by Jan Drexler
The north wind had grown stronger during the night, blowing through the tops of the trees above the road, sending red and yellow leaves swirling down to the forest floor below in the early morning light. Here and there through the woods on either side of the road, butternuts and acorns peppered to the ground among the crisp leaves. Fat squirrels rooting among the litter ignored Daed’s wagon, intent on gathering as much of the bounty as they could before the swirling leaves turned to snowflakes.
Hannah pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders and ran to catch up with the old Conestoga wagon lumbering along the road ahead. Looking past the horses, she could see the open country dotted with houses and farms that surrounded Lancaster. Daed wouldn’t want her to fall behind this close to town. As the road emerged from the woods, it widened so that Hannah could walk next to him as he kept pace with Beppli, the left wheel horse.
“It should be a good Market Day, ja?” Hannah’s voice puffed from trying to keep up with Daed’s pace.
“Ja, for sure. Since it’s the last of the year, we should have plenty of customers.” Daed clicked his tongue at the horses, but Beppli and Blitz were well used to this route and the weight of the wagon. They flicked their ears, but kept on their plodding way. “I’m glad you were able to come along to help sell your Mamm’s goods. The women customers would rather deal with you than with me, I think.”
“I didn’t want you to make the trip alone. I don’t know why Liesbet didn’t want to come.”
“She’s still a little girl in many ways.” Daed sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.
“She’s nearly sixteen. When I was her age—”
“You were never her age, Hannah.” He flicked a fly away from Beppli’s ears with his whip. “You’ve always been wise beyond your years.”
Hannah glanced at him, but he kept his eyes on the horses now that they were nearing the houses on the outskirts of the town. Wise? She didn’t feel wise. If she was wise, she wouldn’t be so up and down, so confused about what her life was to be. A wise woman knew her place in life and was content. Hannah felt more like the creek on a spring day with snow melt churning the cloudy brown water into a mass of eddies and ripples.
They passed houses lining the road, closely spaced with only a small patch behind them for a garden. Town folk, who depended on the farmers bringing goods into Lancaster on Market Day.
Hannah’s pace quickened when she caught sight of the roof of the Central Market Square. Soon Daed would be haggling with the Philadelphia buyers for his furniture, and she would be greeting the local housewives looking for garden produce. She had packed the last of the tomatoes for this trip, barrels of apples, and plenty of squash and corn. Mamm had also sent several lengths of her soft wool cloth. Daed’s Leicester sheep were known for their long, soft fleece, and Mamm wove yards of extra cloth every year to sell at the Autumn Market Day.
And she would spend the entire day free from Liesbet’s smug face. Liesbet had made sure she knew the tale of Adam courting her would reach Mamm’s ears if Hannah let anything slip out about George. She would paint a grim picture, true or not. She was always quick to stretch the facts to fit her story in order to make things go her way.
Daed turned the team down the street leading to the Market Square, past a tavern where a group of teamsters stood on the corner. They were dressed the same way that George had been and spoke with the same lilting accents. One of them gestured toward the wagon with his tankard as they passed and bent to say something to his friends. Hannah didn’t hear what was said, but the derisive laughter told her well enough that it had been another crude joke about the Amish. She turned her face away from them.
“Hurry up.” Daed pulled the team to a halt in their usual place and climbed into the wagon. “We must get unloaded. We’re late this morning.”
Hannah took the kitchen chair Daed handed her to the edge of their space and set it down. They unloaded the rest of the furniture quickly, neighboring vendors giving a hand with the heavy pieces.
Daed brought her a long board to set across a couple of empty barrels, and she laid out the heavy squashes and pumpkins, then put some of the apples from a barrel into a basket so they could be inspected easily.
A woman came up just as Hannah laid Mamm’s finely woven lengths of wool out for display. She lifted the edge of the walnut-brown piece and fingered it.
“You’re the Yoders from up Conestoga Creek, aren’t you?” She smiled at Hannah, her hair curled like fat sausages on either side of her face. “I bought a length of wool from you last year, and I’ve had so many compliments on the dress I made with it. I hoped you would bring more this year.”
