by Beth Wiseman
“I can’t sleep and wondered if maybe we could talk.”
Charlotte was just about to concoct another lie, excuse, something—when Hannah added, “I want to talk about Ethan. Something is bothering me.”
“Okay.” She eased the door open, glad Hannah was ready to discuss Ethan, but nervous too. She took three quick steps backward when Hannah came closer with the lantern.
“Ach, I’m sorry. I can snuff it out.”
“No. It’s okay.” She sat on the side of the bed closest to the window, and Hannah put the lantern on the dresser across the room before she took a seat on the other side of the bed.
Charlotte waited, her head tingling from the dye. She turned the flashlight off and placed it on the bed. From where it was on the dresser, the lantern cast only shadows on the two of them. But that was okay. Charlotte didn’t need the open flame any closer.
“Do you need to go do something with your hair?” Hannah pushed her thick, dark hair over her shoulder.
“No. Nee. It’s fine. It has to set.” She scratched her forehead. “For management. I mean, to be manageable.” Good grief. This is so exhausting. “Anyway, you said you wanted to talk about Ethan?” She folded her legs underneath her and hoped she was ready for whatever Hannah was about to share.
“Ya. My feelings about Ethan have started to change lately. For some reason, I’m feeling angry at him. I’ve prayed for God to keep this anger away from my heart, but at times, I’m more mad than hurt. And I’m just not sure how to feel about that.”
Charlotte’s bottom lip trembled. Hopefully, Hannah couldn’t see it in the darkness. “Why are you angry?” She heard the way she spat the words. Hannah may still be grieving Ethan’s death, but Charlotte hadn’t cleared Hannah of somehow being involved, even if only emotionally.
Hannah lowered her head. “Ya, I know. I am ashamed for feeling this way. But Ethan left me. He left me alone here, loving him and unable to be with him. Why would a person do that to someone they loved?”
Charlotte was trembling all over now as she recalled Ethan’s last letter to her, still wondering if Hannah had broken Ethan’s heart. She shined the flashlight directly in Hannah’s face. “What happened, Hannah? Why do you think your fiancé killed himself?” Charlotte held her breath as her heart pounded. This was it, the purpose of her trip, if Hannah trusted her enough to be honest.
Hannah hung her head, shaking it back and forth as she sniffled. “He ended things with me. I have no idea why. He told me he wasn’t worthy of my love, called off our wedding, and he was dead two days later.”
Charlotte waited for Hannah’s words to register, then forced herself to breathe. “What?”
“It just didn’t make any sense.” Hannah stood up and paced in the shadows between the glow from the lantern and Charlotte’s flashlight. “When I tried to question him about it, he just left me standing in the middle of his living room and ran out the door. It was the last time I saw him.”
As much as Charlotte hadn’t wanted to visit Ethan’s house, that might be the only place she would get some answers because obviously Hannah was as confused as Charlotte. “I’m so sorry, Hannah.” Her stomach clenched as she thought about the way she’d been feeling lately. “You have a right to be angry. It’s an awful feeling not to understand why someone you love would do this.”
Hannah stood up, pulled a tissue from the pocket of her white robe, and dabbed at her eyes. “I feel like I can’t move forward, like I’m stuck until I know what caused Ethan to do this.” She picked up the lantern and held it up. “It’s been a year. When will it stop hurting?”
Charlotte hoped she wouldn’t burst into tears. Hannah wasn’t her enemy, she was her ally. She shook her head and whispered into the dimly lit room. “I don’t know.”
Charlotte had an overwhelming urge to make a full confession. But tomorrow was lunch with Isaac, and maybe he had more information. Although, wouldn’t he have already shared anything he knew with Hannah? This wasn’t the time to add more grief on Hannah, so Charlotte opted to stay in the role she’d chosen, at least for now.
Hannah excused herself and made a hasty exit. Charlotte glanced at her cell phone to check the time—noticing she only had two bars left—then she sat on the bed to wait ten more minutes until her hair would be done. She’d been so wrong about the woman her brother had intended to marry, and she was more confused now than ever.
