Hannah's Choice

by Jan Drexler

  “Maybe I’ll be married by then and stay here.” She glanced at Johanna.

  Her friend’s eyes were filling with tears. “I couldn’t bear to go and leave you behind.”

  “You’ll have your family, and Jacob.”

  “But who would you marry?”

  “Maybe Josef would agree to stay here if I asked him to. He could buy our farm, and then I wouldn’t have to go anywhere.”

  “And if he didn’t? What if he insisted on going west after all?”

  Hannah shrugged. “Then I’ll marry Adam.”

  “Adam?” Johanna leaned closer, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Has he asked you to marry him?”

  Hannah smiled at her. “Several times.”

  Johanna squealed, but Hannah shushed her. “I’ve always told him no. You know I can’t marry outside our faith.”

  “And what does he say to that?”

  “He says I should become Mennonite.”

  “Would you do that? Would you leave our faith behind and join his?”

  Hannah pushed at the porch floor with her foot, making the swing rock. “I might, if that was the only way I could stay here.” She looked at Johanna. “I can’t leave the Conestoga. It’s my home. I’m afraid my heart would break in two if I had to leave.”

  Johanna sat silently while Hannah waited for her outburst. It didn’t come. Johanna only sighed. “I was hoping we’d be friends forever.”

  “We’ll still be friends.”

  “Not if you stay here.” Johanna took her hand. “We’ll grow apart. We’ll write letters, but we’ll still grow apart. Our husbands won’t work together, our children won’t be friends . . .” She sniffed. “Who will I confide in?”

  Hannah squeezed her friend’s hand. She had no answer.

  Hannah woke early the next morning. Liesbet’s snores were loud enough to wake the soundest sleeper, and as used to them as Hannah was, she usually slept through them. But this morning she woke with a start, and then sleep was gone.

  She slid out of bed and knelt by the window, looking for some sign of dawn. The quarter moon rode high in the sky, and the eastern horizon was barely gray. Still too early to be up, but going back to sleep was out of the question. She dressed and put her hair up in the dark, and then slipped out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

  All night long she had been thinking of this new idea that had come to her while she visited with Johanna. Marriage was her answer to staying in Pennsylvania, and the key to keeping the family here. Daed wouldn’t want to move if she was married and settled on the Conestoga. But even if the family moved west, if she married, she would be able to stay.

  She passed the sheepfold slowly. If one sheep woke, the whole flock would start baaing, but they stayed asleep. Taking the trail through the woods, she passed the clearing where she and Adam would meet and went on to her favorite spot. A tree, half fallen, reached out over the water. She gathered her skirts and climbed up the slanted trunk until she came to the fork where a branch and the trunk formed a seat above the water. She settled in, closed her eyes, and listened.

  No birds sang other than a chirp here and there. In the spring the trees were full of nesting birds, their songs competing with each other until it was nearly deafening in the pre-dawn light. This late in the season, after the frosts, the insects were all gone. The flocks of birds had gathered and headed south. Only the sound of gurgling water remained, and the whisper of the breeze through the brown oak leaves still clinging to their branches.

  She would never have to leave this place if her plan worked out. When she was an old woman, she could still come here to the banks of the Conestoga and listen to the creek’s song. Her children would know this timeless music, and her grandchildren too. This farm her ancestors had settled, her grandparents had built, her daed had cared for . . . she wouldn’t need to abandon it.

  Josef was the key. As an Amish man, he would have Daed’s approval to marry her. He needed a home, she needed someone to marry. Perhaps she would even grow to love him, ja?

  She stirred on her perch. The air above the creek was chilly and seeped through her clothes. She gazed down into the water, watching for the fish that hid along the boulders and sunken branches.

  Dreams of marrying for love were girlish. She blinked, her eyes smarting. She was eighteen and grown up, past the age of dreams. Josef was handsome enough, and he seemed kind. The type of man who would stay true to his faith. The kind of man who would value the same things she did.

