Chapter Fifteen
On Friday, as she trudged from the pole barn up to the white schoolhouse, Lydianne felt achy all over, as though she was coming down with something. The overcast sky promised another rain shower sometime this morning—and everyone was tired of rain.
I’m probably just worn out from staying up late to work on lessons, or because the kids still haven’t settled down after having the day off school on Tuesday—and because the rainy weather has kept them indoors a lot. If I could catch up on some sleep, I’d shake this heaviness in my head.
She wouldn’t be sleeping late on Saturday, however, because she’d agreed to cover the Flaud Furniture store at The Marketplace for Gabe. He and Regina would be out of town, visiting family and friends who had wedding gifts for them. And Sunday there would be church, which started promptly at eight.
Lydianne entered the schoolroom with a weary sigh. She didn’t foresee any break in the dreary weather, so her students—especially Stevie and Billy Jay—would probably need to work off their excess energy with some relay races on the stairs again at recess. Just the thought of the kids’ racket when they played indoors made Lydianne’s head throb.
When she flipped the light switch, the sight of the large, colorful Noah’s ark poster—and the collection of clay animals on the table beneath it—lifted her spirits. With another session or two, the model of the ark would be completed—a tribute to the patience and persistence of the older scholars working with the younger ones as they fitted its pieces together. The Miller sisters and the Flaud girls were godsends when it came to keeping two or three of the little ones focused on flash cards, vocabulary drills, and the Noah’s ark class project, while Lydianne worked individually with Ella, Gracie, Stevie, or Billy Jay.
And it’ll be Linda, Lucy, Kate, and Lorena who get me through today, as well.
Lydianne erased the special Noah’s ark spelling words from the white board, because they would be on the test this morning. As she wrote out the morning’s reading assignments for each level, the downpour she’d been expecting drummed on the schoolhouse roof.
When the children arrived, however, the sunshine broke through, dispelling the clouds and lifting her spirits further. The angle of the autumn sun was so intense, she had to shield her eyes with her hand while she returned her scholars’ greetings. Her day began, falling into its comforting, familiar rhythm.
By lunchtime, the classroom had grown so stuffy from the heat, Lydianne threw open some of the windows. It was still humid, however, and there wasn’t much of a breeze.
“Can we have a picnic lunch today, Teacher Lydianne?” Gracie piped up.
“Jah, if we eat outside, we’ll be all ready to start recess, right?” Billy Jay pleaded.
Lydianne smiled at the boy’s winsome expression. Some fresh air and exercise would do everyone good—and it might help her get through the afternoon’s classes. “That sounds like a wonderful-gut idea,” she replied. “We’ve been working hard all morning—”
“And maybe since it’s Friday, we can just play for the rest of the day, ain’t so?” Stevie put in with a perfectly straight face.
As the students clamored to do as Stevie had suggested, Lydianne shook her head good-naturedly. “Have you already forgotten that we took Tuesday off for the wedding? We need to finish our math units for the week, and some of you are working on book reports this afternoon. However,” she added as she glanced at the clock above the door, “we can add an extra fifteen minutes to recess to make up for all the time we’ve had to play indoors this week. You’re excused.”
Stevie and Billy Jay headed downstairs in a flash to fetch their lunch boxes from the shelves in the coat room. Soon the younger girls were calling out to the older ones to grab the jump ropes and balls from the storage units behind the coat pegs. Within minutes, her scholars were seated at the picnic tables, grateful for the shade as they quickly ate their sandwiches.
Lydianne sat with them only long enough to eat her peanut butter and jelly sandwich—a meager lunch, but it was all she’d had the energy to pack early this morning. When she slipped back inside, she became aware of how unseasonably warm the day had become—and even more aware of how tired she was.
For a few moments Lydianne allowed herself to enjoy the blessed relief of her empty classroom. She gave in to the urge to fold her arms on her desk and rest her head on them—just for a few moments, she told herself. The sing-song chant of jumping rope rhymes outside lulled her into a light doze . . .
Next thing she knew, forty-five minutes had gone by. As she rose from her desk in a state of groggy heavy-headedness, Lydianne realized that some of the afternoon lessons would have to be cut short—and that the kids would see through whatever story she made up about why she hadn’t joined them outside. When she went out to use the restroom, she was once again grateful that her four older girls were so conscientious about watching the younger ones.
Maybe they’re all enjoying the sunshine so much, they have no idea how long they’ve been out here. And maybe—just this once—it’s all right to let recess run overtime.
As Lydianne emerged from the restroom building, she blew her whistle so the kids playing on the far side of the ball diamond would know it was time to come in. She preceded the students indoors and began to write some math problems on the white board, pleased that the voices downstairs indicated that the scholars had come inside promptly. Even the youngest of her students had become immersed enough in the weekly routine to realize—without being told—that after recess, they were supposed to copy the simple addition problems written on their section of the white board onto notebook paper so they could do the computation.
