Home Is Where the Heart Is

by Linda Byler

  He nodded, a forkful of half-cooked beefsteak on its way to his mouth.

  Thelma Johns moved to her daughter Shirley’s house about three weeks later. Hannah had ridden with them to a lawyer’s office in the city of Lancaster to settle for the property. She fell thoroughly out of the good graces of the lawyer with her impertinence but was soothed by the gentle Shirley and deposited back at the Stoltzfus farm in a huff.

  Hannah’s family descended on her newly acquired house armed with brooms and pails, rags and soap, vinegar and baking soda and lemon juice.

  Manny pushed the reel mower, Eli and Mary raked piles of sweet, succulent grass, running and bouncing and shouting in the early summer sunshine. Hannah washed windows upstairs, leaning out over the windowsill to tell the kids they were worse than wild calves.

  Mary stopped, looked up at Hannah. Eli turned an expert cartwheel, righted himself, shook the grass from his hair, and grinned.

  “Jump down on this pile of grass, Hannah!” he shouted.

  “I guess not! You know you’re both old enough to behave yourselves.”

  “We are behaving!” Mary shouted back.

  The woods surrounding the little brick house resounded with the happy cries of the children. Doddy Stoltzfus smiled and smiled. His eyes twinkled at the children’s antics as he applied a screwdriver to a loose hinge, and tapped a nail into a broken windowsill. He told Hannah he thought she had chosen wisely. The house was well-built.

  Hannah shone with a new happiness at her grandfather’s words. She felt validated, lifted above the sense of many failures that dogged her steps.

  “Well done, Hannah,” he’d said. But he did not approve of the dry goods store. That was only in the planning stages, so there was no sense in sniffing out other people’s opinions. The bishop, bless the dear little man, held the ultimate decision.

  Or did he? Hannah wasn’t ready with an alternative plan if he batted down the whole idea. She knew she wasn’t about to disobey openly, but she also wasn’t planning on giving up. She would find a solution.

  Her determination had served her well on the Dakota prairie, and it would serve her well here in Lancaster County, too.

  What was wrong with a woman owning a dry goods store? In Proverbs, the husband praised his wife for her crafting skills, the selling of her wares in the marketplace. She even purchased an acre of land.

  So, there you go. A woman had the right to some form of entrepreneurship, as long as it was decent, necessary items she was selling. And what was more sensible than plain broadcloth and cotton and denim for men’s work trousers, buttons and snaps, and so on?

  Thelma had left the overstuffed sofa, a brown monstrosity that Hannah eyed with a critical sniff. Shrugging her shoulders, she said she didn’t know what else to put in the living room. She certainly wasn’t going to buy a new sofa.

  Sarah suggested covering it with one of her everyday quilts. But Hannah shook her head. “Quilts slide every which way. I hate a quilt on a couch.” So, that was the end of that idea.

  Sarah gave her the armless rocking chair, the table in the sunporch, and an extra chest of drawers. But the house looked barren. Unclothed. Cleaned and polished to a high shine, the floors glowed and the windows sparkled. The bathroom fixtures and mirrors shone. Yet there was no coziness, no warmth.

  “It’s the curtains,” Mary trilled, after standing in the doorway of the living room to survey the clean, nearly empty room.

  “Mam, do I have to hang green, roll-down window blinds?” Hannah asked.

  “Yes, of course. That’s our ordnung. You know that.”

  “If you want me to hang them from my window frames, you’re going to have to buy them.”

  “No, that’s your responsibility, Hannah. You’re capable enough to take care of such matters.”

  So, she did. She obeyed her mother by going to the hardware store in the town of Intercourse with measurements carefully written on the back of a calendar page.

  Manny helped her install them, which made the house look Amish, but did nothing for an aura of hominess.

  The family helped her move in, with her meager belongings put in place in an hour or so. Sarah turned to Hannah, shook hands with her, and wished her the best in her forehaltiss. Her grandfather told her gravely to keep her door locked. Manny promised to bring Marybelle as soon as he could. Then they all climbed into the spring wagon and were gone down the road before Hannah had a chance to feel emotional.

