sucked a lungful of air. Help me, Lord. “Students! Time for class.”
Only a few stopped and looked up. Robbie Brownsville ran over to the steps.
“Aren’t you going to ring the bell, Mr. Gubberud?”
He’d hoped to speak with the students first, but it seemed that wasn’t working. “I suppose so. But we aren’t going to go into the classroom just yet.” He gave the bell a firm clang.
That did it. The children abandoned their games and charged toward the steps.
Tucking the bell under the stub of his missing arm, Sam held up his one hand firmly. The students skidded to a halt, glancing among themselves and up at their teacher.
“Before we go in, I’d like to establish a few rules. Or did Miss Linden and Miss Nielsen let you stampede inside like a herd of cattle?”
Heads dropped, feet scuffed.
“I thought not. And it is my mistake for allowing it yesterday, but we will mend matters now. When I ring the bell, you will line up at the steps single file, younger ones in the front, older in the back. I will wait till everyone is quiet and then, only then, will we march inside in a proper manner. I don’t want any shouting, pushing, or trampling when entering my classroom. Is that clear?”
He looked out over the crowd of nodding heads and sobered faces.
Good. Sam drew a breath and allowed a smile. “Let’s try this, then. You may line up now.” He retrieved the bell from under his arm and rang it once more.
With comparatively little shoving and scuffling, the students formed a line.
Sam scanned it and nodded. “Well done. Now you may enter. Ah-ah!” The older ones in the back surged forward, threatening to topple the little ones. “Slowly. Keep an eye on those in front of you and keep pace with them. Soldiers marching into battle must do the same thing.” As he well knew.
The children filed in, not without whispers and giggles, but Sam let that pass. Once everyone sat in their seats, eyes more or less on him, he strode to the front of the schoolroom and smiled out over the students.
“Thank you. That was much better. Now, shall we open our day with prayer?” Another thing he’d failed to incorporate yesterday—no wonder he’d had a rather abysmal start.
The rows of students bowed their heads, and Sam followed.
“Heavenly Father, thank you that we can gather together to learn in this school today. Thank you for each student here, and for the privilege of teaching them. We ask your blessing on our families, our community, our country, and our world. Guide us through this day, and help us learn what you want to teach us this year about your creation and about one another. In your Son’s name we pray, amen.”
The hearty chorus of “Amens” warmed Sam’s chest and brought a smile to his face.
“Excellent.” Rows of faces fixed on his—what a welcome change. Thank you already, Father. He ran through roll, focusing on beginning to connect names with faces. “Now, before we begin our lessons today, I realized I’ve been a bit remiss. None of you know me, and I failed to truly introduce myself to you. I want to get to know each of you this year, and you to also know me. So, to begin—”
The door in the back slammed open, then shut. Abe and Jed slunk into the back row.
Sam blew out a breath, his gut tightening again. Just when things were going well. “Thank you for joining us, Abraham and Jedidiah.” As they didn’t respond, he raised his voice. “If you gentlemen are going to be perpetually tardy, I will need a note from your parents as to why, or it will go on your record.”
“We got chores to do in the mornin’s.” Abe slouched lower in his seat till his knees bumped the desk in front of him.
“No doubt. However, I expect that is true for most students here. And again, a note from your parents is all I require.” He pasted on a smile. “Now, if you will please sit up properly in your seats, we will continue.”
He ignored the Omstead brothers’ mutterings and focused on the front rows of students, the young faces lifted up to his. “As you know, my name is Mr. Gubberud—Samuel Jakob Gubberud, to be precise. Some of you might have found my name a bit challenging to pronounce yesterday.”
A few scattered giggles and grins.
“As with yours, my name comes from my family heritage. Does anyone have a guess where my family might have come from?”
A young girl—Bethany Kinsley, if he recalled aright—raised her hand. “Germany?”
“Excellent guess, but no.”
Thomas Dwyer wiggled his fingers in the air with as much enthusiasm as when he’d wrangled the grass snake. “Japan!”
A burst of laughter from the children. “It don’t sound like a Japanese name, silly!”
Thomas slid down in his chair, face reddening.
“Quiet, class. Any guesses are welcome, and, Thomas, I’m glad you are so aware of different parts of the world.” Sam smiled down at him, and Thomas sat straighter. “But actually, my family hails from Norway. My father came over from the old country as a young man and met my mother in a community of Norwegian immigrants here in America.”
Robbie waved his hand. “Part of my ma’s family came from Norway too!”
