The question was, how he was ever going to convince her that being with him was safe and that they were more than friends. Were they? Or was his imagination running wild again? He reached up to scratch at the scars on his face.
Scars.
Everyone had them, but his were hideous. He’d thought that keeping them, that refusing the cosmetic surgery, would help pay the debt he owed for not saving his parents. He’d never considered that they might push away someone that he cared about. What if Hannah simply couldn’t abide looking at him from one day to the next? She’d never hinted at that, but people could hide their feelings. If she was repulsed by him, it wouldn’t mean that she was shallow, only that she was human.
He walked back into his workshop and began sanding again, more aggressively this time.
He didn’t know if Hannah was worried about protecting Matthew’s feelings or her own, but he did know that she needed to stop shielding the boy from all of life’s ups and downs. Matthew needed friends the same as everyone else, and if it meant that someone occasionally let him down...that was part of growing up.
One other thing he knew for certain. He wouldn’t be the one to disappoint Matthew. Now all he had to do was find a way to convince Hannah of that.
It was risky. Putting his feelings out there would mean that he might be hurt, and he’d had his fair share of that already. But not letting her know how he felt? Not taking a chance to get to know her on a personal level? That felt like a bigger risk than he was willing to take.
Chapter Nine
Friday dawned beautiful, cool and crisp. If she’d lived closer, Hannah would have walked to work. As it was, she said goodbye to her family and drove Dolly the few miles to Jacob’s place. She was still uncomfortable with the way things had ended between them the day before. Had he actually said he liked her? What did that mean?
Fortunately he wasn’t there when she arrived, so she didn’t have to worry about being embarrassed about the way they’d left things. She went straight to the office and was soon immersed in receipts and columns of figures and IRS categories. The morning passed quickly and her stomach began to grumble. She was about to pull over yet another box of receipts when she heard a whistle from out in the yard. She hurried to the door and saw Emily Schrock making her way toward the workshop, a basket over her arm and a smile on her face. Hannah hadn’t seen Jacob’s sister-in-law in years. In fact, the last time she’d seen her they’d been in grade school together.
“Tell me you have some cold tea or hot coffee in there.”
“I have both, and scones too—fresh blueberry.”
Emily was nearly as round as she was tall, and she always had been as far back as Hannah could remember. She was the traditional Amish woman, and probably could have starred in one of the local Amish plays. Quick with a smile, an excellent cook and, if Hannah remembered right, she had a whole passel of children. As Emily stepped closer, Hannah realized she was also expecting another child, though her baby bump wasn’t yet too obvious. It seemed Hannah’s lot in life to be surrounded by pregnant women.
“Come in the office. I finally finished cleaning.”
Emily let out a long whistle as she walked into the room. “Wow. You did all of this...this week?”
Hannah allowed the woman to enfold her in a hug.
“We’re so glad you’re here.”
“We?”
“Micah and I. We worry about Jacob, and the IRS audit... Micah was ready to hire one of the Englisch accountants in town.”
“He may still need to. I haven’t actually worked through all of his receipts yet.”
“And his books?”
“He doesn’t have any.”
“I suppose that’s part of the problem. I’m sure you’ll be able to fix it, though. I remember how you were in school. Math was your favorite subject.”
“Still is,” Hannah admitted. “It’s what I enjoy about quilting, the measuring and calculating.”
“And what I always make mistakes on. How about we go outside? The rocking chairs looked more comfortable than the stool you have behind your desk.”
Hannah readily agreed. As they walked back out into the fall sunshine, she asked, “How are you? I see you’re expecting again.”
“I am, and I dearly hope it’s a girl, though of course we’ll love whatever Gotte blesses us with.” She opened the thermos and poured two cups of coffee.
It was much better than what Jacob made in the workshop, and Hannah sipped it with pleasure, closing her eyes and enjoying the rich taste.
“You have several boys already, right?”
“Five. Samuel is twelve. He’s our oldest. The twins—Timothy and Thomas—are ten. Eli’s nine, and Joseph is six.”
“I’ll never remember all those names.” Hannah laughed and plucked one of the scones from the basket.
“You know how it is with Amish families—big and loud and messy.” As if suddenly remembering Hannah’s situation, she set down the scone she’d been eating and brushed off her fingertips on her apron. “I was so sorry to hear about Matthew’s accident, and your husband...a real tragedy.”
“Danki.” The word was barely a whisper.
“I should have come to see you.”
“Nein. Why would you? You have your hands full with your own children and husband to care for, your home to maintain and—”
“Why would I?” Emily looked truly shocked at the question. “Because we’re freinden. Because we take care of each other, like family.”
Nearly the same words that Jacob had said to Hannah earlier.
Emily picked up her scone and finished it off with the last of her coffee. “I know we’re not technically in the same district, but that doesn’t matter. We’re still one community. Maybe you could bring Matthew to meet my boys.”
“Oh, I don’t know—”
“They’re rambunctious but they’re gut boys.”
