by Jan Drexler
“Memmi?”
A child’s voice pulled her mind from the fire. Hansli? Was Hansli calling to her again?
“Memmi?”
The voice demanded her attention. A small hand patted her leg. William. Not Hansli. William.
“Ja, liebchen.” Her voice came from somewhere outside herself, begging an entrance into her consciousness.
Her baby climbed into her lap and she wrapped him in her shawl, holding him close until he pushed away.
“Hot. Too hot,” he said, and then turned to face her, straddling her lap.
He patted her cheek with one sticky hand, forcing her to focus her eyes on his. Her dear little William.
“Memmi want some bread?”
He held up his other hand, fisted around a mushed chunk of cornbread. Honey glistened on his fingers.
“Ne, William. It’s your bread.”
A smile found its way to her mouth as she watched William transfer the bread from one hand to the other and lick his sticky fingers.
Annalise raised her hand to brush his hair back from his forehead. White blond and straight, just like her Hansli’s had been. The other two boys had their father’s brown curls, but Hansli and William were blond.
William took another bite of cornbread, his eyes solemn. As he chewed, he lifted one sticky hand to her cheek and rubbed it.
“Memmi sad.”
He rubbed his eye and then yawned. The last bit of cornbread was forgotten as he leaned against her breast and relaxed.
Annalise dropped her head down onto his, breathing in his little-boy smell of dried sweat and dirt. No longer a baby.
Plates scraping against each other drew her attention to the table where Liesbet and Margareta were cleaning up. Hannah stirred the sourdough, feeding it for tomorrow’s breakfast. Supper was over. Another day gone.
Hannah pulled the teakettle from the fire and glanced at her. Her daughter’s face was tight, anxious. Like Christian’s. They both worried about her, as they should. If it wasn’t for Hannah, she would still have her babies.
Ne, she knew better, didn’t she? The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord. God had done this thing, not Hannah.
But God had used Hannah, like Satan used the serpent in the garden. She had brought death to their home.
Hannah set the kettle on the trivet and came to her.
“William, don’t bother Mamm tonight.”
“Ne, Hannah, it’s all right. Let him stay with me.” Annalise pushed Hannah’s hands away as her daughter reached for the baby.
She rubbed William’s bare leg. He was warm enough. He was strong and healthy. If he fell sick, he might survive. She passed her hand over his forehead and caressed his cheek. No fever. He was safe tonight.
Today had been a bad day. Christian would say she had one of her spells. Was that what one would say when the waves of sadness became so unbearable she could only find relief in the grove of trees?
When had she gone there? Christian had left in the early morning with Hannah . . . the children had eaten . . . then she had gone to brush the fallen leaves off the graves . . . the cold graves. She couldn’t bear to leave, not until Christian had come for her. She had been so cold. The ground under the trees was so cold.
Pull your mind away. Look elsewhere.
William sat up and finished his bread, licking the fingers on each hand.
“Now you need to wash your hands.” Annalise smiled at her youngest son. Her baby.
“Ne. No wash. Clean.” He held his hands up for her to see.
“They’re still sticky, though.” Hannah said, at her side with a wet rag to wash William’s hands. “Shall I put him to bed for you?”
“Ne, ne, I’ll do it.” Annalise took the cloth from Hannah, finished William’s hands, and started wiping the honey and crumbs from his face. She would keep her baby safe.
Hannah finished redding up the kitchen while Mamm put William to bed. She made sure to do everything the way she had been taught. The pot laid just so to dry near the fire, but not too close. The wooden table scrubbed, the floor swept, the sourdough sponge set for the morning. She hung the dishcloths near the fire to dry just as Daed, Jacob, and Peter came in from doing the chores.
“Tomorrow is going to be a fine day.” Daed sat down at the table to remove his boots. “I’m taking the boys to the woods to gather hickory nuts. We could use your help, Hannah.”
