by Leslie Gould
Aenti Pauline helped Hannah undress as I took a nightgown from the top drawer of her dresser.
“Hannah,” Aenti Pauline said. “I need you to talk to me.”
My cousin shook her head.
Aenti Pauline slipped the nightgown over her oldest daughter’s head. I picked up her clothes and folded each item.
“Put them in the bottom drawer,” my Aenti said. Surprised, I did as she said, thinking my mother probably would have burned them if they belonged to me.
Hannah allowed her mother to pull her to her feet, to let the nightgown fall down around her legs. Then Aenti Pauline pulled back the covers, plumped her pillow, and motioned for Hannah to lie down. She tucked her in then, kissing her on the forehead. “Addie will be in shortly,” she said.
Hannah closed her eyes and didn’t respond.
I wasn’t sure we should leave her, but Aenti Pauline motioned me to follow her, so I did, pulling the door shut behind me.
“What happened?” she whispered, leading me down the hall to the window at the far end.
I explained about the accident and the ambulance taking Mervin to the hospital.
There was enough moonlight that I knew Aenti Pauline was growing more concerned with each twist of the story.
“She started sobbing, uncontrollably. She stopped when a police officer came over with an EMT to check her out. She said she was fine. But then she started again. Then, even after we knew Mervin was better, right before George dropped us off, she started up again.” I searched my Aenti’s face. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” she answered. “And it’s nothing new. The circumstances are—the accident and all—but she’s been crying a lot. She’s been inconsolable, some. We’ve been worried about her the last few months. The only time she seems happy is when she’s riding her horse.”
I tilted my head. “So it’s been more than just her feeling unsettled? Like what she told me when she came over last week?”
“Jah,” Aenti Pauline said. “We don’t know what’s going on. I took her to the doctor, and everything checked out okay. He said to make sure she got plenty of sleep, exercise, and good food—and to come back if she didn’t get better.”
“It looks like it’s time to go back.”
Aenti Pauline nodded, her shoulders slumping. “I’ll make an appointment on Monday.” Gravity seemed to be tugging at her face, her shoulders, and her swollen belly. Her mouth turned downward and her eyes weighed heavy.
“You should get to bed.” I touched her arm.
“Jah,” she answered. “You too.” She turned toward the staircase but then stopped. “Addie?”
“Jah.”
“Denki,” she said, facing me again. “For taking care of Hannah.”
“You’re welcome.”
By the time I closed the door to the girls’ bedroom, my Aenti’s footsteps fell on the stairs.
I changed into my nightgown as quietly as I could and slipped into bed beside Hannah. She stirred in her sleep but didn’t wake. Later during the night, with her back toward me, she whimpered, but I patted her as if she were Joe-Joe, and she settled back down and went to sleep.
Sometime after dawn, I opened my eyes to Aenti Pauline waking up Deborah and Sarah, but I immediately went back to sleep and didn’t wake again until well past seven, alarmed. If we didn’t hurry, we’d make the whole family late for church.
“Hannah.” I shook my cousin’s shoulder. “We should get up.”
When she didn’t respond I spoke louder. The third time I shook her a little harder.
Finally her eyes fluttered and she muttered something.
“What did you say?” I asked.
Her eyes closed again, her eyelids nearly translucent in the bright morning light, and she rolled over. When I shook her again she didn’t respond.
I dressed quickly and hurried down the stairs, finding Aenti Pauline in the kitchen drying the breakfast dishes. Onkel Owen was sitting at the table, his big hands wrapped around his coffee mug, reading The Budget.
Aenti Pauline mouthed, “How is she?”
Sensing she didn’t want her husband to know what was going on, I motioned toward the stairway.
“What’s going on?” Onkel Owen asked.
“Hannah’s not feeling well,” I said.
“’Course not. You two stayed out too late.”
“Jah,” I answered. “And I think we learned our lesson.”
Aenti Pauline put the towel on the hook and dried her hands on her apron. “It’s not just that, Owen. You know she hasn’t been well.”
