He didn’t pull his arm away. “Do you have to be?” he teased. “I mean, you could keep checking my blood pressure just for the fun of it.”
Her brown eyes locked on his in a way they hadn’t before, dancing with mischief. She laid the stethoscope around her neck. “Well, it won’t be any fun unless we do something to make your pulse increase.” She whispered the words and held her index finger over her lips.
He was sure his heart rate had just increased—substantially. “Mmm, and how do you propose we do that?”
She bit her bottom lip and gazed up at him, making him long to kiss her. “I don’t think you’re old enough for us to cross that bridge yet.” She whispered the words and laughed.
Wondering if she was flirting with him or just being spirited tonight, Martin put one hand on each side of the stethoscope that hung around her neck. “I’m not old enough?” He pulled her closer, within five inches of his lips, and then a horn tooted, ending the moment abruptly.
The noise let them know Richard, Faye, Kevin, and Lissa were pulling into the driveway. Zabeth came out of the kitchen.
Hannah rose, untying the belt to her housecoat. She slid the housecoat off, revealing a typical Hannah dress—stylish and modest. She pulled off his socks and passed them to him. “Slightly used but all yours.”
“You’re pretty entertaining tonight, you know that?”
She ran her hands through her hair and began twisting it. “Yeah, well, you know how it is. I’m here to please.”
“What kind of mood is this?” he asked. “Did those men at the clinic share their booze with you?”
She clicked her tongue at him. “Can’t a woman have a little Christmas cheer without being accused of being tipsy?”
Zabeth chuckled. “Obviously not.”
Martin grabbed Hannah’s clip off the coffee table and held it up to her while she wound her hair into a loose bun. As far as he knew, he and Zebby were the only ones who ever saw her with her hair down. He just sat there, watching and wondering if they’d ever become all that he wanted from their relationship.
Hannah took the clip from his hand. “Maybe if Faye is, uh, void of too much Christmas cheer, we can play some board games like we did last year.”
“Board games?” Martin frowned at her, sounding as serious as he could.
“That’s spelled B-O-R-E-D, right?”
She pouted while pinning up her hair. “I thought I was entertaining.” When her eyes met his, reflecting some of the same feelings he had for her, he knew that Paul Waddell no longer owned her heart.
The door opened. Kevin and Lissa ran inside with their parents behind them.
Kevin held a Matchbox car out toward Hannah. “Look!”
Hannah scooped up Lissa. “I see that. It looks like your uncle’s car.”
Kevin climbed on the couch next to Martin. “It’s not the same, is it?”
“Well, let’s take a look at this.” He put the toy in the palm of his hand and talked to Kevin while still thinking of Hannah. She’d taken up residence in his soul, whether he fully approved of it or not.
Hannah eased Lissa onto Zabeth’s lap, turned and gave Faye a hug, and welcomed Richard before grabbing her medical bag and taking it to her bedroom.
Satisfied with Martin’s answers, Kevin moved to an empty area of the hardwood floor and sat down to play. Martin choked out a few niceties to his sister and Richard, recognizing the hollowness in his voice as he tried to find something pleasant to say. When Zabeth struck up a conversation with them, he went to see what kept Hannah.
Hannah’s back was to him when he tapped on the open door. Pulling a fleece jacket from the closet, she glanced his way. “Hi.” She put the pink jersey on. “You can come in.”
He stepped inside the room for the first time in years.
She pointed to the living room. “What do you think?”
He knew what weighed on her mind. “She doesn’t look high or drunk tonight.”
Relief filled her eyes. “I thought the same thing.”
“I know what I want for Christmas.”
“Yeah? Did you know Christmas Eve is not the time to have spontaneous wants?” she teased him.
“It is when it’s doable.”
She sat on the chair, looking up at him—half flirting, half just being friendly. “Okay, as long as this is equitable, I’m game.”
“Do you even know when you’re flirting?” He hadn’t intended to sound so flat and accusing but knew it came out that way.
