by Marta Perry
“I’ve spoken too soon,” Aunt Paula said. “I shouldn’t have asked it.”
“It’s all right. I just . . .”
I can’t. That was what she wanted to say. Dressing Plain was too much of a commitment. Too close to saying that she was here for good. She couldn’t do that.
And yet how could she say no? When she thought of all she owed her aunt, how could she?
She’d left the outside world out of desperation, feeling caught in a trap of never having enough money, enough security, unless she dipped into the death gratuity benefit, which she was trying to save for her son’s future, always afraid of what the next day would bring.
But maybe, in its own way, Pleasant Valley could be a trap, too.
CHAPTER TWO
Hannah smoothed the denim jumper down over her waist, frowning at herself in the mirror. She’d always dressed modestly, never been comfortable with the idea of super-short skirts and navel-baring tops. Still, that wasn’t really what had brought up Aunt Paula’s request, was it?
For her aunt, dressing like the other women in her church was showing that you were a part of that community. How you dressed was a reflection of who you were.
That wasn’t who Hannah was, and it hadn’t been for a long time. At some point during a mostly sleepless night she’d almost convinced herself that agreeing would be like wearing a uniform, something you did to fit in at your job. Almost, but not quite.
The clatter of blocks falling announced that Jamie was tired of the tower she’d helped him build. He toddled over to her and grasped the skirt of her jumper, pulling on it.
“In a minute, sweetheart. Let Mommy fix her hair. Then we’ll go downstairs with Aunt Paula. You’ll like that, won’t you?”
By way of an answer, Jamie scurried to the baby gate she’d stretched across the bedroom door. He shook it, a prisoner trying to get out of his jail.
“Yes, yes, in a minute,” she repeated. She pulled her hair back in a ponytail and twisted it into the bun she wore when she worked in the bakery. Too bad she’d had her hair cut in layers the last time she’d had it done. Given the way her hair wanted to curl, getting the smooth look achieved so easily by Plain women was virtually impossible.
She paused, hairpin in her hand, struck by a memory she hadn’t known was there. Her mother stood in front of a mirror, just as she was doing, while a small Hannah sat on the bed, swinging her legs and watching. Mammi put her prayer kapp in place over her hair, and the little girl Hannah had been reached up to pat her own.
“Some people don’t wear kapps,” she’d said.
“Ja, that’s so.” Mammi turned from the mirror to smile at her. “But we do.”
“Why?” she’d persisted.
Mammi sat down next to her. “The Bible says that a woman should have her head covered when she prays. I might want to pray anytime of the day, ain’t so?” She patted Hannah’s cheek. “Besides, it shows where we belong.”
The adult Hannah put her hand on her cheek, almost imagining she could feel her mother’s touch. An unpleasant idea pricked at her mind. She’d thought, so often, of what it had done to her when her parents took her away from Pleasant Valley. Maybe she should have considered what it had done to Mammi.
She went quickly to the door and opened the gate. At least her parents had had a choice. She hadn’t.
Hannah held Jamie’s hand as they walked down the stairs, encouraging him to grasp the spindles with each step. She’d get there faster if she carried him, but he’d never lived in a house with stairs before, and he had to learn to master them safely.
The morning rush was well under way, with the usual mix of Amish, Mennonite, and English sharing the news of the day or comments about the weather. Several people were lined up at the counter, and three of the five round tables were filled.
Hannah guided Jamie to his play yard and lifted him in, nodding to Naomi Esch, the Amish woman who worked for Aunt Paula. Naomi had a nod for her and a warm smile for Jamie as she bent to tickle him, saying something softly in Pennsylvania Dutch. Jamie giggled, making a grab for her kapp strings.
“He loves you,” Hannah said impulsively. “You’d be a good mother, Naomi.”
A shadow crossed Naomi’s face, making Hannah wish she hadn’t spoken. Then it was gone, and Naomi was smiling.