Finally, it was time to wash out the color. She eased her bedroom door open and tiptoed down the hall. As she fumbled in near darkness, she set the sink faucet to warm and did her best to rinse her hair by the light of her flashlight, trying desperately to sort things out in her mind.
But as she rewrapped her head in a clean towel, she couldn’t help but wonder if she would find the answer at Ethan’s house.
Seven
Charlotte picked up her cell phone from the nightstand and checked the time. Ugh. Not only was she late for breakfast, but she was going to need a trip to town soon to charge her phone somewhere. It was still dark as she fumbled with the flashlight, then pulled a dark-blue dress over her head, followed by a black apron. She twisted her hair into a bun and put the prayer covering on, opting to skip brushing her teeth until after breakfast. She knew that Lena and Hannah would clean things up right after the men finished eating, and Charlotte didn’t want to miss out. She could hear forks clinking against plates, so she picked up the pace as she shined the flashlight down the stairs and breathed in the aroma of bacon.
“I’m sorry I’m late again,” she said as she eased into her chair and reached for a slice of bread. She was just about to take a bite when she realized they would all be expecting her to pray, so she bowed her head and closed her eyes. I wish I knew You. But even though I don’t really, maybe You can help me find some sort of peace about Ethan. And I’d like to pray for Hannah to have peace in her heart also. It was the first prayer she’d said in a long time. During devotions, she’d mostly just listened, and that had been hard enough.
When she opened her eyes, no one was eating, and all eyes were on her. She grinned. “What?” She dabbed at her chin, swiped at her eyes, and wondered if there was something on her face. Then Jacob burst out laughing.
“Your hair is green!”
Charlotte reached up and touched the patch of exposed hair that always showed even with the prayer covering on. “What?” she said in a whisper as she glanced at Hannah, then at Lena. She’d washed the dye out in almost total darkness last night and the sun wasn’t up yet this morning, but as always, the kitchen was well lit with lanterns hanging above the table and on the counters.
Hannah brought a hand to her mouth, covering it as her eyes grew round as saucers. Even quiet Amos was staring. Charlotte scooted back from the table so fast, the chair hit the wall. She fumbled with the flashlight, trying to turn it on, and ran through the living room, darting up the stairs two at a time. She didn’t stop until she was in front of the mirror in the bathroom, and as she tore her prayer cap off, she pointed the light toward the mirror. She was speechless.
“We will fix this,” Hannah said when she caught up to Charlotte, breathless as she lifted the lantern she was carrying. “But we must hurry before your picnic with Isaac later today.” She shook her head, frowning. “Your stop-tangle tonic must not have worked like it was supposed to.”
“My hair is green.” Charlotte pulled the pins from her bun, allowing her hair to fall halfway down her back. She glanced at Hannah, who was standing with one hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. “I finally have a date . . . and my hair is green.” There hadn’t been a shortage of dates in her life, but it had been awhile—so long that she couldn’t even remember the last guy she’d gone out with. She’d just sort of shut down after Ethan died.
Charlotte bit her lip and held her breath until she couldn’t stand it any longer. She shook loose of Hannah’s hold and bent over, bursting with laughter. After she�
�d laughed until she had tears in her eyes, she stood up and faced off with the woman she’d been so wrong about. At first, two deep lines of worry appeared between Hannah’s eyes and she shook her head. But after a few moments, she started laughing too.
“It’s not funny,” Charlotte said as she turned to the mirror again, but within seconds, her stomach started to hurt from holding in her giggles. When she finally composed herself, she could see in the mirror that Lena, Amos, and Jacob were all standing behind them, mouths gaping. Lena slowly eased around Hannah to Charlotte, raising her lantern higher.
“Mary, it wonders me what has happened to your hair, but I’m sure that something can be done.” Lena’s soft, consoling voice only caused Charlotte to laugh harder, which seemed contagious to Hannah. “I don’t think the bishop would object to you going to one of those Englisch places that does hair,” Lena added.
