Chapter 2

Reading the note Mrs. Miller had passed on to him, Daniel hustled back toward the college and tried to locate some school board members. Her note demanded a meeting with the school board. If anyone in this town could help change that board’s mind, it would be her. What surprised Daniel was why he was hoping the board would reconsider.

Naturally he found them in the one-room schoolhouse. “Gentlemen,” he called out. He scanned the room and gestured at the overall disrepair of the school. “Are the community’s assets this low?”

Mr. Markle stepped forward. “We haven’t had a teacher for a year,” he said defensively. “We were just discussing the status of the schoolhouse.”

Daniel walked farther into the schoolhouse. Harry Burgess’s sour face confirmed the schoolteacher’s opinion. “I come to represent Mrs. Miller, who has asked me to request a meeting with the school board. She was quite insistent.” He handed over the note.

Harry groaned.

“I may be out of place speaking with you, but you men are showing great disrespect for the children of this community by offering such meager salaries and allowing the schoolhouse to fall into such disrepair. You have a broken slate for the blackboard,” he said, pointing, “a couple of broken desks and chairs—”

“Now stop right there!” Barry Williams fumed. “This schoolhouse has been vandalized.”

“Pardon me.” Daniel forced himself to relax. “Speak with Mrs. Miller. I happen to know she convinced the young woman who was to be your teacher to spend the night at her place. You have an opportunity to make some changes for the better.” He scanned the room again. “Mr. Markle, doesn’t the college have excess supplies and unused furniture in storage that could be used to refurbish the schoolhouse?”

Mr. Markle’s face brightened. “Yes, yes, it does.”

“Excellent! Well, gentlemen, I’ll bid you good night. Oh, and one more suggestion, if I may. Seriously reconsider your salary offer. A woman alone has just as many expenses as a single man. Good day, gentlemen.”

Daniel didn’t wait for a response. He understood and appreciated the different era these men represented. But the new schoolteacher wasn’t local, and therefore had no family to rely on. She would have to provide for herself. And as for the school board’s concern over the possibility she might attract a suitor partway into the school year, well … He had to admit she was rather beautiful. Perhaps suitors would create a distraction from her job. Daniel grinned as the flutter of an idea of courting her came to mind. He shook it off and headed out the door. Working on his doctoral thesis left no time to entertain even the thought of courting.

The next morning he found himself behind his desk at the university, interrupted from his class preparation by a polite knock at the open door. “Good morning, Professor Moore.”

Rusty Burger stood in the doorway. He was one student who had a knack for learning yet put little effort into it. “Good morning, Mr. Burger. What can I do for you?”

“Can I have an extension on my paper?”

“No. You’ve had extensions on all your papers, and I told you the last time I could not grant another.”

Rusty’s shoulders slumped. “Very well, here’s what I’ve done so far. Hopefully this paper will be acceptable enough so I won’t fail.” He stepped into the room and placed three pages on Daniel’s desk.

Daniel picked up the pages and scanned them. “I don’t understand what the problem is, Mr. Burger. Your knowledge of the subject is quite good.”

“I have trouble writing down on paper what’s in my head.”

“Explain, please?”

“I can see the words in my head, and I know what I want to say, but my hand has difficulty writing it down.”

Daniel examined the writing more closely. The letters were well constructed, but it was obvious the words didn’t flow naturally and easily. Daniel put the papers down. “You’re saying you know the information but that you can’t write it easily.”

“Yes, sir. It has always been a problem for me. I like science, but I didn’t realize I’d have so many papers to write.”

“I see.” Daniel stood up and pointed to a student’s desk in front of him. “Please sit down.” Young Mr. Burger did as instructed.

“Please take a few minutes and recite your paper to me.”

“All of it, sir?”

“Yes, just tell me what it says, from the beginning.”

Rusty cleared his throat and began. “Understanding the cellular structure of a plant begins with …”

Twenty minutes later Daniel smiled. “Excellent job, Mr. Burger. Your next assignment you can dictate to me, and for this one you will receive an A. It would have been an A-plus, except you confused the smooth ER with the rough ER.” Daniel went on to explain the difference.

Rusty smiled. “Thank you, Professor Moore. I really appreciate this.”

“You’re welcome. What is your major?”

“Agriculture. I’m interested in developing increased production for farmlands without depleting the soil. I’m curious about applying the seventh year of rest that the Bible speaks about, and what effect that would have on the land.”

“Interesting. I always regarded the Sabbath year as simply an extended holiday that the Jewish people prepared for in the six years prior, while the olive trees and other perennial plants were for the poor to harvest for food. But you might have a point about the land needing a break.”