  So, here she was. All alone in the house of her dreams.

  Silence reigned everywhere. The floors echoed when she walked. A faucet dripped. Windows creaked. The green blinds flapped in the open windows. She needed so many things. She had no refrigerator. And she had no idea where to go to use the telephone, or the number to call the Ice and Cold Storage Company for ice delivery. She needed a gas stove and a propane company. She needed a horse, a buggy, a harness, and a pen built into the small shed at the end of the drive. She needed more dishes, pots and pans, bedding, towels—just about everything.

  Well, one day at a time.

  She sat in the armless rocking chair, her hands clasped loosely in her lap. She felt that the rooms around her were enfolding her with a certain safety. The golden sunlight, the variety of green colors, the blue sky and the breezes that were gentle, the hidden trust that it would rain whenever they needed it, one season following another in order and sameness.

  She had nothing to fear. That was something, wasn’t it? Now, if the bishop would only hurry up with his answer, and if that Dave King wasn’t too busy, she’d soon be on her way. Her first priority was getting a refrigerator. She’d have to find the nearest telephone.

  She began her search by walking down the road until she came to a house similar to her own. There were children in the yard and a small, brown dog. When she walked up to them, they stopped playing and stood and stared at her with frightened eyes. The dog jumped up and down with the force of its high, yipping bark.

  “Is your mother at home? May I speak to her?”

  “No!”

  Yip. Yip. Yip, yip, yip from the dog.

  Hannah looked around, not quite knowing what she should do.

  The screen door on the porch was flung open. A thin, pretty woman with blond hair to her shoulders appeared, calling out to Hannah. “Hello! You must be the new neighbor that moved into the Johns house.”

  “Yes. I am.”

  “It’s nice to meet you. Come on up on the porch.”

  Hannah met her on the steps and noticed the friendliness that shone from her eyes. Their faces were level, with the blond-haired woman on the top step.

  “I’m Diane Jones. My husband, Tom, is at work at Myers Refrigeration. The two children are …” she rolled her eyes, “Diane and Tommy Jr.”

  Hannah laughed. “We Amish often name kids after their parents, too.”

  “Well, my husband is a stickler for tradition.”

  They sat in the metal porch chairs, sizing each other up with practiced eyes. Hannah thought Diane was lovely, which caught her off guard. She almost never liked someone right off the bat. Diane thought Hannah could be a model, so tall and with that striking face. But there was something hidden in the depth of those black eyes that was unsettling.

  The children clambered up onto the porch—blond, blue-eyed, perfect replicas of their mother. The dog sniffed Hannah’s legs. She pulled them back behind the seat of the chair, as far as they would go, and resisted the impulse to push him away. She despised small, yappy dogs. This one was a terrier of some kind. The worst. She eyed him with a baleful look. He eyed her back. Why did small dogs do this to her? Hannah had no idea, but she had a premonition that he’d love to sink his sharp, little teeth into her ankle. She’d bet anything that the minute he saw her arriving with no children to control him, he’d growl, make a beeline for her, and yes, take a chomp out of her ankle.

  “What’s his name?” she asked, pulling her mouth into the semblance of a smile.

  “He’s Tot
o,” the small boy lisped, picking the dog up to let him nuzzle his face. Hannah watched and swallowed, thinking the dog would probably give the small boy parasites.

  “I came to use the telephone to call a refrigeration company. But I see you might be able to help me if your husband works at Myers.”

  “He does. Isn’t that great?” Diane asked, clearly pleased to be of service to her new neighbor.

  That problem was soon solved with Tom Jones delivering a used ice box, ice, and a second-hand stove. Before the week was up, she was equipped with a useful kitchen, all for the price of sixty-five dollars.

  One evening, a horse and carriage slowed, then turned into her driveway. Hannah peered through the living room window and saw two somber-faced ministers wearing grave expressions.