“Then she shouldn’t have gone out last night.”
Aenti Pauline nodded. “I can see that now.”
“Go tell her to get ready. We’re going to be late.”
I followed my Aenti up the stairs.
The light from the window fell across the shadow quilt covering Hannah, who was folded into a fetal position, her head tucked against her chest, her long curly hair wound into a nest.
Aenti Pauline sat down beside her daughter. “Talk to me, Hannah,” she said.
Hannah didn’t stir.
Aenti Pauline shook her shoulder.
“Go away,” Hannah muttered.
“That’s enough, young lady.” My Aenti’s face grew red.
Hannah rolled away from her mother. Aenti Pauline seemed more like my own mother now than the long-suffering person she usually was. Clearly she was reaching the end of her patience. She stood, didn’t say a word, and left the room, her steps falling heavy on the staircase.
If there was something I could have said to my cousin to make her feel better or get her out of bed, I would have. But I couldn’t think of a thing that would make a difference. We hadn’t heard anything more about Mervin and probably wouldn’t for another few hours, until Molly or George left a message or stopped by.
But the truth was, I didn’t think being worried about Mervin was at the root of Hannah’s problem. This despondency she was feeling seemed critical to me. Even dangerous.
I knew my cousin. She wasn’t faking it.
Heavier steps, Onkel Owen’s I presumed, fell on the stairs, following Aenti Pauline’s lighter steps.
She led the way into the room, but it was Onkel Owen who spoke first. “Hannah, this has gone on long enough. Get up and get ready for church.”
When she didn’t respond, he grabbed her arm and yanked her up like a rag doll. She let out a wail, flopped to the side, and began sobbing again.
Onkel Owen let go of her arm as if he’d been shocked and stepped back. His eyes fell on me as if seeing me for the first time. “What do we do?” he asked.
I stepped forward and sank to the bed beside Hannah, trying to put my arms around her, but she curled into a ball again, like a potato bug.
I found my Onkel’s eyes. “Call someone and get some help. Maybe one of the bishops or preachers will know what to do.”
My Onkel stepped toward my Aenti, but instead of speaking they both simply nodded at the same time.
“You should call someone right away,” I said.
“Will you stay with her?” Aenti Pauline asked me.
I nodded. “Could you leave a message for Mutter and Daed too?” They’d have already left for church but they’d get the message when they got home, about the time they’d be expecting me. “So they know I’ll be late.”
My Aenti nodded.
After they left I sat beside Hannah again and sang songs to her, starting with “How Great Thou Art.”
A half hour later Deborah brought me a mug of coffee and a slice of buttered bread. “Here,” she said. “Mamm asked me to bring this up for you.” She paused and stared at Hannah.
“Tell your Mamm I appreciate it,” I said. When Deborah didn’t move, I added, “Denki to you too.”
She must have realized she was staring because she started walking out of the room backward, saying, “Dat said you and Hannah stayed out too long last night.”
“That’
s not why she’s like this.”
“Why is she, then?”
“I don’t know.”
Deborah turned around and fled the room.
I drank my coffee and sang more, working my fingers through Hannah’s hair as I did, pulling the tangles out. I got my brush from my purse and worked on it some more. A few times when I pulled too hard she whined, but besides that she didn’t respond.
It was a full two hours later that I heard horse’s hooves in the driveway. I stepped to the window but then retreated with a gasp. Onkel Owen and Aenti Pauline had reached a bishop.
Phillip and his father climbed down from their buggy. Bishop Eicher wasn’t their bishop, but he was respected throughout the whole area. It wasn’t a surprise he’d been summoned.
CHAPTER
15
I was relieved that Phillip didn’t come up to Hannah’s room, but Bishop Eicher did, following Aenti Pauline and Onkel Owen. When Hannah wouldn’t respond to his questions, the bishop said, rather loudly, “You have two choices. If you can get Hannah moving, hire a driver and take her to that clinic I told you about. If you can’t, call an ambulance and have them haul her down the stairs and to the emergency room.”