“Mamm tried a new blue dye receipt this year.”
Hannah unwrapped three more lengths from the bundle, and while the woman fingered each one, Hannah noticed some men were gathering around Daed’s furniture. It looked like they were going to have a busy morning.
“This blue is lovely, as well as the green.”
As Hannah waited for the woman to make up her mind, another woman paused to examine the late-season tomatoes. Ja, it was going to be a busy morning.
By noon the furniture was gone, loaded onto a freight wagon heading toward the railroad station and then on to Philadelphia. The wool cloth and produce had been sold, as well as three bundles of wool fleece.
Hannah had watched the coins drop into Daed’s pouch, hoping that somehow there might be enough to buy some bread from the bakery. One time, long ago, he had brought home a loaf of soft yeast bread from the Lancaster bakery, and she had never forgotten it. The bread they baked at home had a much coarser texture. Fanny had loved the Lancaster bread so much, Hannah had given half of her piece to her sister. Was there soft bread like that in the Blessed Land?
But that was before. Daed hadn’t bought bread from the bakery since.
Hannah stamped one foot and then the other, trying to keep them warm while she waited for the next customer.
She could divide her life into before and after. The time before the little ones died was wrapped in shadows, like clouds over a sunny day. Once in a while the clouds pulled back to reveal a glimpse of that time, when she, Liesbet, and Fanny were inseparable, sisters forever. But today and every day were after. The hard, empty days of after.
As the sun started its downward journey, the crowds dispersed. Market Day was over.
“I’m going to get the horses, Hannah. You wait here, ja?”
Hannah watched the other families packing their wagons with leftover goods. Daed had already loaded the cotton cloth he had bought into the wagon, with paper packets of cinnamon and pepper he had purchased tucked safely into the folds. Children ran between the wagons while their mothers said goodbye to friends they might not see until next Market Day, in the spring.
A strain of music drifted over the chattering voices, pulling Hannah’s attention to the tavern on the far corner. The teamsters were gathered around a table, singing a bawdy drinking song. One of the men played a fiddle, while another trilled an accompaniment on a pennywhistle. Hannah found herself humming along with the rollicking tune before she stopped herself.
Glancing around to see if anyone had noticed her, Hannah looked back at the teamsters. Her curiosity turned to suspicion when she heard a familiar voice rise above the rest. Ja, that was George McIvey, for sure. Didn’t he tell Liesbet he was leaving for Philadelphia early this morning?
A girl from the tavern brought a handful of tankards to the table, and as Hannah watched, George McIvey grabbed her around the waist and pulled her down on his lap, grinning at his friends. He gave her a loud kiss, and then let her go with a swat to her behind, just as he had with Liesbet the night before.
Hannah looked away from the scene. How a decent person could act that way in public . . . but of course, he wasn’t a decent person. How had Liesbet gotten herself mixed up with someone like that? If she knew what Hannah had seen, she wouldn’t be so smitten with the man.
When Daed came back fr
om the livery with the horses, Hannah helped him hitch the team to the wagon. The well-trained team stood quietly while he fastened the traces and buckled the harnesses. After the full load coming to town, they would have a light load to haul home.
Hannah glanced at George McIvey again as the group launched into another song, and Daed noticed the direction of her gaze.
“Pay no attention to them, Hannah. Those fellows are here one day and gone the next, and good riddance.”
“I’ve never seen them before, have you?”
He didn’t give the teamsters a glance, but finished hitching the horses. “They’ve been through here before. They stopped by the farm a few weeks ago, wanting to haul goods to Philadelphia for me.”
He chirruped to the horses, starting them on the journey home, nodding to acquaintances as they made their way out of the Market Square and onto the road.
Hannah hurried to catch up to him. “They’ve been to our farm?” Is that where Liesbet met this George?
“Ja, but I didn’t like what they offered. They thought they were doing me a favor, buying the goods cheap and saving me the trip to the Lancaster Market, but I wouldn’t do business with men like that.”