“Where are they at this morning?”
“With my parents, who live on the other side of us. They’ll all be in school this year. My youngest is only a year older than Matthew. He’s four, right?”
“Nearly five.”
“And Joseph is barely six. They could be gut frienden.”
Hannah didn’t answer that. She thought it unlikely that a healthy six-year-old would want to be friends with a disabled five-year-old. The thought stung her, stirred the old ache, and she pushed it away.
“Tell me about Jacob,” she said, more to change the subject than anything else.
“Oh, ya, sure. There’s not a lot to tell. You know about the fire.”
“My mother told me about it.”
“Happened six years ago, but he still hasn’t healed from that night, in my opinion.”
“He was here when it happened?”
“Nein. He was downtown, courting a young girl from the next district. He came back late and the home was already ablaze.”
“Lightning is what Mamm said.”
“So the firefighters told us. Jacob blames himself, I think.”
“For a lightning strike?”
“More because he wasn’t here. He didn’t get to them in time, or he might have saved them—at least that’s what he said when they were transporting him to the hospital. Maybe he blames Micah too. Our place is next door but over the hill. We didn’t realize what had happened until we heard the fire trucks.”
“Jacob ran into it...into the fire?”
“He did.” Emily began tidying up, offered Hannah another scone, then repacked the picnic basket. “His scars—the ones on the inside—they are far worse than the ones on his face.”
“It must be hard—being disfigured.”
Emily shook her head so hard that her kapp strings swung back and forth. “No one even notices anymore. What they see is what he is—a gut man who is hurting
.”
Hannah realized Emily was right; she hadn’t really thought of his scars in a long time. She certainly didn’t notice them anymore. “And yet it’s hard to be different.”
“Not if we’re humble, it isn’t.”
Hannah bit back the retort that came too quickly to her lips. What would you know of being different? It was often easy for those not suffering from a thing to tell you how to handle it. She didn’t utter either of those thoughts aloud, however. Emily obviously cared for Jacob and only wanted what was best for him.
Hannah set her chair to rocking, determined not to butt into the other family’s affairs. Emily, however, wasn’t done yet, perhaps because she had no other woman in her household to share her worries and concerns with.
“I know several gut women who would be happy to court Jacob, but he can’t see past his own scars. It worries me, for sure and certain it does.”
“You care about him.”
“All I know to do is keep trying, because if you ask me, Jacob needs a family. He needs to get his attention off himself and onto someone else. He needs to learn to love again.”
* * *
Friday didn’t work out the way Jacob had hoped. He had to be at the job early, before sunrise, so that he could finish the cabinetry work in time for the job superintendent to approve what he’d done. He could have pushed some of the work off until Saturday, but he had plans with Hannah and Matthew the next day. That thought had him whistling through his breakfast of oatmeal and coffee.
He finished the cabinetry job well before lunch. He told himself that he didn’t work quickly so that he could at least say hello to Hannah before she left for Matthew’s appointment, but in truth he wanted a glimpse of her. Somehow seeing her each day improved his mood, even if it was only to have her shove a scrap of paper into his hands and say, “Can you explain this one to me?”
The job site manager grinned as he checked off the boxes on his approval form. “Hot date, Jacob? I’ve never seen you work so fast.”
“Some orders are backed up in my shop is all.”
Which was a true statement, if not completely honest. Or was it completely honest? There was no real reason to be at the shop with Hannah. She seemed to be doing fine on her own.
“Uh-huh, well, as usual you’ve done an excellent job. Sign here.” The man thrust a clipboard toward him. “Your payment should be processed early next week.”
“Danki.”
“Thank you, and I’ll be needing you for that job in Shipshewana mid-September, if that still sounds good to you.”
“Sounds great.”
But the thought of riding the construction firm’s bus to Shipshewana each day didn’t appeal to him as it once had. The truth was that he’d rather be home.
Still, the cabinetry work allowed him to spend time on the playhouses, and he’d received another order for one the day before. He was itching to get to his workshop and work on a design plan. The little girl had cerebral palsy. Her form said that she loved anything pink, sparkly or related to Princess Belle. He’d had to ask a coworker what that last one meant.
“Beauty and the Beast? Surely you’ve seen it.”
When Jacob shook his head, the man had said, “Come to my house. My littlest watches it at least once a day.”
So instead of going straight home at noon on Friday, he stopped by the library and used the computers to find a short description of the movie. Pulling out a scrap of paper from his pocket he’d written:
bright, beautiful, young woman.
beast lives in castle.
he has a good heart and she loves to read.
Not a lot to go on, but those three lines were enough. Suddenly he knew what he wanted to build. A castle with bookcases and one of those giggle mirrors that was both safe and fun. He’d seen them on a school playground he’d helped build. In fact, if he remembered correctly, the construction manager had ordered it from the local hardware store.
