Amish Beginnings

by Vannetta Chapman

  “Why would you say that?” All color had drained from her face. “Why would you pretend to know what I should or shouldn’t do?”

  “I worked with Matthew on the playhouse. I know he’s lonely.”

  “You know nothing! You haven’t seen him on Sundays, longing to do what the other children do, but confined to his chair.”

  “I’m sure that must be difficult for you.”

  “You don’t hear him cry when he has a terrible dream or when he’s wet his bed because he can’t get up by himself.”

  “I wasn’t saying—”

  “You know nothing of our life, Jacob Schrock, and I’d thank you to stay out of it.”

  With those words, she pushed past him, hurried across the main room of the workshop and dashed into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

  * * *

  Hannah managed to avoid Jacob for the next hour. When it was time for her to leave, she would have walked through the main workroom without speaking, but Jacob called out to her before she reached the door.

  “If you’d like to cancel tomorrow, if you’d rather not take Matthew to see the playhouses, I understand.”

  She was mortified that she’d actually hollered at him. He’d been nothing but kind to both her and Jacob, and she’d responded with accusations and bitter words. So instead of jumping on his offer, she murmured, “Nein. We’ll see you at two o’clock.”

  She was feeling so miserable about the entire situation that she found herself confessing to Sally Lapp as she waited for Matthew to finish his PT appointment.

  “I shouldn’t have said those things, but he made me so angry.”

  “Which is understandable, dear.”

  “What does he know of raising a child like Matthew?”

  “Some people are like buttons, popping off at the wrong time!”

  “Now I don’t know if you mean me or Jacob.”

  “Perhaps both.”

  “Plus we’re spending an hour tomorrow with him. Did I tell you about our plan to go and see his playhouses?”

  “Ya. Sounds like a nice afternoon out.”

  “But seeing him both days of the weekend? It seems a little much...”

  Hannah had brought a stack of the receipts with her and was beginning to enter them in the ledger. She looked down at what she’d done. Her handwriting was a tight, precise cursive and her numbers lined up perfectly, but seeing the progress she’d made on Jacob’s accounts didn’t ease the guilt she felt.

  “I’ll need to apologize to him.”

  “We often feel better after we do.”

  “And I will, even though he’s wrong. Matthew does not need to be thrown into new situations.”

  “Mothers often know best.”

  “He’s barely had time to settle in from the move, get to know his cousins and aentis and onkels, not to mention his new church family...”

  “And yet children are ever so much more resilient than adults.” Sally had finished the blanket she’d been working on the week before. Her yarn was now variegated autumn colors.

  It reminded Hannah of cool nights and shorter days.

  “So you think we should go to Emily’s on Sunday?”

  “Oh, it’s not important what I think. What is your heart telling you to do?”

  Hannah stared down at the column of numbers, embarrassed that tears had sprung to her eyes. Why was she so emotional? Why did she feel the need to run from Jacob Schrock? And what was she so intent on protecting her son from when he was thriving?

  “Sometimes I’m not sure,” she admitted.

  “Pray on it. Make a decision when you’re rested, not in the middle or at the end of a long, hard day. Maybe talk to your parents.”

  The door to the waiting room opened, and a nurse pushed Matthew’s wheelchair through.

  “Gut day?” Hannah asked.

  “Awesome day.”

  He pestered her about Jacob all the way home—wanting to know if she’d seen him, what he was working on, what he’d said about their plans to visit a couple of his playhouses the next day. Hannah realized as they pulled into the short lane leading to her parents’ home that it wasn’t only Matthew she was trying to protect. She was also trying to protect herself.

  Raising any child was difficult, but raising a special needs child presented issues she’d never imagined. She constantly felt on guard for his feelings as well as his personal safety. She didn’t think she could handle Matthew’s look of disappointment when the other children ran off to play, or the whispered comments when no one thought she was listening or the looks of pity as she pulled his wheelchair from the buggy.

  Life was difficult.

  The one thing that made it easier was being home, alone, where the eyes of the world couldn’t pry. She only guessed that it made things easier for Matthew, but she was certain that it made things easier for herself.

  * * *

  Hannah needn’t have worried about making a decision as to whether they should join Jacob’s family for Sunday dinner. Emily had spoken with Hannah’s mother when they saw each other at the grocer in town. Plans had already been set in motion.

  She had no valid objections, so she didn’t bother to argue, but the entire thing made her tired and cranky. She had hardly slept Friday night after her argument with Jacob, and Saturday she worked twice as hard around the house—trying to make up for being gone all week. By the time they’d set lunch out on the table, she was tempted to beg off, say she had a headache, stay home and take a nap.

  One look at Matthew told her that wouldn’t be possible. He was wiggling in his chair and tapping his fingers against the table.

  During the meal Matthew peppered her with questions about the playhouses, and when she’d said I don’t know to over a dozen questions, he moved on to asking her about Jacob’s family.

  “Do they have animals?”

  “I’m sure they do.”

  “Sheep?”

  “Why would they have sheep?”

