Free The Lesson by Suzanne Woods Fisher Page B

feathers. I never know what to say to them.” She could tellby the way Fern was clutching the reins that she was running out of patience. “You can’t deny that, Fern. Just last month, Mose Weaver came to church in his pajamas.”
    “Mose Weaver is having a few forgetfulness problems.”
    “Well, how old is Erma Yutzy, anyway?”
    “She’s turning one hundred next month.”
    One hundred years old?! M.K. was intrigued. What would it be like to have one hundred years of stored memories jammed in your head? It boggled her mind. “Why today? Maybe we should wait for her birthday.”
    “Can’t. Erma’s too busy planning her party.”
    Planning her party? Who would still be alive to attend? Fern stopped the horse in front of Erma’s house. M.K. hopped out and waited for Fern to join her.
    Fern didn’t budge. “I’ll be back in an hour or two.”
    An hour or two? Fern was leaving M.K. alone with this ancient lady for an hour or two? “Fern! What am I supposed to talk about with her?”
    Fern simply pursed her lips as if the why of it was too obvious to say.
    She slapped the horse’s reins and trotted out the driveway. Over her shoulder, she tossed, “Did I happen to mention that Erma was a teacher?”
    Oh. Oh.
    Fern! So overinvolved.

    Amos had hired some hardworking hands on his farm, but he had never seen anyone work as diligently as Chris Yoder. It was as if Chris had something to prove—though Amos didn’t get the feeling that he was showing off. It was more like the boy had something to prove to himself.
    The boy? Really, Chris Yoder was a young man. Amos reviewed what he had come to learn about Chris Yoder: he had a tremendous work ethic, even for an Amish man. He had a kind touch with animals, which Amos admired. Chris hurried off at quitting time, as if he was expected somewhere else. Or maybe someone was expecting him.
    That was about all Amos could gather about Chris Yoder. He was as closemouthed as they came, responding to Amos’s questions in one- or two-syllable answers. He wouldn’t join the family for dinner. Instead, he spent his lunch hour sweeping out the barn or binding hay.
    Fern had been too preoccupied with M.K. this week to think twice about Chris, though she did ask about him once. “Who in the world is this hired hand and why doesn’t he come to the house and introduce himself, be sociable?” Amos answered by saying he was just the quiet type. That satisfied Fern for now, but he knew that when she did get him in her sights, Chris would sing like a canary, without even realizing he had been questioned by a skilled practitioner. Until then, Amos could wait.
    There was something about Chris Yoder that appealed to Amos. He was carrying some kind of a burden, and he was too young or too proud to realize that all he needed to do was to ask for help.

    Chris knew that Jenny didn’t like going home to an empty house, so he worked through his lunch hour to finish up the day’s work. He needed to earn a full day’s wage, but he didn’t want her to have to be home alone very long. As he walked down the lane from Windmill Farm, he braced himself for a litany of complaints about school: the feebleminded teacher,the tragic shortage of girls in her class, the annoying boys. The fact was, Jenny had always been an intense child. She was all or nothing. She loved you or hated you; there was never any middle ground. He actually felt a little sorry for this new teacher—to be inflicted with Jenny’s displeasure.
    On the upside for the week, things were working out well with Amos Lapp. Chris had been patching jobs together whenever he could find work on the bulletin board at the hardware store, but he preferred working at one place for a while. Plus, Windmill Farm wasn’t too far from his grandfather’s house.
    Amos paid Chris with cash at the end of each day. He said he didn’t like being indebted, but Chris had a hunch that Amos wasn’t quite sure if he should expect him again in the morning.