  A sound cut through the creek noises. Whistling. Only Adam whistled like that. What was he doing on the creek trail this early?

  Hannah climbed down from her tree and made her way to the trail, reaching it in time to intercept Adam. The sky had become lighter, and even beneath the bare branches of the woods, she could make out his form, walking toward home from down the creek.

  “Where have you been so early in the morning?”

  The whistling stopped and Adam paused and peered down the trail toward her. “Hannah?” He came closer. “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “I’m an early riser today, but you must have been earlier than me if you’re making your way home already.”

  Adam looked up at the sky through the branches. “Well, I haven’t been to bed yet.”

  “What have you been—?” Before she finished the sentence, Hannah knew. “You’ve been helping those refugees again, haven’t you?”

  Adam stepped closer. “Ja, I have.” His voice was low, guarded. “I guided some people to Lancaster, to a friend’s house.”

  Hannah crossed her arms over her stomach, a shiver going through her. “How many times are you going to do this?”

  “As many as I need to. This is what God has laid on my heart, Hannah. I have to obey him.”

  She walked to a fallen log and brushed it off, making a seat for both of them. “Sit down for a bit. You must be tired.”

  He sat on the log with a groan. “Walking all night after working all day is exhausting.”

  “Is it worth it, Adam? You’re doing so much.”

  “There’s no such thing as too much in this work.” Adam rubbed his face with both hands, and then turned to her. “I’m glad we ran into each other. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about your family going west.”

  Hannah didn’t say anything.

  “Is this true?”

  She nodded. “Daed wants to move to Indiana to join a new settlement there.”

  “And you’re going too?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know yet. I don’t want to. I wish there was a way to convince Daed not to go at all.”

  “What would it take?”

  “I think he’s going west because the Amish community here is so small. It will get bigger again . . . it’s just that so many families have left in the last year. If Jacob married and settled close, and Liesbet and I did, our community would grow and get stronger.”

  “So you’re ready to marry to keep your Daed here?”

  Hannah nodded, slowly. “I think I am.”

  “But I’m not going to become Amish, Hannah.”

  She laughed. “I know you aren’t.”

  “There’s no one else you would marry, is there?”

  “How do you know a handsome Amish man wouldn’t come along someday and ask me to marry him?”

  He snorted. “That’s the kind of stuff that only happens in stories.”

  “Well, an Amish man did come by.”

  Adam took off his hat, running his fingers through his hair. “He didn’t ask you to marry him, did he?” His voice sounded strained.

  “Not yet.”

  Adam stared at her. The sky was turning pink and orange behind his head, but his face was shadowed. He turned away from her and stood, replacing his hat.

  “You have to do what you think is right, Hannah. You know how I feel about you.”

  “Do I?”

  “You must. How many times have I talked about marrying you? We could have a good life toget
her, Hannah. You know I love you.”

  Hannah couldn’t answer. He said he loved her, but if she needed him, really needed him, would he be able to choose between her and the escaped slaves he helped?

  Adam gazed at Hannah. Her face glowed in the morning light, looking more beautiful with every passing moment. But it was getting late. “I need to get home to help with the milking.”

  “And then will you try to get some sleep?”

  His dear Hannah, always thoughtful. “Ja, sure. I’ll get some sleep.”

  He left her and followed the creek trail the rest of the way home. Was Hannah serious about a new young man she had met? There were no new Amish families in the area. She must have been trying to make him jealous. Maybe she thought he took her for granted.

  There were things he would change, of course. She could be more willing to help him in his work—that would be a good start. She could become better friends with Hilda too. Once they were married, the two of them would be sisters. They should be as close as Hannah was with Johanna Hertzler.

  Pa was in the barn already. Adam hurried to help with the chores. Stopping to talk to Hannah had made him late.

  “Hallo, son. I wondered where you were. Off hunting this morning already?”

