Chapter 3

Helen couldn’t believe it. Her second encounter with the professor and she banged into him—again! Not with her head this time, but rather the door. “I am so sorry, Professor. Are you all right?”

He rubbed his head. “I’m fine, thank you.” He reached down into the wheelbarrow to lift the strange-looking squash. She’d never seen one so big before. Pumpkins, maybe, but never anything like this, and bluish in color, no less.

A young man standing next to the professor extended his hand toward her. “Hello, I’m Edward Clancy.”

She supposed he was close to her in age, yet for some reason he seemed much younger. “Helen Jones,” she said, receiving his handshake. “Pleasure to meet you. Did you help the professor grow these?”

“No, ma’am. I’m further along in my studies. I’ll be graduating this spring with my master’s.”

“Oh.” Then he must be around my age, possibly older.

“Let’s not pester Miss Jones much longer, and put these in Mrs. Miller’s kitchen.”

“Yes, sir.” Edward Clancy picked up a squash in each hand and headed into the kitchen.

Helen slipped out the door, picked up a few acorn squashes, and carried them in. She nearly bumped into Professor Moore again. She glanced up in time to see his approach. He held the door open for her. Edward Clancy squeezed past before she stepped in. Within three minutes the wheelbarrow was empty.

“I’m going to get my goodies before they’re all gone, Professor.” Edward tilted his head toward Helen. “Good night, Miss Jones.”

“Good night. Thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome.” His smile beamed from ear to ear.

Professor Moore wagged his head back and forth and sighed.

“Is there a problem, Professor?”

“No, sorry. How are you, Miss Jones? How are your students adjusting?”

“Fine, thank you. All things considered, I believe they are doing fairly well. I’ve been evaluating where each of them is in their studies. They lost an entire year of schooling. Several families tried to keep up with their children’s studies, some more than others. But overall, I believe we shall have an excellent year.”

“Wonderful. I have two who are about to flunk out. I suspect they may not be able to read very well.”

“Oh dear. How could they enter college …” She let her words trail off, reminding herself once again to hold her tongue.

Professor Moore shrugged. “I don’t know. However, it is fairly easy to listen carefully and pretend to read. Each of the answers they got wrong on tests were directly related to their reading assignments. I found another student also having trouble writing his papers, but it turns out he’s left-handed and was taught to use his right hand, which slowed him down.”

“Interesting. I had a teacher when I was young who tried to make one of the boys in school do the same thing. Eventually, she gave up, and he excelled.”

Professor Moore smiled. “Well, I must get going.” He took a few steps toward the front of the house. “Oh.” He pivoted around. “Would you ask Mrs. Miller to save the seeds?”

“I’d be happy to. Do you sell seeds?”

“No. I am working on various planting methods…. Actually, I believe I already mentioned what I was doing with these squashes.”

“Not to me, Professor,” Helen said.

“Daniel, call me Daniel. We are peers, are we not?”

Helen nodded. “Yes.”

“I’m working on my doctoral thesis. I’m comparing various types of organic fertilizers and chemical fertilizers and how each affects plant growth. So each plant has at least three within one type of study. And with three plants per study, multiplied by four studies per … Well, let’s just say I have a lot of squash.”

Helen smiled. “I can see. So what are you going to do with the seeds?”

“I’ll save and label them. All of these were from the cow manure plots, all natural, if you will.”

“I may not want to know.”

“It’s a great fertilizer. The only problem is how to have enough manure for the large agricultural farms. Limited fertilizer means they have to split the farm’s production between dairy and growing vegetables. Most commercial farmers concentrate on one particular area. I’m not certain it is economically sustainable. The squashes that had the chemical fertilizers grew just as large. However, I’m still working on the figures.”

“Ah, your thesis.” Helen smiled, glad it wasn’t her work. She’d go loony categorizing all those numbers.

“That’s right. I take it you’re not a planter?”

“No, not really. Mother had a small vegetable patch and flower garden where we lived. After she passed, I didn’t have time for gardening in addition to caring for the house and attending to my studies. Father didn’t have the heart to continue with the gardens either.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your mother,” he said.

An awkward silence dropped between them, as if a curtain closed and the audience was unsure if it was the end of the play or not. “Thank you. I should get back to helping Mrs. Miller.”

He nodded and headed off again toward the front of the house. Helen shuffled into the kitchen and from there to the front door, where Edna had the last of her supplies laid out for the hungry customers. It was the second day of her lamb potpie, and it was just as big a hit as it had been the day before.

Daniel came up to the doorway. “What would you like, Professor?” Edna asked.

“Anything. I’m starving.”

