Hannah's Choice

by Jan Drexler

  She kissed him again, relishing the power she held over him. “It doesn’t matter now, though, does it?”

  He gave in, kissing her as if he meant to devour her. “No,” he said between kisses, “it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  George watched Lizzie until she was safely in the house. He was a dead man, trapped by that girl’s pretty face and soft body. Trapped as surely as his old dad in Ireland had been.

  Da talked big when he was in the pub. About how he was on his way to being a champion prize fighter until he was trapped by a pretty face.

  “Don’t ever make my mistake,” he’d say, poking at George’s chest with his dirty finger. “Don’t let yourself be trapped by a whiny girl who says she’s in the family way.” Then Da would take another drink from his tankard and pound it down on the counter. “She’ll be the ruin of you. So keep clear, my boy, keep clear.”

  George never knew what to say to that. If Da hadn’t fallen for that pretty face, he would never have been born. And Mum wasn’t a whiny girl—she was just Mum.

  But now, here he was with Lizzie telling him she was expecting a baby. Maybe Da was right. He should have just stayed clear.

  When Lizzie disappeared into the house, he pulled his cap down firmly and started for the camp. It would snow soon, and then keeping his trysts with Lizzie secret would be impossible. There was no hiding his trail in the snow, and the boys would soon find out about her. Maybe she was right, and he should find another job, but by the saints, he would die if he had to work in some mill like Uncle Brian.

  Of course, living in the camp he and the boys had made wouldn’t be very pleasant once winter set in. A couple of them had taken up with girls in town, just to have a warm bed to sleep in when the cold wind blew. He envied them on nights like tonight.

  He wouldn’t mind keeping Lizzie with him at night, but where? How? And what would they do when the baby was born?

  Profanity streamed from his mouth like a muttered prayer. If only he didn’t like the girl. Another man would just leave, letting her take care of herself and the baby. He didn’t have to stick around. Except he couldn’t help thinking about Mum, and what she would say.

  Mum had been a saint, no matter what Da said about her. She had put up with the beatings and the drinking and no money . . . and she had loved her children. She had cried when he left home, but he had turned his back and gone anyway. A woman’s tears turned him to jelly.

  And now Lizzie. If he left her to fend for herself, she’d cry. Her face would haunt him for the rest of his life, it would. Her pretty face and her tears.

  If only there wasn’t a baby, then they could just keep having fun the way they had been. But her face when he suggested getting rid of it told him she wouldn’t put up with it. He was stuck with her and the baby, at least for now.

  The wind picked up, finding the holes in George’s coat. It was turning into a bitter night, this one. Too cold for sleeping alone in a tent.

  All right, maybe he would take Lizzie to the city. Not Philadelphia, but Lancaster. He could rent a room over the Blue River tavern and find a job. There might be a town job that wouldn’t be too bad, and then he’d be warm for the winter, at least. Lizzie could work too. There was always room for another barmaid. With her face she’d do well making tips.

  George changed direction and made for the road to Lancaster. He’d be there by morning and could sleep indoors tomorrow. And then go get Lizzie.

  It wasn’t perfect, but at least he’d be warm at night.

  Liesbet hummed as she hung dish towels on the clothesline. Any time now George would come for her and take her away from this—she snapped a towel in the air and fastened it with a clothespin—this stupid, cold, boring life of slavery. She shouldn’t have to work this hard, and in the cold too. Mamm should have had Hannah hang these towels.

  The wind was a sharp knife today, slicing right to her bones, and it wasn’t even winter yet. Mamm was making Schnitz und Knepp for dinner again. The only thing good about it was that it was hot and warmed a person from the inside.

  She picked up the last towel, and as she straightened she saw George waving to her from the other side of the blackberry brambles.

  Biting her lip, she glanced at the house. No one was outside, but she could be seen from the window. She had to take a chance. She had to see what George wanted.

