Sisters of the Quilt

by Cindy Woodsmall

  Pulling her knees to her chin, she wrapped the shawl around them and closed her eyes, sifting through more of her thoughts. “God, I … I can’t accept that the attack was Your will. I can’t.” Oddly, fresh peace flooded her, as if God understood her feelings.

  “Hannah!”

  The shout startled her so badly she screamed. Her eyes flew open, and she jumped to her feet. On the ground, some fifteen feet below, Matthew stood, looking up at her.

  “Matthew Esh, scare a girl to death, why don’t ya!” But seeing his friendly face quickly removed her frustration.

  The gleam in Matthew’s eyes, which defined him more than any other trait, didn’t falter for a moment. “Well, it’s not like I weren’t calling to ya,” he said, pointing to the ridge where Esh land met Yoder ground, “from the moment I recognized it was you sittin’ up here. I been wantin’ to see how you’re doin’. Everybody’s so wrapped up in Luke and Mary, pampering them like—” He stopped cold. “I mean, they’ve had it rough and all, but …” Matthew grabbed his suspenders and kicked a rock.

  He had a good heart, one that didn’t want to say anything negative. Sometimes, in his honesty, things slipped out anyway. But with no one home, they needed to find a better time to visit.

  “I think we’d better talk later, Matthew.” She enjoyed his company. He often reminded her of Paul with his sense of humor and work ethic. And he reminded her of the best parts of Luke, with his sincerity and dedication to the Old Ways and his family.

  “Aw, come on. It’s important.”

  Seeing the disappointment in his eyes, she relented. “Well, if you’re needing to talk, come on up.”

  A wind gust zipped through the barn and right through Hannah’s clothing. She pulled on the handles to the double doors of the hayloft and bolted them shut.

  The ladder creaked, and soon Matthew’s black winter hat peeked through the small entrance. “Can’t say I ever climbed into a haymow to talk to a girl before.”

  “Did too.” Hannah eased onto a mound of hay and stretched out her legs, thankful for a break from the seriousness of her life.

  Matthew mocked a scowl at her as he finished climbing into the loft. “Liar.”

  Hannah laughed. They’d get in ever so much trouble if the adults knew how they threw such an ugly word around like it was nothing. His playfulness reminded her so much of Luke … before the buggy accident.

  Wrapping her cloak tighter around herself, Hannah clenched her jaw in feigned annoyance. “You told me about it yourself.”

  Matthew slid off his jacket and threw it on her lap before he fell back on the hay beside her. She coughed at the spray of dust he caused, then realized he’d probably planned that little dust-scattering move. She waved her hand through the air, clearing it some so she could breathe. He stretched out his long legs, obviously unperturbed at her reaction.

  Glad for the extra warmth, she spread his jacket over her lap.

  “Prove it.” Matthew picked up a long straw and stuck it between his teeth.

  “Got to that point of the game already?” Hannah took the straw from his mouth and tossed it into his lap.

  He shrugged and grabbed another straw. “I got somethin’ I want to tell ya. But first, you have to prove your claim.”

  Curiosity grabbed her attention. “Motty Ball.”

  “Climbing a haymow to talk to a cat doesn’t count.”

  Hannah buried her cold hands under the jacket. “Motty Ball is a female, and that’s what you said. So, what’s this news?”

  Matthew’s eyes danced with mischief. “I met somebody.”

  “Old Order Amish?” Her automatic question bothered her. Was she that much of a hypocrite that Matthew had to find an Amish girl but she could be engaged to a Mennonite?

  Matthew laced his fingers together and tucked them behind his head, looking quite pleased with himself. “Of course.”

  A chorus of relief sang within her. “Who?”

  “Won’t say. Not yet.”

  “For tradition’s sake—keeping the relationship a secret until you’re published?” She was too excited to drop the subject easily.

  “Nah. That’s silly stuff for old women and childish girls. It’s ’cause I don’t know yet how she feels about me.”

  “Oh.” Her excitement ended abruptly. She would hurt all over if Matthew fell for someone who didn’t return his feelings.

  Looking at courting from this viewpoint, she saw some of her father’s concerns. Suddenly she couldn’t find fault with him for taking it so seriously.

