by Marta Perry
“Katie has several quilt groups and classes that meet here,” Rhoda said. “Do you like to quilt?”
Hannah smiled, taking the bag Katie held out to her. “I’m afraid I don’t have time for it, with my work at the bakery and a baby to take care of.”
“Katie said you have a little boy.” Rhoda’s eyes sparkled. “I love babies. If you need anyone to watch him sometime, I’d love it.”
“Thanks. That’s good to know.” Though where she’d go that she’d need a sitter, she couldn’t imagine. Even if she could afford to hire one.
With an inward shudder she thought of the last sitter she’d hired to watch Jamie while she worked. The woman had come with wonderful references, but Hannah had quickly discovered that she left Jamie to cry in his crib while she watched daytime television. Hannah still had nightmares about Jamie crying and no one coming.
“Anytime,” Rhoda said. She glanced at her sister. “I’ll finish the back room, ja?”
“Sounds gut.” Katie waited until her sister had disappeared through a door at the back. “She really is fine with kinder. You could trust her. But I think you did not come just to buy fabric or to talk about my sister.”
The kindness and understanding in Katie’s eyes were reassuring. Hannah nodded.
“You’ve guessed, then. I was worried that I had offended William earlier. I thought you would know.”
“Ja, he told us about your offer to help him with his stammer. That was ser kind of you, and I don’t think he was offended.”
“But he didn’t say yes,” Hannah pointed out.
Katie hesitated, as if choosing her words. “It seemed to me that William wanted to accept. For sure, Caleb and I think it a fine idea. But William . . . he seems to be afraid it might set people talking.”
Hannah blinked. That was certainly the last reason she’d expected. “But why? It’s not as if we’d be doing anything wrong. I would just work with him in the afternoon, when Jamie was napping.”
She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be upset. Did William think her offer was a means of flirting with him?
“Ach, you don’t need to tell me there would be nothing wrong. Or William either, for that matter. But . . .” She hesitated and then shook her head. “You will not understand unless I tell you a bit more about William.”
Hannah would think that William, of all people, would have a life like an open book. “If it’s something private—”
“I’m sure most people in the valley know of it, though Will probably wishes they didn’t.” Katie shook her head as if exasperated with herself. “It’s this way, you see. There was a brother between Isaac and William, and when he died in an accident, it was natural for William to start helping his widow, Rachel, and her kinder. Maybe natural, too, that he grew to think himself in love with her.”
Hannah hadn’t expected that. “If they loved each other, surely—”
“William is several years younger than Rachel, you see. I wasn’t here at the time, but Rachel is a friend, and she has told me about it. She loved him like a brother, not like a man.” She shook her head, smiling slightly. “And William was young and foolish. He did some things . . . oh, nothing bad. Just some little accidents, so that he could come to the rescue and Rachel would see how much she needed him. Foolish, as I say, and when it came out, William was mortified and ashamed. He had to confess to the church, even.”
“It must have been so hard on him. And on Rachel, for that matter.” Hannah tried to imagine the shame William must have felt.
“Ja. They are friends now, and Rachel is married again. But still, I think William is sensitive about what happened. Maybe he fears that if people see him getting close to another older woman . . .” Katie spread her hands wide. “Well, you can understand. Someone with more confidence than William wouldn’t give it a second thought, I’m sure, but because of his stammer, he does.”
“I understand. I don’t want to do anything that would make his life more difficult.”
Katie reached across the counter to pat Hannah’s hand, and for a moment they seemed to be allies. Friends. “I’d like to see William get over these feelings. I’ll do what I can to persuade him to say yes.”
“Thank you.” But given the pain that was behind William’s reasons, Hannah doubted anything would work.
“This is a gut thing you’re offering,” Katie said. “Don’t give up on him.”
“I won’t.” She smiled at Katie, feeling the understanding between them.
At least one good thing had come out of her effort. It seemed she’d found a friend.