  Adam climbed into the loft and grabbed a fork to pitch feed into the cows’ troughs. “Ne, not hunting.” It was time to tell him what he had been doing. Escorting escaped slaves was too much for him to do alone, and with winter coming he couldn’t expect the people to hide in the woods. He needed Pa’s help.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “About where you are off to all hours of the night?”

  “Ja.”

  “And where all the smoked hams have gone?”

  Adam glanced at Pa’s face. He wasn’t angry. He stood leaning on Bessie’s back, waiting for an answer.

  “I meant to return them, somehow.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been helping people. Refugees. They come here and they’re hungry. I give them some food and help them on their way.”

  “You’re talking about escaped slaves, aren’t you?”

  Adam finished filling the feed troughs and climbed down the ladder, where he could talk face-to-face. “Ja, I’ve been helping escaped slaves.”

  “You’ve joined the abolitionists? The Quakers?”

  Adam nodded. “They aren’t all Quakers. There are a lot of us, all working together to help these people get safely to Canada where they can live in freedom.”

  Pa leaned down and washed Bessie’s udder as she settled in to eat her feed. “When were you going to tell me, son?”

  “I wanted to tell you before, but . . .”

  “But you thought I wouldn’t approve. That I would forbid you to do something so dangerous.”

  Adam nodded.

  “You should have come to me.” Pa put his hand on Adam’s shoulder. “I’ve talked this over with your ma. We want to help. It’s too big of a job for you to do alone, and how are you going to care for these people when winter comes? How will you shelter them? I’ve heard there are many more travelers in the winter than the summer.”

  Adam watched the enthusiasm light Pa’s face. “When the rivers freeze, it’s the easiest time for them to come across to the north. I was going to ask you if I could use the smokehouse to hide them in during the day.”

  Pa shook his head. “That would never do. The smokehouse is too obvious.” He stepped across the barn floor to the wagon bay. “I’ve been thinking your ma needs a new root cellar.”

  “Root cellar?”

  Pa winked. “That’s what it is, if anyone asks. I’ve been reading about these things in the Philadelphia paper. The best way to hide the people is in secret rooms. I think if we dig a cellar right here—” he tapped on the floor with his foot—“we’ll be able to hide the trap door under a layer of straw.”

  Adam grinned at him. “And then when it’s time to take them on to Lancaster, we can hide them in a wagonload of corn shucks or something.”

  “Your ma is already putting up extra provisions for our company.” He looked at Adam. “What do you think? Should we make this a task for our family to do together?”

  Adam nodded. “I didn’t know if you’d approve of what I was doing.” He swallowed. “I was even afraid you might forbid me to do it, and then I’d have to go against your wishes.”

  “Why did you think that?”

  “What I’m doing—it’s against the law.”

  Pa squeezed his shoulder. “It’s God’s law we must obey, not man’s. Where man has erred, the people of God must act according to his word.”

  Adam grasped Pa’s hand in his own and shook it. “Here’s to our partnership.”

  Pa grinned. “It’s a good work we do together. We’ll need to continue to keep it secret, though, even from the other church members.”

  Adam rubbed his day’s growth of whiskers. “Hannah has helped me before. She knows I’m involved.”

  Pa nodded. “I’m not surprised that’s so. But she doesn’t need to know this part—not unless it’s necessary. The fewer people who know about this, the better.”

  16

  The day before Sabbath, the last week of November, was dry and sunny. After days of cold rain, the children burst out of the house as if they couldn’t move fast enough, running through the soggy leaves covering the ground and shouting to each other in the clear air.

  Annalise stood in the doorway, her head against the frame, watching William chase Peter from one end of the yard to the other, laughing. Her eyes strayed to the cemetery, hidden within the grove of walnut trees. For the first time in years, she could look that direction without the clenching stab to her heart. Ach, she missed her babies. There would forever be an empty hole in their family, but in the last several weeks her heart could lie peacefully, resting in the comfort God had given her through Christian. The little ones were safe, warm, happy. The graves held no fear for them.