“Ja, I had lots of practice raising my little brothers and sisters,” she said. “Do you want to take the tables, and I’ll help Paula behind the counter?”
It was obviously a change of subject, and Hannah nodded. Tying an apron over her jumper, she picked up the coffeepot and began refilling cups, talking to the regular customers as she did.
She glanced again at Naomi, busy now behind the counter. Naomi was probably close to Hannah in age, and most Amish women were married by then. According to Aunt Paula, Naomi had taken over her younger siblings when her mother died, and her father still kept her close to home, even now that the younger ones were grown. If that bothered Naomi, it couldn’t be read on her serene, pleasant face.
Difficult parents. Hannah’s thoughts flickered to her own again. She hadn’t had a monopoly on that, had she? She turned back to her work, trying to forget.
The bakery had emptied out by midmorning when William Brand came in. Did he time it that way deliberately, so he wouldn’t have to talk to people? The thought bothered her, reminding her of Aunt Paula’s suggestion about her working with William.
Not that she needed a reminder, with her aunt sending her a meaningful glance, which she tried to ignore. Instead, she watched William, who detoured as usual to speak to Jamie.
William’s face relaxed when he knelt by the plastic barrier. It wasn’t just that William stuttered less when he spoke to Jamie. He let down his guard, too. Did he even recognize how wary he looked sometimes, at least around strangers? That was gone now, his strong-boned face gentled by a smile and his blue eyes warm with laughter over something Jamie was babbling.
Aunt Paula elbowed her. “Talk to him,” she murmured.
Sending her aunt an exasperated look, Hannah moved to the counter as William approached it. But before she could say anything, the bell over the door jingled.
The Amish man who entered was solid and middle-aged, with eyes as blue as William’s but a beard that reached below his collar.
“Good morning.” She nodded to him. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
She turned to William, but the other man was elbowing him out of the way.
“Ach, my brother will wait, I know.” He nodded to Paula and Naomi, who were busying themselves behind the counter. “I am Isaac Brand. You must be Paula’s niece, ja?”
Hannah nodded, smiling automatically. So this was William’s older brother. What had Aunt Paula said about him? That he liked snapping orders and had a scant supply of patience?
“I’ll be with you as soon as I’ve finished William’s order.” She picked up a sheet of the waxed paper they used to handle the pastries. “Crullers again today, William? Or would you and Caleb prefer donuts?”
“I-it’s okay,” he stammered, stepping to the side. “You c-c-can t-t-take c-c-care of—”
“You see?” Isaac interrupted him. “My brother doesn’t mind, and I must get on with my business. A large coffee with cream and sugar. And I’ll have one of those Bavarians, ja?”
Hannah opened her mouth to argue, but a quick glance at William’s face told her that her defense wouldn’t be welcomed. And Aunt Paula was already coming to the counter with coffees.
“Here you are, Isaac, and William, here is yours and Caleb’s. Hannah, will you see to the pastries while I ring them up?”
She nodded, bending to the pastry case so that no one would see the indignation in her face.
“We’ll be cutting hay in the south field tomorrow.” Isaac glanced at his brother. “Tell C
aleb I’ll need you then.”
William nodded, his face expressionless.
It’s not your business, she reminded herself. Anyway, William is probably used to the way Isaac speaks to him.
Somehow those rationalizations didn’t help. She handed William the bag with his purchases, their fingers brushing. He nodded his thanks and turned away, face averted.
She watched as the brothers went out, parting ways on the sidewalk in front of the shop.
“That’s Isaac,” Aunt Paula said, unnecessarily. “He’s a gut enough man in his way, I suppose, but he never sees anyone’s viewpoint but his own.”
“Does William live with him?” She regretted the show of interest the moment she said the words. Aunt Paula didn’t need any encouragement.
“Ja,” Naomi said, joining them at the counter. “Well, not exactly with him. He lives in the grossdaadi house on the family farm. He helps out there, besides working with Caleb.”