“Well, that’s a mean thing to say. I don’t flirt.”
“Then I got my answer, didn’t I?”
She rolled her eyes. “So for Christmas you’d like us to argue?”
When they were studying together, Hannah knew how to hold her own if they argued. She’d make him apologize for his rude behavior if he threw out some overly snide or sarcastic remark, but she’d never cried or said her feelings were truly hurt. He liked that. Actually, it was a quality he’d always hoped to find in someone special.
“I surrender.” He held up both hands. “Whatever you say.”
She raised one eyebrow. “Anything I say? Hmm, let me ponder this awhile.”
“And yet she doesn’t see it,” he mumbled, deciding they could discuss the fact that she didn’t flirt another time. “Tuesday nights. Where do you go?”
All trace of cheer drained from her face. “What?”
“It’s what I want for Christmas, please.” He teased her, but the smile didn’t return to her face.
She lowered her eyes. “The Rape Crisis Center. At first it was mandatory because Dr. Lehman said I needed it. Now I counsel others.”
Martin heard the words rape center, but he couldn’t make himself respond.
Hannah gestured toward her bed. “Need to sit?”
He tried to regain his composure. “I never once thought …” He sat down across from her. “I’m really sorry.”
“Me too. I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t want you to know. Rape is so embarrassing.”
“And you thought I’d think less of you?”
“There’s always that chance, but more than that, I wanted you to learn to like me for who I am, not out of pity.”
He enfolded one of her hands between his. “Fair enough. But I think you should have trusted me to figure out and separate my own thoughts and feelings, don’t you?”
“Is that how you treat me—able to hear the whole story and figure out my own thoughts?”
“That’s different, Miss Not-Yet-Twenty-Years-Old.”
She pulled her hand away and folded her arms. “Yeah, but I’ll always be nearly eight years younger than you.”
“I know. You’re just going to have to trust me. Okay?”
She shrugged “So are you ever going to ask me out?”
His doubts about the type of relationship they were in vanished. “Give me a break, Hannah. I don’t date teenagers.”
She whispered, “But you almost kissed one.”
“I was sort of hoping you hadn’t noticed that.”
She caught his eye, and they both broke into laughter. “So now what?”
“We wait … just like I’ve been doing.”
“You call what you do waiting?”
The first thing he’d called it was trying not to care for someone so much younger than himself. Then he labeled it as giving her time to get over Paul, but he couldn’t see ruining their moment by sharing too much honesty. He pulled the gift certificates out of his pocket and laid them in her hands. “You hold on to these.”
The dreary skies outside Paul’s office window seemed to go on forever, only broken up by skeletal trees. It was barely winter, with Christmas just behind him, yet he was tired of the grayness, and he wasn’t looking forward to the New Year—although he knew he should be. He lived in a free country and had a loving family, plenty of food, and a good internship at the Better Path. But the holidays had felt empty, just like Thanksgiving and Christmas had last year and this ye
ar. It was the year before that where his thoughts always lingered—his last real time with Hannah.
She’d been gone twenty-two months, and he’d survived every day of that time in hope of her returning. He could understand that she hadn’t returned yet, but that she hadn’t even called? That he just didn’t get. He’d blown it with her. No doubt. And sometimes in life when you blew it, you didn’t get a second chance, but if she’d make contact, just once, they could start to work through things.
While gazing out the window, thinking, Paul saw movement a few hundred feet away. A closer look indicated it was an Amish or Mennonite woman walking here and there in the patch of woods near the mission. He studied the movement, trying to figure out what the woman was doing. She appeared to be gathering brushwood. A bicycle leaned against a tree near her. He eased back in his chair, watching.