* * *
Amish worship on Sunday morning had been at Rachel and Gideon Zook’s barn, and William had lingered after the lunch to help with the cleanup and spend a little time with his nieces and nephew.
Worship sometimes left him feeling a bit unsettled, and today had been one of those days. He couldn’t help but notice, when he sat in worship, that most of the boys he’d grown up with now wore the beards of married men. They’d also been baptized, so that they were full members of the church.
But not him. Most folks decided to be baptized when they were ready to marry, and he had never been at that point. Not that he couldn’t have asked to be baptized anyway, but somehow the time had never seemed right. If he were baptized into the church, maybe then he’d feel as if he weren’t on the outside looking in, but that seemed a poor reason for making such a serious decision.
“That’s the last of them,” Gideon said, and he swung shut the door of the wagon that carried benches from house to house or barn to barn for worship every other Sunday. “Denke, William.”
“G-gut to have it d-done, ja?” Most folks liked hosting worship, but felt relief at knowing their turn wouldn’t come around again for a year.
“For sure,” Gideon said. “Maybe Rachel will stop her cleaning now. She even wanted to shine every window in the greenhouses.”
“L-looks fine.” Rachel had started with one small greenhouse for her plants, but her business had gone well and now there were two.
“I did that, Onkel Will.” Joseph, Rachel’s boy, had approached in time to hear what his stepfather had said. “I shined every window. Even the high ones.”
“You’re g-getting so big you’ll soon d-do it without a ladder.”
He smiled at the boy, but with a small pang in his heart. Joseph was almost nine now, and it seemed he looked more like his daad each year that passed. In his blue shirt and black vest, he was a replica of Ezra dressed for worship at that age.
“You did a fine job, Joseph,” Gideon said, snatching off Joseph’s straw hat to ruffle his fine hair, and then plopping it back on again. “You made your mamm happy.”
Joseph, who had a tender heart, looked gratified at that, and he leaned against Gideon for a moment.
It was a fine thing, that Gideon was so close to his stepchildren. Fine, too, that he always made William feel he was still part of the family. Some men would not be so generous.
“I’m going to check on my goats,” Joseph announced. “And Mammi said to tell you there’s more lemonade on the porch. You’ll see the goats before you go, Onkel Will, ja?”
“For sure,” William said, turning to follow Gideon toward the house.
“Stay and have supper after the rest of the folks leave,” Gideon urged. “The kinder want to spend time with you.”
“D-denke.” They passed a small knot of men, Isaac included, still talking. “Y-y-you are g-g-gut to include m-me.” His tongue always seemed to get tangled when he tried to say what he felt. “D-denke.”
Gideon seemed to understand what he was trying to say. “I love them,” he said simply. “How could I be jealous of someone who loves them, too?”
“S-some would.”
Gideon shook his head. “Then I’d feel sorry for t
hem, to be so selfish.”
Rachel came out on the porch, carrying the baby, and Gideon’s face lit up. He covered the distance in one long stride and tickled his son under the chin. Josiah chuckled, the sound surprisingly deep for a baby. Gideon looked at Rachel and a message seemed to pass between them, something that didn’t need words. He went on into the house, leaving William with Rachel.
“Josiah, here is Onkel William.” Rachel bounced the boppli and then plopped him in William’s arms.
He automatically tightened his grip on the fat little bundle. “Not r-really h-his onkel,” he said.
“Don’t talk so foolish.” Rachel’s soft smile took any sting from the words. “You are my little bruder, just like always. You know that, don’t you?”
His heart warmed. “Ja.”
“Is something wrong?” A small line appeared between her eyes.
He shrugged. Sitting on the porch rail, he bounced the boppli on his knee, and Josiah squealed. “Just b-busy.”
Rachel nodded. “I heard Isaac’s been working you a lot lately. Is it causing trouble with Caleb?”
“Caleb’s f-fine. I just w-wish . . .” He let that die away, because there was no point in it.
