Free Courting Miss Amsel by Kim Vogel Sawyer Page B

Libolt scowled, and Anna hunched over her bowl.
    Edythe lifted her spoon and took a hesitant bite. The flavor was exactly like beef roast stew, but the thought of what she held in her mouth made it hard for her to swallow. She silently congratulated herself for achieving one bite and dipped her spoon a second time.
    “So, Teacher – ” Mr. Libolt met Edythe’s gaze from across the table. No smile lit his face. “What were you doin’ with the young’uns out on the play yard with all them ropes?”
    Edythe lowered her spoon, confused until she remembered the activity from last week. “Oh, you’re referring to the learning project on latitude and longitude.” She flashed a smile at Henry. “Although it was a lesson for the fourth- and fifth-grade students, your Henry caught on to naming the degrees quite well. I was proud of him.”
    Henry beamed, but Mr. Libolt’s frown deepened. “Latitude and long . . . what?”
    “Longitude, Pa.” Henry’s skinny chest puffed. “It’s like the earth is all covered with lines an’ people use ’em to find a place anywhere in the world – even in China!”
    Angry streaks rose from Mr. Libolt’s neck to his cheeks. He gave his son a stern glare. “You just hush there.” Henry ducked his head, and the man pinned Edythe with the same glower. “The young’uns around here’ll be farmers one day. How is knowin’ how to find some place like . . . like China ” – he made the word sound offensive – “gonna do ’em any good?”
    Mrs. Libolt released a high-pitched laugh, and her hand fluttered by her throat. “Oh, now, Hank, I’m sure Miss Amsel’s got her reasons for teachin’ what she does. She means well.”
    Edythe squirmed as the man shot his wife a silencing scowl. “Mr. Libolt, I – ”
    “Our youngsters don’t need anything fancy. Teach ’em readin’, writin’, arithmetic . . . some history so they know about their country.” Mr. Libolt plunked his spoon onto the table, nodding at his own words. “Maybe use the Farmers’ Almanac for lessons on weather an’ when it’s best to plant – that’d serve ’em fine. But all that jumpin’ around on ropes seems plumb foolish to me.”
    The man’s comments carried Edythe backward in time. Her father’s voice rang in her memory: “You . . . becomin’ a teacher? Plumb foolishness. You’re an Amsel, girl – mule stubborn an’ rock dumb. You can’t teach nobody nothin’ worth knowin’.”
    Determinedly, she met Mr. Libolt’s narrowed gaze. “It seems you and I view the purpose of an education from opposite perspectives. You believe teaching should be limited to fundamentals. While I certainly see fundamentals as the base of learning, I believe a good teacher also strives to expand a child’s knowledge, to open him to new and exciting ideas and worlds beyond the limited scope provided by the basic subjects.”
    Edythe lifted her chin and continued, her voice strong. “When the children finish their year with me, I hope they will have made strides in their reading and ciphering skills. But more importantly, I hope they will be better thinkers . It is my goal that the children grow as students, but also as people living in a constantly changing world.”
    Mrs. Libolt stared at Edythe, her jaw slack. The children, with the exception of little Claude, who went on eating, held their spoons in their motionless hands and gaped at their teacher. Edythe realized her voice had risen during her lengthy discourse. Aware that she’d made everyone around the table uncomfortable, she sank a bit lower into her chair.
    Mr. Libolt’s face glowed bright red, and he folded his thick arms over his chest. “Sounds to me like you’re wantin’ to make our young’uns unhappy with the life they got here. You’re wantin’ ’em to think about takin’ off” – he threw one arm outward, nearly clopping Claude on the side of the head – “an’ bein’ more’n farmers. Aren’t farmers good enough for you,