Sisters of the Quilt Trilogy

by Cindy Woodsmall

  An odd, prickly sensation ran through her chest, making breathing difficult. She removed the wooden peg lock and opened the door. Her mother stood just outside, in the small back entryway where boots and coats lined the walls. A shadowy glow from the lamp fell across Mamm’s stricken face. Resisting the urge to fall into her mother’s arms and cry, Hannah remained at a distance.

  Her father entered from the kitchen, carrying a small jar of salve. His medium-sized frame appeared large when encircled by the shadows from the lamplight. “Your younger siblings are asleep. You will get some peace and quiet tonight.” He smiled, obviously trying to sound like his normal self. “See, all is well,” he assured her, though his confidence seemed forced. But there was something different in her father’s voice, something suggesting an edgy coldness he’d never had before.

  She handed her father the lamp and followed her mother into the kitchen. Stiff and shaky as a new colt, Hannah made her way to one of the benches that sat on each side of the kitchen table. The familiar rich wood brought no warmth to her tonight. Too weak and dizzy to talk, she sat in silence, hoping with every blink of her eyes that she would awaken from this horrible nightmare.

  Her father set the lamp on a nearby shelf and paused in the doorway. “I’ve been thinking. It is best that you not speak of this to anyone, including your brothers and sisters. They only need to know that you fell on your way home and your mother thought you were more injured than you are.” He paused. “Everything I just said is true, no?”

  She didn’t want anyone to know what had really happened, including herself. She silently begged God to let her die. She couldn’t handle this. Incapable of responding, Hannah lowered her eyes.

  Mamm shuffled to the gas stove and removed the lid of a simmering pot. “I prepared some broth and rice while you were in the bath. It’ll make you feel better.” Her mother’s jerky movements and quivering voice made Hannah think Mamm might start screaming again.

  Hannah glanced at her father, wordlessly asking permission to turn down the offer. The muscles in his face appeared taut as he stepped closer to her. Lifting the edge of the shawl that had fallen off her shoulder, he nuzzled it against her neck. The movement was comforting, causing Hannah to think she might survive the night yet. Then he leaned close and whispered, “Do as your mother says.”

  The shaking that had subsided returned with a vengeance.

  Her father knelt in front of her. “She needs to know you’ll be fine,” he whispered before turning her hands over and gently rubbing some salve on her wounds.

  Closing her eyes tight against the onslaught of nausea, Hannah realized her father’s desire to prove to Mamm that Hannah was fine outweighed everything else.

  She gulped. The hard, dry swallow was followed by an intense desire to flee the house and seek refuge at Mrs. Waddell’s. Fear grew until it seemed to form its own silhouette. The thought of going to Mrs. Waddell’s was ridiculous. Hannah couldn’t go anywhere. He might be out there waiting for her.

  Hannah hung the shawl on a wooden peg and silently padded to the foot of the bed. Moonbeams cast a silvery glow across the room, revealing the two double beds with her three younger sisters in them. The wonderful scent of air-dried sheets brought no comfort as she slid between them.

  Sarah roused. “You okay?” Her slow speech and groggy voice felt like a slap across Hannah’s bruised heart. How could she have been sleeping peacefully while Hannah’s world was crashing down around her?

  Loneliness filled Hannah, smothering her just as that man’s body had. “Ya. Go back to sleep.”

  Sarah turned her back to Hannah and snuggled against the pillow beneath her head. Soon Hannah heard the deep breaths of her sisters sleeping all around her. Mamm was still downstairs, talking to Daed. The whispers of her mother’s stress settled over the night. Her scratchy voice mingled with Daed’s muted tones.

  Hannah curled into a ball and buried her face in the pillow, afraid to make any noise.