“You’d like to be working full-time with Caleb, wouldn’t you? I know Caleb would like that, too. He’s always saying what gut work you do.” Rachel usually seemed able to guess what he was thinking. “Why don’t you tell Isaac that?”
He shrugged again, not wanting to say anything that sounded like a criticism of his brother.
“Isaac is a gut man,” Rachel said carefully. “I could never forget how he helped me when I needed it. But I would not let him decide what my life should be.”
No, Rachel wouldn’t do that. Gentle and peaceable as she was, Rachel had stood firm against Isaac’s plan for her to sell the farm to his son. Maybe she had more courage than he did.
“H-he’s my b-brother. I l-live in his house. I w-want to help.” Even if sometimes Isaac was telling him to do a chore that one of the boys could as easily attend to.
“Caleb says you have a gift as a carpenter.” Rachel put a gentle hand on his arm. “If that’s so, maybe that’s what God wants you to do. And maybe Isaac needs to see that your work is important, too.” She patted him as she would one of the children. “You deserve your own dreams, William. Don’t forget that.”
CHAPTER FOUR
You were such a gut boy this morning.” Aunt Paula patted Jamie’s cheek as Hannah lifted him into the stroller after church.
“He was, wasn’t he?” Hannah couldn’t help the relief in her voice. A two-hour service felt long to her even for the adults, but apparently not to people who were raised to it. The other toddlers were mostly content to sit quietly on their mothers’ laps, but Jamie seemed born to squirm. Still, today had been the best yet.
Around them, people in Plain dress filed out of the simple white frame churchhouse where Pleasant Valley’s Mennonite population worshipped. Many stopped to exchange greetings with them.
Was Hannah imagining it, or were the smiles a bit warmer today? Perhaps Aunt Paula wasn’t the only person who was relieved because she was wearing a proper prayer covering.
She waited until they’d walked out of earshot of the congregation before she spoke. “When I came to worship without a kapp . . . did other people think I was disrespectful?”
“Of course not.” Her aunt said the words quickly, but she also glanced away just as quickly. Then she shrugged. “I don’t know. Some, maybe, but that’s forgotten already. After all, you haven’t been baptized into the church.”
No, she hadn’t. She hadn’t even considered herself a Mennonite since she’d been ten or eleven.
Her aunt had made her and Jamie welcome here. She’d hate to think that had cost Paula in any way.
Or maybe she’d be more honest with herself if she admitted that she hadn’t considered that aspect of the situation. She’d been so worried about providing a home for Jamie, and so relieved by Aunt Paula’s invitation . . .
“If it’s been awkward for you with the church, having me here, I’m sorry.”
Aunt Paula patted her hand where it wrapped around the stroller handle. “Don’t be foolish. Most people understand. And they all rejoice with me that you are back where you belong.”
The love in Aunt Paula’s voice was unmistakable. But so was the sense of finality. As far as she was concerned, having Hannah here was like having her little sister back. She was picturing Hannah and Jamie here for life.
A flicker of panic brushed Hannah’s nerves, and she took a deep, steadying breath. She’d been honest with Aunt Paula up front, hadn’t she? She’d told her that first evening that this was only a temporary solution to her problems. That when Jamie was old enough, she’d have to go back to the outside world. How else could she raise him the way his father would have wanted?
Maybe adopting the kapp had been a mistake. Hannah had thought only to fit in, to please her aunt, maybe to honor the person her mother had once been. But if Aunt Paula took that to mean she intended to stay for good—
Love could trap you in a difficult situation, with no way out unless you were willing to hurt someone. She knew that well enough. Her father had reached that point, and she’d never forget the pain she’d felt when she’d realized that he wasn’t coming back.
“A fall Sunday is a fine thing,” Aunt Paula said, smiling at the wooden barrels filled with chrysanthemums on the walk outside the gift shop. “Peaceful.”
