Little Amish Matchmaker by Linda Byler Page A

boots. His Sunday shoes were in his backpack, reminders of the importance of the day.
    “Yes, indeed I did. Why would I wait till the day before the program?” she replied tartly.
    Isaac laughed, knowing that was an insult. Mam prided herself on her good management.
    The schoolhouse was fairly bursting at the seams, with Red Run and Oak Lane schools there at the same time. Teacher Catherine was flitting about, trying unsuccessfully to remain calm, unflappable.
    Isaac could hardly wait to get started. This was Ruthie’s chance to prove herself, and the SOS group’s chance to savor their success. Isaac was confident, eager to get out there and show these schools what they had done.
    The program went very well. The singing rose to the ceiling and swirled around the room, lighting on each pupil, bringing Christmas cheer to everyone.
    Because the curtain divided the schoolroom, Isaac only became aware of Ruthie’s absence when the program was almost over.
    What had happened? Why had she failed to appear?
    After “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” and the goodbye song were sung, the pupils of Hickory Grove rushed out the back door, one stream of exulting, yelling children, relieved to be free of restraint and tension.
    Ruthie slunk along the side of the schoolhouse, her head bent, Hannah and Dora clustered around her. Isaac wasted no time.
    “What happened, Ruthie?”
    She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
    Oh, boy.
    There was nothing to say. Calvin and Michael’s disappointment hung over their shoulders, a cape of black defeat.
    Well, at least we won’t expect her to say her poem tomorrow, Isaac thought. We failed. But it’s only a Christmas poem.
    Mam says acceptance of failure is a virtue, which is sort of hard to fathom, but I know now what she means, he thought. To lose with grace and dignity.
    “Ruthie, it’s okay,” he told her, his voice kind.
    She nodded.
    “You want to practice?”
    She looked at him, her eyes pools of fear. The monster called “I can’t” had caught up with her.
    The Hickory Grove pupils talked to some of the visiting school’s children, only the ones they knew, who attended the same church services. The teachers soon herded the children into waiting vans, whisking them off to their own schools, allowing Teacher Catherine time to clean and prepare the classroom for the most important event of the Christmas season.
    No matter how careful they had been, the upper-graders had erased parts of the camels’ legs on the blackboard by leaning on the chalk tray in singing class. So Isaac and Calvin were put to work, filling in the erased spots.
    Suddenly, Isaac was aware of Ruthie with a can of furniture polish and a dust cloth, viciously swiping desk tops, polishing them until they shone. In time to her ferocious swipes, she was singing, in jerks, but singing.
    “I. Hope. My. Heart. Has. Heard.” And on and on.
    Isaac jabbed an elbow into Calvin’s side, producing a puzzled expression and an “Ow!”
    “Listen to Ruthie,” Isaac hissed.
    They stopped their work, their ears straining to the sound. They both knew it was her Christmas poem. Isaac shrugged his shoulders, turned to the blackboard and continued fixing the camels’ legs. He was done with that SOS thing, same as he was done with Sim asking Catherine for a date. You could only do so much, and that was it. If Ruthie couldn’t do it, then that was that. If Sim wanted to be a bachelor, then that was that, too.
    He had other things in life to enjoy. Like a pony spring wagon. Imagine!
    He told Calvin he might be getting one, which was a great surprise to Calvin, since Isaac’s Christmas gifts usually amounted to less than half of his.
    “What got into your dat?” he asked.
    Isaac shrugged his shoulders, grinning happily.
    At home, the house smelled of gingerbread, date and nut pudding, and chocolate, all mixed together in anticipation of Mam’s Christmas ­dinner.
    Dat brought home a whole quart of oysters for oyster stew on