“That must keep him busy,” Hannah commented, wondering if Naomi would say more.
Naomi frowned a little. “Isaac has sons of his own big enough to help, and folks thought maybe William would go in full-time with Caleb. But I guess Isaac still needs him.”
Or liked having William on call. Hannah reminded herself again that it wasn’t her business.
Still, it rankled, the way Isaac had pushed William aside and interrupted him. If all his family showed such disregard for him, it was small wonder that William found it difficult to speak for himself.
Before she was even aware of having made up her mind, she was taking the apron off. She glanced at her aunt. “Do you mind if I take Jamie out for a little walk while it’s quiet?”
“That’s fine.” Aunt Paula had a knowing look in her eyes. “Where are you planning to go?” she asked, all innocence.
Hannah suppressed the urge to say that her aunt already knew. “I think I’ll go and have a little talk with William,” she said.
Maybe he’d want the limited help she had to offer. Maybe he’d reject her, feeling embarrassed or offended. She didn’t know. But she had to try.
* * *
Jamie bounced eagerly in the stroller when they started down the street, hanging on to the tray as if it were a steering wheel. “Go,” he announced.
A woman who was passing slowed, smiling at him. “Hi there, sweetheart.” She gave a friendly nod to Hannah and moved on.
That sort of thing happened all the time in Pleasant Valley, and Hannah still hadn’t gotten used to it. She wasn’t sure whether people were just naturally friendly or whether they knew who she was and connected her with Aunt Paula.
She wheeled the stroller past the hardware store and glanced in the window of the harness shop run by Bishop Mose, leader of the local Amish. She could see him at the counter, white beard flowing to his chest.
Memory stirred. She had walked down this street as a child, probably been wheeled down it in a stroller even earlier, just as Jamie was. Maybe it wasn’t so odd that people seemed to know her.
She hesitated in front of the frame building that housed the cabinetry shop on one side and the quilt shop on the other. It wasn’t too late to turn around and walk back.
Don’t be such a coward, she lectured herself. All he can do is say no. That might hurt your pride, but nothing else.
She pulled the door open and maneuvered the stroller inside, and paused again to figure out a path through the furniture pieces displayed in hospitable-looking groupings. Maybe she should have left the stroller on the sidewalk.
“Komm in, komm in.” An Amish woman stood at the count-er, talking to a man behind it who must be William’s cousin. “Can I help you with the stroller?” She was already coming toward them, smiling. “I am Katie Miller. You must be Paula’s niece.”
She must. It was what everyone said. Hannah nodded, returning the woman’s smile. “I’m Hannah Conroy. Everybody seems to know that.”
“Ach, I remember that feeling very well. I was the newcomer for a while, and it seemed so strange that everyone knew me when I didn’t know them.” Katie knelt, face-to-face with Jamie. “This fine big boy must be Jamie. I have heard about you from William.”
Jamie chuckled, standing in the stroller and banging on the tray. He raised his arms in an unmistakable gesture. “Up!” he demanded.
“Jamie, she doesn’t want—” Hannah began.
But Katie was already lifting him in her arms. “For sure I do want,” she said. “Look, Jamie, here is Caleb.”
She carried him to the counter with Hannah following.
“Wilkom, Jamie.” He smiled, holding out a hand to the baby. “And wilkom to your mammi, too.”
Caleb didn’t share William’s blue eyes and fair coloring, but Hannah thought she might have picked them out as relatives. Something in the strong bone structure of the faces was very similar.
“It’s nice to meet you both.” She glanced from Caleb to Katie, who was bouncing Jamie in her arms. Hadn’t Aunt Paula said something about the two of them getting married? Through the archway she could see the bright colors of Katie’s quilts. Maybe sharing the building had brought them together.
“Can we help you with something?” Caleb asked. “We make a few wooden children’s toys, but nothing is on display right now.”