“It is.” Hannah forced herself to respond in what she hoped was a normal tone. “It’s still warm enough for summer most days, though.”
Pleasant Valley seemed to doze in the slanting autumn sunshine. The shops were closed for the most part, with even the Englisch merchants following the custom of their Amish and Mennonite neighbors.
Peaceful was the right word. In the places she’d lived in recent years, it had been hard to tell which day was the Sabbath.
Her aunt picked up a mum blossom that had been broken off. She tickled Jamie’s chin with it. He made a grab for the russet flower and promptly tried to stick it in his mouth.
“No, no, little man.” Aunt Paula handed him the soggy teething biscuit he’d been chewing on. “Flowers are not for eating.”
“He’ll taste a few more before he figures that out,” Hannah said.
She’d grown philosophical about the things that found their way into a toddler’s mouth. Once Jamie had started to walk, it had become impossible to protect him from everything his chubby fingers wanted to explore.
But there were bigger dangers from which she did have to protect him, and the panic she’d experienced when she was alone in the world with a child stirred again. She hadn’t felt it in over a month. She’d gotten used to the sense of security that surrounded her here. But she couldn’t let that need for security push her into making the wrong decision.
The telephone was ringing when they reached the top of the stairs at the apartment. Aunt Paula gave the instrument a frowning glance, and Hannah had no trouble reading her thoughts. No one would call her aunt on a Sunday unless it was an emergency.
“I’ll get it.” Hannah moved quickly to silence the ringing, picking up the receiver. “This is Paula Schatz’s house,” she said.
“Hannah? Is that you?” A light voice with the hint of a Southern drawl . . . it was Megan Townsend, Hannah’s best friend and constant support when their husbands had been deployed. But Megan’s husband had come back.
“Megan. It’s so nice to hear your voice.” Hannah glanced at Aunt Paula. Her aunt nodded, gesturing toward the kitchen.
“I’ll get Jamie something to eat,” she said. “You visit with your friend.”
“I was beginning to think you’d fallen off the face of the earth,” Megan exclaimed. “Where have you been?”
The urgency in her tone suggested that Hannah had vanished into the Sahara.
“I’m right here in Pennsylvania with my aunt, remember?”
Smiling, she settled into the rocking chair. Hearing Megan’s voice reminded her of countless times when Megan had overreacted to the smallest incident and Hannah, by nature less volatile, had had to talk her down.
“Well, obviously, since I called this number. But I must have sent you a hundred e-mails and texts, and you haven’t responded to a single one.”
“I’m sorry.” She should have realized that would be Megan’s preferred method of contacting her. “I should have told you that my aunt doesn’t have an Internet connection.”
“Well, you get one, sugar.” Megan must be relaxing because she’d dropped into her drawl. “It won’t cost that much, and you have to have some way to stay in touch.”
“I can’t.” She tried to think how to explain her aunt’s church ban on the Internet and didn’t come up with anything Megan would understand. “It is her house, and she wouldn’t like it.”
She’d lowered her voice, hoping it didn’t carry into the kitchen. Since Jamie seemed to be banging the high chair tray with his spoon, that probably didn’t matter.
“Old-fashioned, is she?” Megan arrived at her own conclusion. “There must be an Internet café someplace.”
Sure, if she wanted to go all the way to Lewisburg. “This is a small town, remember? A really small town.”
Megan chuckled, the sound a warm memory of all the afternoons they’d sat talking while their children played. “All right, I get you. Probably like the town in Georgia where my grandmamma lives. No movie theater and a bowling alley that closes at eleven.”
“Not even a bowling alley. And I wouldn’t have time to bowl if we had one.”
“Is that aunt of yours working you too hard?” Megan’s tone sharpened a little. “You know you can always come back here and stay with us if you don’t like it there.”
Hannah’s heart clutched at the thought. Life on an army base had been, oddly enough, similar in some ways to living in Pleasant Valley. They’d all been in the same boat, and they’d supported each other.