“So they did.” Sam nodded at him. “It’s good to know about our family’s heritage, and I’d like to hear more about all of yours at some point. Perhaps that’s an idea for an essay. But I was born here in America, though my father taught me to speak and read Norwegian.”
Klaus Hoffman raised his hand. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“No, I don’t. I’ve often wished I did. But I’ve always liked working with other people, so that’s one reason I decided to become a teacher. That and it’s a job I can do with only one arm.” He gestured with his shoulder leading to the empty sleeve. He’d decided he might as well address it outright.
Thomas Dwyer waved wildly again. “Did you lose your arm in the war?”
He might have known all focus would now go here. “I did, yes. I was an officer with the First Cavalry of Ohio.”
“Does that mean you rode horses into battle?”
“Did your arm get blown off?”
“Did it hurt a lot?”
“Did you kill anybody in the war?”
That last question brought him up short. Sam raised his hand. “That’s enough, children.” He felt a bit dizzy, though he’d asked for this. “My arm was injured by a minié ball, so the doctors had to amputate it. I appreciate your questions, but we do have lessons to accomplish. So perhaps we should move on for now.”
The buzz lowered, but Sam spied Abe leaning over to whisper something to his brother. Jed guffawed, slapping his desk and nearly falling out of his chair.
Sam raised his voice. “Gentlemen, is there something you’d like to share with the class?”
Jed sobered, but Abe slouched back in his seat and met Sam’s gaze, challenge in his eyes. “Nope.”
Sam’s jaw tightened. “That will be ‘No, sir,’ please.”
A slow grin spread over the boy’s broad face. “Think ye’re still in the army, do ya?”
“No, I think I am in a schoolroom where we treat each other with respect.” Sam met the boy’s gaze head on, though the fine hairs rose on the back of his neck.
Abe’s eyes finally flicked away. “Yes, sir, Mr. Guh-buh-rude.” He drew the name out as if it were an insult.
Sam inhaled through his nose. “Thank you. And I must warn you, Abe and Jed.” Might as well use the names they identified with for now. “If you continue to cause disruption in my classroom, I will move you to separate seats on opposite sides. And take whatever other disciplinary action might be necessary.”
Abe mumbled something to his brother, making Jed choke with laughter again.
“What was that?” Sam’s words cut sharp.
Abe raised his head and glared at Sam. “I said bet I could clobber a one-armed man with both hands tied behind my back.”
A collective gasp swept across the classroom. Sam’s ears tingled.
“Indeed.” He stepped out from behind the desk and shrugged out of his coat. “Might I offer you a challenge, then?”
Abe laughed, then stopped. “You wanna fight me? Right here? Now?”
“Not fight. I’ve seen more than enough of that in my time, and it’s nowhere near as glorious as you may think.” He cast a glance over the schoolroom. The rest of the children sat hushed, eyes fixed on him. “But I would challenge you to an arm-wrestling match.”
Both Omstead brothers exploded with mirth, Jed nearly falling off his seat again.
“Y-you don’t want to do that, Teacher.” Abe wiped his eyes.
Jed pointed a shaking finger at his brother. “I p-promise you don’t. He can even beat our pa.”
“Perhaps so. Nevertheless, my challenge stands.” Sam stood at the front of the schoolroom, feet planted, holding Abe’s gaze. Lord, I sure hope this idea is from you, because if not . . .
Abe’s face hardened, the laughter falling away. “Fine.” He lunged to his feet and stomped down the aisle to stand before Sam. The primer class in the front row shrank back. “But if’n I win, I ain’t comin’ back to this stupid school no more.”
“Fine.” Sam still met the young man’s fiery eyes. “And if I win, you will show respect to me and every person in this room each time you walk through that door.”
Abe grumbled something under his breath and glanced around. “So where are we doin’ this?”
His palm dampening, Sam grabbed the stool from the corner and set it on the other side of his desk. He plunked into his teacher’s chair and placed his elbow on the desk, hand extended up in the air. “Ready when you are.”
With a growl and a glance back at his brother, Abe plopped himself on the stool. He grasped Sam’s hand with a strength that rocked him at first, nearly forcing his arm to the desk straight off. But Sam pressed his feet to the floor and pushed back, unable to steady himself with his other hand as Abe did, yet keeping his gaze locked with the young man’s. His muscles bulged beneath his shirtsleeve. His shoulders, back, and legs all strained to keep from being pushed down. Together, they wrestled, eyes and arms locked, breathing heavily.
Lord, help me see this boy as you see him. Sam kept his eyes on Abe’s, seeing there the bravado, the rebellion. Yet there—a flash of fear?
