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Guide Me Home (Grace Alone Series) (Volume 1)

By Connie J Cortright

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“I’m here to talk to you about my son.” A piercing voice shot across the classroom.
Emma Ehlke dropped her pen, splattering ink over the neatly organized stack of lesson plans. The whole morning’s work stained in a second. The verbal ambush made Emma’s eyes dart in the direction of the sound as her heart slammed against her ribs.
A stout, middle-aged woman with speckled gray hair stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. By the pinched look on her round red face, Emma wondered if she’d just bitten into a lemon.
“Mrs. Ethel Piggott. You met me at church.” Her prominent chin preceding her, the woman marched purposefully toward Emma, her long skirt swishing around her ankles.
Emma recovered herself. A calming breath. A smoothing back of her hair to steady her hands. Glasses deliberately removed and placed on her desk. She stood and walked to the edge of the raised platform.
To make a good impression was paramount in her mind as a new teacher. Mrs. Piggott. She ransacked her brain to remember a student with that name. She lifted the hem of her skirt to step down. “I’m Miss—.”
“You don’t have to tell me who you are.” The woman crossed her arms. “I can’t believe you don’t remember me. My husband, Meyer, or Mr. Piggott to you, is the school board chairman.” Her voice crackled with arrogance.
Emma stepped off the platform and walked between two rows of wooden desks bolted to the floor. With her clammy palm outstretched in greeting, the heels of Emma’s lace-up shoes clicked as she crossed the creaky floor to meet the woman midway. “I beg your pardon. It’s just that I’ve made the acquaintance of so many people since Sunday it’s hard to remember everyone’s name.”
Major lapse not remembering this lady.
She’d spent the last three days filling her head with lesson plans, textbooks, and names of children. Less than a week remained to get prepared for school’s opening. Surely, um, Mrs. Piggly should understand that under the circumstances it was hard to think straight, much less remember everyone from church.
Shaking Emma’s hand, Mrs. P. snorted. “Not surprising. Since you’re a first-year teacher, I wanted to come in this week to make sure you start the year off on the right foot.” An animated nod caused her wide-brimmed hat with outsized orange flowers to teeter precariously on her head. Raising a gloved hand, she set the straw bonnet back in place.
The woman’s pungently sweet perfume invaded Emma’s nostrils. She held her breath while resolving to stay calm. She couldn’t let a parent upset her before school even started. Disarm her with politeness. “Thank you for your—”
Mrs. P. charged on, her raspy voice grating like fingernails scraping against a chalkboard. “My son, Karl, is in your third grade and you should know he’s a very special boy and will need extra time and care from you.”
Just what she needed. A student who required special consideration. A project. Impossible with so many children in her room. “Thank you so much for coming to see me. It’ll help to know these things ahead of time.” What else could she say?
“You have to understand he is our youngest child. Karl came along quite a few years after our Betty. He has a married sister with a baby, so he’s already an uncle. Betty and her husband live up north in Wisconsin, but still come home to visit often. He struggles to get our attention when the baby is around.” Peering over her glasses, she cleared her throat. “To an amateur like you, he may seem naughty.”
Emma clenched her fists. Amateur! How could Mrs. Piggery possibly consider her an amateur? Question her ability that way? She had her teaching degree where this mother probably hadn’t even finished high school. Her pulse raced. “I understand your concern for Karl. It’s good to hear about his circumstances.” She breathed out slowly, but her stomach flipped so many times it might as well join a circus.
“Well, that’s why I’m here this morning to tell you, so you go about things the right way.”
Emma forced a smile onto her face. If only she could hide her anger in front of this, this parent. The gall of this Piggotty woman to come in here and call her an amateur. She swallowed. “It’ll help me deal with any problems with him coming up early in the school year.”
“Problems? Problems with Karl?” Mrs. Piggott’s nostrils flared as she spoke. “If he gets the attention he deserves, you won’t have any problems with him. He only needs to be understood. Just make sure you realize it.” Her teeth bit off each word in staccato fashion. “He. Doesn’t. Cause. Problems.”
Was she scolding her? Emma tried to stifle a gasp, but failed miserably. What now? No course in college had taught her how to deal with situations like this. As her heart pounded in her ears, she hid her clenched hands behind her back. “Ma’am, you must understand I have forty students in four grades in this room.”