Everyone was so focused on the task at hand, that when Lydianne turned away from writing on the board, it took her a few moments to realize one of the smaller desks was unoccupied. “Where’s Ella?” she asked. “Did any of you girls notice if she was still in the restroom when you came in?”
Seven sets of eyes widened as everyone looked up from the math problems they were working. Gracie, Ella’s closest companion, gazed at the vacant desk on the other side of Stevie’s as though she could make her friend appear through the sheer power of her will.
“She used the bathroom, jah,” Lucy recalled with a frown.
“But that was when we first went outside,” Linda murmured with a shake of her head. “While Kate was pitching balls for the boys, Gracie and Lorena and I were jumping rope—”
“And I knew Ella had gone into the restroom,” Lorena put in, “but I wasn’t keeping track of when she came out. I’ll go check—I hope she’s not sick.”
“I’ll take a look,” Lydianne insisted, already thrumming with guilt for not staying outside with her students. “You kids can continue working your problems.”
She hurried down the wooden stairs and into the school’s storage level, checking between the rows of shelves and pegboards where her scholars kept their lunch boxes. Ella’s small cooler was in its place, so she darted outside.
But a quick scan of the horizon showed no sign of anyone in the schoolyard or on the ball field. “Ella?” Lydianne called out as she rushed toward the concrete block building that housed the two restrooms.
When she entered the girls’ side of the building, however, her voice echoed around the empty stalls and the sink. For safety’s sake, she checked the boys’ side, too, and then jogged out toward the ball diamond. “Ella!” she cried out at the top of her lungs. “Ella! It’s time to come in!”
No answer. No sign of anyone near the edge of the woods, either.
As her heart raced into overdrive, Lydianne hurried toward the pole barn and the pasture where her horse grazed alongside Billy Jay’s pony and the Miller and Flaud girls’ mares. All she saw was grass and fence and the four horses.
Where could Ella have gone? The only place left to look was the red stable that housed The Marketplace. As Lydianne turned in that direction, she saw the other scholars coming out of the schoolhouse. They appeared as flummoxed—and as concerned—as she was.
Lydianne motioned for her students to join her as she headed toward the big stable with its window boxes full of colorful flowers. “Look all around the building,” she instructed as they came within earshot. “The doors are locked, so Ella can’t be inside—”
“I wish we had our cell phone here, to call the Nissley place,” Kate said. “But Mamm won’t allow us to bring it to school.”
Lydianne knew some of the Plain teenagers in town used cell phones during their rumspringa, and she was wishing the school board and Pete had thought to put a phone shack by the schoolhouse for emergencies—because this situation was quickly developing into a crisis. Well-behaved little Amish girls didn’t wander away during recess—
Unless the teacher’s not paying attention and falls asleep, Lydianne chided herself.
How would she apologize to Julia and Tim Nissley if something happened to their daughter because of her negligence? And how would she ever live with herself if her little girl got hurt while she’d been napping at her desk? Never mind how she would explain Ella’s disappearance to members of the school board.
The kids who’d circled the red stable came back without Ella.
“I’ll ring the fire bell,” Lydianne said. “We’ll hope folks will be able to hear it from clear out here.”
Lydianne jogged toward the large old cast iron bell, which had been transferred from the previous schoolhouse. It was mounted on a pole a few yards from the school’s front steps. In earlier times, teachers had rung the bell each morning as a reminder for scholars to be on time for classes, but because her eight students hadn’t shown any inclination to run late, she’d never bothered with it. Otherwise, when the bell rang out, any of the nearby men who heard it would know there was a crisis at the schoolhouse.
Would the bell’s toll carry over the noise of traffic on the county highway? Would Amish farmers hear it clanging despite the big English harvest equipment that was running in nearby fields? The new schoolhouse was on the opposite side of town from most Amish homes, so as Lydianne tugged on the warm rope several times, she could only hope the bell would still be effective.
As the last peal reverberated in the air around her, Lydianne realized they shouldn’t sit idly by while they waited for someone to respond. “Let’s split up into pairs—an older student with a younger one,” she instructed. “Lorena, how about if you and Stevie start up at the road by the fence and work your way over toward the woods and back this way? Linda, you and Billy Jay can start along the far pasture fence and circle back this way. And Kate and Lucy, you and Gracie search the area in the middle—from the far end of the ball field and into the woods a bit.”
The children nodded solemnly, eager to be helpful.
“Everyone should report back in about fifteen minutes, all right?” Lydianne directed. “I’ll stay here to keep track of you, and to tell the first helpers who respond to our bell what we’re doing. I can’t think Ella went very far—we’ll surely find her. When you hear my whistle blowing, you’ll know she’s back, all right?”
As they took off at a trot in the directions Lydianne had indicated, her prayers went with them.
Where can Ella be, Lord? She’s not the type to go running off by herself. Please keep her safe and unharmed. Please don’t let this be the work of a kidnapper . . .
As the next several minutes crawled by, she tried to remain positive—and reminded herself that Ella was bright and resourceful. Maybe she’d even gone home for some reason only she knew and was safely with her mamm.