“No, I . . . actually I wanted to speak to William for a moment. Is he here?” She’d nearly had as much difficulty getting the words out as William might.
“Ja, for sure. He’s upstairs in the workroom.” Caleb gestured toward a flight of steps. “Go right on up.”
“I would love to watch Jamie while you talk, if you think he will stay with me,” Katie said.
Since Jamie was pounding on the counter enthusiastically with a wooden dowel Katie had handed him, there didn’t seem to be any doubt about that. And it certainly would be easier to have an adult conversation without his noisy presence.
“Thanks so much. I’ll just be a few minutes.” She waved at Jamie and hurried to the steps.
It might be a very few minutes if William were embarrassed by what she’d come to say. After all, he was an adult. He’d apparently learned to function well in his world despite his speech difficulty. Maybe she was being presumptuous.
By the time she’d reached that point in her thoughts, she emerged into a bright open space at the top of the stairs. William was at a workbench, but he’d obviously heard her coming, and he looked at her with a question in his bright blue eyes.
She took a breath, trying to think how best to start. “So this is where you spend your time.” She glanced around the room, its worktables home to various pieces of William and Caleb’s craftsmanship: rocking chairs, a quilt rack, a child’s doll cradle.
“J-ja.” William put down the wooden handle he’d been holding. “W-what d-do you want, Hannah?”
She didn’t think he’d meant to be rude by the abrupt question. He’d figured out how to say things in the shortest way possible—that was all.
She took another breath. Just get it out.
“I wanted to ask you something, but I think I have to explain a little bit first.” She touched her fingertips to the workbench, as if that would help. “Before I was married, when I was in college, I studied speech therapy.”
She hesitated. He understood, she was sure. As Aunt Paula had said, William was bright enough.
“Anyway, I should say that I didn’t finish school, so I’m not really a qualified speech therapist, but—”
“W-why?” he asked, his gaze steady on her face.
“Why didn’t I finish?” The question had thrown her off her stride. “I . . . Well, I met Travis Conroy.” She tried to smile. “We fell in love and got married, but he was transferred to another army base, so I had to drop out of school to go with him.”
“I’m s-s-sorry.
A-about your husband.” The sympathy in his face was so great that it was almost like a touch.
Her throat tightened. Maybe eventually she’d get over that reaction to sympathy, but not yet.
“Thank you.” She shook her head slightly. “I suppose everyone in town knows about me, don’t they? That my husband was killed in the war in Afghanistan, I mean?”
“Maybe n-not everybody,” he said.
The flicker of humor surprised her into a smile. “I guess that sounded self-centered, didn’t it? Well, anyway, even though I don’t have a degree, I do know a little about working with people who stutter. And I wondered if I could help you.”
William’s face tightened into immobility. He had to have guessed where she was headed with this conversation, but he still seemed unprepared for the direct offer. He didn’t say anything, and the very silence pushed her into speech again.
“I’m sure you could find someone more qualified if you were willing to travel to a bigger town, but I’m here in Pleasant Valley. Aunt Paula suggested it, and I know she wouldn’t mind letting me off work a few hours a week to help you. While Jamie is napping in the afternoon, for instance, if that would work for you.”
She had the feeling she was starting to babble, but his continued silence unnerved her. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, whether he was upset by the suggestion, or—
“D-denke,” he said. He stared down at his hands, braced on the worktable, frowning a little. “I d-d-don’t k-know if that’s a g-gut idea.”
She’d thought she might be relieved if William turned her down. Then she would have made the offer but wouldn’t have to follow through. Instead she wanted to bombard him with arguments to persuade him.
“Do you think I wouldn’t be able to help you? Is that it? I can’t guarantee anything, of course, but most stutterers can be helped by therapy. Even learning a few techniques might make it easier for you to express yourself.”
His lips pressed firmly together. It was almost as if—
“Don’t you want to speak more easily?” The question was out before she realized that some might consider it unfeeling.
