Hannah's Joy

by Marta Perry

  “Ach, this little boy wants to run off some energy, ain’t so?”

  The bishop, Ephraim Zimmerman, bent to ruffle Jamie’s hair. As he straightened, he beckoned to several teenage girls who were talking, heads together, probably about boys to judge by the way their glances drifted in the direction of a cluster of youths not far away.

  The girls came quickly in answer to the bishop’s summons, faces apprehensive, as if Bishop Ephraim had seen their interest.

  “Mary and Anna, you will take little Jamie to play in the grass for a bit, ja? Give his mammi a chance to visit.”

  “Ja, sure.” They looked relieved, nodding quickly. The older of the two gave Hannah a shy smile, while the other knelt, speaking to Jamie and holding out her hands.

  With a babbled response that might have meant anything, Jamie lunged toward her. Then, chortling, he trotted across the grass as fast as his chubby legs would carry him, with the two girls in hot pursuit.

  “Denke,” Hannah said, using the Pennsylvania Dutch word for thanks. “That was thoughtful of you.”

  “My wife has taught me the value of a little break for our young mothers,” he said, his gaze searching her face. “And you were looking troubled in worship this morning, Hannah.”

  She started to say that she was fine, but the words died on her lips. He was looking at her as if he saw into her heart, and she suspected he would know in an instant if she didn’t tell the truth.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should be able to leave my worries behind when I come to worship.”

  He considered. “True, but if they won’t be left behind, it’s best to bring them to the Lord. Is there something that I can do? Or my wife?” He smiled, his gaze seeming automatically to search out his wife, a dumpling of a woman with white hair and rosy cheeks who reminded Hannah of Mrs. Claus, although she certainly wouldn’t say so.

  “I don’t think so, but I’m grateful for the offer. It’s hard, sometimes, to know what is best to do. Especially when you feel pulled in opposite directions, as I am.” She hoped the oblique answer would satisfy him.

  “Ja, I can see that. This life must be much different from what you’ve been used to.” Again that searching look touched her face.

  That was certainly true, but it wasn’t the surface differences that troubled her. “It’s certainly brought back the memories of my childhood here.”

  “Ja, it would.” He smiled slightly. “I married your mammi and daadi, did you know that?”

  She was startled, but it wasn’t so surprising, was it? Thirty years wasn’t long in a community like this one. “No, I didn’t know. After we left here, my mother didn’t talk about the past.”

  “It grieved me when they left us.” He shook his head, lines deepening in his face. “I feared we had failed them.”

  “They weren’t happy.” The words were out before she could censor them. “They thought they wanted a different place, but it didn’t bring happiness.”

  “For you most of all,” Bishop Ephraim said quietly. “And now you are stuck between the two worlds, not sure where you belong.”

  “Yes.”

  That was exactly right. Where was the belonging and the security that she was looking for? Or was she destined to be eternally dissatisfied, as her parents had been?

  “Your aunt wants you to stay, ja? To become part of our lives here and mend the place that was broken when her sister went away.”

  Hannah couldn’t tell him about Travis’s father, with his prejudiced reaction to Mennonites. And she certainly couldn’t tell him about William. But the bishop had put his finger on exactly what troubled her about her relationship with Aunt Paula.

  “I’m not sure I can be what she wants.”

  Her eyes followed Jamie. One of the girls was swinging him around, and he was giggling, looking happy, content, as if he belonged. That was what she wanted for him. But was that unfair to Travis’s memory?

  “Your aunt is a strong woman. She will accept whatever you decide.” The bishop paused. “You are part of our community by birth, Hannah. You will always be welcome here, whatever you choose.”

  “Denke,” she said again. “Thank you.”

  He smiled, nodded, and took a step away, and someone else came to greet him. She realized that people had tacitly accepted his conversation with her, careful not to interrupt until he’d signaled he was finished.