  Paul sat at the desk in his bedroom, writing a letter to Hannah. Yesterday evening when he got home, his parents had all seven of his high-school classmates waiting to see him. A huge meal had been spread out on picnic tables in his backyard, and his sister and her family were there. Since the parents of his graduating class had pulled their kids from the local public school in seventh grade and had begun their own school in a garage-turned-classroom, the eight of them stayed in contact with each other regularly. Marcus, his closest friend, was there too. He was the only one at the get-together who wasn’t Mennonite, but Marcus wasn’t one to ever feel out of place. He and Paul had been neighbors and good friends most of their lives, and now they were college roommates. Without Marcus’s influence over Paul’s parents, Paul might not have been allowed to further his education, since most of his sect didn’t believe in going on to college.

  The only disappointing part of the evening was that Hannah was not by his side. As he wrote to her about the party, he assured her there would be plenty more gatherings that she would be a part of. It was easier to write to her now that he knew how she felt about him, now that they had plans to marry.

  A knock at the bedroom door made him lay down his pen and turn the top page of his letter facedown. “Come in.”

  The door eased open just enough to reveal Carol’s upper body. Paul rocked back in his seat, facing the doorway. “I thought you and William had plans with your boys tonight.”

  His sister was seven years older than he, and her face seemed to be quickly becoming identical to their mother’s. “I was hoping I could talk you into joining us for the evening. We’re going to the Senators’ game.” She looked at the stack of papers on the desk.

  Paul laid his hand on top of the letter. Hannah would love to see a minor-league baseball game. Snacks at the stadium and the entertainment between each inning would be treats for her. “I have some things I need to get done today, packing and such. I have to leave tomorrow afternoon since classes start on Tuesday. I need time to apply for jobs and get settled in before Tuesday.”

  Carol huffed. “You cut your time with us shorter every summer.”

  Paul rose from the desk, guilt nipping at him. “There’s just not enough time to spread around. It’s nothing personal.”

  She pushed the door open farther, and Paul saw Dorcas standing behind her. She was one of his seven classmates and the daughter of his mother’s best friend.

  Looking at the lace on her dress, he felt his face flush. His sister was up to something, and he didn’t need his bachelor’s degree to figure it out. He wanted to shoot an angry look toward Carol, but Dorcas would see it. He didn’t want to hurt the girl’s feelings. She was a nice-enough person, he guessed. But Paul had seen enough of her selfish side over the years to make him wonder if she was truly as manipulative as she sometimes appeared.

  Carol’s eyebrows rose, warning him to behave.

  Paul willed himself to smile at Dorcas. “Did you sleep in after our late-night gathering?”

  Dorcas’s green eyes fastened on him as they’d done for as long as he could remember. “My sister piled on my head at eleven o’clock, calling me Rip Van Winkle. You?”

  “I awoke before the sun rose.”

  An awkward silence fell between them. Every possible topic had been discussed at length last night as his company had talked and laughed until after two in the morning. The only subject that hadn’t come up was Hannah. Every once in a while over the past few years, he had mentioned to Carol that he was interested in someone—usually whenever she started pushing Dorcas on him. His know-it-all sister had accused him of having his eye on Gram’s Amish helper. Paul hadn’t denied or confirmed her suspicions. But he trusted that Carol had never said a word to his parents about why he was willing to spend his summers helping Gram while doing odd jobs for her neighbors.

  Carol edged to the side of his bed and took a T-shirt from a clean but crumpled pile. She shook it out and folded it. “We’ll help you get ready and pack tomorrow if you’ll go
out with us tonight.”

  Paul shook his head. “I can handle it. You guys have fun.”

  After placing the folded shirt on the bed, Carol moved to his desk. “Are you making a list of things to do?” Her fingertips grasped the corner of Paul’s letter.

  Paul placed his palm over the paper. He gave a firm look to his sister, hoping she’d realize that he was an adult with a right to his privacy.

  Concern shone in her eyes. “Please don’t tell me you’re still infatuated with that Amish girl.” She said the words “Amish girl” as if Hannah were inferior.

  Dorcas gasped. Paul looked back to the doorway where she was standing. She looked hurt. Was it possible she still hoped that Paul would take an interest in her? Her attention moved to the letter in his hand before she turned her head. But she remained there, listening.

  “You’re out of line, Carol. And I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t say the word Amish as though they’re dirt.”