Fraction by fraction, Sam pushed, edging his arm up. Now they were evenly matched at the top—now Sam gained the advantage, pushing Abe’s arm down. Abe shoved back. Sam almost went down but rallied and forced his way back. Inch by inch, up, up, up—they struggled at the top—then the fight died in Abe’s eyes, and Sam pressed the young man’s burly arm flat onto his desk.
Cheers erupted, students leaping from their seats. Sam leaned on his desk, panting, muscles jelly.
Abe slumped on the stool, breathing hard. His broad hands rested on his knees, quivering.
Sam pushed himself to stand, though his arm nearly gave way. “Good match.” He extended his hand.
Abe hesitated, gave it a quick shake, then stumbled back to his seat. His brother shoved him, nearly sending the older boy reeling.
“That will be quite enough. From you, Jed. And from all of you.” Sam scanned the openmouthed class and drew several more still-shaky breaths. He’d fought in many a battle in his time, but this had been one for the books. Hopefully, victory would not carry casualties this time.
“How did you do that?” Thomas Dwyer’s jaw seemed ready to drop from his skull.
“Just because I have only one arm doesn’t mean it’s a useless one.” Sam rotated his shoulder, wincing at a pulled muscle. He’d feel that tomorrow. He shrugged back into his coat. “In fact, since my injury, I’ve paid special care to keep myself physically fit. I regularly lift weights and do calisthenics. And I’ve always loved baseball, we played it often during the war when we had time to unwind. Did you know you can play baseball with only one arm?”
Heads shook.
Sam cracked a grin. “Neither did I—till I tried. I’ve even learned to pull myself up on a bar with one arm. We can’t let life’s difficulties stop us from living. Or from fulfilling our responsibilities.” He drew another breath, steadier now, and smiled out over the classroom. “On that note, why don’t we begin arithmetic?”
The children groaned. Chuckling, Sam palmed a piece of chalk, never mind that his fingers still trembled, and turned toward the blackboard, sneaking a glance at the back row on the way.
Abe leaned over his desk, hands folded on top, head down. But beside him, Jed appeared actually to be listening.
One step at a time. Sam began writing out multiplication tables on the board.
———
At the end of the day, the classroom empty, Sam again sank into his chair. This time, however, his exhale came more from gratitude than exhaustion. Thank you, Father. Not that all would be smooth sailing from here—three years of the battlefield hadn’t made him that naïve—but a new atmosphere of ease and calm had entered the classroom. As for the Omstead brothers, he’d barely heard a peep out of them the rest of the day.
He thought of that flash of vulnerability he’d seen on Abe’s face just before he capitulated in their match. What was the story behind that young man’s bravado? Lord, let me have the chance this year to find out. He winced at another twinge in his shoulder. The pain would be well worth it, though, if today was any indication.
“Mr. Gubberud?”
Sam looked up to see Robbie padding down the aisle, dinner pail in hand, a pinch on his forehead.
“What’s wrong, Robbie?”
“I don’t see my ma or pa here to pick me up.” Robbie rubbed one foot atop the other. “They always come. Or one of my tantes does.”
Sam stood. “How about if I take you by your father’s office?” It wasn’t like this family to forget one of their own. What could have happened?
“Okay.” Robbie’s face brightened, and he slid his hand into Sam’s.
They walked side by side down Main Street, Robbie quieter than Sam had seen him yet. But before they reached the doctor’s office, the little boy’s head popped up.
“Tante Lilac!” Robbie pulled his hand away and ran along the wooden sidewalk, dinner pail swinging, to throw his arms around his aunt.
“Robbie.” Lilac pressed her nephew close. “I’m so sorry. Onkel Jonah got hurt falling off the mower, and we forgot what time it was.”
“Is he gonna be all right?” Robbie craned his head back to look at her.
“It’s going to take a while, but your pa thinks so. It just may be some time before we know whether there’ll be lingering effects on his leg.” She looked up at Sam, blinking hard. “Thank you so much for bringing Robbie.”
“Of course.” Sam’s chest tightened at the tears in her dark eyes. “What else can I do?”
“Pray, for now. We’ll all be at the Brownsvilles’ tonight so we can take turns with Jonah.”
“Perhaps I could take a shift tomorrow, give you all some rest. Let me know.”
“You’re so kind. Thank you.” Her trembly smile made him clench his hand to keep from reaching out to comfort her.
He was falling head over heels for this young woman, so help him. Lord, carry her family through this.