The Lesson by Suzanne Woods Fisher Page A

she certainly didn’t want to get in his buggy with him. Nosir! She had no idea who he was and had no desire to know, either—though anyone who had a horse like that couldn’t be entirely bad. The horse was well cared for, sleek and strong, with intelligent eyes. Where had she seen that horse before? In town, maybe? No. She couldn’t quite capture it—but she knew she’d seen him somewhere. She couldn’t help but admire such a beautiful creature. But her admiration for its owner ended there. Her curiosity, though, was another story. She happened to notice that the young horse owner turned downthe long drive that led to Colonel Mitchell’s abandoned house. She hadn’t even thought of that house in years and years. It was hidden from the road on a long flag lot, hidden from the road with a long dirt driveway for access.
    But back to M.K.’s current situation. The road she turned down went right by Erma Yutzy’s, and suddenly, there she was, walking up the driveway. The air was filled with the sweet scent of freshly cut grass—one of M.K.’s favorite smells. Erma was filling her bird feeders with oiled black sunflower seeds when she saw M.K. and her face lit up with delight.
    “It won’t be long until the skies will be filled with a thick black ribbon of birds as they head south for the winter. Don’t you love to put your head back and watch them fly, Mary Kate? Don’t you just wonder, ‘Where is the end of that long ribbon?’” She sighed happily. “There’s so much to wonder about in the natural world.”
    Imagine that, M.K. thought. Erma had seen one hundred autumns. One hundred years’ worth of skies filled with migrating birds. The same skies, every year. And still, she found them fascinating.
    The two women sat on the porch in the shade, with a slight breeze wafting around them, and drank iced tea, talking. The conversation began with news about Sadie’s redheaded twins and drifted to school, as Erma asked M.K. what she thought about being a teacher.
    M.K. groaned. “Awful. Just awful. Part of the problem is that I don’t think these children are capable of learning.” Maybe Danny Riehl would be the one exception.
    “I have learned that most youngsters can do what you ask them to do—even if they don’t think so. They just need a little push sometimes to get them moving.”
    Apparently, Erma never had a scholar like Eugene Miller. He needed a push, all right, right out the window.
    “So over the years I learned to give a little push in the right direction when I had to. That’s what teachers do.”
    M.K. leaned forward in her chair. “That’s the other part of the problem. I just don’t know how to think or act like a teacher.”
    Erma tilted her head. “What do you think a teacher acts like?”
    “Very, very serious. And solemn.” Gid was serious. Alice was serious and solemn.
    Teaching was serious business. M.K. had a difficult time acting serious and solemn on a full-time basis. It was exhausting.
    “And why do you think that would be true?”
    “The reason, I think, is because it is an overwhelming task to maintain order. Especially when Eugene Miller is in the room. I’m only five feet three and the older boys tower over me. They ignore me. They run roughshod over all of my attempts to keep the classroom from utter chaos.”
    “Mary Kate,” Erma started. She was one of the few people who called M.K. by her full name and it made her feel rather grown up. “They will see you as a teacher on the day when you start seeing yourself as a teacher.”
    “But I do! I’m in that stuffy schoolhouse every day, from morning to night. I’ve been working myself to the bone. I’ve tried everything! I’ve tried to teach like Alice. I’ve tried to teach like Gid. Neither way works. I just can’t do it. I can not teach.”
    “Oh, but I think you can,” Erma said in that enigmatic way she had. “Mary Kate, there is a remarkable porosity in a one-room schoolhouse. A lesson given to one