  Carol sighed. “Look, I have nothing against them. But if you’re planning on courting one of them and bringing her out from her people, I’m warning you, it’ll never work.”

  He stood and placed his hands on Carol’s shoulders and forced a gentle tone. “She and I both hold to God’s truth. He’ll give our relationship strength to work through our differences.”

  Carol eased onto the bed, freeing herself from his tender grip. She grabbed the folded shirt and squeezed it to her chest. “Is it that Hannah something-or-other?”

  Hoping he wasn’t making a mistake in admitting it, Paul nodded.

  “Paul, the Amish aren’t like us. They’re legalistic beyond reason. I mean, we live without television and radios, but that’s nothing compared to the Old Order Amish restrictions. She’ll continue in her ways, even if she’s physically removed from her people.”

  Paul scoffed. “Hannah will find whatever freedoms she thinks are the right ones, given time.”

  Carol stood, facing him. “You’re being naive. She could never be comfortable outside the ways she’s been taught. It’s the same as you getting comfortable wearing a dress and a Kapp.” She tossed the shirt on the bed. “Everything that girl’s been taught she learned from the Amish, including her schoolteacher—someone with only an eighth-grade Amish education herself. Even those who leave almost always go back.”

  Paul crouched beside his bed and grabbed a duffel bag from under it. “You’re exaggerating, and you know it.”

  Carol stepped back, giving him room to get the bag out. “Paul, for goodness sake, think this through. If she marries outside her faith, it’ll break her parents’ hearts, ruin all fellowship with her siblings, and bring embarrassment to her whole family.”

  He pulled the bag out and stood.

  At the bedroom doorway, Dorcas tapped the wooden frame with her fingernails, drawing their attention. “I’m sure Paul knows what he’s doing.”

  “But …,” Carol sputtered.

  Dorcas tilted her head and gave a slight shrug. “You’ve already shared your opinion, Carol. It’s time to let it go.”

  Carol stood motionless, other than blinking a few times.

  The right words were leaving Dorcas’s mouth, and Paul appreciated it, but something about the way she looked hinted that she wasn’t saying what she really thought. Putting an end to the game playing from both of them, Paul decided to disclose his secret. “I’m not going to change my mind about Hannah. I’ve already asked her to marry me.”

  Carol’s eyes opened wide. “You what?”

  Paul glanced at Dorcas’s blank face, then returned his focus to Carol. “I need you both to keep this between us. I’m hoping I can win her family’s approval before they find out.”

  Carol’s eyes narrowed. “Marry her? You can’t possibly believe you love this girl.”

  “Oh, Paul,” Dorcas whispered, as if he’d just shared terrifying news.

  “This is ridiculous.” Carol grabbed several pages of the letter and shook them.

  With a gentleness he didn’t feel, he wrapped his fingers over the rumpled pages in Carol’s hand. “Let go of it.” His calm tone belied how much anger was rising within him. When she hesitated, Paul spoke slowly and purposefully. “Now, Carol.”

  She released her grip on the pages. “You have no idea what it takes to make a marriage work. It’s like …” She paused, clearly trying to think of the perfect allegory. “It’s like using your truck to carry a dozen people to a formal wedding.”

  “You’re comparing Hannah to my truck?” In spite of his best effort, sarcasm oozed from his words.

  “What I mean is that Hannah was built for one kind of life. Changing her will cause serious problems, not just to her but to her family. And you. Not to mention your children. Can’t you see that?”

  “I know this isn’t what you want for me, Carol. But you’re gonna have to trust me on this.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “This conversation isn’t over.”

  Paul kissed her on the cheek. “Of course not.” He smiled down at her. “I know what I’m asking of my family and friends—and hers. But the only life I want is with her.” Paul laid the pages against his chest and smoothed some of the wrinkles from them.

  Carol rolled her eyes. “You always were melodramatic.”

  He placed the letter back on his desk and chuckled. “Levelheadedness must make room for love, or we have no need of living sensibly. For without true affection, practicality has nothing to protect.” He grabbed his bag and unzipped it.

