by the time she went in search of him, and she could hardly seek out the police on the Sabbath. She’d have to do it, and soon, but at the moment, she needed to deal with all the chatter going on in her schoolroom.
She stood, and the buzzing stopped when she looked at her scholars, but she saw suppressed excitement on several faces. Well, maybe some serious schoolwork would get their thoughts off gossip, which she didn’t doubt had been flying around the valley since Friday.
“We’ll begin with reading for first and second graders,” she announced, and the little ones obediently began pulling their desks into a circle. “Seventh and eighth graders will work on their written reports.”
There were some sighs from the older boys, who’d rather do almost anything than write a report.
She went on to assign each of the other grades to work on arithmetic or practice spelling words, and then she sat down with the small group of the youngest scholars. The room was quiet except for the scratching of pencils and the murmur of spelling words as the third graders quizzed one another.
Concentrating on the eager little ones was a good antidote for her worries. She loved seeing their faces light up when they sounded out a new word or read a complete sentence in Englisch.
A teacher’s sixth sense presently told Sara that something was wrong with the background noises. She looked toward the back of the room to discover that Lily was not only not working on her report, she was out of her chair and hanging over Johnny Stultzfus’s desk, whispering away.
“Lily!” Sara’s sharp tone had every pair of eyes in the room focused on her. “You will take your seat immediately, and you will also write one hundred times I will not chatter in class. Is that understood?”
Lily, her pretty face set in a pout, nodded.
She was justified, Sara told herself, but she hated to see all of her students looking at her with such dismay.
Relenting, she went to lean against her desk. “All right. Tell me what is so fascinating to all of you that you can’t concentrate on your work.”
“Please, Aunt Sara.” Becky remembered to raise her hand, but she forgot, as always, that she was supposed to call her aunt Teacher Sara in the classroom. “Everyone is talking and wondering about the man who fell off the cliff.”
“Did he really jump?” Johnny’s question exploded out of him before she could react to Becky. “I heard he had a parachute.”
“Not a parachute, dummy.” Adam Weaver, seated next to him, gave him a light punch on the arm. “Nobody could use a parachute off a cliff.”
“Adam, keep your hands to yourself,” Sara said sharply.
“I heard—” someone else said, and a babble of voices spoke, all telling a different, wilder story.
Sara sighed. If anyone had hoped the kinner wouldn’t learn about the body at the bottom of the cliff, they’d be disappointed. The only sensible thing was to tell them the truth so they’d stop making up stories.
“Enough.” She held up her hand, and the room fell quiet. “Here is exactly what happened. On Friday, after school, I was showing Rachel’s daed the cliff, where it looks like the profile of an old man.”
Several heads nodded. They probably all knew that much.
“We saw someone lying at the bottom, and we went to see if he was hurt. Unfortunately...” She hesitated, but they already knew. “Unfortunately the man had passed from his injuries.”
“Was there a lot of blood, Teacher?” Adam said with a certain amount of relish.
“No, there was not.” She said it firmly and held his gaze for a moment, mindful of what he might likely repeat to his father. Some of the parents were bound to dislike this departure from the curriculum. Including, most likely, Caleb.
“The poor man was beyond help, so I went to Mr. Brown’s farm and asked them to call the police. The emergency squad came and took the man away. And that’s all that happened. Are there any questions?”
There were, of course, but she was able to answer them honestly without giving any gory details. Finally her scholars seemed to run out of queries.
“Now you know the facts,” Sara said. “So you don’t need to make up any stories about it.” She paused. “Do any of you have anything else to say about it?”
She let her gaze rest for a moment on Rachel. It seemed she was about to speak. But the moment passed, and Rachel joined the rest of the class in a chorus of “No, Teacher Sara.”
Sara felt oddly dissatisfied. There were too many questions as yet unanswered. Maybe they never would be. But as her scholars got back to work at last, she realized that the cheerful presence of the children was chasing any remaining shadows from her thoughts as well as her schoolroom.
It was raining when school ended, a steady gray drizzle that made Sara disinclined to rush out into it. She saw Caleb standing at the edge of the playground, waiting for his daughter.
Why hadn’t he come to the door for her? She hadn’t spoken to him since Saturday, although of course she’d seen him at worship yesterday. Maybe Caleb thought they’d gotten too close during those moments in the schoolroom on Saturday. Now he was eager to put some distance between them.
Sara settled down to grade papers, trying to dismiss the thoughts, but Caleb’s frowning face kept intruding. She sighed. Caleb was so determined that Rachel should forget the past, but obviously he couldn’t do that himself. And she suspected he was wrong in his approach to his daughter’s grief, although she didn’t think he’d want to hear it from her.
Forcing the troubling thoughts away, she set to work and had the correcting done in an hour. She glanced at the windows, startled at how dark it had become because of the thick clouds and the steady rain. She’d better head for home before Daed came looking for her.
Putting on her outer clothes, she glanced back at the schoolroom before locking the door. With the battery lamp turned off, the familiar room looked different. But not scary. Of course not. She locked up and started down the path toward home.
At least the rain was stopping now, but water still dripped from the trees, and wet branches sagged, waiting for her to walk into them. She moved quickly, hugging her jacket around her. It was only sensible to get to the warmth and light of home as soon as possible.
The path wound along the creek, where the water rushed over the stones, fed by the rain. She resolutely did not look toward the opposite side, not that she could have seen the cliff from here anyway. Still, if—
Her skin prickled. A sound, some alien noise, had disturbed her. She was as familiar with the usual sounds along the path as she was the tone of her schoolroom. She slowed, listening, trying to identify the sound. It was the faintest murmur, but it almost sounded like footsteps on the path behind her.
Sara whirled, staring, but no one was there. Ferhoodled, that was what she was, letting herself imagine things. She hurried on. She wasn’t frightened exactly. She’d walked this way almost every day since she was six. But the loneliest section of the path was just ahead of her now, where it dipped into the pine woods before coming out behind the barn.
It was always dark and
