Hannah's Choice

by Jan Drexler

  “Ach, ne, ne.” Annalise pulled her handkerchief out of her pocket to dry Hannah’s tears, but Hannah took it from her and swiped at her own eyes.

  “It is my fault. I was the first one who got sick, so I know I brought the sickness into the house. And Fanny . . . I couldn’t get out of bed to get her the water she wanted. If I had, she’d still be alive. They might all be . . .”

  Annalise pulled Hannah toward her with an arm around her shoulders. “Hush now, Hannah. It wasn’t your fault. I was wrong when I said I blamed you. You were so ill, yourself. There was nothing you could have done to help Fanny.”

  Hannah pushed against her, refusing her comfort. “All she asked for was a drink, but I couldn’t move. All I remember was blackness, and when I woke, she was gone.”

  “Oh my liebchen. You were just a little girl, barely older than Margareta is now, and so ill.”

  Hannah shook her head. “I should have been able to save her. How can you ever forgive me?”

  The last words were whispered so quietly, Annalise almost missed them. “Forgive you? For what? You did nothing wrong. I’m the one who needs to ask forgiveness from you.”

  Hannah turned her head away. A cloud passed over the sun, bringing a chill to the breeze.

  “Hannah, did you hear me? You did nothing that needs forgiveness. Fanny . . .” Annalise paused. Could she say the words aloud? “Fanny and the others died. It was God’s will. You and Liesbet nearly died also, but you didn’t. You survived, and that was God’s will also.”

  “What do you mean?” Hannah looked at her again. Her daughter’s eyes were red with unshed tears.

  “‘The Lord gives and the Lord takes away.’” Annalise knew those words. She had said them to herself often over the last nine years, but she straightened in her seat and smiled at Hannah as she finished the verse. “‘Blessed be the name of the Lord.’ He gave us your life, and Jacob’s, and Liesbet’s.” Annalise reached out to stroke Hannah’s cheek. “You were meant to live, dear one, and you have been a blessing to me ever since, even if I haven’t been able to show you.”

  “Denki, Mamm.” Hannah sighed and turned away from her again, watching William kick through a pile of soggy leaves. “I’ll try to remember what you said.”

  She got up from the bench and walked away, slowly at first, and then faster until she was running past the barn and into the woods. Annalise rubbed at a twinge in the small of her back, and then stood to head back into the house and the chores she had left unfinished. She looked toward the woods, but Hannah had disappeared into the trees.

  All those years, wrapped up in her own grief, caught up in the depths of her pain, she hadn’t seen how miserable her own daughter had been. What else had she missed in Hannah’s life? Or in Liesbet’s?

  Hannah made her way toward the creek, heading for her favorite spot—the tree overhanging the quiet stream. She had to think about what Mamm had said. Could it be that she no longer blamed Hannah for the tragedy?

  She reached the tree and climbed onto the low-slung branch, scooting along it until she reached the fork. Beneath her the water rippled over a submerged rock, and a few late water skaters rode the current, their feet barely denting the surface. The water was brown from decaying leaves, but soon it would be wreathed with ice at the edges. She knew her stream, knew all of its seasons and moods. Right now the faint gurgle lulled her senses, allowing her to contemplate Mamm’s words.

  Her littlest sister, Margli, was nearly the same age she had been when the diphtheria struck. If something like that happened again, even if Margli did something out of meanness or spite, she wouldn’t hold her sister to blame. Such a little girl—how could she be held accountable for childish actions?

  Hannah went back into her memory, pulling out the image of nine-year-old Hannah. She couldn’t blame herself for being a child.

  But Mamm had blamed her. In her grief and despair, she had lashed out at Hannah, blaming her for the tragedy and the deaths of the little ones.

  Hannah leaned forward on the branch, lying along the thick length on her stomach, letting the swirling waters take her to a place in her mind she rarely let herself go. Back through years of Mamm’s bitterness. She had tried to make up for what she had done, had tried to make things better, but when Mamm fell prey to one of her spells, nothing Hannah could say or do would bring her out of it.