Mrs. Piggery just kept clucking. “Just make sure you give him proper attention, and he’ll be the wonderful student he’s always been.”
Her mind racing, Emma let out her breath. Her blood pressure must have doubled by now. Weighing each word before speaking, she obviously couldn’t say what was on the tip of her tongue. “I assure you I will give each student as much attention as possible, fairly and equitably. However, at the end of each day, I will need to teach all the subjects the school board requires at St. John’s.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.” Mrs. P. planted herself within inches of Emma’s face, her stale breath filling the space between them. “I’ve been trying to tell Mr. Dietz we need a third classroom in our school. Now, here we are in the same old situation.” Her icy stare reinforced the cold words she spoke. “Mr. Piggott tried to persuade the board at my urging, but they wouldn’t listen to him. If we must have just the two classrooms, we really should have a new male teacher. At least he would know how to handle the children better.”
Male teacher? Emma opened her mouth but didn’t have time to respond.
“We have you, so we’ll have to do the best we can.” Mrs. P. bowed her head and exhaled before continuing. “You ask around. I know how to deal with children after raising my own. If you need advice, you know whom to call. Good day. Oh, yes, and welcome to Racine.” The tornado left the room as suddenly as she had entered it.
Emma stood frozen in place in the silence after the storm, her mind reeling. She couldn’t think straight. Falling onto a student desk, she put her head in her hands. How could parents prefer a male teacher for first graders? It didn’t make any sense. What should she have said to this woman?
She let out a breath and forced herself off the desk. Emma couldn’t believe she would have to face these sentiments in a parochial school. Shouldn’t she be able to assume all of the parents loved God and their children as much as she did? After all, they all belonged to the same Lutheran church. Piggy wasn’t very loving as far as Emma could see. How could Mrs. P. question her capabilities even before she had taught one day? Amateur?
She’d better find Mr. Dietz. The principal should be able to advise her on how to deal with Karl in light of what his mother had said. All the parents couldn’t be like her, could they? She hurried across the hall to find the principal. Not in his room. She searched the other rooms downstairs. He was not in sight. Shaking her head, she slumped her shoulders.
If only Ma were closer. She’d always been someone Emma could confide in, but she was miles away. Probably canning tomatoes in a hot kitchen. As the oldest daughter in the family, Emma should be there to help her. Not this year.
She wasn’t feeling guilty about it, though. She’d wanted to escape from farm life in the small Wisconsin town of Juneau. No way would she get caught like the rest of her schoolmates, marrying farmers, having babies, and working hard their entire lives.
But right now city life didn’t look so appealing. Not if teaching meant facing mothers like Mrs. Piggeldy very often. This wasn’t how she’d pictured the school year would start. What had she gotten herself into?
Blinking away threatening tears, Emma sighed. Was she homesick already? She snapped upright at the suggestion. Of course not. She couldn’t feel sorry for herself right now. No time for that.
Even so, she sure would like to talk to someone. If nothing else, she had to get some facts and get Mrs. What’s-her-name off her chest.
Would Pastor Hannemann be in his office? He’d picked her up at the train station five days ago, but she really didn’t know him very well. Still, she’d often confided in Pastor Vogel at home while growing up, so maybe he could help. At least he was close by since the Pastor’s house was next to the school.
Grabbing her gloves before leaving her room, she marched down the steps and out the door. As she strode across the lawn to the parsonage, her ankle-length skirt wrapped around her legs, threatening to trip her. Pausing to smooth her chignon, she knocked on his door.
* * *
Pastor Nils Hannemann placed his pen on the desk and closed his Bible. He glanced out his office window and stared at the church wall twenty feet away. There were advantages living in the house next to the church, but the view out the window was not one of them.
His eyes returned to the blank pages sitting in front of him. Writing sermons on a regular basis was harder than he had thought. Since he’d graduated from the seminary in May, he’d discovered the reality of the task. After running short of time the first few weeks, he had begun his sermons a bit earlier, so he wouldn’t get caught up in the Saturday night cram routine.
Nils surveyed his books arrayed around him like a general surveying his troops. Fidgeting, he reshuffled his books on his desk. Somehow this made him feel more in command to do sermonic battle with his text.
At least he wasn’t working in the fields back home. His heart had never been in farm work. Pa probably knew that before he did. His brothers seemed to thrive on caring for the animals and harvesting the crops, but for him doing the chores was a boring and repetitive task.