He walked from the library to the store, ordered the mirror and set off toward home. It was only a little after noon, so he should get there before Hannah left for the day. He’d hardly spent any time with her, but he had peeked into the office each evening. It smelled and looked better, and he had to admit that her changes to the room made a lot of sense. She seemed to be making progress, based on the stacks of taped receipts and notations in the spiral notebook she’d bought. She’d even begun to write in the accounting book he’d purchased.
He arrived a few minutes after noon to find Hannah and Emily sitting in the rockers underneath the porch of the workshop.
“Any scones left for me?” he asked, dropping down onto the porch floor.
Emily peered into the basket. “Looks empty.”
“I know you are teasing me, Emily.” Jacob pulled the basket out of her hands, dug around inside the dish towels and came away with a giant oatmeal cookie. “This will do.”
“You’re in an awfully gut mood.”
“Why wouldn’t I be? Finished my job early. The check is in the mail, and I get to work on a new playhouse this afternoon.”
“Who is this one for?” Hannah asked.
“Young girl here in town actually. She has cerebral palsy. It’s a disease that—”
“I know what it is,” Hannah said softly. “CP affects muscle tone, posture, even eyesight.”
“The poor thing.” Emily poured Jacob a mug of coffee from her thermos and handed it to him. “Any idea what kind of playhouse you’re going to build?”
“Apparently she likes some Englisch movie called Beauty and the Beast, so I’m thinking it should be in the shape of a castle, complete with turrets, bookcases and a funny mirror. That’s my initial plan, anyway.”
“It will be wunderbaar, Jacob.” Emily began storing items back into her basket. “I better get home. The boys went to town with Micah, but they’ll be back soon.”
“I hope my bruder and my nephews appreciate you and your cooking abilities.” Jacob finished the cookie and snagged the thermos of coffee before she tucked it away. “Sure there aren’t more cookies in there? I’m still hungry.”
“Because you need to eat real food, not just sweets. Speaking of hungry...don’t forget brunch on Sunday.”
“Oh, I...”
“Jacob Schrock, you will not be working on Sunday, and since there’s no church, I expect you to be at our house by ten thirty in the morning.”
Jacob glanced at Hannah, a smile tugging at his lips. “My sister-in-law can be quite bossy, if you haven’t noticed.”
“You should listen to her.”
“I should?”
“Sure. She’s a gut cook and your nephews apparently don’t see you very much.”
“Now, that makes me think you two have been talking about me.”
Emily stopped what she was doing and studied Hannah, her head cocked. “You should come too.”
“Me?”
“Bring Matthew. He can meet the boys.”
“Oh, I don’t think—”
“And your parents. I haven’t seen Claire and Alton in ages.”
“I’m sure they have other plans.”
Emily ran a hand over her stomach, then placed the basket over her arm and smiled at Hannah. “Just ask them. We’d love to have you.”
With a small wave, she set off across the property to her house.
“You two do this every day?”
“I’ve only been here a week. This is actually the first time Emily has stopped by.”
“It’s gut she did. Emily doesn’t get enough girl time according to Micah. I suppose living with a house full of males could try anyone’s patience.”
But Hannah wasn’t listening. She’d dumped the contents of her coffee mug onto a nearby plant, repositioned the rocking chairs and headed back inside without another word.
Ja
cob followed her, suspecting something was wrong but clueless as to what it might be.
“It would be great if you and Matthew could come Sunday...and your parents too, of course. Emily usually has a small-sized group—enough to get up a game of ball, but not so many that the buggies are crowded together.”
Hannah definitely wasn’t listening. She’d practically run into the office, and now she was perched on her stool pulling yet another stack of receipts toward her.
“Hannah? What’s wrong?”
“We won’t be coming on Sunday.”
“Oh. I just thought Matthew might enjoy—”
“You don’t know anything about what Matthew might or might not enjoy.” Two bright red spots appeared on her cheeks, but her gaze remained on the receipts, which she was now pulling out haphazardly. “Meeting new people is very hard for him.”
“For him...or for you?”
“That’s not fair.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, really.” She jumped off the stool, nearly toppling it over in the process. Hands on her hips, she said, “It’s easy enough for you to boss me around, but when was the last time you were at your bruder’s house?”
“That’s not the point.”
“Isn’t it? You’re telling me that it’s gut to be together, but apparently you stay here in your workshop whenever possible, hiding away.”
“I’m not hiding.” His temper was rising, and he fought to keep his voice down. “It’s true I’ve been busy, but I don’t avoid seeing them, and you shouldn’t avoid introducing Matthew to new people.”
“Why would you say that?” All color had drained from her face. “Why would you pretend to know what I should or shouldn’t do?”
“I worked with Matthew on the playhouse. I know he’s lonely.”
“You know nothing! You haven’t seen him on Sundays, longing to do what the other children do, but confined to his chair.”
“I’m sure that must be difficult for you.”
“You don’t hear him cry when he has a terrible dream or when he’s wet his bed because he can’t get up by himself.”
“I wasn’t saying—”
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