  If it hadn’t been for Adam, for his patient listening, for his way of distracting her from the darkness at home, what would she have done? Adam had been there every time she needed him. He was a solid rock.

  Hannah’s eyes followed a swirling curve beneath the surface of the water. The curve turned into a tail, and then an entire fish, resting downstream from the submerged rock and moving just enough to stay in one place in the water’s current. It was a trout, a real beauty, Adam would say. He had taught her how to slip her hand under a fish like that, to gently tickle its belly to keep it still, and then grab it. He had caught many fish that way, but Hannah didn’t have the patience. She always moved the wrong way or too quickly, frightening the fish away.

  Would Adam be jealous of an Amish man who wanted to court her? When she told him, earlier this week, it didn’t seem as if he believed her.

  If she had to make a choice of whom to marry . . . She closed her eyes and thought of Josef. Nice. Handsome. But a stranger. She really didn’t know him at all.

  And now Adam. As strong as an oak tree. She knew she could lean on him in any storm. He would be a wonderful-gut husband . . . if he were Amish. Would he consider changing if that was the only way to marry her?

  She sat up on the branch and scooted back to the grassy bank. There was one way to find out. She would tell him all about Josef Bender, and that he had asked to call on her, and see what he said. If he was serious about marrying her as he claimed, he would do something. He might even consider becoming Amish.

  She made her way along the creek path. As she grew closer to the Metzler farm, she could hear the creak of the windlass, and when she emerged from the woods she saw Adam and his daed pulling hay from the big farm wagon up to the hay loft, using the windlass on the end of the barn. As she walked toward them, they got the last of the wagon load into the haymow, and Adam got onto the wagon to drive it out to the field again.

  “Adam!” She picked up her skirts and ran toward him, waving to his daed as she went. Adam heard her and stopped the wagon. “Can I come along?”

  Adam pulled the horses to a halt and helped her onto the wagon seat when she reached him.

  “You want to come with me?” He laughed at her as he spoke. “You don’t even know where I’m going.”

  “Back out to the fields to get another load of hay, ja?”

  He winked at her and clucked to the horses. “You’re right, but it’s a bit of a drive. Elias Hertzler let Pa have some of the haystacks from his meadow, since they’re heading west and won’t be needing it.”

  Hannah smiled back at him, and then focused her gaze on the horses pulling the wagon. She only had a few minutes to tell him about Josef, but how to bring it up in the conversation?

  “The Hertzlers are excited about going to Indiana, ja?”

  “Elias sure sounds like he is. He’s already sold his farm.” Adam chirruped to the horses again.

  “I hadn’t heard about that. Who bought it?”

  “I did.”

  Hannah looked at him. He was smiling. “You bought the Hertzlers’ farm? Why?”

  He shrugged, grinning now as he looked at her. “I thought we might want our own home when we marry.”

  “Adam, I never said I would marry you.”

  “I know you didn’t, but you’ll change your mind. Indiana is a long way from here, and I know you won’t be able to leave me behind.”

  “So you’ve decided to turn Amish?”

  “You were going to turn Mennonite.”

  “I never said I was.”

  “The wife needs to follow the husband’s church, so to be my wife you’ll b
ecome Mennonite.”

  His face was serious, but his eyes still held a twinkle. Did he really think she would give up her faith? Raise her children in the progressive ways of the Mennonites?

  “Stop the wagon, Adam. I want to get down.”

  He pulled the horses to a halt, but stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Hannah, don’t go.” His eyes had lost their mocking look, and he moved his hand from her arm to around her shoulders. “We belong together, don’t we? You belong here, along the Conestoga, with me. Can you even think of moving so far away?”

  Hannah couldn’t look at him. He was right. Could she ever leave him and the Conestoga behind? But if she became Mennonite to marry Adam, she would lose her family. They would have to sever ties with her forever. But if he refused to become Amish, that would be the result.

  How could he ask her to choose between him and her family?

  Hot tears ran down her cheeks and she shook her head, pulling out of Adam’s embrace.

  “I can’t think right now. I can’t tell you what I should or shouldn’t do. I . . . I just need to be alone. To think.”

