Courting Miss Amsel by Kim Vogel Sawyer

Teacher?”
    How had the conversation turned combative so quickly? Although many of the students in her classroom would certainly turn to farming when they finished their education, she wanted them to know other opportunities existed. But how to explain that without making the man feel inferior for choosing farming as his vocation?
    Finally, settling on an answer, she swallowed and spoke in a calm, reasonable voice that belied the nervous churning in her belly. “Mr. Libolt, I assure you I do not view farming as less important than other occupations. In fact, my own father was a farmer.” Until he lost our family’s homestead . . . “I have no intention of dissuading students from becoming farmers. If that’s what they choose, I will encourage them in the endeavor and attempt to instill in them the skills they need to be successful.”
    Mr. Libolt’s frown did not lessen, but Edythe plunged bravely onward. “But I feel it is my duty to let the children know how many opportunities exist.” She held out her hands in supplication. “What if Henry or Little Will wishes to become a doctor, or to one day move to a big city and work in a factory? Shouldn’t he be given the chance to explore other occupations that might be of interest to him?”
    The man snorted. His wife chided, “Hank . . .” He snorted again.
    Edythe bristled. Mr. Libolt’s reaction too closely mirrored her father’s behavior. Despite her intention to speak calmly, her tone turned sharp. “You would deny your son the pursuit of his own dream because it doesn’t align with what you chose for his life?”
    “You’re bein’ impertinent, missy.”
    The man’s growling tone sent a warning Edythe knew she should heed. How would Mr. Libolt respond if she told him she would have been trapped in a life of servitude, battling bitter regret, had she followed her father’s plans for her? Having discovered the courage to flee Ed Amsel’s entrapment, she could not sit idly by and watch this father squelch his children’s dreams.
    She took a deep breath. “Mr. Libolt, I’m sincerely sorry that you don’t see the value in subjects beyond the rudimentary. But I cannot modify my personal objective as a teacher to bow to your” – narrow-minded quivered on her tongue, but she caught herself and replaced it – “opposing view. I hope you will respect my position as much as I respect yours.”
    Mr. Libolt stared at her, his lips forming an upside-down U of displeasure. Before he could speak, Mrs. Libolt screeched her chair backward and rose. She flashed a too-bright smile around the table. “I baked up an apple-walnut cake for dessert. Who’d like some?”
    Without waiting for a response, she bustled to the stove. She retrieved the cake from the warming hub and offered the first good-sized wedge to her husband. But he shook his head and pushed away from the table. “I got work to do in the barn. Henry, I need your help. C’mon.”
    Henry cast an embarrassed look at Edythe before trailing his father out the door.
    Edythe accepted a piece of cake, but she only managed to choke down a few bites of the richly spiced, moist concoction. Her stomach, filled with dread at having created an enemy of a town council member, resisted accepting food. Less than half an hour after Mr. Libolt stormed out the door, she bid Mrs. Libolt, Anna, and Little Will good-bye and climbed into the wagon for the drive back to town.
    As she turned from the Libolts’ lane onto the main road, she sighed, her breath forming a puff of white. Tomorrow evening after supper she would ride to the Townsend farm. She intended to take her landlady with her; it wouldn’t do for her to spend time alone with a single man, even though his nephews would be in attendance. Would Mr. Townsend, like Mr. Libolt, berate her for her desire to broaden the children’s views beyond the limited scope of their farming community? For some reason, she wanted to believe he would be more accepting.
    She raised