  She smoothed her hair, yanked her covering forward, and pinned it securely, hoping to convey a sense of demut (humbleness) and gehorsamkeit (obedience).

  “An schöena ovat,” one of them said, “such a pleasant evening.”

  “Ya,” Hannah nodded, her shoulders hunched in an attempt to appear sorrowful. A bereft widow, in need of sympathy and approval.

  She was told kindly that they had conferred among themselves about her proposal. Hannah’s heart beat rapidly. Her head felt as if it might explode. She bit her lower lip and watched those serious faces with a sense of doom.

  “It would be best if you gave up the idea,” one minister began. “But, Ezra thought that if you promised to stay small and sell only the kind of fabric our women could use, and if you would be frugal in all of your dealings, we could allow it and see if you are capable of such a venture. However, you should have your grandfather, who is an esteemed elder with a good sense of business, to oversee your accounts on a regular basis, as women tend to become sidetracked where sums of money are concerned.”

  Gratefulness warred with irritation, but her face remained passive. She didn’t ask about the addition and they didn’t mention it, so she thanked them in the most humble manner she could manage. They made a few minutes of small talk about the weather, wished her the best in her new undertaking, and then left.

  When the carriage had disappeared, Hannah’s elation knew no bounds. She smiled, whirled across the polished floor, lifting her hands in thanksgiving. She was on her way!

  A list started to form in her head. She needed that addition to her house, then she could stock the fabric, and she’d need to get a horse and buggy. She’d also need to have a stall built in the garage. Could she really afford it all?

  Well, one step at a time.

  CHAPTER 19

  DAVE KING HAD HIS OWN OPINION OF WHERE AND HOW THE ADDITION should be built. He stood in the hot morning sun with his faded straw hat pulled low over his forehead, his white shirt stained with perspiration and about two sizes too small for his hulking shoulders.

  “You don’t want the addition on that side of the house. If you put it there, you’ll never be able to enter your kitchen through the side door without going through the store. You won’t like that.”

  A searing flame of rebellion shot through Hannah. “I guess I know what I’d like and what I won’t.”

  He had the nerve to laugh at her. “You want to lock and unlock the door every time you go in and out?” he asked.

  “I’ll use the front door.”

  Their eyes met. The challenge sizzled between them like the angry buzzing of bees.

  “Well, I guess that’s it, then. I’m not building anything until you use some common sense.”

  With that, he strode to the car, spoke to the driver, and took off, leaving Hannah standing there with her mouth hanging open in disbelief. She was so angry she kicked the doorstep and banged her big toe. It hurt, but she didn’t care.

  She’d get Elam and Ben to help her. That big lummox wasn’t going to set foot on her property, ever again.

  She began to think about the side entrance, the row of hooks on the wall. The more she thought about it, the more the truth dawned on her. Dave King was right. Well, one thing for sure, he’d never have the opportunity to find out he was right. What did he care about? It was her own business. If she paid him, he was supposed to supply a building according to her wishes, not his.

  A poor excuse of a carpenter, she decided. He should be farming like the rest of the Amish men his age.

  Dave King showed up about a week later, standing in the rain on the stoop at the side entrance, his bulk shutting out the gray morning light. “Did you decide?” he asked by way of a greeting.

  “No.”

  “Well, I thought of a solution. Why not put the store on the opposite end of the house?”

  “No! That’s not going to work. I won’t go through my bedroom every time a customer shows up.”

  “You can sleep upstairs.”

  “Look, I don’t need your services. My brothers can build what I need.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Oh, come in out of the rain,” she said, irritated at him standing there as if he wasn’t aware that he was getting wet. She stepped back to allow him entry and watched to see if he’d take his shoes off. Of course, he didn’t.

  “Your shoes are wet,” she said pointedly.

  No answer. Of all the nerve! Rude. Ill-mannered. At least he could give her some sort of reply.

  It seemed like he filled up the entire kitchen. Her house was very small with him standing there. She watched him as he turned his head from side to side, assessing, measuring, calculating.