  “Camels?”

  Hannah began to laugh in exasperation, but her father combed his fingers through his beard as if he were in deep thought. Finally he leaned toward Matthew and lowered his voice as if to share a secret. “Only Amish man I know in this area with camels is Simon Eberly over in Middlebury. I’m sure I would have heard if Jacob’s family had any—so no, probably not.”

  Which only slowed Matthew down for a moment. He proceeded to fire off questions about camels and declare that he’d love to have one. When Hannah thought her patience was going to snap, her father took Matthew outside to see to the horses.

  “He’ll be fine, you know.” Her mother started washing the dishes, which meant it was Hannah’s turn to dry.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “It’s plain as day you worry about him.”

  “Of course I worry.”

  “He’ll be in school this time next year.”

  “Unless I hold him back a year. With his birthday being in September, we could decide to wait...”

  “He’s such a bright young boy. Already he’s better with his letters and numbers than you girls were at that age. Why would you want to hold him back?”

  “I don’t know, Mamm.” Hannah was tired, and she wasn’t yet halfway through the day.

  The time inched closer to two o’clock, and finally her mother suggested she might want to freshen up a bit.

  Hannah waited until she’d left the room to roll her eyes. Freshen up? It wasn’t a date. They were driving around to look at playhouses. She’d switch out of her cleaning dress, but she was not donning a fresh kapp. She certainly didn’t want Jacob to get the wrong idea.

  Then she remembered her conversation with Sally Lapp about the way she had treated Jacob. She’d made up her mind then, and she wasn’t going to change it now. She needed to a
pologize to Jacob, and the sooner the better. Suddenly what she wore seemed much less important.

  * * *

  Jacob made sure he arrived exactly at two o’clock.

  He’d apparently pushed a little too hard the day before. He hadn’t even known that he was pushing, but the way Hannah had melted down told him that he’d touched on a very sensitive subject. He wanted today to be fun and relaxing, not stressful. So he was careful not to arrive early or late.

  Which meant that he had to pull over on the side of the road and wait a few minutes before turning down the dirt lane that led to her father’s house.

  He needn’t have worried about being early. Matthew and Hannah were waiting on the front porch. The sight of them—her standing behind his wheelchair, and Matthew shading his eyes as he watched down the lane—caused Jacob’s thoughts to scatter, and for a moment he couldn’t remember why he was there. Then he glanced over and saw Matthew’s playhouse. “You’re getting old, Jacob. Or daft. You could be growing daft.”

  Ten minutes later they were off.

  The first stop was Jasper’s house. The boy wasn’t Amish, but he was sick. For three years now he had been valiantly fighting the cancer that threatened to consume his small body. Though nearly nine years old, he was approximately the same size as Matthew.

  “Wanna see my boat?”

  “Ya. I have a train.”

  “Did Jacob make it?”

  “He did.”

  “He’s gut at building things.”

  Jasper’s mom explained that she needed to stay inside with the baby, who was sleeping. “But make yourself at home. I was so glad to hear from you, Jacob, and Hannah, thank you for bringing Matthew. Jasper doesn’t have a lot of visitors.”

  After walking her around the playhouse, which was built in the shape of a sailboat, Jacob pointed to a bench a few feet away. “Care to sit?”

  “Ya. We cleaned all morning, so I’m tired.”

  “I heard you’re working on a big accounting job during the week.”

  She laughed, then pressed her fingers to her lips.

  “It’s okay to laugh, Hannah. You’re allowed.”

  “Oh, am I, now?” She tucked her chin and gave him a pointed look. He raised his hands in mock surrender, and she shook her head, then sighed.

  “Do I exasperate you?” he asked.

  “Nein. It’s only that I need to do something I don’t enjoy doing.”

  “Now?”

  “Ya.”

  “I’m intrigued.”

  “I need to apologize, Jacob.” She glanced up at him and then away—toward the sailboat, where Jasper was showing Matthew how to hoist a miniature sail. “I was rude to you yesterday, and I’m very sorry. I know better than to speak harshly to someone, let alone someone who is being kind to us.”

  “It’s my fault. I stuck my nose where it didn’t belong.”

  Now she laughed outright, causing the boys to look over at them and wave.

  “Perhaps you did, but it was probably something I needed to hear.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  “Danki.”

  “Gem gschene.”

  The moment felt curiously intimate, shared there on the bench with the sun slanting through golden trees. Jacob cleared his throat and tried to think of something else to say, but for the second time that day, his mind was completely blank.

  “It’s a fine line,” Hannah said. “Giving him the extra attention and care his condition requires, but not being overly protective. I’m afraid I’m still learning.”

  “You’re doing a wunderbaar job. Don’t let any fool neighbor or cranky boss tell you different.”

  Which caused her to smile again, and suddenly the tension that had been between them was gone. He was tempted to reach for her hand or touch her shoulder, but he realized that what Hannah was offering with her apology was a precious thing—her friendship. For now, he needed to be satisfied with that.