“Father alters his fields. He’s divided them up into sevenths, and every year one section is not planted. Instead, the waste products from the other plants are tilled into the soil on that section. He’s done well, and the Lord has provided, but I still want to know about the science and why that process works.”

Daniel understood the simple answer wasn’t what this young man was looking for. Rusty liked science, and he had a keen mind but a slow hand. He’d seen this before. Daniel tossed a pencil toward Rusty. He reached up and caught it with his left hand. “I think I know your problem.”

“What?”

“You’re naturally left-handed. I assume when you were being taught to write you were told to use your right hand.”

Rusty nodded. “Everyone uses their right hand.”

“Not everyone. When you go to your dorm tonight, start teaching yourself to write with your left hand. It will take time, and constructing the letters will be different than using your right hand. Nevertheless, I believe after a while you will become fluid using your left hand. In the meantime, I’ll be accepting your oral reports.”

Rusty stared down at his left hand. “You think that’s all it will take for me to write as quickly as I think?”

“No one writes as quickly as they think, but I do believe it will improve your speed. Have a good day, Mr. Burger.”

“Good day, sir.”

Rusty leapt from his seat and darted out of the classroom. Daniel smiled, glanced up at the wall clock, and returned to the notes on his desk. Only ten minutes remained before his first class of the day began.

Helen couldn’t believe the turn of events her life had taken in the past week. First, she had been hired by the school board for one year. She was given the full salary, and the issue of courting was removed, providing any such activity didn’t interfere with her teaching. She was now renting a room from Mrs. Miller, who seemed to be a key player in her being offered the position again. She and some volunteers had cleaned the classroom. Last night she had the opportunity to meet the parents and students, and she felt ready for the students to arrive in the morning.

She had sent her father a letter explaining all her good fortune. Mrs. Miller’s rent was far less than she anticipated paying, and in addition, she had a meal waiting for her every night when she finished her day. Which for the past few days had proved very handy since she’d spent so much time cleaning and preparing the classroom. She loved cooking and had helped Mrs. Miller prepare some of her tasty treats, but she loved coming home to a home-cooked meal, something she hadn’t had in years.

“Something smells wonderful tonight, Mrs. Miller,” Helen said as she stepped into the warmth of the small cottage.

The older woman stood about five feet tall, with white hair that glistened in the sunlight. Her girth was a bit round, but she was light on her feet. She smiled, her apron covered with flour. “Lamb stew,” she replied, “cooked like a potpie.”

“Yum.”

“I made enough to share with the students. They have to come with their containers though.”

Helen placed an apron over her dress. “Can I help serve tonight?”

“Thank you. Don’t serve that casserole dish,” she said, pointing. “That is our supper.”

Helen chuckled. “I’ll guard it with my life.”

Mrs. Miller laughed as she brought a tray of sweet rolls out to the front where she served the students who came by. The sweet rolls were twice the size of any Helen had seen before, and five cents for a roll seemed a very fair price. “We’ll charge twenty-five cents for the lamb potpie,” Mrs. Miller said.

“What else are we serving tonight?” Helen asked.

“I have a couple pumpkin pies in the kitchen. But those were special ordered for Mrs. Billings. I also made some pumpkin and raisin muffins. Those we’ll sell for a nickel as well.”

“Sounds good.” Helen carried the large casserole dish to the front of the house using potholders. The line outside was building and they hadn’t even opened for business yet. Helen smiled. There were many repeat customers, but Professor Moore hadn’t returned since that first night. Mrs. Miller said he’d played a part in her reinstatement as the schoolmarm. She wanted to thank him. She also wanted to ask Mrs. Miller about him but didn’t dare, out of fear her landlady would get the wrong impression. Her interest, of course, was purely platonic. Perhaps I should pen him a note? That would certainly be appropriate in this modern time.

“Well, my gracious, gentlemen!” Mrs. Miller exclaimed. “You’ve come with your bowls and mugs. How wonderful.”

“Anything you cook is wonderful, Mrs. Miller,” said the first in line. “I’ll have the lamb potpie, a sweet roll, and a pumpkin raisin muffin. No, wait …” He paused and looked over the array of fresh baked goods. “You had better make that two sweet rolls and two muffins tonight. I’m famished.” Chad Avery winked his baby blues at Mrs. Miller.

Helen lowered her head to hide her grin. She’d been learning to put names to the faces of the regular students.

“I’ll have the same, Mrs. Miller,” the young man standing behind him said.

“Me too,” another replied.

“What on earth were you boys doing that made you all so hungry tonight?” Mrs. Miller asked as she scooped out the potpie.

