accelerated. He felt a bit skittish inside.
He needed to find Ruthie. Even a shot in the dark was better than no shot at all.
Chapter Twelve
H E FOUND RUTHIE IN the cloakroom, standing by the window with Hannah, watching the teams pull up to the door.
He caught sight of Sam, Dat’s superb black Standardbred driving horse. So they were here.
“Ruthie.”
She looked over at Isaac, her eyebrows lifted.
“You going to do it?”
She took a deep breath. Her shoulders squared visibly. She looked straight into Isaac’s eyes and said clearly and firmly, “Yes, Isaac, I’m going to do it.”
Isaac’s eyebrows danced way up, and his grin was so wide it changed the shape of his face. “You can do it, Ruthie! You go!”
She nodded, her face a picture of radiance. What had happened? Gone was the hand-wringing, the miserable expression.
Well, same as with Sim and Catherine, he wasn’t going to expect too much. Stay levelheaded. Expect her to do it, but accept failure if it came.
The classroom was filling up now. Church benches had replaced the Ping-Pong table in the middle, which had been placed along the side of the room. The cloakroom was piled high with coats, bonnets and shawls. Babies cried. Mothers hushed them nervously, hoping they would fall asleep, or at the very least, remain quiet with some toys or a graham cracker.
Fathers held on to squirming little boys, bending to whisper words of discipline. “ Bleib sitza .” (Stay sitting.)
A steady hum of voices, laughter, greetings, a kaleidoscope of faces, white coverings, colorful dresses, shirts accentuated with black vests. English people came to the program, too. Vans came, bringing friends of Teacher Catherine, friends of parents, all seated side by side, their colorful coats in stark contrast to the black.
Teacher Catherine herded the children into their curtained-off square of space. She spoke a few words of encouragement, made sure the necessary items for the plays were all in order and warned them all to be absolutely quiet behind the curtain.
“Do you want the windows up or down?” she asked.
“Down!” everyone whispered.
“It gets too warm in here.”
“Too many people.”
“Put them down.”
Teacher Catherine nodded, smiled and said, “Do your best.”
1:00. She tapped a small bell. The signal to begin!
Total silence now, as faces strained eagerly toward the open space in front of the blackboard, their stage.
The pupils sang a resounding chorus of Christmas songs first, the 21 beautiful voices blending into that special innocent harmony that only children can produce.
The emotional individuals in the audience sniffed, lifting spectacles to wipe eyes with meticulously ironed Sunday handkerchiefs.
Isaac stood in the back row between Ruthie and Hannah, singing with all his might. He knew their singing was good. In the guest book they passed to visitors to sign their names, almost all of them praised their singing. Isaac didn’t like Hannah much, but she could sing. Her voice carried well with Isaac’s, although he’d never tell her. Likely she’d take it as an insult.
After the singing, the smallest boy in school welcomed the audience to the Christmas program. Standing all alone, his head lifted high, his voice carrying well, he said clearly,
I’m very small, and very scared,
But this job I have to do:
Welcome you all on this glad day,
Plus, “Merry Christmas,” too!
Smiling shyly, he turned on his heel and hurried behind the curtain.
Smiling shyly, he turned on his heel and hurried behind the curtain.
There was a skit after that. Second, third and fourth grades came onstage with their skates and winter clothing.
Isaac’s poem followed. He stood straight and tall and spoke in his usual crisp voice that carried well. His poem had 14 verses, which streamed from him effortlessly.
He spied Sim, lounging along the back wall in his red shirt, a head taller than his friend Abner. So he was here. Good.
Laughter followed
He needed to find Ruthie. Even a shot in the dark was better than no shot at all.
Chapter Twelve
H E FOUND RUTHIE IN the cloakroom, standing by the window with Hannah, watching the teams pull up to the door.
He caught sight of Sam, Dat’s superb black Standardbred driving horse. So they were here.
“Ruthie.”
She looked over at Isaac, her eyebrows lifted.
“You going to do it?”
She took a deep breath. Her shoulders squared visibly. She looked straight into Isaac’s eyes and said clearly and firmly, “Yes, Isaac, I’m going to do it.”
Isaac’s eyebrows danced way up, and his grin was so wide it changed the shape of his face. “You can do it, Ruthie! You go!”
She nodded, her face a picture of radiance. What had happened? Gone was the hand-wringing, the miserable expression.
Well, same as with Sim and Catherine, he wasn’t going to expect too much. Stay levelheaded. Expect her to do it, but accept failure if it came.
The classroom was filling up now. Church benches had replaced the Ping-Pong table in the middle, which had been placed along the side of the room. The cloakroom was piled high with coats, bonnets and shawls. Babies cried. Mothers hushed them nervously, hoping they would fall asleep, or at the very least, remain quiet with some toys or a graham cracker.
Fathers held on to squirming little boys, bending to whisper words of discipline. “ Bleib sitza .” (Stay sitting.)
A steady hum of voices, laughter, greetings, a kaleidoscope of faces, white coverings, colorful dresses, shirts accentuated with black vests. English people came to the program, too. Vans came, bringing friends of Teacher Catherine, friends of parents, all seated side by side, their colorful coats in stark contrast to the black.
Teacher Catherine herded the children into their curtained-off square of space. She spoke a few words of encouragement, made sure the necessary items for the plays were all in order and warned them all to be absolutely quiet behind the curtain.
“Do you want the windows up or down?” she asked.
“Down!” everyone whispered.
“It gets too warm in here.”
“Too many people.”
“Put them down.”
Teacher Catherine nodded, smiled and said, “Do your best.”
1:00. She tapped a small bell. The signal to begin!
Total silence now, as faces strained eagerly toward the open space in front of the blackboard, their stage.
The pupils sang a resounding chorus of Christmas songs first, the 21 beautiful voices blending into that special innocent harmony that only children can produce.
The emotional individuals in the audience sniffed, lifting spectacles to wipe eyes with meticulously ironed Sunday handkerchiefs.
Isaac stood in the back row between Ruthie and Hannah, singing with all his might. He knew their singing was good. In the guest book they passed to visitors to sign their names, almost all of them praised their singing. Isaac didn’t like Hannah much, but she could sing. Her voice carried well with Isaac’s, although he’d never tell her. Likely she’d take it as an insult.
After the singing, the smallest boy in school welcomed the audience to the Christmas program. Standing all alone, his head lifted high, his voice carrying well, he said clearly,
I’m very small, and very scared,
But this job I have to do:
Welcome you all on this glad day,
Plus, “Merry Christmas,” too!
Smiling shyly, he turned on his heel and hurried behind the curtain.
Smiling shyly, he turned on his heel and hurried behind the curtain.
There was a skit after that. Second, third and fourth grades came onstage with their skates and winter clothing.
Isaac’s poem followed. He stood straight and tall and spoke in his usual crisp voice that carried well. His poem had 14 verses, which streamed from him effortlessly.
He spied Sim, lounging along the back wall in his red shirt, a head taller than his friend Abner. So he was here. Good.
Laughter followed
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