He paused, as if waiting for a reaction from Hannah. She didn’t move.
“I’ll go call for a driver,” Onkel Owen said. “Pauline, get her ready to go.”
I wanted to ask Bishop Eicher to pray with us, to pray for Hannah, but instead he left the room.
Suddenly I ached for Jonathan. He would have prayed. He would have spoken gently to Hannah.
Aenti Pauline stayed by the wall, frozen, so I sat back down beside Hannah. “Sweetie,” I said, “we need to get you dressed, but first let’s ask God to help us.” I reached for her hand and prayed silently, hoping perhaps she was praying too. After a few minutes I opened my eyes to find her looking at me.
“We’re going to get you help. Can you get dressed?”
She nodded.
“I think we can handle this,” I said to Aenti Pauline.
She nodded and started to leave but stopped at the door. “There was a message on the phone machine from Molly. She said Mervin was discharged this morning. He’s fine.”
“Denki,” I said, speaking both to God and to my Aenti, who was out in the hall now.
“Did you hear that, Hannah?” I asked, pulling back the quilt. “Mervin is going to be all right.”
She rolled toward me and nodded, just a little, but then she started to cry again.
“Jah,” I said. “How you’re feeling is more than just that. I know. So do your Mamm and Dat.”
I wondered if Molly knew anything about Timothy—if the police had gone out to our house yet—but she probably wouldn’t have mentioned that in a message. I pulled a dress and apron from a peg on the wall and put them on the end of the bed. I’d find out when I finally got home. I collected Hannah’s underthings from her top drawers and placed them on the end of the bed too.
“Come on,” I said, taking both of her hands and pulling her to a sitting position. “Let’s get you dressed.”
By the time I got Hannah downstairs, a baby step at a time, Phillip and the bishop were back in their buggy ready to leave, and the hired driver was waiting in a minivan.
Phillip acknowledged me with a nod, but the look on his face was as self-righteous as I’d ever seen as I struggled down the back steps with Hannah clinging to me. Her Dat stepped forward to take her the rest of the way. Phillip motioned to me, and although I wanted nothing more than to ignore him, it wasn’t in my nature. I stepped toward the buggy.
“What happened last night?” His tone was uncharacteristically harsh.
His father sat beside him, staring straight ahead.
“It’s a bit complicated.” I switched my overnight bag to my other shoulder.
“You were out with her, jah?”
I nodded.
“And Mervin Mosier got hurt?”
“Jah.”
“Why were you with all of them?” The harshness in his voice now paled in comparison to the sharp tone of judgment.
I didn’t answer.
“Addie?”
“Leave her be,” his father said.
Phillip stared at me. I stared back.
“Speaking of the Mosiers, isn’t that one coming this way?” Bishop Eicher pointed toward Onkel Owen’s horse pasture. A tall man was marching across it. Jonathan.
I couldn’t help but rush toward him.
As soon as he saw me, he began to run too. We met at the end of the pasture and clasped hands.
“Is she okay?” he asked.
“We’re taking her to get some help,” I answered. “We heard Mervin went home.”
Jonathan nodded. “He’s worried about Hannah.”
“Addie?” It was Aenti Pauline.
“Coming,” I yelled, and then quietly I said, “Do you know if the police went after Timothy?”
“They didn’t. Mervin wouldn’t give them any information. He didn’t want Timothy arrested.”
“What about his Dat? And your Dat?”
Jonathan put his hand against his stomach. “They’re upset, jah. But they decided not to involve the police.”
I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed. A visit from the officers, at least, might have been good for Timothy.
I couldn’t help but notice Jonathan’s hand, pressing now against his middle. “Are you all right?”
“Jah, just a little pain.” He dropped his hand to his side. “I had this back when my Dat and I weren’t getting along.”
I remembered him mentioning a stomach problem.
“I think I have some pills left from the naturopath,” he said, “or I’ll get some more.”