  He let her climb down from the wagon. “While you’re thinking, Hannah, remember that I love you. Never doubt that.”

  Saturday evenings were always busy, as Mamm worked hard to prepare for the Sabbath rest the next day, but tonight it was even more so since the services were at Uncle John’s, only a few miles away. She had pledged to bring corn pone to help feed the community and kept the oven fired until long after supper, baking pan after pan.

  Hannah gave the children their baths in the warm kitchen while Mamm stirred batter and filled the pans.

  “It will be good to go to meeting tomorrow, ja?” Hannah checked Peter’s ears after his bath. Boys had a way of missing the dirt in the folds.

  “I don’t think so.” Peter wrenched his head out of her hold, so she grabbed his ear instead, scrubbing at it with a soapy cloth. “Ow! Hannah, that hurts.”

  “Then you should learn to clean your own ears. You’re big enough.” She turned his head around and tackled the other ear. “And tell me, why don’t you want to go to meeting?”

  “None of my friends are there anymore. Why don’t we go to the Dunkard Church like the Eshelmanns?”

  Mamm slid another pan of corn pone into the oven. “We go to meeting to worship God, not to play with our friends. Josiah Eshelmann isn’t a good friend for you anyway since his family turned Dunkard.” She went into the bedroom to finish putting William to bed.

  “Why did the Eshelmanns turn Dunkard, Hannah?” He bent his head down so she could scrub the back of his neck.

  “Clarence Eshelmann married a Dunkard girl, and his family followed him.”

  “Why did they have to follow? Josiah didn’t marry any old Dunkard.”

  Hannah sighed. “I don’t know, but I think they felt like they had to choose between keeping their family together outside the church, or be separated from Clarence.”

  “Why?”

  “When Clarence married the Dunkard girl, the church had to put him under the bann. The church members must avoid him until he comes to repentance and back to the church. That meant his family had to shun him too, but instead they chose to leave the church.”

  “Would our family do that if you married Adam?”

  Hannah finished scrubbing Peter’s neck and handed him the washrag. “You know Daed would never leave the church. We are Amish, and we’ll stay Amish.” She tousled Peter’s wet hair as she rose from kneeling next to the tub. “I won’t marry Adam as long as he isn’t Amish. It’s too important for our family to be together.”

  Mamm came back to the kitchen to check the bread just as Liesbet slipped out the door.

  “Liesbet? Where are you going?”

  She poked her head back into the kitchen. “Just to the privy and to check on the hens. I want to make sure the gate is fastened.”

  Hannah filled the big kettle and pushed it over the fire to heat more water for the next bath. Liesbet never did anything with the chickens unless forced to. She must be using that as an excuse so Mamm wouldn’t worry when she didn’t come back right away. She went to the entryway and took her shawl from the hook.

  “I’m going to help Liesbet with the chickens. We don’t want a fox to get in the pen tonight.”

  Mamm, distracted by her baking, just nodded her head, and Hannah slipped out the door.

  Just as she thought. There was no light from the privy, and the hens were settled and quiet. Liesbet was nowhere around. Hannah made her way around the barn and down the path to the clearing. She could hear their voices before she reached the spot where they met.

  “But I have to get back. You know I can’t stay long.”

  “Lass, you need to forget about your parents once in a while. They won’t even notice you’re gone.”

  “They will when it’s time for evening prayers.”

  Hannah stopped on the path just outside the clearing. The waning moon hadn’t yet risen and the two of them were shadows in darkness.

  “Let me show you what evening prayers with me are like.”

  Liesbet giggled as the two shadows merged into one. Hannah started toward the clearing to interrupt them, but stopped. How would she confront a man like George McIvey? He reminded her of the bounty hunter she and Adam had met—coarse, forward, and worldly.

  She retraced her steps until she was several yards from the clearing, and then called as if she had been sent to look for her sister. “Liesbet! Where are you?”

  After a few minutes, Liesbet emerged from the path into the farmyard where Hannah waited. She stopped, straightening her hair and replacing her kapp.