  Bishop Ephraim was a wise man, and a kind one. Even though she hadn’t felt able to tell him everything that troubled her, he’d helped her toward a measure of understanding.

  It wasn’t fair to keep Aunt Paula hanging. She had to give her an answer about the partnership. She just wasn’t sure what that answer should be.

  * * *

  William glanced toward the bakery as he drove the buggy down Main Street on Monday morning. Then, as quickly, he looked away, afraid he might see Hannah. Or maybe afraid she might see him.

  He had to deal with the situation. He should have told Hannah how sorry he was after their kiss, not walked off like a dumb lump. What did she think of him now? He didn’t even want to guess.

  He’d failed with Isaac. There were no two ways about that. His confidence in his ability to speak had vanished, blown away like a leaf in the wind.

  And he’d failed with Hannah. She’d been hurting. She’d needed comfort from a friend, not . . .

  He pushed the thought away vigorously and turned the horse into the alley that led to the stable behind Caleb’s shop. It was time to put that mistake behind him and get on with the business at hand. There was something he’d been wanting to talk to Caleb about, and today was as good a time as any.

  In a few minutes he’d unharnessed the horse and turned it into the small paddock where both Caleb’s and Katie’s buggy horses stood side by side. They whickered a welcome, for all the world as if they were greeting an old friend.

  William went in the back, as he usually did when he came to work, just as glad that he didn’t have to go out on the street again.

  Caleb stood at the counter, showing something to young Becky Brand, his niece, who sometimes minded the shop.

  “William, it is gut that you are here. I was just telling Becky to call you if anyone has a question she can’t answer. She’ll stay and take care of the shop while you are working.”

  “S-ser g-gut.” He nodded to Becky, relieved that she’d be there to wait on any customers. Becky was a sweet girl, just sixteen and best friend to Katie’s sister.

  Becky dived behind the counter and came up with a dust cloth. “I will start with cleaning the display. If you want me to go for coffee later, Cousin William, just let me know.”

  He nodded, not sure how to reply. Everyone was used to him going for coffee in midmorning. What would Hannah think if he didn’t come? Maybe she’d be relieved.

  “Let’s go up to the workshop, and I’ll show you what’s ready to work on.” Caleb started up the stairs, with William following.

  When they reached the workshop, William put the letter he’d been carrying onto the workbench in front of Caleb, along with the list he’d made.

  Caleb, giving him a puzzled glance, picked it up. “Is this for me?”

  “Not e-exactly.” William reminded himself to keep his breathing easy. He’d rehearsed what he would say. “You w-were saying that t-trade falls off i-in the winter. I thought m-maybe you’d want to see if s-some stores in the bigger towns w-w-would take pieces on c-consignment.”

  Caleb studied the list William had made, including all the furniture stores in the county. The letter describing what Caleb and William had to offer had taken more time to compose, but he’d enjoyed writing it. It was so much easier to express himself that way than with speech.

  Caleb didn’t respond right away, but William hadn’t expected him to. Caleb was one who thought befo
re making a decision. Finally he looked up.

  “You did all this on your own?” He gestured with the papers.

  “Ja. I-if you th-think I shouldn’t h-have—”

  “No, no. I’m impressed.” He grinned. “I think it’s a fine idea, William. You’re right. We do need more outlets for our work. And we won’t lose anything by trying, ja?”

  Relief swept through William, making him realize how tense he’d been about presenting his idea. “Ja,” he said.

  Caleb clapped him on the shoulder. “Gut. We will do it.” He paused, giving William a long, steady look. “Was ist letz? You look like something else is on your mind.”

  William shrugged. He couldn’t say anything to anyone about what had happened with Hannah. That was private, and he’d have to reveal too much that wasn’t his to tell. But Caleb already knew about the situation with his brother, and in a way, he was already involved.

  “Isaac. L-like always.”

  “What is it now?” Frowning, Caleb moved to the workbench where a rocking chair was in progress. “He’s not happy with you working here?”