From a very young age, old Pastor Schroeder had encouraged him to think about going to the seminary and becoming a pastor. Maybe Pa had put him up to it in the first place. Nils smiled at the thought.
The ticking clock reminded him time was fleeting. Thursday already. He picked up his pen determined to set out his outline of St. Paul’s words to Timothy. Propping his elbow on his desk, he rested his chin in the palm of his hand. He had to keep going, or he’d never finish.
A knock at the door brought him to a halt. Not what he needed right now. But he had no choice. Time to find out who needed his help at this hour. With a sigh, he pushed back his chair and straightened his tie. The sermon—and battle—would have to wait.
Nils opened the door before the knock repeated. “Ah, Miss Ehlke. What can I do for you?”
“Pastor, do you have a few minutes?” She stood on his doorstep, her brow wrinkling. Tall and willowy with high cheekbones on her oval face, her normally creamy skin could have rivaled the pink sunset of yesterday. Her lips pinched into a thin line, her brown eyes glared at him. She smiled, but at best, the smile appeared forced, her usual bright spirit hidden behind a dark cloud at the moment.
“Why, of course, Miss Ehlke. Come in, come in. Has something happened?” Would he even be able to help her? After going to an all-male high school, college, and the seminary, he was a bit over his head about how to handle women. What if she needed to talk about something womanish?
Nils opened the door wide and motioned for her to enter. They turned toward the left and walked into his study, a faint touch of her pleasing scent reaching him. He shook his head to clear it. He reflexively refused to attend to it.
The unfinished sermon glared at him, but he turned his back on it and perched on the edge of his desk. At the moment, his new teacher was more important.
After sitting and removing her gloves, she gazed up at him. In the ensuing silence, a light breeze blew in the window rustling the curtain. Tucking strands of her brown hair behind her ear, she leaned forward before beginning her tale. “Pastor, a certain Mrs. Piggery, um, Piggott barged into my room . . .”
After that initial outburst, she took a deep breath before managing to relate to him what had transpired earlier. She started to worry her gloves, twisting them this way and that. “I haven’t even started teaching yet and already . . .” Her voice rose with each syllable out of her mouth and then trailed off to a whisper. “She didn’t even give me a chance to prove to myself, or the congregation, that I’ll be a good teacher. She called me an ‘amateur.’”
He reached toward her, palms out. “Miss Ehlke, slow down.”
How could he help her understand what he had had to learn himself in a very short time, namely that dealing with people’s personalities was a challenging part of ministry? He smiled. “You and I, we’ll always encounter people like that, even teaching in our Lutheran school.”
She clasped her hands on her lap. “But I . . . I know . . . I’ll be a good teacher. I went through three years of college. I’ve had all the courses. Why would she think she knows more than I do about teaching?”
Visions flew through his mind of her standing at the train station all by herself, ready to face the classroom, no, the world. He’d picked her up and driven her home on Saturday. She’d held her head high that day, her jaw set in determination, even though it quivered with uncertainty. Now she’d experienced reality—how people could treat her even in a Christian setting.
Like him, she’d been assigned to their congregation after graduation. He’d walked into this totally new life in June. New church. New city. New people. New job. Not an easy thing to do.
She’d probably experience all the same things in the next couple of weeks. But now she faced an irrational parent on top of it. What would come next?
His mind raced, searching for the right words. “People sometimes say things before they think. We both have to learn to be polite to them, but then not dwell on what was said.”
She perched on the edge of her chair. “Does this fix it? What do I do in the meantime? How do I deal with her son in my classroom on Monday? Sounds to me like she’s expecting preferential treatment for him.”
Nils sighed. If only he felt more adequate to address her situation. He was new at this, too. He didn’t have all the answers. She surely was spunky. Too spunky?
Maybe he’d have to talk to the pastor at the church in Kenosha for advice. What was his name? Yes. Berg. He was older and had more experience with faculty. Still, an effort should be made to answer Miss Ehlke.
“You’re only starting out. Taking one day at a time is your best plan for now.” Sheesh! That was “deep” but the best he could come up with.
Leaning against the back of the chair, she sighed. “Maybe after my first day she’d have something to criticize, but at least she should give me a chance.”