  * * *

  Hannah felt herself softening toward Jacob. How could she resist? He was patient with Matthew, kind toward her and it was plain that he was a good man. They stopped at three different playhouses—Jasper’s sailboat, a precious miniature cottage built for a young blind girl named Veronica, and a tiny-sized barn made for an Amish boy named John.

  “I spoke with John’s parents. They said we could come by and look, but that they wouldn’t be here.”

  “Is he sick too?” Matthew asked.

  “Not really sick, no, but he needed a special playground nonetheless.”

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “John was born with only one leg. His left leg stops at the knee. It’s a bit hard for him to get around at times.”

  “He uses crutches?”

  “He does, and he wears a prosthetic.”

  “Prophetic?”

  “Nein. A...” He glanced at Hannah, obviously hoping for help.

  “It’s a plastic leg, Matthew. Remember the older gentleman you see at physical therapy sometimes? He has one.”

  “But his is metal. I know because he let me touch it. Looks like a robot. He laughed when I told him so.”

  “John’s is plastic, but I’ve seen the metal ones.” Jacob resettled his hat on his head. “It bothers him sometimes, and he likes to take it off when he gets home. The challenge for me was to make him a playhouse where it was safe to do that.”

  “This was a fun trip, Jacob. You’re a gut builder.”

  “Thanks, Matt.”

  Jacob’s use of a nickname that only her father and her husband had used melted another piece of Hannah’s heart.

  After they’d visited the small barn, Jacob drove them to town, bought ice cream for everyone and laughed with Matthew as they chased swirls of pink down their cones. It was all Hannah could do to remind herself as they drove home that this was an outing for Matthew, that it had nothing to do with her and Jacob, and that he was not interested in dating her.

  Who would want a widow with a disabled child?

  She knew how precious Matthew was, but she also understood firsthand the trials, the terrible nights, the emergency hospital visits, the mountain of bills. No, it would be wrong to consider letting anyone share such a burden. A preposterous thought, anyway. Jacob had been nothing but friendly toward her. Yes, he had said I like you, but that could be said of the neighbor’s buggy.

  Raising Matthew was a road that she was meant to travel alone.

  When they reached the house, she went to transfer Matthew from the buggy to the chair, but Jacob was there to do it for her. His hand brushed against hers and then his brown eyes were staring into hers, searching her face, causing her hands to sweat and her heart to race.

  As they thanked Jacob for the afternoon and she pushed a very tired young boy into the house, she paused to glance back over her shoulder. Jacob Schrock was a good man, and there was no doubt in her mind that Gotte had a plan for him, a plan that more than likely included a wife and family.

  A whole family.

  One that wasn’t carrying the weight of her baggage.

  Chapter Ten

  Sunday morning dawned crisper and cooler than the day before. Jacob owned two Sunday shirts—they were identical in size, color and fabric. So why did he try on the first, discard it, try on the second and then switch back to the first?

  He studied his face in the mirror. If he turned right the reflection was of a normal man—not particularly good-looking, strong jawline, dark brown eyes, eyebrows that tended toward being bushy. If he turned right, he saw his father staring back at him.

  But if he turned left, he saw in his scars the detour his life had taken—the pain and the anger and the regret. He saw what might have been.

  It had taken him some time to learn to shave over the scars. Their Plain custom was for unmarried men to be clean shav
en, so he worked the razor carefully over the damaged tissue, using his fingers more than his eyes to guide the blade.

  Finishing, he tugged the towel from the rack and patted his face dry. He could lie to himself while he was sanding a piece of oak or shellacking a section of maple wood, but for those few moments each day when he faced his own reflection in the mirror, he saw and recognized the truth.

  He was lonely.

  He longed to have a wife.

  He dreamed of a family and a real home.

  There was a small kernel of hope buried deep in his heart that those things were possible.

  The moment passed as it always did, and he finished preparing for the visit next door to see his brother’s family.

  He chose to walk and wasn’t too surprised when the only one to meet him was his brother’s dog, Skipper. No one had been able to figure out exactly what kind of mutt Skipper was, though there was definitely some Beagle, Labrador and Boxer mixed in his background somewhere. Jacob bent down to scratch the old dog behind the ears and then together they climbed the steps to the front porch. Skipper curled up in a slat of sunlight, and Jacob let himself in.

  His brother’s voice let him know the family was still having their devotional in the sitting room.

  “‘Therefore I am troubled at his presence; when I consider I am afraid of Him. For God maketh my heart soft, and the Almighty troubleth me.’”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.” Samuel, the oldest of his nephews, sat on the far end of the sofa. Next to him were the twins, Tim and Thomas, then Eli, who was younger by eleven months, and finally Joseph, the baby of the group at six. All five nephews were lined up like stair steps.

  “Why do you say that?” Micah asked, nodding at Jacob, who pulled a chair from the kitchen and took a seat.

  “Gotte loves us.” Samuel craned his neck and stared up at the corner of the ceiling as if he might find answers there. “The Bible says so. Remember? We read it just last week.”

  “Ya, that’s true,” Emily said.