  “N-not exactly.” William picked up one of the spindles for the rocking chair, turning it over in his hand. “He j-just wants m-me to be there when he w-wants me.”

  And he wanted William to give up on working with Hannah on his speech. Why? What did it matter to him? Just his natural tendency to dislike anything he hadn’t thought of? Or was it something else?

  Caleb’s frown deepened. “I’m sorry he’s taking your working here this way.”

  Maybe it was time William asked the question that had been lingering in the back of his mind. “You r-really n-need me, ain’t so?”

  Caleb understood almost at once what he was really asking. “I didn’t offer you the job just to put a spoke in Isaac’s wheel. Or because I don’t always like the way he treats you.” He gestured at the workbenches, the projects in various stages of completion. “You do gut work, William. This is your gift, I think.”

  Rachel had said something similar, but it meant a lot, coming from Caleb. “Denke.”

  “Ja.” Caleb’s expression grew serious. “It’s certain-sure I need you. But is this really what you want? You can tell me the truth. If you’re missing the farm and you’d rather be there . . .” He let that fade off, studying William’s face as if he could read the answer there.

  William leaned against the bench, trying to think how to respond. “I-if the f-farm had komm to me, I w-would not have thought of a-anything else.”

  An Amish person would not say that one job was better than another, so long as both were done to the glory of God, but most folks felt in their hearts that farming was best.

  Caleb nodded his understanding. “If your father had lived longer it would be different.”

  “Ja. B-but now I can do what c-calls to me.” He ran his fingers along the curve of the spindle. “That i-is the wood.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Caleb nodded, seeming satisfied. He paused. Then he cleared his throat. “Do you want me to talk to Isaac? I will, if you want.”

  The temptation was strong to say yes. So strong.

  But if he let Caleb speak for him, he wasn’t behaving like a man.

  “Denke, Caleb. But I w-will s-speak to him myself.”

  * * *

  Aunt Paula sank into her chair with a sigh she probably wished she could hide. Monday had been a long day, and as much as Hannah and the others tried to keep Paula off her feet, she evaded them.

  Hannah shoved the footstool over to her. “Your ankle is paining you. I can see that. Please, prop it up for a while, and I’ll get some ice.”

  She was prepared for an argument, but it didn’t come. Aunt Paula meekly put her ankle up, shaking her head a little.

  “I am too stubborn, ja? I should have listened to you and Naomi.”

  “I’ll remind you of that tomorrow.”

  Hannah hurried into the kitchen and retrieved an ice bag and a towel to wrap it in. When she returned, Aunt Paula was leaning back in the chair, eyes closed. The lines in her face seemed deeper, her usual rosy complexion pale.

  “Is it very bad?” She put the ice bag gently over the puffy ankle.

  “I’m chust tired.” Aunt Paula managed a smile. “I must be getting old, to be so tired out by a simple twisted ankle.”

  Hannah remembered what Naomi had said—that for older people, sometimes the smallest accident could be an unwelcome reminder that they couldn’t do what they used to.

  “You can still bake rings around anyone in the valley,” she said, hoping for a bit more of a genuine smile. “You just need to take it a little easier.”

  Paula patted her hand. “Denke, my Hannah. It means so much to have you here.”

  Unspoken was the question—will you accept my offer?

  Hannah hesitated. Her aunt, perhaps thinking that she’d pushed too hard, spoke again before Hannah had to say anything.

  “I saw that Bishop Ephraim was talking to you yesterday. It is always a special day when he is with us.”

  “He’s so kind.” Hannah pulled her chair a bit closer and sat down. “And wise. I had the feeling he understood all the things I didn’t say.” Such as her complicated feelings about her mother and Aunt Paula.

  Your aunt is a strong woman. The bishop’s words seemed to ring in her ears. If he were here, she suspected he’d be telling her to be open with Aunt Paula. It was the right thing to do.