“Why not? It would save a lot of time to have someone else haul the goods, wouldn’t it?”
“Ja, but what would I do with the time, then?” He scowled at her. “Do you think your daed would be happy sitting on the front porch rocker while someone else did his work?”
Hannah shook her head at the thought. She had never seen him sit still unless it was the Sabbath.
“Besides, those men aren’t like us. ‘Be not unequally yoked’ is what the Good Book says, and I’ll live by that. I won’t enter a partnership of any kind with men like those.”
Hannah dropped back as they left town and the road narrowed to a track. What would Daed think if he knew of Liesbet and George McIvey? But from what she had seen outside the tavern, the man wasn’t interested in Liesbet anymore. Perhaps now Liesbet would forget her girlish fantasies about the man and grow up into a woman more suited for a proper Amish husband.
As Daed drove the team to the barn, eight-year-old Margareta ran out of the house, followed by six-year-old Peter.
“Hannah, did you bring us anything?” Margli shouted and jumped around her.
“I have something for all three of you,” Hannah said. She pulled the packet she bought from a neighboring vendor out of her pocket. “Where’s William?”
“He’s coming,” Peter said, “but we can’t wait for him. What did you bring us?”
By the time she unwrapped three pieces of horehound candy from her paper packet, two-year-old William had caught up with the others. Hannah sighed at his bare bottom and soiled shirt. Mamm must be having one of her spells again. She looked around for Liesbet. Her sister hadn’t said anything about Adam or George McIvey, had she?
Hannah gave Margli a hug, her precious little sister. “Have you had your supper yet?”
“Ne, we’ve been waiting for you. Mamm put beans on this morning, and Liesbet and I have been watching them.”
“Where is Mamm, then?”
Margli shrugged, candy filling her mouth.
Perhaps she should have stayed home instead of going to the market with Daed. But then, who would have helped him sell the goods?
Hannah went into the kitchen. The pot of beans simmered at the edge of the fire, just as Margli said. She’d start a pan of cornbread baking, and then clean William up. Keeping her baby brother in clean pants was one thing Margli hadn’t learned to do yet, and Liesbet hated the task.
Happy shrieks of playing children drifted in the door as Hannah sifted cornmeal into a bowl. At least the little ones brought some joy to the house. Even Mamm smiled when she watched them play. Somehow, maybe it helped her forget before. The three littlest ones, coming along so soon after losing Hansli, Fanny, and the baby, should have been a healing balm, but Mamm still spent hours in the cemetery, as if she forgot she had other children.
Daed came in as Hannah put the cornbread in the oven. “Your mamm?”
“I haven’t seen her.”
“Ja, then I’ll go find her. It’s getting cool as the sun goes down, and she’ll get a chill.”
Hannah watched him go, his shoulders stooped. Mamm should be getting better, but this time of year, when the ground was damp and cold and night came on swiftly, was the worst of all.
Why did Mamm keep going to the cemetery? When Hannah passed by, it held no appeal for her. It was just a grove of trees with the graves of a hundred years of Yoders . . . and three small stones marking the place where Daed buried the little ones nine years ago.
After checking the cornbread in the oven, Hannah stirred the beans. Wild onions and bits of salt pork mingled with the cooked beans, sending an aroma that made Hannah’s stomach growl. It had been too many hours since her hasty lunch of cornbread.
Margli ran into the house, followed by the little boys. Hannah could see Liesbet through the open door, walking along the sheepfold fence, bouncing a stick on the top rail as she came toward the house.
“Is supper almost ready?” Margli asked.
“As soon as the bread is done, and that will be just a few more minutes. You and Liesbet get the plates and forks, and I’ll get William dressed.”
Hannah pulled William’s soiled shirt over his head and washed his face with a rag dipped in warm water. He squirmed under her attentions, but she held him tightly with one hand. “Come now, you must let me get the worst of this off before supper, and then clean clothes.”
Peter tried to slip past her, but she caught him just as she gave William’s cheeks one last swipe. “You too, Peter. You look like you’ve been playing in a hog wallow. Get yourself out to the bench and wash up.”