Edna served him a double portion of potpie on one of her own dishes. “You can bring the dish back.” She added two rolls and two muffins. “Tomorrow I’ll have a squash pie for you.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” He laid a dollar on the table.

“No, no! I told you, you’ll be eating for free for the rest of the year. Thank you.” She handed the dollar back to him.

He placed his order back down on the shelf of the Dutch door and put the dollar in his front pocket. “Thank you,” he said, scooping up his dinner and waving as he walked away.

The rest of the crowd was served, and they closed up shop. Edna walked into her kitchen, greeted by a pile of assorted squash. “Oh my, we have work to do.”

Daniel fought his desire to get to know the intriguing Miss Jones. In fact, he continued to think of her as Miss Jones to maintain that formal sense of distance between them, and besides, she’d not given him permission to use her first name. The next day he walked past the schoolhouse, where she welcomed the children in for the day from the front step. He waved and she returned the gesture.

After a full day of teaching, he headed home. The garden needed attention and he was behind on the records for his thesis. Perhaps I should hire a student to give me a hand. The thought occurred to him as he walked past the schoolhouse. He slowed his normally brisk pace. Miss Jones had the front door wide open. It was long past the hour of teaching. What’s going on?

He walked up the stairs and stared into the classroom. The rows of desks were empty. Miss Jones stood at the chalkboard drawing a flower. On another board were spelling words and addition and subtraction tables. She turned. Her hair hung down to her shoulders. She saw him and immediately scrabbled at her hair to put it back in a bun. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

He swallowed, stifling his immediate response to her beauty. He proceeded with an explanation. “I saw the door open and—”

“Yes, I’m sorry, it was a warm day today. I thought the building could use an airing out.”

“There’s no need to apologize to me, Miss Jones. I understand. You’re fine. I—I mean,” he stammered, “I mean, you’re doing fine.”

“I’m trying to decide what book I should read to the students. If I can gather math problems from the story, as well as showcase the sciences, vocabulary words, etc., it will make the rest of their learning much more interesting. At least, that’s my hope.”

Daniel smiled. “I always loved Around the World in Eighty Days, but I doubt the students are ready for French.”

“Actually, I thought about that one as well, and I have a translated copy. It would give us a fascinating approach to the study of world geography, various cultures, transportation … so many things.”

“Absolutely. And for your advanced students, you could even begin teaching French.”

Helen moved over to her desk and sat down. Daniel grabbed a wooden chair and pulled it alongside as she rummaged through some neatly arranged papers. “This gal,” she said, lifting one sheet, “Emma Waters, she’s my most advanced student. She’s in sixth grade, according to the records, but I believe she’s possibly around ninth grade in her abilities.” She reached for another. “Then there is Jesse Harrison. He’s been placed in fifth grade, but he really should be around second grade. I believe he might have either a visual or learning issue. I just need more time to determine what the problem might be. “Here,” she said, handing Daniel the paper. “Look at his handwriting.”

“Hmm, I have a student who writes with a heavy hand like this. I mentioned him last evening. He was taught to use his right hand even though he’s naturally left-handed.”

“I’ll check on that. I hope that’s all it is. It isn’t that he doesn’t try. He does try. It just seems that nothing comes quickly for him.”

Daniel nodded. If only Rusty Burger had had a teacher in his younger days to encourage him to use his left hand. Perhaps Helen could help this Jesse. He prayed it was so. “There’s always a Mark Twain tale,” he suggested. “I haven’t read any of his books myself, but I’ve heard they are very entertaining.”

“Perhaps….” She glanced around the room and toward the door.

Changing the subject, he brought up his squash. “There’s a pig farmer on the other side of town, Buddy Kyle. I’m going to take the rest of my extra squash over to his place. I figure what they don’t want their pigs will eat.”

“Just how many did you grow?”

“More than I should, I suppose, but I wanted to run a fair test. That will make my statistics more accurate.” Daniel stood. He enjoyed speaking with Miss Jones too much. He should get back to his studies, and he did need to finish his doctoral thesis.

“By the way, I have a copy of Around the World in Eighty Days in French, if you could use it,” he offered.

“Thank you, I might take you up on that. But did you mean Le tour du monde en quatre-vingts jours?”

Daniel laughed. “How many years?”

“Since I was seven. You?”

“Ah, I was twelve.”

They conversed in French for a few moments, until he broke it off politely and stepped back. “Pardon, mademoiselle, à bientôt.”

“À bientôt.”

Daniel hustled out of the building. He closed his eyes for a moment, wondering why on earth she shared a love for the French language same as he … and stumbled on the stairs. Pay attention.

