“It’s natural for young boys Matthew’s age to look up to their elders—your father, your brothers-in-law, the men in church.”
“Ya. I know it is. But those are all people who are a constant presence in his life.”
“Soon he will be in school,” Sally continued. “I’m sure you realize that some teachers stay a long time, but others only last a year.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Some people are in our lives permanently. Others? Gotte brings them to us for a short time.”
Instead of answering, Hannah sighed.
Sally turned the baby blanket and began a row of purl stitches. They flowed seamlessly together with the knit stitches. The result was a pattern that looked as if it had been produced in an Englisch factory.
“Jacob Schrock, he’s a gut man.”
“Is he in your district?”
“He was, but we had to split recently. So many families. So many grandkinner.”
“I went to school with him, but that was years ago.”
“Before his accident, then.”
“Ya.” Hannah pulled the shawl she was supposed to be working on back out of her bag, but she didn’t bother with hunting for the crochet needle.
“Terrible thing. Both of his parents were killed. The fire chief said the blaze was caused by a lightning strike. Jacob was out in the buggy when it happened. I heard that he saw the blaze from the road, ran into the burning house, and pulled out his mamm and his dat, but it was too late.”
Hannah’s hand went to her left cheek. “That’s how he got the scars?”
“For sure and certain. He was in the hospital for a long time. The doctors wanted to do more surgeries...graft skin onto his face. They said that he would look as gut as new.”
“So why didn’t they?”
Sally shrugged. “He would still be a man who had lost his parents in a fire, who had endured unfathomable pain. Removing the scars from his face wouldn’t have removed the scars from his heart.”
“Yes, but—”
“Jacob decided not to have the additional surgeries. Our bishop would have allowed it, but Jacob said no. He said the money that had been donated should go to someone else.”
“Kind of him.”
“Ya, he is a kind man. He was also very depressed for...” Sally stared across the room, as if she were trying to count the years, to tally them into something that made sense. “For two, maybe three years. Rarely came to church. Kind of hid inside his house.”
“What changed?” Hannah asked. “When did he start making playhouses?”
“I suppose the playhouse building started a few years ago. As to what changed, you’d have to ask Jacob.”
“He seems happy enough now.”
“Trouble finds us all from time to time. Now Jacob is dealing with this tax audit.”
“Tax audit?”
“They’re not saying he did anything wrong, mind you. Only that he’ll have to produce ledgers and receipts.”
“Can he?”
Sally grimaced as she again turned the blanket and began a new row of knit stitches. “My granddaughter tried to work for him. She lasted less than a day. Said that he’d apparently been paying his taxes based on some system he kept scribbled on random sheets of paper. Said she couldn’t make any sense of it at all.”
“Oh my.”
“And the receipts? Thrown into bins with the year taped on the outside. A giant mess according to Abigail. Said she’d rather keep waitressing than deal with that. Fortunately, she was able to get her old job back.”
“But what about Jacob?”
“He’s still looking for someone.” Sally’s needles stopped suddenly, clicking together as she dropped them in her lap. “Seems I remember you being very gut in math.”
“That was years ago.”
“It’s an ability, though, not something you forget.”
“I wouldn’t—”
“And didn’t you mention last week that you were worried about your parents’ finances?”
“Well, yes, but... I’m looking for a job that pays well, something in town perhaps.”
“Any success?”
“Not yet.”
Sally picked up her needles again, and Hannah hoped the subject was dropped. She could not work for Jacob Schrock. He would be out of her life by the end of the week. The last thing she needed was to be in constant contact with him, working with him on a daily basis. The way he looked at her? Such a mixture of pity and compassion. She didn’t need to face that every day, and how could she leave Matthew?
Always her mind circled back to that final question. How could she leave her son eight, maybe even nine hours a day? Could she expect her mother to pick up the slack? How was Mamm supposed to cope with one more thing on top of all she had to do?
Matthew wheeled through the doorway and into the waiting room, a smiley sticker on the back of his hand, and Hannah began gathering up her things. It was as she turned to go that Sally said, “Think about it, Hannah. It could be that you would be a real blessing to Jacob, and maybe...maybe it would solve your problems in the process.”
* * *
She’d have to ask Jacob about the job.
Only of course, she wouldn’t. It was all none of her business. Soon he’d be done with the playhouse and she wouldn’t see him again, which would suit her just fine. Dolly clip-clopped down the road, more content with the day than Hannah was.
She would be content, if she had a job. If they didn’t have financial problems. If she wasn’t so worried about Matthew.
It would be crazy to consider working for Jacob.
He might be a kind, talented man, but he was also damaged. He’d suffered a terrible loss, which might explain why he pushed his nose into other people’s business. Just the day before, he’d looked at her as if she was crazy when she’d tried to put a sweater on Matthew. True, it was eighty degrees, but Matthew had been known to catch a cold in warmer weather than that.