Peter screwed up his face. “Not the hog wallow. William and I were building a house in the woods. We had to move rocks out of the way to make the floor smooth.”
“And who was helping Jacob with the chores while you were playing?”
“He told us he could work faster alone and sent us off. He gave us the idea to build the house.”
Hannah attacked the dirt in William’s ears. At nineteen, Jacob was usually patient with his little brothers, but when he had work to do, he’d send them off somewhere instead of teaching them to help him the way Daed did.
Hannah stood up with William’s naked body in her arms. “Go on out to the washing bench, like I said, and don’t neglect your neck. And call Jacob to come in too. Supper’s nearly ready.”
William snuggled against her as she carried him into the bedroom behind the central fireplace. Mamm and Daed’s room was always warm in the cold months, and as the youngest, William still slept in the cradle at the foot of their bed.
“Shall we put a clean shirt on you now?” Hannah asked William as she set him on the big bed and reached for some clean clothes.
“Ne,” he said as he stood up on the rustling mattress. “Go with Peter.”
“Peter will be back.” Hannah put a clean diaper on him and slipped the shift over his blond head. He was nearly old enough to wear pants, but not until he learned to use the chamber pot every time.
William put one little hand on each of her cheeks and forced her to look at him, his face serious. Hannah held his face between her own hands, ready for his favorite game.
“Who loves William?” she said, and kissed his nose.
“Hannah.” William giggled.
“Who else loves William?”
“Daed, Mamm, Liesbet, Jacob, Margli, and Peter.” The little boy said each name louder and faster than the last, shouting Peter’s name at the end of the list.
“And now are you ready for supper?”
“Ja. Eat.”
Hannah helped him down from the bed and followed him back to the main room. Jacob and Peter had come in, Liesbet had lit the lamp against the evening darkness, and Margli was placing the last of the forks around the long table.
As Jacob took h
is place at the table, Hannah leaned close to him. “Are they coming?”
“Ja.” Jacob nodded, his brown hair and eyes making him look like a younger version of Daed. “I saw them just beyond the barn as I came in.”
“And Mamm?”
“She seemed all right. I don’t think she was crying this time.”
Hannah turned to the fireplace and lifted the oven lid. The bread was perfectly browned. She pulled it out and set it on the table just as the door opened and Daed came into the house, followed by Mamm. She didn’t look at the family, but stumbled her way to the chair next to the fireplace and sat in it, still wrapped in her shawl, staring into the fire.
“Annalise, you must eat.” Daed knelt at Mamm’s side and held her hand, but she didn’t respond. He stood, his shoulders hunched as he watched her.
“Daed,” Hannah said, “come to the table. Supper is getting cold.”
As the others took their places around the table, Daed sighed and took his chair at the end. He bowed his head and started praying the Lord’s Prayer, using the High German from the Good Book. The children dutifully joined in, reciting the memorized words.
Hannah watched Mamm as they prayed, her eyes stinging as the firelight glistened in the tears making their slow way down her mother’s worn face.
I’m sorry, Mamm. So sorry . . .
3
Annalise swayed, rocking her babies as the flames danced, gazing into the fiery center of the logs. One blue tongue flowed along a log like water, dipping down to the ashes and then retreating. It turned yellow, disappeared, and flamed again. She followed the pulsing heat back into the center of the fire, where orange and red coals shimmered. Warmth and light.
The children needed warmth, but the fire’s heat would never reach them under the cold, dark ground. She clutched empty arms to her breast, always empty. Christian had pulled her away from them again. She could hear them crying for her, out in the darkness. Their mournful cries seemed to come to her from the fireplace itself, as if they were trying to come home.
A log shifted in the fire, sending sparks up the chimney. She held one hand out to the heat. Darkness wavered in her mind, unsure. Warmth seeped into her fingers, chasing away the chill, the pain. Darkness fluttered and other sounds filtered into her mind. A voice talking quietly, forks scraping plates, Christian’s loud “ahem” to bring the family to the prayer at the end of the meal.