  Keeping the flapping towels between her and the house, Liesbet walked quickly to the old cabin, and then used it as a shield until she was well into the trees. Circling the house was easier when she got to the sheep pasture. The sheep browsed the space between the trees, keeping it clear of underbrush and she could go faster. Near the creek, though, the trees were larger and she resorted to following a deer trail until she came to the clearing.

  George stood in the center, eyes on the treetops where a flock of crows were making a racket. She almost ran to him, but stopped herself. She mustn’t appear too eager. She waited until he turned.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d see me.”

  “I nearly didn’t.”

  He looked all around the clearing, peering through the trees.

  “I’m not used to being here in the daylight. You’re sure no one can see us?”

  “No one will come this way today. Daed and Jacob are busy in the barn, and the others are all in the house.” Liesbet shivered and George came closer, pulling her to him.

  “I found a room for us.”

  “A room? Not a house?”

  “A room was all I could find right now. I know you wanted a house, but we’ll have to wait for spring to look for one.”

  Liesbet swallowed her disappointment. Spring was a long time, but at least they’d have a house before the baby came. “When will it be ready?”

  “Now. If we start right away, we’ll be there in time for supper.”

  “Now? What about . . .” She stopped, biting her lip. Isn’t this what she had been longing for?

  “There’s no time to argue about it. Do you want to come or not?”

  “I have clothes and things I want to bring.”

  George swore as he pulled his hat off and ran his fingers through his curly black hair. “Things you want to bring? Like what?”

  “I have a quilt, and pillows, and a few things I’ve made. And then my other dress and my nightclothes.”

  He nodded. “All right, then. We can wait while you go back to get them. Can you get them out of the house today?”

  Liesbet let her mind go over the possibilities. She could bundle everything in her quilt, but getting the bundle down the stairs while everyone was awake would be impossible.

  “Not until tonight, when everyone is sleeping.”

  George let out another string of profanity. “We can’t wait that long. Just bundle it all up and throw it out the window. Then no one will see you taking it.”

  “I guess I could do that while everyone is at dinner . . .”

  “How long?”

  “What?”

  “How long until you’re back here?”

  “You’re not going to help me?”

  “If I tried to help, we might be seen. If your da sees me, he’ll never let you go.”

  Liesbet nodded. If Daed knew what she was doing, she’d never be able to leave. She’d have to tell him about the wedding afterward.

  “All right. I’ll meet you here in about an hour. I’ll go back to the house and say I’m ill, and they’ll let me go to bed.”

  “Be quick about it, then.” George stamped his feet to warm them. “I want to get out of here.”

  Liesbet hurried back to the house and opened the door. The kitchen was warm, heated by the large fireplace. Hannah looked up as she came in.

  “You took a long time to hang up a few towels.”

  “I . . . I used the privy too.”

  “It’s nearly time for dinner. You finish setting the table and I’ll get the little ones ready.”

  “I need to go up and lay down.” Liesbet started toward the stairs.<
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  Mamm looked up from stirring the pot over the fire. “You’re not feeling well?”

  “Ne. I feel tired.” She coughed a little. “The wind was so cold, and my chest hurts.”

  “Then you go right upstairs.” Mamm’s face had the familiar worried look on it. “I’ll bring your dinner up to you.”

  “Don’t bother.” That would ruin everything. “I’m not very hungry. I’ll have some broth when I get up.”

  “If you’re sure . . .”

  Mamm’s voice faded as Liesbet hurried up the steps. They would think she was sleeping, and no one would disturb her for at least an hour, maybe two. By then, she and George would be halfway to Lancaster.

  She opened the chest at the foot of the bed and sorted through the things inside. Hannah had more quilts than she did, and even some linen dish towels and the dress length of blue wool she had woven last summer. Hannah would need all those things if she married Adam Metzler or that funny Josef Bender. Stick-in-the-mud farmers, both of them.

  Liesbet found the quilt Grossmutti had made for her years ago and spread it out on the bed. She put her pillow in the center, and then glanced at Hannah’s pillow. Should she take both, so George would have one too? It would make things more homelike, wouldn’t it? She piled Hannah’s pillow on top of her own, and then took her nightdress and extra dress off the hooks on the wall, folding them loosely before adding them to the stack. Of course, she wouldn’t be wearing plain clothes anymore, but she could make them over until George bought her more material.