After another moment, Charlotte and Hannah finally pulled themselves together and convinced the others it was okay to leave. Once they were alone, Charlotte looked at Hannah for a long moment, and again, she wondered what it would have been like to have Hannah as a sister-in-law, to be a part of this family, had Ethan allowed it.
Without giving it much thought, she pulled Hannah into a hug. “I’m glad I’m here.” It felt good to be truthful. She slowly eased away and grinned. “Even if I do have green hair.”
“I’m glad you’re here too.” Hannah chuckled. “Even if you do have green hair.”
Charlotte felt like she was about to start crying again. And not tears of laughter. It had been a long time since Charlotte had made a genuine friend, and it saddened her that her growing friendship with Hannah was built on nothing but lies.
Isaac tucked in his shirt, pulled his suspenders over his shoulders as he made his way downstairs, and he was almost out the door when he heard commotion from his parents’ bedroom. Sighing, he glanced at the clock on the mantel, not wanting to be late for his picnic with Mary. He strained to hear what his mother was saying, but the volume of his father’s voice bellowed above hers.
“Get out of here, woman. I don’t need your help, and . . . I don’t need you!”
Isaac couldn’t ever recall hearing his parents fight prior to his father’s cancer. Isaac had always respected his father as a faithful man who was a good provider for his family. He had a kind soul and gentle spirit. Until recently.
His mother burst out of the room crying, then halted when she saw Isaac. She grimaced after stubbing her toe on an uneven slat on the wooden floor. “I’m sorry you overheard that.” She leaned down to have a better look at her toe, but quickly rose and then straightened her back. “I’m still trying to make your father do more for himself, but it wonders me why he is so resistant. I shouldn’t have coddled him for so long; I should have forced him to do more on his own. And now . . . it’s just hard to change things.”
Isaac wanted to encourage his mother to stay strong and keep doing what she was doing, but he hated hearing his parents fight, and it was difficult to see his mother crying so much. “I know. I wish he tried harder too.” Even more bothersome for Isaac was the change in his father’s personality. The meanness that had crept in. The darker his father’s behavior, the more Isaac thought about Ethan and the depression he’d seemed to be battling.
His mother sniffled, blew her nose, then gave her head a quick shake as if to clear any unpleasant thoughts. “Never you mind. You go on your picnic with Mary. We will be just fine.”
Isaac took a few steps toward his mother. “Are you sure? I can cancel and go another time.”
“Nee, nee.” She waved a hand toward the door. “You go. Everything will be fine.”
Isaac hesitated, but he thought about how many times he had canceled plans with friends to take care of his parents, especially his father. But this time, he nodded and left.
On the way to pick up Mary, he thought about the distance growing between his parents. It made him uncomfortable, but also sad for them. He hated to see his mother so exhausted from tending to his father, but Isaac was growing more and more upset about the way his father was treating his mother.
Mary was on the porch when he pulled up in his topless spring buggy. The elders referred to it as a courting buggy, although it had been awhile since Isaac had used it for that purpose. He was prepared to get out and go to the door to get Mary, but he hadn’t even come to a complete stop before she came skipping down the porch steps carting a picnic basket. She stowed it in the back and jumped into the buggy before Isaac had a chance to help her.
“I hope you like tuna salad. I made it myself. But not with eggs. I don’t like hard-boiled eggs. But I eat them sometimes.” She drew in a breath. “I also brought potato salad, also without the hard-boiled eggs. And pie. Coconut pie. Oh, and . . .” She took in a long breath. “That’s probably too many salads. But there’s bread. And chowchow, and . . .”
It was obvious she was nervous, but Isaac couldn’t get past the new color of her hair. When she finally stopped talking, all he could manage was, “Your hair . . . is . . . dark now.”
She brought both hands to either side of her head. “Yes. Uh, ya. My hair. It’s a long story.”