Nope. Jacob Schrock didn’t belong in her life.
Matthew peeled the sticker off his hand and stuck it on to the buggy.
“Your therapists said you did a gut job today.”
“Uh-huh.”
“They also said you did everything fast, that you seemed to be in a rush to be done.”
“Are we almost home?”
“A few more miles.”
“Faster, please.”
“You want me to hurry this old buggy mare?”
“Daddi’s horse is faster.”
“Indeed.” Her father had ordered a second buggy horse when she’d come home to live. Hannah had protested it wasn’t necessary, but he’d insisted. Come to think of it, maybe he’d insisted because Dolly was getting older and they’d have to replace her soon, which didn’t bear thinking about. Dolly was the first buggy horse that Hannah had learned to drive.
While Matthew stared out the window, he pinched his bottom lip in between his thumb and forefinger, pulling it out like a pout and then letting it go. It was a habit that she saw only when he was anxious about something.
And she didn’t doubt for a minute that the source of his anxiety was right now hammering two-by-fours into the shape of a train.
They were about to pass the parking area for the Pumpkinvine Trail. Hannah pulled on the right rein and called out to Dolly, who docilely turned off the road.
“Why are we stopping?” Matthew frowned out at the trail, a place he usually enjoyed visiting.
“We need to talk.”
Now he stared up at her, eyes wide. “Am I in trouble?”
“No, Matt. Not at all.”
“Then what?”
Instead of answering, she studied him a minute. Already he had such a unique personality—with his own likes, dislikes and ideas. Admittedly
, she felt more protective of him than most mothers might feel of a nearly five-year-old child, but she understood that this concern wasn’t only about his disability. It was also about his not having a father, about his missing the presence of a dad in his life.
“You like Jacob a lot. Don’t you?”
“Yes!”
“But you remember that he’s only at our house because some people paid him to be there.”
“Uh-huh.”
“He’s doing a job.”
“And I’m his ’rentice.”
Hannah sighed, closed her eyes, and prayed for patience and wisdom. When she opened her eyes, Matt reached out and patted her hand. “Don’t worry, Mamm. He’s a gut guy. Even Daddi said so.”
“Oh, ya, I’m sure he is.”
“So what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, really. But you do understand that Jacob is only going to be at our house for a few days, right? Then he’ll have another job, building another playhouse for someone else.”
Matt frowned and pulled on his bottom lip. “Another kid like me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Hannah reached out and brushed the hair out of his eyes.
“Uh-huh.”
“What do you mean, okay?”
“It’s okay that Jacob won’t be at our house because he’ll be at somebody else’s house making them happy.”
Since she didn’t have an answer for that, she called out to Dolly, who backed up and then trotted out of the parking area, back onto the two-lane.
She was willing to admit that possibly her son saw things more clearly than she did. Didn’t the Bible tell them they were to become like little children? Hannah wasn’t sure she’d be able to do that—her worries weighed too heavily on her heart, but maybe in this situation she could follow Matt’s lead. At least for a few more days.
And she would double her efforts looking for a job because she most certainly was not going to ask Jacob about what kind of help he needed.
* * *
Jacob had always enjoyed working on playhouses. He liked building things with an eye for small children. Some people might say it was because his own father had built him a similar type of playhouse. But his father had also taught him to play baseball and he had no urge to coach the youngies. His father had taught him how to sow seed and harvest it, but he had no desire to be a farmer.
He was grateful for his father, for both of his parents, and he still missed them terribly. But learning to build wooden playthings for children had been a gift from Gotte, a real blessing at the lowest point in his life. Today he was able to share part of that blessing with young Matthew, and he wanted every piece of it to be as good as he could make it.
So he measured everything twice—the main doorway into the train, the back door which ended on a small porch and the entryways between the cars. Wheelchairs required extra room and Matthew would probably require a larger chair as he grew. Though he was nearly five now, children as old as ten or even twelve often played on the structures that Jacob made. As Matthew grew, no doubt his chair would become a bit bigger. Jacob wanted the playhouse to be as accessible to him as his home.
He sanded the floor smoothly so that the wheels of the chair wouldn’t hang up on an uneven board.
He added a little extra height so that Matthew’s friends who would be standing and walking and running could play along beside him.
And when he heard the clatter of a buggy, he put down his tools and ambled over to meet Hannah and Matthew.
“Hi, Jacob. I can help now.”
“You already helped me this morning. Remember?”
“Ya, but—”
“Actually I’m about to call it a day.”
“Oh.”
“There is one thing I need...won’t take but a minute.”
“Sure! Anything. What is it?”
“I need you to come and do an early inspection.”
“You do?”
“Yup. I need my apprentice’s opinion before I move forward.”
“Cool!”
Hannah had parked the buggy, set the brake and jogged around to help Matthew out.
