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Tarkington said, “so I’ll leave you two to talk.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Tarkington.” Margaret watched him pivot and leave the room.
    Mr. Brownley began to pace along the wall of windows.
    “I’ve received some correspondence,” he said. “In responding, I require the assistance of a competent teacher dedicated to the principles of a sound public education, and Mr. Tarkington assures me that you meet this description.”
    “I’ve been teaching for nine years.” Margaret rotated slowly to follow the path the superintendent was taking across the back of the classroom. “I believe I am accomplished in my profession.”
    “I’m glad to hear you sound confident. That is just the disposition I seek.”
    “I’m happy to help.”
    Brownley crossed his wrists behind him and paced along the opposite wall. “Have you much experience dealing with resistant parents?”
    Why didn’t the superintendent simply say what was on his mind?
    “Occasionally I have met parents who do not understand the importance of regular school attendance,” Margaret said.
    Brownley nodded.
    “And if a child presents a disciplinary challenge, I find it constructive to win over the parents to offer a united front in resolving the matter.”
    “Excellent.” Brownley pulled papers out of his suit jacket. “I have here two items of correspondence signed by Mr. Gideon Wittmer and others.”
    “Mr. Wittmer?”
    Brownley raised an eyebrow. “Do you know him?”
    “Not exactly. I met someone who knows him.”
    “Then you will not be surprised that these particular parents have children in one of the outlying one-room schoolhouses.”
    “A school which is in need of both repairs and a teacher,” Margaret said.
    Brownley’s face brightened. “I must say I had not expected you to be so informed on the matter.”
    “I’m afraid that is the extent of my knowledge.”
    Brownley pulled out the chair from behind Margaret’s desk and sat down. “It’s a delicate matter.”
    Margaret waited.
    “This is the letter requesting funding for a new schoolhouse.” He laid one sheet of paper on the desk and positioned a second beside it, precisely one inch apart. “And this is the letter asking for names of teachers the local parents committee might correspond with about the open position.”
    “I understand that these are considerable challenges,” Margaret said, “given the limited time before school opens.”
    “If only it were as simple as that.”
    Margaret waited again.
    “We will not be rebuilding the school, Miss Simpson, nor looking for a new teacher.”
    “Oh.”
    “Mr. Tarkington tells me you are one of his best teachers. Surely you can appreciate that these circumstances suggest that now is the right time to integrate these pupils into the consolidated school.”
    “We have a fine grade school. And the high school is excellent as well.”
    “I agree. And I’m confident that we can accommodate the thirty or so students being displaced by closing their school.” Brownley folded the letters and returned them to his pocket.
    “Of course I wish to be helpful,” Margaret said, “but I feel unclear as to what you are asking of me.” These were administrative matters. Shouldn’t the superintendent and the principal work out the details of the transition?
    “Mr. Tarkington tells me you can be quite persuasive.”
    Once again, not knowing how to answer, Margaret waited.
    “Some parents may resist our plan,” Brownley said. “I would like you to persuade them of its virtues.”
    “Me?”
    “You did say you wanted to help. This will be a significant change for all of the families affected, but the Amish families in particular will need to understand that they must comply with this decision.”
    Margaret gulped.

    Ella sat in a wooden yard chair she did not quite trust. It dated back to the early days of her parents’ marriage, and it creaked. The sound was ordinary, especially for the age of the chair, but after the creaking