  “Come on, Matthew. You gotta tell me.”

  Matthew picked up a straw and twirled it. “If you can figure out the riddle, you’ll know. But you can’t tell nobody.” He placed the straw between his teeth. “Now, pay attention ’cause I’m only going to say it once.” He shifted his feet and leaned back in a relaxed manner. “She comes and she goes almost daily … by driver. In thick snow, she’ll stay. Her name is said like it’s one letter. She’s not yet been allowed to take her vows, but she’s been old enough for several years.”

  Hannah shook her head. “Not allowed to take her vows yet? I never heard of such a thing. Matthew, are you playing games with me?”

  He smiled. “It’s the honest-to-heaven’s truth. And if I told you more, you’d get more confused. She’s as unique as an Amish community has ever knowed.”

  Hannah sat there, dumbfounded. “If she comes and goes by driver, then she’s not from this district.”

  Matthew smiled broadly. “Not yet.”

  His confidence was disconcerting. He was missing a huge part of the chain of command: the girl’s father. The bishop of each district would easily agree to let any Amish of good standing move to a different district. But a girl’s father—well, that put a whole new spin on the issue.

  Matthew squared his shoulders. “That’s all I’m saying. Either you’re as smart as I think you are and can figure it out, or you won’t know.”

  “Well, I’ll know when you get published.”

  Matthew laughed loud and strong. “She ain’t even gone for a buggy ride with me yet.” He shrugged, clearly having a moment of insecurity. “But when I met her, there was something between us, Hannah. Ya know?”

  She wanted to argue that his feelings were too much too soon, but she of all people couldn’t argue that point. She’d fallen for Paul as hard and as quickly as a tree felled for firewood. “Yeah, I know.” The dreamy look in his eyes made Hannah ache to see this work out for him.

  His riddle was quite a puzzle. A girl of age but not yet allowed to take her vows. Strange. Her name sounds like one letter. Hmm. This would take some considering.

  Ready for a little childlike reprieve after weeks of hard labor, she reached for the straw dangling from his lips. He threw his hand up, deflecting hers. A scuffling match ensued as she tried to grab the straw and he tried to keep her from getting it.

  “Schick dich, Hannah. Schick dich.” He grabbed a fistful of hay and rubbed it on her head. “Du bischt Druwwel.”

  She stood and threw his jacket to the foot of the ladder.

  “Dankes, Hannah.”

  Hannah curtsied. “You’re welcome.”

  “What’d you do that for?”

  Feigning innocence, she said, “It flew there all by itself.”

  “Aha! Proof! You are a liar!” He squared his shoulders in triumph, clearly certain he’d won this round of the game.

  “Hello!” A deep voice boomed through the air.

  Hannah stopped dead as if the breath had been knocked out of her. That was the bishop’s voice.

  Matthew tilted his head, studying her. “It’s okay, Hannah. We’ve done nothing wrong.” He put both feet on the ladder and began his descent. He stopped on the third rung. “Perhaps one day the lot will fall to me, and I’ll become a bishop.” The words came out but a whisper so the bishop could not hear him. “Maybe then you will behave around me, ya?” He smiled and straightened his hat before he climbed down the ladder. />
  His humor did nothing to settle the terror that ran through Hannah’s body. There were so many levels on which she feared the bishop. She wanted to be all that he and her parents wanted. She really did. It just never seemed to work out that way, no matter how hard she tried. The bishop would call her mind-set sin. Dr. Greenfield would probably call it free will.

  She called it utter confusion.

  She peered through the hole to the ground floor. The bishop handed Matthew his jacket, then looked up into the loft. Her hands fluttered over her apron, trying to free it of loose hay. She reached for her Kapp. It was askew, one side nearly touching her shoulder and her hair pulling free of its restraints.

  The bishop’s austere glare bored into Hannah, and guilt hounded her—guilt for every ungodly thought she’d ever had. The bishop rubbed the palms of his hands together, making a noise like sandpaper against wood. “I came to see John Yoder. I take it no one is home but the two of you.”

  Matthew glanced up at her, and she knew he was just realizing that himself.