  He was actually not bad looking with those amber eyes and rounded nose. Actually, Hannah thought, with a good shave and a toothbrush, he might be attractive. But his size! And his curly hair. Like untamed wool.

  “Your feet are wet.”

  He bent to look at his feet. “Not my feet. My shoes.”

  She felt scolded. She wasn’t sure but she felt a blush creeping into her face. She sincerely hoped not.

  “Why don’t you go out the back with your store?” he asked suddenly.

  “There’s no door.”

  He shoved his face forward, much too close to hers. “That’s what carpenters do. They cut doors where they want them.”

  She stepped back, feeling like a blushing school girl. Which infuriated her. “Is that right,” she shot back, her dark eyes blazing.

  He laughed, then. He had the gall to stand there and laugh at her!

  “Come here,” he said. He extended an arm, and looked out the window by the sink. She walked over as one hypnotized.

  “Look. Here is where we will put your door, okay?”

  Unbelievable! She felt that massive arm come up and his great, heavy hand came to rest on her shoulder. She was aware of his size, his nearness, his warmth. The scent of his shirt did not repulse her. Spicy. Some oddly comforting mix of lumber and summer and leather and fresh mown hay.

  Hannah swayed, quickly righted herself. Her breathing all but stopped. She resisted the urge to turn and lay her head on that powerful chest and tell him she didn’t want a store. She just wanted to go home with him and wash that pile of dirty dishes, sweep the mud out the door, and sleep in his bed.

  All of this rushed through her head like a strong summer thunderstorm, leaving her deeply ashamed and berating herself internally with firm words of self-loathing.

  Jerry was barely gone. With Jerry firmly in her mind replacing her thoughts, she crossed her arms and thought of stepping away, but didn’t. Couldn’t.

  She’d never felt like this before. She was lonely, grieving, in sorrow. That was the only explanation that made any sense to her.

  “See this window?” Dave was asking. “I’d put a door in here and a few steps down to the lower level and there’s your store! Inexpensive. Easy. You’ll want windows, though. Women need to see what they’re buying.” He grinned down at her.

  Hannah almost wept with the depth of her feelings. When he stepped away from her, she felt disoriented, leaning against the countertop for support. When he let himself out, she found hersel
f reaching out her hand to stop him. Why was he going home now?

  She watched him as he stood in the backyard, his eyes taking in the length and the distance to the clothesline. Without thinking, she let herself out of the door and joined him, her arms crossed as if to protect her heart from galloping off without her permission.

  “Shingles or metal roofing?” he asked.

  “Which is cheaper?”

  “Metal goes on quicker. Less labor. But shingles look nicer.”

  “How much ch … cheaper?” Oh, now she was stuttering. Ch … ch … like a baby chick!

  “I’d say a hundred dollars, maybe more.”

  “That’s a lot.”

  “I know. But you have shingles on this roof, so it won’t look right if you use metal on the new section.”

  Hannah nodded. He was probably right. But, where was her irritation? She felt as if she had been cast into a whirlpool, spun around, over and under, and spewed out on dry land. Disoriented, dizzy, as if she needed a map to guide her, to tell her which road to take and how many miles there were to her destination.

  What was her destination anyway?

  Her eyes narrowed as she watched Dave King pace off the length and width, his boots coming down like thunderclaps. Pulling out a tablet, he scribbled notes with a yellow pencil, gazed across the backyard, and thought out loud, like she wasn’t even there.

  She wanted to jump up and down, wave her arms, let him know she was there standing on the lawn, in the rain. She felt a sob rise in her throat. The rain was falling so softly and gently, leaving grass and flower beds smelling so sweet. She had never known rain to have an odor. It was like liquid ambrosia, nectar from flowers.

  Water dripped off his straw hat. He looked up and smiled at her. “Better get in out of the rain,” he said.

  Hannah turned to go. Yes, better get out of the rain.

  Dave King followed her but stopped on the stoop, poked his head in the door and said, “I’ll get a rough estimate for you sometime this week.” Then he was gone.