Jacob stepped forward as if to help, but a frown from Hannah and a short shake of her head convinced him not to try. She was obviously used to doing things on her own. So instead he stood there, feeling like an idiot because a woman weighing roughly the same as a hundred pound sack of feed struggled with simply helping her son out of a buggy.
As he watched, she removed the straps that secured the wheelchair to the back of the buggy, then set it on the ground, opened it, secured something along the back. Finally she opened the buggy’s door wide so that Matthew’s legs wouldn’t bang against anything.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Ready.” He threw his arms around her neck and she stepped back as she took the full weight of him, then settled him into the chair.
How would she do this when he was seven or ten or twelve? How would Hannah handle the logistics of a fully grown disabled son? Was there any possibility that he would ever regain the use of his legs? Jacob had a dozen questions, and he didn’t ask any of them because it wasn’t really his business.
He reached into the buggy, snagged Matt’s straw hat and placed it on his head. The boy gave him a thumbs-up, and adjusted himself in the chair as easily as Jacob straightened his suspenders in the morning.
“Let’s go,” Matthew said.
“Whoa. Hang on a minute. We need to see to your mamm’s horse first.”
“I can take care of Dolly,” Hannah insisted.
“Nonsense.” He stepped closer to Hannah and lowered his voice. “What kind of neighbor would I be if I let you do that?”
“You’re our neighbor now?”
“In a sense.”
“So you want to take care of my horse?”
“Ya. I do.”
“Fine. I’ll just go inside and have a cup of tea.”
“But I thought you might go with us and...” His words slid away as she walked toward the house, waving without turning around.
“Come on, Jacob. Let’s do this.”
Matthew wheeled alongside him as he led the mare into the barn.
“Her name’s Dolly,” Matthew said when they stopped inside the barn.
The horse lowered her head so that she was even with the boy. Matthew sat in front of her and stroked from her forehead to her muzzle.
“Good Dolly,” Matthew said.
Jacob unhitched the buggy, took off the harness and placed it on the peg on the wall, and then led Dolly through the barn to the pasture.
“Now?” Matt asked.
“Now.”
Matt had to move slowly over the parts of uneven ground that led to where the playhouse was being constructed. It was definitely the best place for the structure, as Alton had noted. But the going was a little rough, and it occurred to Jacob that a wooden walk would make things much easier. He had enough lumber scraps at home to do it. An extra day, maybe two, and he could have a nice smooth path from the driveway to the playhouse.
“That is way cool,” Matt exclaimed, sounding exactly like an Englisch boy Jacob had built a playhouse for the week before. Kids were kids, and cool was a pretty standard response to something they liked.
“Let’s show you the inside.”
Jacob let Matthew go first and watched as he maneuvered his way up the small ramp and into the main cabin of the train. The engine room was to his left and the passenger car was to his right. Beyond that was a small back porch. On an actual train, this would be the end of the observation car, and the area would resemble a roofed porch. Now that he thought about it, a roof wasn’t a bad idea. He could add it easily enough.
Matthew made his way to the front of the train. Jacob ha
d created a space where he could pull up his wheelchair and pretend he was in the conductor’s seat. To his right Jacob had fastened a wooden bench and in front of him there were knobs and such for him to pull and pretend to direct the train.
“Wow,” he said.
“We’re not finished yet, buddy. We still need to put on the roof, and...other stuff.”
“Can I help?”
“I’m counting on it. I’ll be here early tomorrow morning.”
They were standing right next to each other, or rather, Jacob was standing next to Matthew. Before Jacob realized what was happening, Matt had pivoted in his seat and thrown his arms around his legs.
“Danki,” the boy said in a low voice.
“Ger gschehne.” Jacob found that his voice was tight, but the words of their ancestors passed between them as easily as water down a riverbed.
Jacob pushed Matthew’s chair the length of the car. They moved slowly, studying every detail, until Hannah’s mamm came outside and rang the dinner bell.
Jacob did not intend to stay and eat, but it seemed that Claire expected it. She’d already set an extra place at the table. It would have been rude to refuse, or so he told himself.
The meal was satisfying and the conversation interesting. He realized that too often he ate alone, that he actually missed the back-and-forth between family members. There was no reason for it either. His brother lived next door, and he had a standing offer to eat with them.
Why had he pulled away?
Had it been so painful to see what he would never have?
There was no such awkwardness with Hannah’s family. Claire spoke of the painted bunting she’d spied on the birdbath. Alton updated them on the crops. Hannah described how well Matthew had done at physical therapy.
As for Matthew, he was practically nodding off in his seat by the time they’d finished eating.
Hannah excused herself, transferred him from the dinner chair to the wheelchair and pushed him down the hall.
“She’s pretty amazing, your daughter.” He hadn’t meant to say the words. They’d slipped from his heart to his lips without consulting his brain.
Amish Beginnings Page 4
