Read Online Call of the Kiwi by Sarah Lark - Free Book Online Page B

Lord and her motherly qualities. In the end Christopher reaped accolades from all sides.
    “Read the ‘Magnificat’ with them in the next bible study and talk about the ways in which Mary was blessed,” he directed Sarah. “That’s not as long as all those bible stories, and the women do want to chat about other things too, you know.”
    Indeed there was more gossiping than praying in bible study, and the reverend was a favorite subject. All the women raved about him, endlessly praising his many good deeds for the parish.
    Serious differences between Sarah and the parish only emerged when Christopher entrusted the Sunday school to her. Sarah loved the natural sciences, and answering students’ questions truthfully was among her deepest pedagogical convictions.
    “What could you possibly have been thinking?” Christopher asked when Sarah’s first lesson with the children resulted in a deluge of angry protests from parents. “You’re telling the children that we descend from apes?”
    Sarah shrugged. “Billy Grant wanted to know if God really made all the animals in six days. And Charles Darwin has since disproved that theory. So I explained to him that the Bible tells us a very beautiful story that helps us to better comprehend the wonder of creation. But then I explained to the children what actually happened.”
    Christopher tore his hair out. “That has in no way been proven,” he said indignantly. “And regardless, it doesn’t belong in a Christian Sunday school. Be more careful what you tell the children in the future. We’re not at the ends of the earth where such nihilistic ideas are perhaps tolerated.”
    Sarah did not want to admit it, but the longer she sampled the life of the future wife of a pastor, the more she longed to return to those ends of the earth. Until then she had always believed herself a good Christian, but she began to fear that that would not be enough here. She had felt more gratified working with children. And little Gloria seemed to be struggling too.
    Despite Christopher’s visible impatience—he and Sarah were often invited to luncheon at a parishioner’s after service, and he did not want to be late—she always withdrew, however briefly, with the girl and let Gloria talk.
    “I’m getting bad grades, Miss Bleachum,” Gloria complained, certain that this would interest the teacher more than Gabrielle’s daily tortures. “I can’t sing or read music or draw. But a few days ago I did see a frog, one as green as grass, Miss Bleachum, with tiny suction cups on its feet, and I sketched it. First a big picture of the frog and then a little one of its feet. Have a look, Miss Bleachum.” Gloria proudly proffered a slightly smeared charcoal sketch, and Sarah was impressed.
    “But Miss Blake-Sutherland thinks it’s disgusting. I’m not supposed to be drawing disgusting things. Art is supposed to depict pretty things. Gabrielle got a B because she drew a flower. It didn’t even look like a real flower. Geography is dull, they don’t teach any science, and we don’t have Latin, only French.”
    “But we did French too,” Sarah said, feeling suddenly guilty that she had not better prepared the girl. They had only begun the year before, and she knew that the other girls had probably been studying it for ages.
    Gloria confirmed that she was hopelessly behind. That gave Sarah Bleachum an idea.
    “Perhaps I could tutor you,” she suggested. “On Saturday or Sunday afternoon. Would you like that?”
    Gloria beamed. “That would be wonderful. You can write to Grandmum Gwyn about payment.”
    Sarah shook her head. “I want to do it, Glory. I’ll speak to Miss Arrowstone. We’ll find a way to convince her.”

    Although Christopher advised against it, Sarah took up the matter with Miss Arrowstone the very next day. The headmistress was initially not enthusiastic.
    “Miss Bleachum, we agreed that the girl must cut the apron strings. Gloria comes across as strange here; she