  An obviously forced but peacemaking smile crossed his sister’s face. “Spare me your philosophical ramblings.” She tapped the papers on Paul’s desk. “So, can you pull yourself away long enough to watch a Senators’ game with us? I’ll still help you pack tomorrow.”

  Paul was glad he’d been so bold as to tell them of his plans. They’d both accepted the news better than he’d thought possible. Maybe now his sister would recognize that he would never be more than cordial friends with Dorcas.

  From the doorway, Dorcas pointed to his clothes on the bed. “We might even swipe an iron over one or two things.” She giggled. “You know my motto: putting off work until tomorrow can make today a ton of fun.”

  Paul tossed the travel bag onto the bed. “I guess a night at City Island would be a nice distraction.”

  Bristly heat and sweat roused Hannah to consciousness. She pushed the sheet away from her face and half opened her eyes, checking the clock. Streams of sunlight filtered in around the green shades. The room was sweltering as the cool morning air gave way to the scorching heat of late summer. Unsure why she was still in bed, confusion swirled for a moment before the all-too-familiar images hurled against her. How many days had passed since the attack—two, maybe three?

  She lay motionless, searching for a ray of hope that would bring comfort, but she couldn’t find one.

  Nausea rose. Desperate for some cooler air, she darted down the steps and out the front door. She hurried to the beech tree, hoping to go unnoticed by her family. A cool breeze stirred the air.

  “Hannah.”

  The sound made her jolt. Looking in the direction of the voice, she saw her twenty-year-old brother, Luke, striding across the yard toward her. Her body tensed, making her injuries hurt even more. Standing in the yard in her nightgown, she could easily imagine what words of correction her eldest brother would have.

  Luke came to a halt in front of her. He held a galvanized bucket in one hand; with the other, he hooked his thumb through a brown suspender. Compassion shone in his brown eyes. “Are you still feeling poorly this morning?” He gestured to her gown. “I suppose that’s a foolish question. Daed said you lost a whole pail of berries the other day. He had me scavenging the countryside this morning to replace them, but it’s so late in the season, I’m surprised you found a bucketful when you did.” He set the almost-empty container on the ground.

  Hannah tried to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.

  Luke smiled. “Cat got your tongue?�
��

  Determined to give an answer, she found her voice. “It was a nice try.” She stared at the pitiful pile of blueberries lying in the same bucket that had been brimming with them before …

  Luke gently took her hands, facing the palms up. “Ach, wie entsetzlich.” He raised his eyes to hers. “Are your knees this bad?”

  She cleared her throat, surprised to find that the simple action helped her gain control of her emotions. “I’m fine, Luke.”

  Her brother tilted his head, a dozen questions reflected in his eyes. He nodded and released her hands. “I’m sorry you got hurt.”

  Knowing nothing else to say, she left without answering him. If she could see through the fog that covered her mind, maybe she could make some sense of what had happened and figure out how to fix it. But clear thought seemed impossible.

  She walked barefoot across the thick grass, eased open the screen door, and stepped inside. Hoping to avoid seeing anyone else, she paused to listen. She heard her youngest sister, Rebecca, in the kitchen with their mother and Esther. By the sound of things, they were busy canning. Somehow Hannah’s bolt outside had escaped her mother’s notice.

  Or maybe her mother was unwilling to face her.

  Too weak and drained to work through any more thoughts, she tiptoed upstairs and crawled back into bed. She covered her head with the lightweight sheet.

  The rumbling of an English vehicle startled Hannah from her sleep. A sense of panic rose within her as the engine noise grew louder and then stopped right outside her window. The acrid smell of exhaust fumes drifted through the open window and past the closed blind. Visions of her attacker loomed in her mind’s eye.

  Shaking, Hannah rose from the bed. Barely able to breathe, she forced herself to take a quick peek out the side of the drawn shade. Relief flooded her. It was only Mr. Carlisle in his refrigerated truck. He was here to get the milk. He always came between two and three in the afternoon.