“With God’s help, you’ll do fine.” Nils folded his arms. “He needs to be our focus in our daily lives. We’re in His hands. He says in Matthew: ‘I am with you always—”
“ —even unto the end of the world,’” she finished. “That passage was a great comfort for me in college.”
“Um, yes.” Nils blinked. Guess she knows her Bible. “He’s more important than what any parent says to you. Remember God will guide you in your classroom, also.”
“Yes, of course, you’re right.” Sighing, her eyes locked on him. Her shoulders dropped as if she was finally relaxing.
“You’re doing His work by teaching His little ones. He won’t let you down.” He paused to let it sink in and to gauge her reaction.
Miss Ehlke nodded. “I’ve been doing so much planning this week to make everything perfect for school that I forgot about Him.”
“You can trust God to help you. You’ll get through the day just fine.”
A slow smile spread over her face. “Thank you, Pastor.”
Nils let out a slow breath. “By the way, since we’ll be working together, please feel free to call me Neil. I prefer that to my given name. Nils is hard for some people to pronounce.”
“And please call me Emma.” Her smile blossomed.
Finding her smile enchanting, Neil crossed one ankle over the other. “Now, back to Mrs. Piggott.”
“She surprised me. I never even prayed when she barged into my room. She got me so flustered.” Emma looked at her hands fidgeting in her lap. “I could have used God’s help figuring out what to say to her.”
“Sometimes she’s a bit powerful and insensitive. I’m sure she didn’t mean to insult you.” He cleared his throat. “Her husband is chairman of the school board.”
“She made that quite clear.”
“The Piggotts are an important part of our congregation. We have to be very careful on how we deal with them in church, and especially in school. I’ve heard Mrs. Piggott keeps herself very informed with what’s happening in Karl’s classroom.” Neil pushed himself upright and walked around the desk.
“She’ll be watching and critiquing my every move then.” She tucked a few stray strands of hair into the bun on the back of her head.
“Well, let’s hope not. I’ll give her husband a word of caution, but enough about that today.” Neil sat in his chair, the usual irritating squeak filling the silence. “Try to put her words out of your mind for now. Concentrate on getting ready for Monday and don’t worry about anything else.” He smiled to put her at ease.
“That sounds easy to do, but . . .” She shook her head.
“In fact, you’ve worked so hard this week already.” He shuffled through a stack of papers and pulled out a single sheet. “By Saturday night, you’ll need some time off. The school board is sponsoring an ice-cream social in the church basement.”
“Ice-cream social?”
He glanced down at the paper in his hand. “The whole congregation comes together on the last Saturday of the summer. I imagine the kids enjoy seeing their pals again, and teachers can meet the new parents.”
Her face went blank. “Do all the parents come?”
“Not sure. I’ve never been to one before.”
“How will I remember everyone’s name at the same time? I didn’t remember many from last Sunday—not even Mrs. P.’s until today, that is.”
“There is one name you’ll never forget.”
Her lips turned up in a half-smile. “I wish I could have met Mrs. Piggott at the social. She couldn’t have climbed down my throat like she did.”
“You’re probably right there.” Laughing, he laid the paper on his desk. “Tell you what. I’ll ask the committee to make sure there are name tags for folks to pin on so we don’t have to remember all the names that night.”
She nodded. “That would be a relief. Actually, the ice-cream social sounds like a perfect way to spend a Saturday evening. I haven’t had ice cream in ages. We didn’t get it at home much. Only on special occasions.”
“Same here. We didn’t own our own ice-cream maker so we had to borrow one from the neighbor.”
“It’s so much work to crank the handle for such a long time.”
“Guess that makes it a special treat. Hope you’ll come.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
“I’m hoping to meet some members myself. Several families still haven’t attended church since I came in June. I’ll need the name tags, too.” Good chance for him to get better acquainted with her, also.
Emma nodded and stood up. “Well, I’m so glad you were home. Thanks so much for your help.”
“You’re very welcome.” He walked her to the door and swung it open for her. “Come by anytime you want to talk. My door is always open.”
He watched her walk down the sidewalk toward home. Was she ready for her new role in their church? She had quite an attitude—possibly not the correct one. If only St. Paul had written Third Timothy and explained how to deal with teachers and parents. And women!
Well, back to the books. Glancing out the window instead, Neil sighed. Maybe Emma wasn’t an amateur, but she was a novice. He hoped she’d find how to deal with challenges soon, just as he had. In any case, the school of experience was about to open.

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