  The bishop cleared his throat. “I think it’s time you go home, Matthew. Hannah, I’m sure there are better ways to spend the Lord’s Sabbath than this. Tell Mary’s father I came by to see him and I’ll catch up with him later in the week.”

  The two men disappeared from her tiny square view from the hayloft. With a heavy heart she made her way down the ladder.

  Hannah stirred the chocolate frosting with all the strength she could muster. An electric mixer would be awfully nice on days like this. Her arms were weary from having washed clothes all morning. She had always known that a lot of jobs fell to Mary as the only daughter among ten children, but she hadn’t realized the full magnitude of her workload. Thankfully, four of Mary’s brothers were married and had homes of their own now. So Becky, Mammi Annie, and Hannah had only six males to look after. The responsibilities had been minimal when Mary first returned from the hospital, but as more and more Amish women went back to their homes, both Hannah’s and Becky’s workloads increased.

  Hannah placed a layer of cake on a plate and began frosting it with a dinner knife. She had done mounds of laundry today, including a full tub of towels. Of all the items that had to be run through the gas-powered agitator, worked through the hand-cranked dry wringer to squish the soap out, rinsed by hand in a tub of clear water, and worked through the wringer again, towels were the most tiring. They got quite heavy as she dunked them in the rinse water and lifted them in the air, repeating the process over and over until the soap was out. Of course, boys’ and men’s shirts, of which there was no shortage in the Yoder household, were no picnic. They weren’t heavy to rinse, but the wringer broke the buttons easily. At least at this stage of Mary’s recuperation, she was well enough to sew buttons back on.

  Hannah positioned the second layer of cake on top of the frosted one and dropped a large dollop of icing on it. As she smoothed it around the top and over the sides, she let her mind wander. A few more weeks had swept by as she’d stayed busy helping Mary regain her strength and the Yoders run their household.

  There was one benefit to all the jobs and concentration: it helped time pass as she dreamed of seeing Paul again. Going without letters had been harder than she’d imagined. But with a little less than six weeks until Christmas, she’d almost made it through the arctic wasteland of time. A sense of well-being washed over her. She had set her will, defied her emotions, and carried out her responsibilities.

  But Hannah didn’t understand Gram’s ridiculous edict that she and Paul could not write to each other. For the thousandth time, she wondered if there was some other way to pass letters back and forth without her family finding out.

  With the aid of her walker, Mary shuffled into the kitchen. A patchwork potholder she had been sewing was scrunched between her palm and the handle of the walker. “I’m afraid the entire wedding season will pass by before I’m strong enough to attend any of them.”

  Hannah set the frosting to the side. She pulled a golden brown loaf of bread from the gas stove and set the pan on a baker’s rack to cool. She put another pan of unbaked bread in the oven and closed the door. “Every bride and groom has come to see you before the wedding, no?”

  Pinching off a bit of a freshly iced cake, Mary nodded, then popped the chunk of cake into her mouth. “Mmm, vat’s awful goot.”

  “Molmumumpm,” Hannah mocked jovially. “How can I understand that garbled talk? Neither English nor Pennsylvania Dutch. Shame on you.” Hannah cut the cake where Mary had pinched off a piece and set the slice on a plate on the table. “You’ve had plenty of nutrition. It’s time for some much-needed calories.” She grabbed a fork out of a drawer and laid it beside the plate.

  Mary eased into the chair. “I came out to help, but, as usual, I sit and take it easy while you work.”

  Hannah grabbed a glass and filled it with milk, then placed it in front of Mary. “You’re doing just as you should.”

  Mary took several long gulps of milk before setting the glass on the table. “I’ll make all this up to you someday, Hannah. You’ll see.”

  Hannah lifted the kettle of boiling water off the stove and poured the steaming liquid into a cup that held a tea bag and the last of the honey they had from the Esh farm. “What I see is my friend being strong enough to want to do things but too weak to do them just yet, no?”

  Mary sighed. “It’s frustrating. I lie in bed dreaming of doing things, and as soon as I stand, all my strength is gone.”

  “It will return.”

  “But I slept for days after my outing with Luke.”