Isaac wanted to hear the story, but Mary blushed, bit her bottom lip, and cringed, so he let it go, clicked his tongue, and backed up the buggy. He wanted to reach over and straighten her kapp, but he didn’t.
What is wrong with me? This wasn’t even a real date, and yet Charlotte had never rambled on in such a way. She recalled a friend telling her that she had to have frequent dates so she wouldn’t get out of practice. She hadn’t bought into that theory—until now. But she couldn’t help but smile as she thought about her circumstances. If anyone had told her that she would be going on a picnic with an Amish man, she would have never believed it. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself why she was spending time with Isaac and that whether or not he took a romantic interest in her didn’t matter. Probably best if he didn’t.
“I brought iced tea too,” she finally said as Isaac clicked his tongue again, pushing the horse into a steady trot. At the main road, they took a right. “I’ve never been this way. Hannah always goes to the left, toward town.”
“She, uh . . . probably doesn’t go this way on purpose.” Isaac spoke softly, so much so that Charlotte could barely hear him with the wind in her face and the horse hooves clopping against the asphalt.
“Why not?” Charlotte kept her eyes on the handsome man beside her.
He nodded to his left. “That’s where Ethan lived.”
Charlotte couldn’t breathe all of a sudden, as if someone had their hands around her throat, and she found herself gasp for a breath of air as she stared at the blue frame house with an overgrown lawn. She fought to control the quiver in her bottom lip. “Oh,” was all she managed before her mind drifted to Ethan. She forced her thoughts into order and slowly said, “Do you know why—why he took his life?” Charlotte knew now that Hannah didn’t have anything to do with it, but she still wanted someone to be accountable.
“It’s hard to understand why a man would do such a thing.” Isaac glanced at Charlotte, frowning. “But Hannah loved him very much. And he hurt her.” He shook his head. “A cowardly thing to do.”
Charlotte fought the urge to defend her brother. “Where are we going?”
“There’s a park about a mile down the road.” He turned to her and smiled this time. “Englisch mothers are sometimes there with their kinner, but it’s pretty and shaded.”
Goodness me. The man did have a smile that could melt a girl’s heart. Someday, there would be a lucky Amish woman who would snag this guy, but Charlotte just planned to enjoy the view. It didn’t sound like he would be able to offer up any new information
about Ethan, but she’d try again later.
“That sounds good—gut. I like to watch children playing. Laughing children make a person feel good—gut.”
Isaac nodded and turned into the park. Sure enough, there were several women with their children over by the slide and jungle gym. Isaac steered the horse and buggy to the far side of the park where there was a picnic table. “This okay?”
Charlotte nodded as her stomach rumbled. In the distance, a mother squatted at the end of the slide, waiting for her son to slide into her arms. The scene was postcard material, and as Charlotte looked on, she thought about her own family. What if she and Ethan had been raised by loving parents in a normal household? Would things have turned out differently for Ethan? For her?
Hannah was hanging the last towel on the line when she heard a buggy coming down the road. She picked up the empty basket and raised her hand to her forehead, squinting to block the sun.
Edna Glick. Another one of Hannah’s friends who hadn’t come around much since Ethan’s death. In truth, Hannah had withdrawn into her own little world, so she couldn’t fault others for not wanting to be around her. She was thankful for Mary. Her cousin seemed to have an understanding about Ethan’s death, and even though she hadn’t said so, Hannah suspected Mary must have lost someone very close to her also.
“Wie bischt,” Edna said as she crossed the yard toting a wicker basket. Edna was known for her glazed apple cookies. Hannah couldn’t remember the last time she’d had one.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been by in a while.” Edna stopped in front of her and smiled. “I’ve been spending a lot of time with John.”
Hannah had heard rumor that Edna and John Dienner were going to get married, though they hadn’t published it for the community to know yet. Edna was twenty-three, and most folks were surprised it had taken this long for them to get engaged. They’d been dating for a long time.