Glancing toward the closed door beside the fireplace, Hannah shook her head. “I think I had better stay here tomorrow in case Mamm needs me. Liesbet could go with you, though.”
He looked up at the stairway, where Liesbet and Margli sat, waiting for evening prayers. “What do you think, Liesbet? You too, Margli? We’ll make a day of it.” He gestured toward the closed door. “Maybe your mamm will want to come too. And William.” He scratched at his beard, his eyes becoming unfocused and distant. “When I was a boy, our whole family would go to the woods on an autumn day to gather the nuts. We looked forward to that day every year.”
“Mamm won’t want to come.” Peter sat next to Daed, his coat still on and covered with straw. He yawned and let Hannah remove his coat. “She never wants to do things like that.”
Daed tousled Peter’s hair. “Perhaps one day she will, though, ja?”
Hannah took Peter’s jacket into the entryway and hung it on its peg. Poor Peter. She remembered before, when Mamm would have enjoyed nutting in the woods with the family, but Peter only knew her after.
The conversation from the kitchen continued as Daed waited for the family to gather for the evening reading and prayers. She had time for a quick trip to the privy. Slipping out the door, Hannah followed the well-worn path around the house. The full moon rode above the trees and silver clouds flew across the sky. The air was crisp, like an autumn evening should be. Was it only last night that she had seen Liesbet with that George McIvey?
Hannah thought of Adam. Ever since he had attended the camp meetings last summer, he had taken trips to Lancaster and beyond. “Meeting with friends,” he had told her. She sighed. She liked the man he was becoming, but she missed the carefree boy who had helped her escape from the trials of home during the hard years after the little ones’ deaths. He had seemed to know when Mamm was at her worst—when Hannah was the target for her anger and grief—and their signal of the bit of cloth on the branch was her salvation. He would take her into the woods and show her the things he had found: birds’ nests, a badger’s den, the first ripe strawberries. Whatever he thought might please her. He was the big brother who understood her as Jacob never did. After a few hours with Adam, she felt strong enough to return home and face Mamm again.
Hannah paused on the path, watching the moon. Adam still liked her, even now when she was grown up and didn’t need to run to him for comfort. He and his family were always happy to see her, always willing to welcome her into their home for a meal or a visit. What would it have been like to be born into the Metzler family instead of her own? Always like before, and never after?
She looked in the kitchen window as she walked back to the house. Mamm was seated across from Daed at the table, and the others were gathered around. They were waiting for her. She hurried in and took her place beside Liesbet. Daed had the Scriptures open to the book of Psalms.
Slipping into her seat, Hannah smiled her apology as he started reading. She let the words roll over her, the familiar phrases covering her soul like a balm. The day’s worries fled. Even Mamm sat on her bench, her face quiet and calm, listening to his voice.
Hannah looked from one face to the next around the table. Only Liesbet fidgeted, stifling a yawn. The others, from Jacob down to Peter, sat with their eyes focused on Daed, listening. This was the only thing left from before. As long as they had this house, this farm, this family table, maybe she could bring her family back to before.
Annalise paused on the back porch, drawing a shuddering breath before making the journey across the barnyard. Chickens s
cratched in the dirt outside their run, cackling in the sunshine.
The wind changed during the night, as it often did in the autumn, and the air was warmer, without the searing bite of yesterday. A gust blew a shower of red and orange leaves down and swirled them between the chicken coop and the barn. Annalise let her gaze move from the chicken coop to the garden, and then to the smokehouse. Everywhere she looked there was work to be done. That burden never lifted.
If she could only count on the girls to help, but Hannah was always running off somewhere when she was needed at home. Christian could have gone to Lancaster alone yesterday, but Hannah had insisted on going with him.
Annalise pushed thoughts of yesterday aside and started toward the barn. Christian would be done with the milking, and she needed the milk in the house before breakfast. She picked her way around the droppings from the chickens, keeping her eyes down. She wouldn’t look toward the rise beyond the barn, with the grove of trees nestled on the other side. Her babies would have to wait until after the morning chores were done.