The graduate program and internships suited him well and helped keep his mind focused on something other than Hannah’s eventual return. Since he really liked working at the Better Path, the facility he was in right now, he volunteered here regularly. It was run by an independent, nondenominational Christian organization that fed, clothed, and counseled people of all ages, races, and religious backgrounds. The place had thirty beds and a dozen different programs to help people, including one of his preferred programs—after-school care for teens. And best of all, at the end of the day he drove ten miles down the road to Owl’s Perch.
The woman carried a huge armload of sticks to the ditch and dumped it. That seemed odd. Deciding to take a closer look, Paul stood. He peered through the window just as the woman turned and seemed to look straight at him.
“Sarah?”
It couldn’t be. Surely she didn’t bike this far. It was near freezing outside. He grabbed his coat, went down the stairs and out the side door. Jogging across the road and into the woods, he couldn’t spot anyone.
Looking about, he called, “Sarah?”
A few moments later she stepped out from behind a tree. Not a trace of emotion showed on her face—no smile, no fear, not even recognition.
“Sarah, what are you doing here?”
She took a step toward the road, not even looking at him. “Have you seen her?”
Paul stood mute.
“She’ll come back here, you know. Right here.” She pointed at the mission home.
“How did you get here?”
“I saw this house in a dream. And Hannah was inside, looking out that window.” Sarah smiled and pointed to the only empty room in the place. “So I set out to find the place, and here it is. She was staring out the window, looking for me. And she still loved you, but you didn’t know it. It’ll happen, just wait and see.”
Paul knew she hadn’t needed to dream about this place to be aware of it. She’d passed it dozens of times, and Luke or Mary must have mentioned he was working here. Her imagining Hannah was here was the next natural step. Sarah wasn’t delusional; she just got things confused in her mind.
“Sarah, listen to me. You’re eighteen years old now. If you want to leave home and seek a doctor’s help, you don’t have to explain it to your dad or even go back there. There are counselors in the mission.” He knew she needed someone different than him, someone who wasn’t emotionally invested and who wouldn’t stir her community to anger merely by existing. “There’s a Dr. Stone, who comes in once a week. She can work out a plan to help you.”
Sarah looked him dead in the eye. “Daed burned Hannah’s letters, the ones she wrote before she left Owl’s Perch. She wrote me one, and he burned it. But he’s not the only one with power.” She reached inside her hidden apron pocket and pulled out a box of kitchen matches.
Those weren’t just sticks she’d gathered; they were kindling. “Come on, let’s go inside, and I’ll see if I can get Dr. Stone on the phone.”
“Everyone’s whispering that I’m crazy. I thought so too for a while, but I see things. Just wait. You’ll see that I’m right. Hannah will be right there.” Sarah pointed to the same empty room of the mission. “And you’ll see her, but you won’t.” She cocked her head, gazing at him. “That’s the real problem, isn’t it? We see people, but we don’t.” She waved at him and took off running, then paused and turned to face him. “You got a chance to hear her and didn’t. You’ll get a second chance, Paul.”
Hannah stared in the mirror, wondering if she could actually make herself leave the cabin looking like this. Faye had helped do her hair, scrunching it while using a hair dryer on it. It was awful wild looking to Hannah, but Zabeth said it was classy. Faye said it looked sexy.
Classy? Sexy? In public? Do I really want to do this?
Faye adjusted the inset tie on the side of Hannah’s rose-colored wrap dress while Zabeth looked on from her wheelchair. The flutter sleeves and V-shaped neckline were different than anything she’d ever worn, but it was the way the fabric gently molded to her body that gave her reason to pause. She’d picked out the pattern herself, but was she falling for the ways of the world?
Faye stepped back. “Okay, Hannah, let’s take a look at you.”
Faye had promised to stay with Zabeth tonight, making arrangements with Richard to watch the kids, so Hannah and Martin didn’t need to stay in Winding Creek for this occasion.
Hannah looked at her aunt’s reflection in the mirror. Her complexion was ashen, and her lips and fingertips were slightly blue. The swelling in her legs and her physical weakness caused her to use a wheelchair these days. “How much did you pay for the material to make this?”