  William tripped and fell to his knees. He jumped up, laughing, and ran after Peter once more. What joy these children gave her! It was as if a veil had been lifted. She was no longer blind to the gifts God had given. She thought of Job, the man in the Good Book who had lost everything—all his children in one day. When God later gave him a new family, did he feel this fragile layer of joy covering tempestuous waves of grief like a balm of oil?

  “Mamm?” Hannah called from the kitchen behind her. “Do you want me to put the apples in the pot?”

  Annalise turned to go back to cooking dinner. “The ham has been boiling for at least an hour. Go ahead and add the apples.” She lifted the lid of the pot for Hannah to pour the dried apples and water they had been soaking in all morning into the pot, and the sudden odor of smoked ham brought bile to her throat. Setting the lid on the worktable, Annalise backed away.

  “Are you all right?” Hannah looked up from her chore, the fire hissing when drops of water splashed on the coals.

  Annalise nodded, her eyes filling. “I’ll be right back.” She fled to the porch, leaning over the rail at the far end, away from where the children played. Her stomach heaved, but it was already empty. She hadn’t been able to eat breakfast that morning.

  She straightened, leaning on the porch rail with one hand, letting her right hand caress her upset stomach. Could it be? She went over the symptoms in her mind. She had been so sleepy, taking a nap with William in the afternoons, but she had thought that was because she had been up in the middle of the night to use the chamber pot . . . Annalise smiled as the symptoms fell into place. Ja, it could be. Another baby in the summer. She would wait to tell Christian until she was sure. Until then, for another few weeks at least, she would hold this precious secret.

  Hearing footsteps behind her, Annalise took a deep breath and turned to face Hannah.

  “Are you all right?”

  Annalise nodded. “I’m fine. The air inside was suddenly too close. I’m sorry if I worried you.”

  Hannah looked into her face for a lon
g minute. “If you’re sure that’s all it was . . .”

  “I’m sure. Why don’t we sit out here for a while to rest?”

  Hannah sat next to her on the bench. “It’s such a nice day.”

  “I hope it stays for tomorrow.”

  “Will we go to meeting tomorrow?”

  “We’ll see what your father says, but we most likely will. It’s at John Yoder’s, and that isn’t as far to go as some are.”

  Hannah sat, watching the little ones play. Annalise glanced at her. The more she considered the move they would be making in the spring, the more she was convinced it was the right thing to do. Hannah was eighteen, old enough to be courting. But whom around here would she marry? That Josef Bender was a possibility. He seemed a likely enough young man. If he liked Hannah, and if Christian liked him, then perhaps Hannah would like him too.

  Until then, they would need to keep her friendship with Adam Metzler just that—a friendship.

  Hannah turned toward her. “May I ask you a question?”

  “Ja, for sure.”

  Hannah looked down at her toes as she drew an imaginary circle on the wooden porch floor. “Your spells . . .” She looked into Annalise’s eyes. “Do you think they might be gone?”

  Annalise sighed. “I hope so. I feel so different, like a blanket has been lifted off my soul. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

  “What happened? What caused the change?”

  Annalise let her mind probe the black shadow at the edge of her mind as she thought of how to answer her daughter. It still lingered, but it no longer threatened. She could hope the lingering remains of those dark moments would fade with time.

  “It was something your daed said, about the little ones. I couldn’t let myself believe they weren’t suffering, but he reminded me of where they are, and in whose arms they rest.” She turned to Hannah and took her hand. “They no longer need me, but you do, and the others.”

  Hannah looked away, biting her bottom lip.

  “What is wrong?”

  Hannah rubbed at a tear running down her cheek. “I know I’m to blame . . . for Fanny.” She turned to Annalise, tears falling. “You were right, when you blamed me for . . . for Fanny and Hansli and Catherine . . . It was my fault they got the diphtheria.”