Christian looked up from his milking as she entered the open barn door, his frown deepening when he saw her. “Are you feeling better this morning?”
He held her gaze until she nodded. How could she answer him?
Christian turned back to the cow. Annalise waited behind him, watching as he stripped the last of the milk from Lottie’s udder. Even at almost forty years old, his muscles were strong and able to work tirelessly through the day. When she was having a good day, when he wasn’t worried about her, he still looked like the young man who courted her patiently all those years ago.
Annalise stood back as Christian rose from the milking stool with a full bucket of frothy milk.
“These spells of yours . . .” Christian looked past her, out the barn door as he spoke. “You’re better, ne? They come less frequently?”
Annalise nodded, willing herself to agree with him, but how could she tell him of the depth of the darkness that had overcome her yesterday? The thought of winter coming had driven her to the grove of trees that sheltered those three graves—another season of relentless cold and darkness.
She forced her thoughts back to Christian. He mustn’t think she was weak, unable to do her work. “It’s a beautiful morning now, isn’t it? A good day for working outside.”
“Ja, and a perfect day for gathering hickory nuts in the woods. I’m taking Jacob and Peter with me.”
“You’ll be home for dinner?”
“Ne, we’ll take it with us and eat in the woods.”
He would be gone all day. Again. Annalise reached to take the milk pail from him, but he held the handle until she looked up at him.
“You could come with us. Bring William and the girls. Put together a cold dinner and we’ll make a day of it.” His eyes softened as he spoke, making him almost look like the young man she had married.
A wisp pulled at her, tugging her mind to thoughts of the sunny woods, leaves dancing in the breeze. She could see Christian and Jacob tossing forkfuls of leaves and nuts into the back of the wagon while she helped William find the big leafy squirrels’ nests in the tops of the trees . . .
“Ne, you know I can’t take a whole day off to go play in the woods. There is too much work to finish before winter.”
Christian looked away, and then back at her, his expression tight. “We’ll go another day then, ja? I’ll wait for you, Annalise.”
Her hand shook as she took the milk pail from his yielding hand. “Breakfast is nearly ready. You’ll be in soon?”
“Ja, soon.” He held her gaze in his own until she turned away.
As Annalise crossed the yard on the way back to the house, she couldn’t keep from looking toward the family cemetery, nestled in its grove of ash trees. The leaves, still clinging to the branches, glowed yellow gold as they danced in the breezy sunshine, but shadows lay among the small stones marking the graves. Even in the sunshine, those stones never warmed. She hefted the milk pail to her other hand and hurried into the house.
Hannah had breakfast ready to lay on the table, but Liesbet and Margareta were nowhere to be seen. Annalise went to help Hannah with the heavy pot of Indian mush, holding the pot out of the fire while Hannah dished a scoopful into each of the bowls.
“Where is Liesbet this morning?”
“She got up when I did, but I haven’t seen her since I came downstairs. I think she’s helping Margli get dressed.”
William sat on his stool, spoon in hand. Hannah set his bowl of mush before him and William reached for it.
“Hannah, what are you thinking?” Annalise snatched the bowl away from William. “He’ll burn himself.”
Annalise gave William a piece of cold cornbread to keep him from crying while Hannah finished placing the rest of the bowls on the table. She said nothing. No apology. Liesbet would never have done such a thing.
But Liesbet was still such a young girl, and not as strong as Hannah. She would grow into a fine woman someday, as long as she stayed healthy.
“Mamm, everything’s ready.”
The sound of her daughter’s voice brought her back to the tasks at hand. While Hannah went to the door to ring the bell for the boys and Christian, Annalise gave William a cup of milk, her mind still on Liesbet. She didn’t need to borrow trouble. Liesbet was stronger this year. Perhaps she wouldn’t get sick again this winter.
At the sound of the bell, Liesbet came down the steps from the second floor, Margareta at her heels.