“Addie!” This time my Onkel called for me.
“You should go,” Jonathan said.
“When will I see you again?” I asked, trying to push away Onkel Bob’s warning.
Jonathan hesitated but then said, “Tonight. Meet me down by the creek at nine—if you can.”
I squeezed his hand and, even though Onkel Bob had told us not to meet, said, “Until then.”
Aenti Pauline yelled for me. “Addie! We’re going!”
Jonathan let go of my hand. “Hurry,” he said.
I turned my back to him just as Phillip drove his buggy by. He stared straight ahead, as did his father, not glancing my way. My face grew warm as I hurried toward the van. I knew the Shahm I felt coming to me from Phillip wasn’t deserved, but still my face burned.
Perhaps he understood now though. No matter his reasoning—even if it was because he’d decided I wasn’t worthy of him—I’d be blessed to have him finally comprehend we didn’t have a future together.
I climbed into the van and scooted to the seat in the back, behind Hannah. Aenti Pauline sat beside her and Onkel Owen sat up front.
Mammi Gladys appeared at the door of her Dawdi Haus. My Onkel rolled down his window and instructed Deborah, who held Maggie in her arms, to go tell our grandmother what was going on. I didn’t envy my cousin one bit.
As we passed the horses in the pasture, Hannah began crying again, softly. I patted her shoulder as I looked out the window, down to the oak at the fence line. Jonathan had stopped and was staring up at the tree. I imagined he was calculating how many hope chests he could make from the wood—or maybe he was just appreciating the underside of the canopy.
Or perhaps he was praying.
Jah, that was what he was doing. Praying for Hannah. And Mervin. And me.
Onkel Owen and the driver chatted about the hot weather and the crops as we rode along. Hannah had her head against the window and her feet on the bench seat, her knees pulled up to her chest. Aenti Pauline twisted around in her seat so she could look at me.
“Bishop Eicher called ahead. It’s a place that works with Plain people, both Old Order Mennonite and us. It doesn’t have electricity—just lamps, like at home. And no artwork on the walls. Or any Englisch magazin
es like at the doctor’s office.” She sighed. “They have a bed available.” She glanced at Hannah and lowered her voice more. “He said he couldn’t know how long she’d be there but probably a few days, at least.”
I nodded. She’d been off track for a while. It would probably take a little time to get her moving ahead again.
We rode along in silence. The air-conditioning was on in the van, but it was clearly growing warm outside. The Englischers we passed were wearing shorts and tank tops. A crowd was gathered outside a church, the women in short-sleeved dresses and the men wearing summer shirts. A few doors down, a little girl ran through a sprinkler, wearing a bathing suit.
The driver turned onto a busier highway and then a freeway. He pulled around a truck, accelerated, and then a few minutes later exited and turned onto a country road. After a while he turned down a driveway. At the end was a parking lot and then a house.
The driver stopped the van in the first space.
Onkel Owen opened the door.
“I’ll wait,” the driver said.
“Denki,” Onkel Owen said as he opened the side door for Aenti Pauline, who stepped down. Hannah scooted across the seat and climbed down too, with her father’s hand supporting her.
I followed them up the walkway into the house. There was a foyer area with a desk and to the right a living room. A middle-aged woman wearing a Mennonite Kapp greeted us. Clearly she’d been expecting Hannah.
She handed Onkel Owen a clipboard with papers attached and motioned down the hall. “We have a private admittance room this way,” she said. “Follow me.”
“I’ll wait here,” I said, stepping toward the living room.
Hannah gave me a look of panic. I gave her a hug and whispered, “This is a good thing. You’ll be better soon.”
She hugged me back.
Then I watched her shuffle after the woman down the hallway, Aenti Pauline on one side, her head bent a little, her maroon dress wrinkled in the back and her apron coming untied. Onkel Owen was on the other, his black hat in one hand and the clipboard in the other. My Aenti and Onkel looked old to me for the first time, nearly as old as my own parents, who had already been worn down by their children.
