His Amish Teacher. Patricia Davids

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      “I’d run outside and watch the whole thing go up in smoke,” Abe said with a smirk, and elbowed his cousin. Gabriel nodded.

      Timothy’s eyes narrowed. “Not a very good answer, Abe. This isn’t a joking matter.”

      “I’d get the fire extinguisher,” Gabriel said quickly.

      Timothy pointed to him. “Goot. Where is it kept in your home?”

      A puzzled expression replaced Gabriel’s grin. “I’m not sure.”

      Lillian calmly walked to the table. “A fine bunch of firefighters you are if you can’t put out a simple grease fire without help.”

      She picked up a dish towel, soaked it with water and gently draped it over the pan. The fire was instantly smothered. The children cheered.

      Timothy nodded in appreciation. “I see Teacher Lillian has had lots of practice putting out her burning chicken. She did it the correct way. She smothered it. How else could she have smothered a grease fire?”

      The children began calling out suggestions. He acknowledged each answer with a nod and a comment if it was a good suggestion. If it wasn’t, he explained why. As he spoke, Lillian noticed he held the attention of all the children now. He had a knack for engaging them.

      Timothy laid aside his lighter. “Now let’s imagine that Teacher is burning leaves in the fall and she sees her boo-friend driving past.” Again, the children giggled.

      Lillian scowled at him, not amused this time. Timothy continued speaking. “She is so busy waving at him that she doesn’t notice the hem of her dress has caught fire.”

      Sending him a sour look, she said, “I don’t have a boyfriend, but I would certainly wave if one of my scholars were to pass by my home.”

      He wiped the grin off his face. “All right, one of your students has distracted you and now your hem is on fire.”

      She raised her arms in mock horror and shouted, “This is terrible! Help!”

      “What should she do?” Timothy cupped one hand to his ear and leaned toward the children.

      “Stop, drop and roll,” the group yelled.

      Lillian covered her face with both hands, dropped to the ground and rolled back and forth. She lifted her hand from her face and squinted at Timothy. “Did I do that right?”

      He looked at the children. “Scholars, did Teacher Lillian do it correctly?”

      “Ja!” they shouted in unison.

      He held out his hand to help her up, his eyes sparkling. “Exactly right, Teacher.”

      She took his offered hand. His firm grip sent an unexpected rush of pleasure spiraling through her. As soon as she was on her feet, she pulled her hand from his and brushed at her dusty dress. “Next time you can do the stop, drop and roll while I ask the questions.”

      He grinned. “But you did it so well. You were far more graceful than I could ever be.”

      Turning to the children, she said, “Let’s all thank Timothy for taking the time to teach us about fire safety.”

      “Thank you, Timothy,” they said in unison.

      Hannah added, “Danki, Onkel Timothy.” Hannah was the stepdaughter of Timothy’s brother, Joshua. Lillian tried hard not to have favorites, but she couldn’t help it where Hannah was concerned.

      “We only speak English at school, Hannah,” Lillian reminded her.

      Hannah ducked her head. “Sorry, Teacher. I forgot. Thank you, Uncle Timothy.”

      Lillian softened her tone. “It’s all right. Sometimes I forget, too. Now, let’s review some of the points Timothy made. Susan, can you tell us how often to change the batteries in our smoke detectors?”

      “Twice a year, and the detectors should be replaced if they are more than seven years old,” the eighth-grade girl said quickly, proving she had been listening. Susan Yoder was one of Lillian’s best students. The girl hoped to become a teacher someday.

      Lillian gestured to Timothy’s niece in the front row. “Hannah, what are some ways to prevent fires?”

      Hannah wasn’t a bit shy. She shot to her feet. “Don’t ever play with matches. I don’t, but Carl does.”

      Seated beside Hannah, the young boy leaned away from her and scowled. “Not anymore.”

      “I’m glad to hear that,” Timothy said, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

      Lillian raised her hand. “How many of you have practiced a fire escape plan with your family at home?” Nearly all the students raised their hands. Abe didn’t and neither did his little brother Carl.

      “All right, I want you to go inside, take out a piece of paper and draw a diagram of your home. I want you to show at least two ways to escape from the house in the event of a fire and mark where your meeting place is outside. Siblings may work together on the project.”

      The children rose and filed toward the school. Lillian stopped Susan. The girl served as Lillian’s much-needed teacher’s aide. “Will you help Hannah with this project? She doesn’t have older siblings.”

      “Sure.” Susan smiled and followed the others.

      Abe shoved past Hannah, almost knocking her down when they reached the steps at the same time.

      “Sorry,” he said quickly, but he didn’t sound remorseful in the least. He caught Gabriel’s eye and whispered something to him. They both laughed as they went in.

      Timothy moved to stand beside Lillian. “I noticed the son of our school board president is a bit of a troublemaker.”

      “Abe is, but I don’t treat him differently because of his father.”

      Silas Mast, the school board president, had brushed aside her concerns about Abe’s behavior when she tried to speak to him about it. His lack of support was making it more difficult to handle the boy.

      Lillian watched until the last student entered the building; then she whirled to face Timothy with her hands on her hips. “What possessed you to suggest in front of my students that I have a boyfriend?”

      He looked taken aback. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I was making a point that you were distracted.”

      “You should have chosen better.”

      “Are you upset with me?”

      She crossed her arms over her chest. “Ja, Timothy Bowman, I’m upset with you.”

      He relaxed. “Nee, you aren’t. I can tell by the look in your eyes.”

      “How do my eyes look when I’m upset?” she demanded.

      “Frosty.”

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