“At least I didn’t cause that one!” Helen called out from inside the schoolhouse.

Daniel smiled sheepishly and waved good-bye. She had indeed caused the misstep, but he wouldn’t be telling her that.

Helen couldn’t believe the interest Daniel took in her work, and was even more surprised that he liked the idea of using a novel to help teach other subjects. Beyond all of that, however, he loved French, and he too had read Le tour du monde en quatre-vingts jours. And while she thought an excellent job had been done on the translation of the novel into English, there was nothing like reading the story in the author’s own language.

She’d only been in town for a few short weeks, and already her mind was captivated by Professor Daniel Moore. She was here to teach. She certainly wasn’t ready for a romance. And she wasn’t about to give up her teaching career in order to marry. After all these years of preparation, how could she?

Helen drew those thoughts to a close, finished the drawing of the flower on the chalkboard, and then returned to her desk and continued working on the lesson plan for the following Monday. Thoughts of Daniel’s work crept back in. All that delicious squash would get boring after a while, and yet he had many times what he’d brought over still at his home garden. Unbelievable!

She thought about teaching the science of growing things. Nothing would be better than to have the children plant seeds and watch them grow. She should ask Daniel what, if anything, they could grow this late in the year. There had to be something. But winter would be coming soon. She made a mental note to ask him the next time she saw him.

Home for the evening, she helped Edna with her tasty treats. The squash pies were a hit. She sold out of them before an hour was up. Thankfully, she had also made some squash muffins with raisins, as well as her standard fare of fluffy bread rolls.

“How was your day, dear?” Edna asked as they sat down at the kitchen table for dinner.

“Fine, thank you. I stayed late to prepare the blackboards for Monday morning classes.”

“Ah. Oh, by the way, I invited Professor Moore over for dinner tomorrow night. I want to thank him for his kind gift of squash. I don’t mind telling you though, I will be glad once it is all canned or put away. I’ll be squashed out after all this.”

Helen chuckled. “What can I do to help you tomorrow? I won’t be in school, and I don’t have any work I need to catch up on.”

“I thought we could make something different than lamb for tomorrow. Have you ever made pasta?”

“No, but I’m willing to learn.”

Edna reached over and patted Helen’s hand. “Wonderful. I’ll teach you in the morning. I had some fresh tomatoes, onions, and peppers given to me today. We could make a wonderful sauce. I wonder if the professor grew any zucchini squash.”

“I’m not sure. Who gave you the tomatoes?”

Edna giggled. “Professor Moore. I just love his doctoral thesis. I end up with some of the nicest vegetables.”

“I’d love to see his garden. It must be huge.”

“From what I understand, he turned his backyard, side yards, and front yards into gardens. Then he rented another space from someone else.”

“Wow, and he still has time for his teaching.”

Edna smiled then sobered. “He’s a dedicated teacher. Much like you, dear.”

“Thank you,” Helen said. “I hope the parents and the school board see that.”

“They will, dear.” Edna patted her hand again and cleared the table of her dinner dishes. “I feel like a walk. Would you like to join me?”

“Sure. I’ll clean the dishes and—”

“No, we can do them once we get back. The sun will be setting soon.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Helen finished off her lamb potpie. She loved the dish, but also had to admit she was looking forward to something different tomorrow.

They were soon out the front door and walking down the street, heading away from town. “Where are we going?” Helen asked.

“I need to see a friend.”

Helen was still trying to get used to all of Edna’s ways. She was a loving and caring person. She also didn’t put up with any sass. Helen hoped and prayed she would grow up as mellow and strong as Edna Miller.

They turned the corner. Helen scanned the unfamiliar street. In two seconds, she knew exactly which friend Edna was going to see. The front yard left no question as to whose house it was. Edna marched up to the front door and knocked.

No answer. She waited a moment longer and knocked again.

“Come on, Edna,” Helen said. “Professor Moore mustn’t be home.”

Edna sighed. “I hoped he would have some zucchini. It would be excellent in our sauce.”

Relief washed over Helen. She felt certain Edna was trying to play matchmaker. Grateful the knock went unanswered, Helen offered, “I’ll be happy to come back in the morning and see if he has some.”

“Thank you, dear. These old bones don’t have it in them to take another walk this far again tomorrow.”

Helen helped Edna down the stairs. “Let’s walk back at a gentler pace.”

Edna nodded. Helen prayed they weren’t walking too far for Edna. She was a spry old lady, but she’d worked hard all day preparing those squashes and making all those pies and muffins, not to mention their supper.

“Edna? Helen?” Daniel called out. “Is something the matter?”