  Finally she put in her comb and pulled the corners of the quilt together. Opening the window, she looked for any sign someone was about. No one. She went to the bedroom door and eased it open a crack. Daed’s voice carried up the stairs—something about the wagon he and Jacob were building. Now was the time for her to go, but she lingered, listening. Would she miss this? The family sitting together around the table? Once she left home, Daed wouldn’t allow her back unless she came asking for their forgiveness.

  She closed the door with a firm push. Forgiveness for what? For living her life the way she chose instead of how they wanted her to?

  Taking the bulky bundle, she pushed it out the window, watching it drop onto the flower bed. She climbed out after it, finding the window frame below with the toes of her shoes and dropping onto the pile of quilt, pillows, and clothes.

  Pulling the bundle together again, she started off across the yard to the barn, shivering. She had left her winter shawl on the hook in the lean-to off the kitchen, but she couldn’t go back for it now.

  At the edge of the barnyard, just before taking the path into the woods where George waited for her, she glanced back at the white frame house. Mamm would cry when they found she was gone, but they’d soon get used to it.

  She turned her back on the house, anxious to see George again. Today was her wedding day, wasn’t it? It was the beginning of her new life.

  25

  Liesbet was gone, leaving an empty gap at the table, in the bedroom, in Hannah’s life. Even Margli grieved, crawling into Hannah’s bed at night. Hannah would always wake and hold her close, as if she could keep her little, warm, and safe. Sisters slip away so quickly.

  The first days after Liesbet left, Daed and Jacob had spent the daylight hours combing the woods, fields, and creek banks for some sign of her. And then on the fourth day, Adam had come to say he had seen Liesbet. She was living over a tavern in Lancaster.

  Hannah watched Mamm closely. Would this news send her into her spells again? But although she would often seem to get lost in watching the fire in the fireplace, she would rouse herself and restart whatever task she had been doing.

  On Tuesday, four weeks after Liesbet left, a storm threatened. Daed came in from the barn at midmorning.

  “We brought the livestock in from the pastures.” He blew on his coffee to cool it as Hannah sliced mutton off the bone from last night’s roast.

  “Even the sheep?” Mamm was breaking dried bread into crumbs to mix with the meat and some of her dried garden herbs.

  “Ja. The signs have all pointed to a hard winter this year, and we’re getting it. But we’re prepared. No matter how much it snows, the animals are sheltered and have plenty of food.”

  Mamm’s hands slowed in the mixing bowl.

  “Mamm?”

  She shook herself a bit and smiled at Hannah. A tired, strained smile. “I’m all right. I was just thinking . . .”

  Hannah could read Mamm’s thoughts. Liesbet, off living in the city without her winter cloak. She had always been prone to coughs and chills, but who would care for her now?

  Daed finished his coffee and rose from the table, patting Mamm’s shoulder as he shrugged his arms into his heavy coat. He stopped at the door. “We all think about her, Annalise.”

  Mamm gave him a smile, but tears stood in her eyes.

  A familiar anger rose, but Hannah pushed it down. Liesbet might as well be under the bann, as far as Daed was concerned. As long as she chose to remain unrepentant, he would not forgive her. If she was older and a baptized member of the community, she would be shunned by the church, and even by her family. Hannah glanced at Mamm. The tears were rolling down her cheeks now, and she wiped at them with her sleeves, her hands covered in bread crumbs.

  “I’ll finish this if you want me to.”

  “Ne.” Mamm sniffed and smiled at Hannah. “I need to keep busy. If I stop to think . . .” Her eyes grew shadowed as she looked away from Hannah. “I don’t want to let the darkness take over again.”

  Hannah’s stomach turned. If she had only told Mamm and Daed about George McIvey sooner . . . Why couldn’t she be a better daughter? She was the cause of Mamm’s tears again.