But she’s only six. If she went into the woods, she could easily become confused about where she was. If she saw a stranger beckoning her, she’d know better than to go over—or she’d be too intimidated. Wouldn’t she?
Lydianne heard the students calling for Ella as she watched the road for help to arrive, though she had no idea how she would explain this unthinkable situation. As the sun sank lower in the sky, it occurred to her that the kids’ parents would be expecting them to arrive home soon.
What will you say to Julia and Tim if we don’t find their daughter? How do you explain—to the other parents and the school board—that you were napping instead of supervising at recess?
As a familiar dapple-gray Percheron turned off the road and approached at a brisk canter, followed by two rigs racing to keep up with him, Lydianne’s heart rose into her throat. Along with the bishop, she saw Tim Nissley and Saul Hartzler in the faster rig, coming from the carriage company. Gabe Flaud was driving his dat in the other one, so they’d heard the bell at the furniture factory.
“What’s going on, Lydianne?” Bishop Jeremiah asked as he dismounted. “I’m happy to see there’s no fire—”
“We came as fast as we could hitch up the horse!” Martin called out as Gabe pulled up beside the Nissley buggy. “It’s been so long since I’ve heard that bell, it took me a minute to realize what it meant.”
Tim scrambled down from his buggy, looking around with a concerned frown. “Where are the kids? Have you kept them inside for a reason?”
“They—they’re out looking for Ella,” Lydianne replied with a hitch in her voice. “I’m so sorry—it’s all my fault that—that she didn’t come in from recess. We got so absorbed in our math lesson—we—we didn’t notice she was gone until—”
“Take it easy, Lydianne. One sentence at a time,” Jeremiah murmured as he stepped up beside her.
Tim’s eyebrows rose. “I don’t know what’s gotten into Ella,” he said with an exasperated shake of his head. “Twice this week we’ve had to go looking for her when it was time to come in from doing the chores.”
Lydianne couldn’t allow Tim’s admission to keep her from confessing her lapse. “But if I’d been paying attention—if I hadn’t been—”
“Here come some of the kids now,” Saul interrupted, pointing toward the road.
“And the rest of them are heading this way, too,” Gabe said as he gazed in the other direction.
But Ella wasn’t with them.
As the scholars arrived, every one of them insisted that if he or she had been paying attention, they would’ve seen Ella leaving the schoolyard. Their large eyes and frightened voices cut Lydianne to the core, because the blame fell squarely on her shoulders. The teacher was ultimately responsible for the welfare of her students, after all.
Bishop Jeremiah raised his hands to stop the kids’ outpouring. “You’ve all done your best to find her, like the gut friends you are,” he assured them gently. “At this point in the afternoon, let’s get you scholars home to your mamms. We’ll round up your dats and some other fellows to expand the search.”
“I can’t think such a wee girl would get far,” Martin put in. “If we fellows divide up into the woods and head farther down beyond the pasture, I bet we’ll find her before the others even get here. Gabe, drive us all the way down to the pasture property line. We’ll get started looking in that direction.”
As the Flaud buggy took off, Deacon Saul looked at Tim. “How about if you drop me off at the carriage factory? I’ll shut down the line and have our men search along the county highway and into the woods from there,” Saul suggested. “If we consider the schoolhouse the gathering point, anybody who finds her can report back here.”
“All right—and then I’ll stop by home to be sure Ella’s not there,” Tim replied. “Wouldn’t surprise me that she’s figured out you can get to our place by cutting across the lot behind The Marketplace and zigzagging through town.
“And Teacher Lydianne,” he added with a strained smile, “don’t think for a minute that we’ll let you take the blame for this. We’ve tried to teach Ella that she needs to tell folks she’s going for a walk instead of just taking off. Obviously that lesson hasn’t taken hold yet.”
“Jah, we all learn the hard way sometimes,” Saul remarked. “I bet Ella won’t wander off again after she sees how many folks have been tracking her down.”
By the time the bishop had instructed Billy Jay to take Stevie home, and both boys to alert their dats to the search, the Miller girls were heading across town to tell Preacher Clarence and other men along the way. Only Jeremiah remained with Lydianne, and he was kind enough not to quiz her about how she’d lost track of a student. Her pulse had almost returned to normal, but she had to face up to the underlying cause of this whole ordeal.
“None of this would’ve happened if I’d stayed outside with the kids for recess,” she blurted miserably. “I gave them an extra fifteen minutes—figured the older girls would keep watch—and made the huge mistake of resting my head on my desk. I didn’t wake up for forty-five minutes!” she added with a hitch in her voice. “I—I was so upset with myself that when the kids came in, I delved right into their afternoon math problems on the board and—and didn’t even notice Ella was missing until I turned around!”
She hugged herself tightly, desperately wishing she could put her arms around her missing daughter instead. “I feel so awful, Jeremiah! How could I not know that the little girl who sits right in front of my desk wasn’t there?”
To her horror, she burst into tears.