  “I know. When you start getting your strength, it’ll come quick like.” Hannah set the hot drink in front of Mary. “The womenfolk will be here soon with their quilting items in tow. I want all of us to work on your quilt, and they want to come and lift your spirits. But if you get tired during the gathering, you say so, and I’ll cart you off to bed.”

  Mary frowned. “I’m to go to bed while everyone else gets to work on the quilt you designed for me?”

  Hannah opened the stove, checking the next batch of bread. She closed the oven, then turned to dump the other loaf onto a rack so it could finish cooling without getting soggy. “You’ll do as your body asks.”

  Mary took another bite of cake. “You’ve done a wonderful job planning and gathering fabric for our quilt.” She paused, her eyes studying Hannah with a depth of caring that only Mary had for her. “Hannah, I’m not so weak or confused from the medicines that I haven’t noticed how sad you’ve been. I vainly assumed my injuries were the reason. But something much deeper is going on with you. It haunts your sleep and brings tears to your eyes when you think no one sees. If everyone wasn’t so concerned over me and Luke, they’d be sick with worry about you. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

  Hannah scraped the last of the frosting out of the bowl and swirled it onto the cake, wondering if Mary was strong enough to hear the full, horrendous story. Although Hannah had to keep her and Paul’s relationship a secret even from her best friend, she had always shared everything else with Mary.

  The explanation of her unhappiness would be a painful shock for Mary. On one hand, Hannah wanted to spare Mary the ugly truth; on the other, she ached to talk to her, was desperate to share with someone the burden that ate away at her night and day. With her living here, her parents seemed to have forgotten the whole thing had ever happened.

  Hannah gave a smile that had to look fake in spite of her best effort.

  Mary’s eyes brimmed with pools of water. “Something awful is wrong, and I’m so sorry. I feel so selfish, beaming about the new apartment and shop.” Using the table as support, Mary stood. Her cool, soft hands pressed against Hannah’s arm. “Mei liewe, liewe Bobbeli, was iss es?”

  Dear, dear baby. The term of endearment would have caused giggles if the situation weren’t so filled with misery.

  Dread swamped Hannah. How could she talk about the attack when Mary knew little to nothing about wh
at Dr. Greenfield called sex? For Hannah, getting the explanation past her lips would be tough enough if Mary already fully understood the concepts.

  Hannah placed the spreading knife on a plate. She turned and faced her friend. So much love and compassion shone in Mary’s eyes.

  She swallowed. “Du kannscht net saage …”

  Mary shook her head. “I won’t, dear Hannah. You know I’ll not tell a soul.”

  Hannah’s knees shook so hard that she plunked into a kitchen chair. Mary sat beside her, holding her hands. Hannah swallowed. “A few weeks before your accident—”

  A swift rap at the door startled both of them. Mary engulfed Hannah in a hug. “It’s probably just Mamm dropping some sewing stuff off early, and I forgot to unlock the door. I’ll ask her to give us some more time.”

  Hannah squeezed Mary gingerly before letting her go. As Mary shuffled to the door using her walker, Hannah rinsed her face at the sink, still debating how much to share with Mary. She could just tell her about Paul and how hard it was being separated from him. Was it safe for her friend’s health to tell her any more than that? Could she handle even that much? It had taken Mary a week of extra rest to recoup from her visit to the harness shop, and Luke hadn’t even allowed her to climb the steps to get a gander at their future home. She was more frail than she knew.

  Mary opened the front door, then turned to look at Hannah. The crestfallen expression on her face said it all; they’d lost track of time. The women had arrived for the quilting.

  “Are you all right, Mary?” Naomi Esh looked past her, searching for Hannah. Behind Naomi stood Deborah Miller and Grace Hostetler, all of them looking concerned.

  Hannah stepped forward, placing her hands on Mary’s shoulders. “She’s fine. Kumm uff rei,” Hannah added, showing them in. Hannah helped Mary take a few steps backward with the aid of the walker, making room for the women and all their sewing goods to enter the room. Maybe this interruption was for the best. Mary’s sudden inquisitiveness had caught Hannah off guard. Hannah needed time to weigh her words, to decide what Mary could handle.