  “Mamm . . . I’m sorry.” She turned the bone and leaned down to see where she could cut off more meat. Anything to avoid looking at her mother.

  “You’re sorry? For what?”

  “I . . . I knew Liesbet meant to go away with a man. I knew she wanted to marry an outsider, but I didn’t think she’d really do it.”

  Mamm’s hands stopped and she stared at Hannah. Out of the corner of her eye, Hannah could see the sadness. “It isn’t your fault.”

  “Ja, it is. Months ago I saw Liesbet with a man, but I told her not to see him again. I told her he wasn’t for her.” Hannah carefully minced a piece of mutton. “I hoped she would give him up.”

  Mamm went back to her mixing. “Your daed and I didn’t have any idea she was serious about anyone, but Liesbet . . .” Her voice faltered. “I know I turned a blind eye to her afternoons spent in the woods. I thought the time resting in the sunshine would help her get better.”

  Hannah’s heart sunk. If she had told Daed about George . . . would it have made any difference? Could any of them have stopped Liesbet?

  Mamm cracked an egg into the bread crumbs and added the bowl of minced mutton Hannah had cut off the bone.

  “We can only pray for her.” She shook her head. “I just hope she’s keeping herself warm, and that she’ll come back to us.” She glanced up, catching Hannah’s gaze. “There’s still hope for her, you know. She can come back.”

  “Ja.” Hannah put the mutton bone into the pot she had ready with vegetables and water. Someone needed to talk some sense into Liesbet. The silly girl was stubborn enough to stay away just to prove she was right, no matter what happened. After this storm, she’d get Adam to go into town with her. He’d take her to see Liesbet, and she could bring her sister home.

  The first big storm of the winter lasted into the night, and then blew itself out, leaving a knee-deep cover of snow on the ground. By Friday, the warm sun had turned the snow into patches of melting drifts with soggy brown leaves between them.

  With the excuse that she needed to trade some yarn with Adam’s sister, Hilda, and telling Mamm she would be gone all day, Hannah left for the Metzlers’ farm right after breakfast.

  She found Adam in the barn, forking hay into a wagon.

  “Adam.�
�� Hannah kept her voice to a whisper, in case Adam’s father was around.

  He looked up at her, glanced around, and then smiled. “What brings you here this morning?”

  “I need your help.” Hannah looked down at the floor where he was moving loose hay around with his feet. “What are you doing?”

  “Never mind.” He stopped fooling with the hay and walked over to Hannah. “What do you need help with?”

  “I need to go into Lancaster today and be back by suppertime. Can you take me?”

  Adam glanced at the stack of hay in the wagon. “I was planning a trip to Lancaster, myself, but I’m not sure it would be safe for you to come along.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not going alone, and my cargo is risky.”

  Hannah looked at the wagon. “Hay is a risky cargo?”

  Adam shook his head. “The cargo is under the hay.”

  Escaped slaves. Hannah clasped her trembling hands together. “I need to go to town. Let me come with you.”

  Shaking his head, Adam turned her toward the barn door. “No. I can’t. It will be too dangerous.”

  “But I need to go to Lancaster.” Hannah tried to dig her heels into the wooden floor as he pushed her toward the door.

  Adam stopped trying to push her out of the barn. “You know what I have to do today, and you told me to never involve you again, remember?”

  “Please, Adam.”

  “Why?”

  “I need to find Liesbet. Try to get her to come home.”

  Adam sighed. “Do you think you can change her mind?”

  “I have to try, for Mamm’s sake.”

  “All right. We’ll leave right away.” He smiled at her. “I have to say, I’ll enjoy having you along. And we’ll do our best to look like an old, married Amish couple, ja?”

  Hannah laughed at the comical face he made. She helped him hitch the team of horses to the wagon, and then he reached down and opened the trap door in the barn floor. If she hadn’t known it was there, she never would have thought to look for it. The trap door had been made of planks of various sizes so that when it was closed it was nearly invisible, blending with the barn floor of the wagon bay. Two men came up a ladder at Adam’s signal.