  “Did Mamm send you out after me?”

  “Ne. Your excuse to check on the chickens sounded false to me, so I came out to keep you out of trouble.”

  “You’re not my mother, Hannah Yoder. And I’m a grown woman. I can do what I want.”

  “You’re still an unmarried girl living under your father’s roof. You owe him your respect and obedience.”

  Liesbet leaned toward her and hissed. “I owe him nothing.”

  Hannah’s hand slapped Liesbet’s face before the thought came into her head. She grabbed the offending hand and held it. “Liesbet. I’m so sorry.”

  Her sister’s voice was ice cold. “You’re not sorry. You’ve been wanting to do that for years, and now you’ve had your chance. But don’t ever do it again.”

  Tears welled up at Liesbet’s words. “What has happened to us? We used to be so close—you, Fanny, and I. Don’t you remember how the three of us shared a bed because we couldn’t bear to be parted from each other, even for a night?”

  “I’ll tell you what happened. Fanny died. She died, Hannah. And when she died, we all did.” She whirled away and Hannah heard her sniff. “I’m not going to ever go through that again. I’ve found a new life, and I’m going to do what I want.” She turned to face Hannah again. “You may think you’re pleasing God or something by being the good daughter, the helpful daughter. But you can’t please a God who hates you, and I’m not going to waste time trying. I’m going to live for me, and the rest of you can move to Indiana or wherever. I don’t care.”

  “But, Liesbet, think of Mamm. Of Daed. Think of what you will do to the family—”

  “I told you. I don’t care. They will get over me. In fact, they’ll probably be glad I’m gone and they don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

  Hannah’s feet were freezing. She wrapped her shawl closer. How could Liesbet say such things? How could she think such things? “Come back to the house, Liesbet. Get some sleep. Perhaps you’ll feel differently in the morning.”

  “I’ll come back to the house, but only to keep peace until I marry George. I’m not going to change my mind Hannah. I’m going to marry him, no matter what you, or Mamm, or even Daed says. They can’t keep me a prisoner.”

  Liesbet walked away, her steps stiff and hard across the frosty barnyard. Hannah followed slow
ly. There must be a way to keep her apart from George.

  17

  Hannah woke suddenly, the pounding of Daed’s fist on the door of the boys’ room ringing through the house. Beside her, Liesbet rolled to one side, pulling the covers over her ears.

  Hannah tugged at the edge of the quilt. “Liesbet, come quickly. It’s a meeting day.”

  Liesbet responded with a groan, but Hannah got up and lit the candle. She splashed her face with cold water, and then put on her best dress, covering it with her everyday apron until after breakfast.

  She shook Liesbet’s shoulder, and then sat on the edge of Margli’s bed to wake her. “Come now, sleepyheads. It’s time to make breakfast. We’re going to Sabbath meeting today.”

  Margli stretched and yawned, but Liesbet snuggled farther under the covers. “It’s still dark,” she said. “Why do we have to get up this early?”

  “You know why, Liesbet.” Hannah smiled at Margli and pulled her sleeping kapp off her head. She crossed to the big bed again and tugged the covers out of Liesbet’s hands, pulling them to the foot of the bed. “Mamm needs help with breakfast and William needs to be dressed. Hurry up!”

  By the time Hannah left the room to go downstairs, Liesbet was awake enough to help Margli get dressed. Mamm stood over the fireplace, stirring the porridge that had simmered all night.

  “Hannah, I’m so glad you’re up. The girls?”

  “They’re coming. I’ll go get the eggs and milk, and then I’ll wake William.”

  “Ja, ja, ja.” Mamm nodded her head, but her attention was on wrapping the corn pone cakes she had baked last night, getting them ready for the long walk to the meeting.

  Hannah took the egg basket and her shawl and opened the door to the frosty night air. The clock had said it was morning, but five o’clock still seemed like the middle of the night. The chickens clucked with sleepy voices as she went from nest to nest in the dark chicken coop, searching for the warm eggs under the hens. She spread feed on the floor of the coop, propped open the door to the pen, and let them sleep.