“Good morning, liebchen.” Annalise gave Liesbet a quick hug and the girls slid into their places at the table. “I needed your help getting breakfast ready. Where have you been?”
“Liesbet was helping me comb my hair.” Margareta turned on the bench to show Annalise the fancy looped braids in place of her usual neatly twisted hair under her kapp.
Christian came in the door, frowning at the girls. “Liesbet, you know those braids are too worldly for us. Our Margli should look like a proper Amish girl. Both of you go upstairs and don’t come down again until Margli is presentable.”
Annalise almost missed Liesbet’s whispered comment, “Plain, you mean,” as she pushed herself away from the table and pounded up the stairs, but at least she had sense enough to keep Christian from hearing her. Margareta followed.
Christian sat heavily in his chair. “Annalise, you shouldn’t encourage them.”
“Ja, Christian. I don’t know where Liesbet gets her ideas, but the girls were just playing. No harm has come from it.”
“No harm? When our daughters think wearing their hair like an outsider is fun?”
Hannah poured Christian’s tea for him, and then took her place at the table as Peter and Jacob came in. Christian pointed at their eldest daughter with his spoon before stirring honey into his tea.
“You wouldn’t see Hannah trying new things with her hair, would you? She’s a true Amish girl. She knows to keep herself modest and pure.”
Annalise bit back her retort. Christian always held Hannah up as a model of respectability, comparing the two girls. Didn’t he see what harm he was doing to poor Liesbet?
The rest of breakfast passed in silence, Liesbet and Margareta joining them again just as Christian finished. They had to wait while he read the morning prayer, and then ate after he left with the boys.
After breakfast Annalise put Liesbet to work churning butter while Hannah and Margareta finished up the housework. It was time for a final check on the meat in the smokehouse.
Annalise made her way past the old cabin covered in bright red Virginia Creeper. The little smokehouse stood behind the cabin, wispy gray tendrils seeping through the log walls. For days Peter and Jacob had kept the fire smoldering with green hickory chips, filling the yard with a faint smoky odor.
Smoke billowed out as she opened the door, bringing tears to her eyes. She reached inside to feel the strips of venison hanging from the rafters and walls. Ja, they were well dried and ready to store in the attic. The fire could bu
rn down while she left the door open to clear out the smoke, and then she and the girls could wrap the meat in the old linen cloths she had used year after year. The hooks along the limestone walls of the attic were empty and waiting for the bounty, and the smokehouse would be ready for the next butchering day.
As she stepped out of the smokehouse, she saw Adam Metzler coming up the road. The young man had a habit of showing up just in time to help with some chore, but not at mealtime. It was a good habit for a neighbor to have.
“Hallo, Adam. What brings you here today?”
Adam grinned as he lifted a complaining rooster by its feet.
“Ma sent this over for you. She heard you lost your rooster to a fox, and this one is always picking fights with our older bird.”
“Ja, denki, Adam. Your mother is always so thoughtful.” The Metzlers had always been good neighbors, even though they were Mennonite.
“I’ll make a pen for him by your chicken house until he feels at home here.” He looked around the yard. “Is Hannah busy? I thought she’d like to help me.”
Annalise hesitated. Adam and Hannah had been inseparable as youngsters, but as Hannah grew older, she had tried to keep the girl busy at home. There was no reason for her to get too friendly with a boy like Adam. It wasn’t good to encourage friendship with an outsider.
“If Peter were here, I know he’d want to help, but Hannah and Margareta can both help you. They should be done with their morning work by now.”
As they walked together toward the big stone house, Hannah appeared on the porch with rag rugs under her arm. She didn’t look their direction, but shook the rugs one at a time, turning so the breeze would carry the dust away from her.
Annalise glanced at Adam’s face as he fell silent and slowed his steps. He was staring at Hannah with a look that made her heart lurch. Friendship was no longer a question. The boy she had watched grow up was gone. He was a man in love—with a woman he could never marry.