“Professor Moore had us exploring, walking around outside for nearly ten miles,” Freddy Silverman answered. “Saw some interestin’ stuff, but we’re hungry.”

Mrs. Miller chuckled and started serving the young men. “What about dinner on campus?”

“Ain’t enough.” The young man grinned and held out his small bowl.

Helen couldn’t help herself. “Ain’t is not proper English.”

“Huh?” The young man with reddish hair paused. “Oh wait, you’re that new schoolmarm, ain’t ya?”

Helen gave him a reproving look.

“Sorry, aren’t you?” he replied, drawing out the correct pronunciation.

“Yes, I am, and I’d be happy to tutor anyone who needs help with English and grammar.”

All the young men straightened up and said, “No, thank you,” with chuckles and grins.

After thirty minutes they had no more food to sell, and the men left standing in line empty-handed pouted but wished Mrs. Miller a good night.

Helen sat down for a quiet meal with her.

“How was your day, dear?” Mrs. Miller asked as she placed her cloth napkin on her lap.

Helen was tired, though she did not want to admit it, and had decided to turn in early tonight. However, she was also excited, anticipating her first day of school, and wondered if she would sleep at all. “Fine,” she said. “The classroom is in excellent shape, and I’m looking forward to the students coming tomorrow morning.”

They folded their hands and said a prayer of thanksgiving.

“How’d you have so much lamb to make all of this?”

“Oh, the butcher gave me a fair price on a leg of lamb. I couldn’t resist. Tell me about your classroom.”

“The large slate in the front of the classroom has been replaced and all the desks and chairs have been repaired or replaced. The school board has put in a lot of effort.”

“As well they should,” Mrs. Miller said with a twinkle in her eye.

“Just what did you say to those men to make them reconsider?”

Mrs. Miller shrugged. “Nothing much, just reminded them about a time or two when they were young men and courting their wives.”

Helen shook her head. “I really don’t have time to be courted. I just didn’t like being told what I can and cannot do.”

“I truly understand, dear.” She reached across the table and patted Helen’s hand. “I’ve ruffled a feather or two in my lifetime.”

Helen chuckled. “I can’t imagine it.”

“Oh, phooey!” Mrs. Miller laughed.

Daniel passed the schoolhouse on his way to the university and waved to Helen Jones as she greeted each of her students parading through the doorway into the classroom. She nodded but kept her focus on the children. He’d been hearing good reports about the new schoolteacher. The praise coming from some of the school board members was especially surprising.

Daniel headed toward the university with briefcase in hand. Unfortunately, he had two students in danger of flunking. It pained him knowing that within a few short weeks their grades, if not dramatically improved, would be beyond salvaging. Mike and Pete were struggling. Their test scores were below fifty and their papers were what might be expected from someone in the fourth grade. It definitely was not college material. Today he planned to meet up with some of their other professors to see if the two boys were having as much trouble in the rest of their classes.

“Mornin’, Professor,” Judson Reeves said as he walked toward him.

“Good morning, Mr. Reeves. How are you today?”

“Fine.”

Judson was one of the few students who actually grew up in town and lived off campus. Most of the students came from other places and lived in the dormitories. “How’s your first school year progressing?”

Judson shrugged. “Good, I guess.”

Daniel paused. “What seems to be the issue?”

“Oh, ain’t noth— Sorry, it isn’t nothing, really. Pa says I might have to stop classes in order to help with the farm. My uncle fell and hurt himself. He’ll be unable to work the fall harvest.”

“Perhaps we can work out a solution where you could take a leave of absence for a week, help at home, but still stay enrolled.”

Judson smiled. “I’d like that. So far, my grades are good. It’s hard work but I’m keepin’ up. Which, given that I didn’t have a teacher for the past year … I’m just proud of what I’ve been able to do.”

Daniel reached over and put a hand on Judson’s shoulder. Perhaps Miss Jones was right in her assessment that the town’s school board had not made education a priority. “Which proves you’re self-motivated. Let’s see what we can work out.”

After his early morning class, he and Judson worked out assignments for the week with his other professors that he would complete at home while working the farm with his father. Hopefully he’d be able to keep up with all the reading and writing assignments in addition to the long, hard hours of harvesting.

Daniel finished his day by spending a couple of hours in his garden. He had rented the small lot to provide the data needed for his doctoral thesis on planting and the different nutritional needs for various plants. This garden was separate from the one that he and his students had put in last spring next to the Agricultural Building. In this garden he had three of each crop, using either organic materials or the best new fertilizers on the market.