  “Ja, he is wise. A great comfort in times of trouble, and I think you are troubled. I did not mean to make you unhappy with my offer, Hannah.”

  “You didn’t,” she said quickly. This was what came of not being open, it seemed. “I am worried, yes, but about Travis’s father, not about your offer.”

  Paula leaned forward, clasping Hannah’s hands in both of hers. “But . . . what has happened? I thought he chust called to ask about Jamie. Is something wrong?”

  Hannah took a deep breath. This would probably hurt her aunt, but she didn’t see any way out of telling her.

  “It seems Megan called him and told him some garbled story about our lives here. He was angry.” Her voice dragged, and she had to force the rest of the words out. “He said I wasn’t being a good mother, to bring up Travis’s son among people who hated everything he stood for.”

  “The military?” Her aunt seemed to grapple with the problem. “But why? Ja, we do not believe that violence is the answer to a problem, and we do not take up arms to fight. But no one would make the mistake of hating a soldier for following a different belief. Or teach Jamie anything but respect for his daadi.” She glanced at the door to Jamie’s room, as if to assure herself that he was safe in his crib. “Didn’t you tell him that?”

  “He caught me so much by surprise, and I was so shocked by what Megan had done.” Her lips tightened. The anger with Megan was still there, but behind it was pain and grief. “I probably didn’t handle Robert Conroy as well as I should have.”

  “You must talk to him again. Explain,” Paula urged. “He will understand if you explain it to him.”

  Hannah felt herself begin to tremble inside at the thought of another angry encounter with Robert. She couldn’t. She was no good at confronting people.

  “I don’t know.” She took a steadying breath. “Travis always said his father could be unreasonable. And the two of them could never be together without ending up shouting at each other. I won’t be able to make him listen to me.”

  Hide. That was what she wanted to do. Like the little girl she’d been who’d hidden in the closet when Mammi was having a bad spell and wouldn’t stop crying.

  “You must.” Her aunt’s hands tightened on hers. “He has to understand that you and Jamie have a gut future here. You have people who love you, a home, a business if you want it.”

>   “Aunt Paula . . .”

  “Ja, ja, I said I would give you time. But maybe it would help with Mr. Conroy. He would see that you have security here.”

  Security. The thing she’d always longed for and never found.

  Would that help with Robert? Or was he so wrapped up in his own views that it would seem like even more of a threat?

  “I don’t know. Really, I don’t. He’s Travis’s father, but I don’t understand him. I never have. If he decides to cause trouble . . .” She couldn’t finish that sentence, not wanting to go there.

  “What trouble could he cause?” Paula asked, her tone rational. “You are the boy’s mother. Where he lives is up to you.” She hesitated, seeming to struggle with something in her mind. “After all, you could live here and still be Englisch. Send Jamie to the Englisch school, go to an Englisch church.”

  “You couldn’t be happy with that,” Hannah said, her voice gentle. “Admit it.”

  Aunt Paula sighed, shaking her head a little. She looked down at their clasped hands, and with her head bent, Hannah could see the way her hair, thinning a little from years of pulling it back in a bun, was turning completely white. The sight gave an odd, vulnerable tug to her heart.

  “No, I wouldn’t be.” Paula looked up, and there were tears in her eyes. “I want to see you a true part of the community, as you would have been if my sister hadn’t gone away. But I would settle for less if it kept you and Jamie here.”

  Hannah leaned forward and kissed her cheek, struggling to control her own tears. It was impossible for Aunt Paula to see her in any way that didn’t involve her mother, it seemed.

  “I know,” she said softly. “But if I am to bring Jamie up the way his father would want, can I do that here?”

  “Travis is gone.” Aunt Paula’s voice was filled with sympathy, but there was steel in her voice, too. “I have thought that way, too, sometimes in the years since your uncle passed. Wondering if he would approve of all the decisions I’ve made about the business. But he’s not here, and I have to decide as best I can. Just as you must.”