“None of that. It’s your birthday, and you look beautiful, Hannah-girl, not much like the scrawny, pale girl of two years ago.”
Hannah swallowed. “I feel just as out of place tonight as I did then.”
“Well, of course. That’ll fade with time and some experience, but you look like you could own the world. Enjoy it.” She adjusted the tubing to her nasal cannula that fed her a constant stream of oxygen.
Faye winked. “I bet you’ll be on Martin’s top-ten list of best-looking dates ever. Now that’s saying something.”
“Thanks for the constant reminder of Martin’s past dates, Faye. It’s very helpful. Really.”
Faye rolled her eyes. “It’s the way it is—or was before you came. Deal with it. But maybe you’ll be the last. Who knows. One thing’s for sure, he’s not likely to ever hook up with anyone younger.”
Zabeth held up her hand, letting them know she intended to say something. She drew several deep breaths of pure oxygen before trying to speak. “You just got a bad case of nerves. You’ll have a wonderful time.”
“Sit.” Faye pointed to the bed and opened a small makeup kit. “We’ll just use a touch of color on your lips, cheeks, and eyes.”
Not sure she liked this idea either, Hannah sat and let Faye fill in as a makeup artist. Hannah wondered if Martin was the least bit nervous about tonight. She hoped he was.
As she’d learned over the last two years, Martin’s heart was pure gold. He drew her, despite his occasional raised voice and sarcasm. He’d drop anything at any time when she called him. Even if he was in the middle of some important meeting when she called, he would make time for her. He had helped her with tutoring, with Zabeth’s illness, and in hundreds of other ways, showing her how much he cared.
She knew the things she really liked about him were practical, but practical counted for an awful lot in her opinion. Paul had always needed her to wait. Wait. Wait. Whatever her needs were, they had to be put on hold to fit with his schedule.
And there was another side to Martin, one that caused her cheeks to warm when she found him staring at her from across the room. He wasn’t as tall or broad shouldered as Paul, but she discovered she really liked that. With her being in heels tonight, he’d only be an inch taller than she was. There was something wonderful about being able to stare a man in the eye when walking or talking or … almost kissing.
His confidence mesmerized her. It seemed contagious, and she needed that, like
a garden waiting for the spring rains.
Faye dusted Hannah’s cheeks and eyes with a light rose-colored powder while Hannah wondered what it would be like to be kissed by Martin. Maybe even tonight.
“Man in the house.” His voice startled her, and she gasped.
Zabeth chuckled. “You’re going to need my oxygen tank if you keep that up.”
“We’re coming,” Faye yelled, then reached for a tube and stroked the pink gloss across Hannah’s lips. Faye grinned and backed away. “All done. I’ll wait in the living room with Zabeth.”
“Thanks.” Hannah grabbed the matching pouch Zabeth had made as her purse and tucked the lip gloss inside it.
She drew air into her lungs, counted to three, and stepped out of her bedroom.
Martin whistled. “Man alive.” He held a bouquet of roses and orchids toward her.
“Thank you. They’re beautiful.” She drew them to her face and breathed deeply.
Suddenly feeling more awkward than nervous, she hoped to get past this and find their typical comfort zone.
He held a vase out to her. “I figured you’d need one of these.”
She shook her head. “I’ll keep them with me for now.”
Setting the vase on the table, Martin eyed her and smiled. He looked like he wanted to say something, but Hannah knew he would wait until they were alone.
Faye moved in front of her and rearranged a stray hair. “Well, this is one night you won’t be sleeping with your date, right, little bro?”
Feeling as if she’d been slapped, Hannah staggered under the realization of what Faye had just said.
“Shut up, Faye.” The words came from both Martin and Zabeth, but it was too late.
Hannah dropped the flowers and reached for her keys that stayed in a bowl in the center of the table.
Sisters of the Quilt Trilogy Page 54