Now he was faced with an abundance of winter squash, far more than a single man could use. On the other hand, he could sell them. He snickered to himself. This was a farming community. Just about everyone had their own gardens. And everyone would be pulling their winter squash and storing them in their root cellars. He’d have to take a trip to Knoxville if he wanted to make any real profit selling his produce. The better part of wisdom would be to simply give away as much as possible. The Hubbard squash in particular, known to have a pantry life of up to six months, could be a real blessing as a gift to a few of the elderly in town. His mind drifted to Mrs. Miller and what she could make with them. Pleased with the solution, he loaded his wheelbarrow with various squashes and headed over to Mrs. Miller’s. He could smell her apple pies before he turned the corner to her street.

The line outside her house wasn’t too long. Hopefully she hadn’t run out of pie. He glanced down at the wheelbarrow full of Hubbard, acorn, American turban, and autumnal marrow squashes. The Hubbard, also known as the Marblehead squash, was by far the largest. One of those could feed an army. Perhaps he should bring a couple to the university’s cook.

Daniel joined the line behind the others.

“Whatcha got there, Professor?” one of the students in line asked.

“Bartering?” asked another.

“Did you grow these?” Edward Clancy asked.

“Yes, Edward,” Daniel replied. “Various squashes,” he answered John, and, “No, I’m not looking to trade,” he said to the third. “I’m giving them to Mrs. Miller, if she would like them.”

“What’s this large one?” Edward’s major was agriculture.

“The old name is Marblehead squash, but the name growing in popularity is the Hubbard, taken from the woman in Marblehead who grew the first ones in the United States.”

“It’s huge.” Edward reached over and touched the large blue Hubbard squash. “These are all winter squash varieties. The Hubbard can last for six months after harvesting if kept in a cool root cellar.”

Edward reached over to another. “What’s this one?”

“Autumnal marrow, another variety from back east, actually from Boston. It is similar to the Hubbard but smaller. The outer skin is thinner, and there’s another layer, another skin if you will, that is thicker and has a dark orange color.”

“Are you cross-pollinating them?” Edward asked as they all took a step forward.

Daniel glanced toward the front of the line. There were at least three more in front of Edward.

“No, I’m studying the effects of different soils and fertilizers on the squash and other vegetables.”

Edward nodded. “Thesis?”

“Yes. What about your studies?”

“Progressing well. I’d be interested in your findings for your thesis. I’m leaning toward cross-pollinating for heartier plants. For example, how can I alter a squash to be more tolerant in drought areas, and what would be the difference needed for the opposite end of the environmental spectrum?”

Edward pointed toward the blue Hubbard. “What do you think, twenty pounds?”

“At least. I love the Hubbard for the texture and quantity.”

“Interesting …” The line moved forward again. “But the economics of getting them to market isn’t really practical, is it? I mean, it would seem to me that its sheer size alone would make it a better squash for a manufacturing plant to process and can for the market, don’t you agree?”

“They would be hard to sell at the general store,” Daniel admitted. “But for the home farmer, one Hubbard can produce what five or six other winter squashes can.”

Edward chuckled. “What would you do with that much squash?”

They’d reached their turn in line for the baked goods, where Mrs. Miller interrupted with a smile, “I’d bake pies and breads. Are those for me?”

“As much as you’d like,” Daniel replied.

“Oh my word,” Helen chimed in. “What is that?”

Daniel laughed. “Blue Hubbard squash.”

“And they’re delicious,” Edna Miller said. “Daniel, would you please bring what you’re giving me into the kitchen?”

“Can you use all of them?”

Mrs. Miller leaned over and examined the full wheelbarrow. She straightened. “I believe I can. I’ll be happy to share with some of my friends what I can’t use or store.”

“Wonderful. Can I get a free pie out of it?”

Mrs. Miller swatted him with a towel. “You won’t have to pay for the rest of the year.”

Daniel smiled and turned to Edward. “Would you mind giving me a hand bringing these into Mrs. Miller’s house?”

“Be my pleasure. Please save me a sweet roll and one of those muffins. I didn’t bring a bowl for the potpie. Smells great though.” Edward chuckled.

“I’ll have them waiting for you. Bring the squashes around back, Professor.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Daniel steered the wheelbarrow around to the side of the house and followed the well-worn pathway. Her plants needed some trimming. He knew Edna Miller’s children should be helping out, but they had their own needs. Mrs. Miller’s time was put into baking each day for the students. She probably didn’t have the energy to care for all her plants.

As he pulled the wheelbarrow to a halt, Miss Jones opened the back door and banged him in the head.