Sisters of the Quilt

by Cindy Woodsmall

  As soon as her feet landed on the ground, Paul engulfed her in a hug. “You’re shaking.” He released her, compassion in his eyes. “Go in and warm up. I’ll tend to the horse. Maybe we’ll get some time to talk alone if Gram takes a nap.”

  Hannah angled the book toward him. “A doctor at the hospital gave me this. I can’t wait to show it to you.”

  Paul chuckled. “You and your love of science books.”

  She looked through the open barn door, studying the gray sky. “The air smells of snow, no?”

  Paul loosened the leads on the horse from the buggy. “Hard to believe it’d snow this early in the season, but there’s a chance of it today.” He motioned toward the house. “Go on.”

  In spite of wanting to get out of the cold and into a warm house as quickly as possible, Hannah had no energy for hurrying across the yard.

  She opened the back door to let herself in as she always did. Gram stood at the kitchen stove, stirring a pot of something. From the many wonderful aromas, Hannah could tell Gram had already begun cooking for tomorrow’s feast.

  “Hannah.” Gram tapped the wooden spoon on the side of the pan, freeing it of dripping oatmeal before laying it on a small plate.

  Hannah laid the anatomy book on the oak table, crossed the kitchen, and wrapped Gram in a hug. Hannah’s arms hadn’t felt this full in a long time. She’d missed Gram so badly—not as much as she’d missed Paul, but the emptiness had been painful.

  Paul had always been so tied into Hannah’s feelings about coming to Gram’s that Hannah hadn’t realized how much she loved this woman. Even in the long winters, when Paul couldn’t visit very often, Hannah came to Gram’s with the expectation of receiving and passing letters. But now, as she and Gram stood locked in an embrace that erased months of separation, Hannah realized her love for Gram stood on its own, regardless of Paul.

  “You shake like a leaf, my girl.” Gram released her. “Paul has built you a roaring fire, and I have fresh coffee.”

  Hannah turned toward the large stone fireplace. “No coffee for me, Gram, but thanks.” The living room glowed in shifting amber and tawny colors from the reflection of dancing flames, dispelling the shadowy fears that made her shake. She loved a blazing fire in an open hearth. It warmed a home in so many more ways than a gas furnace, kerosene heater, or wood stove. Walking toward the dancing blaze, she remembered years of work, games, and bonding with Paul and Gram that had taken place in this very room.

  Soon they’d begin a life together, and nothing would separate them. Perhaps after she and Paul married, they could build a small home right on this property. That way she could always be here for Gram.

  Hearing a board creak, she turned. Her breath caught in her throat.

  Paul.

  With his shoulder against the doorframe, he smiled, looking relaxed and confident. She didn’t know how long he’d been standing there while she reminisced over their past and dreamed of their future. As they stood across the room staring at each other, dreams of their future grew within her. A warm home, children, aromas of upcoming feasts, and love so strong it could give a backbone to a jellyfish—that was their future.

  He held a steaming mug toward her. “Gram said you’re not drinking coffee this morning.”

  “Dr. Greenfield, the man who gave me the book I brought, said I’m too young to be drinking coffee.”

  “Oh.” Paul shrugged, taking a sip of the steaming drink. “I think if he knew how hard you always work and how good a cup of coffee is on cold mornings, he’d change his tune.” He rubbed his chin. “There were bricks in the floorboard of the buggy. Am I missing something?”

  Hannah untied her winter coat and slipped it off. “I thought you had Old Order Mennonite in your blood. How can ya not know what warming bricks are?” As she waltzed into the kitchen, Hannah playfully pushed against his shoulder.

  Gram pulled a few green apples from the cupboard. “She’s got a point, Paul.”

  Paul shook his head. “Any Old Order Mennonite in my blood is so far up the line it would take a genealogist to find the connection.”

  “The bricks hold heat and help keep the feet warm. Matthew put the bricks in the buggy when he hitched the horse for me.” Hannah set a kettle of water on the stove. “Gram, you got a list of what all we’re cooking today?”

  Gram pulled a long, thin piece of paper from her apron pocket.

  “Matthew?” Paul grumbled. “How come he fits into every conversation lately?”

  Hannah took the list and read over it. “I didn’t realize he had. Gram, is this a three or a five beside the butternut squash pies?”

  Gram set a sack of flour on the table. “Five. Hazel, Paul’s mom, is having extra family in for Thanksgiving. And the Millers too.” Gram turned to stir a pot of broth on the stove. “I’m sure Paul’s told you about the Millers. He and Dorcas are pretty close.”

  Hannah looked to Paul, and he rolled his eyes. “The Millers are close with my parents. Dorcas is one of their daughters.”

  The odd fluttery feeling around Hannah’s heart returned but something else too. A burning sensation like resentment rose. It wasn’t that he was friends with some girl that bothered her. What irked her was the realization that she never got to see him in his day-to-day life—while Dorcas did.

  Paul flipped through the pages of the anatomy book Hannah had brought, not noticing much of anything but the long list of phone numbers the doctor had written on the inside cover. It seemed a bit odd, but the doctor must have figured the book was the best place to write numbers that Hannah would need if she ever had to make a call on Mary’s behalf. He heard Hannah creeping down the steps. He closed the book. If his grandmother took that nap she’d agreed to, he and Hannah would have a couple of hours to themselves. Hannah tiptoed into the kitchen.

  Paul stood. “Is she sleeping?”

  Hannah moved to the stove to check on a pecan pie. “Close. She wanted to hear all about Luke and Mary’s accident and recuperation. We talked for a long time before she felt sleepy.”

  He passed her a set of potholders. “Hannah, about Gram’s remark. Dorcas is a friend of the family because her mother and my mother are best friends. End of story.”

  Placing the pie onto the cooling tray, Hannah’s brown eyes gazed deeply into his. “I never thought otherwise. The girls at your campus have made me a bit jittery over the years but”—she grabbed cold cuts out of the refrigerator—“that’s to be expected, I suppose.” She opened a loaf of bread and began making two sandwiches.

  Paul opened the game cabinet and pulled out Scrabble. He loved playing board games with her more than anything else … except the kisses they’d shared a week ago. That was amazing, and he wouldn’t mind a repeat performance. But during games they talked about bits and pieces of everything until their connection was tighter than before and the bond between them had a sweetness that he craved when they weren’t together.

  He hated to admit it, but his need for long conversations was stronger than Hannah’s. From what he understood, the desire for long, open talks didn’t fit the household Hannah had been brought up in. Whether because of her upbringing or not, Hannah had a quiet restraint that buried life’s events rather than shared them. Each time they got together, he had to patiently draw her out until she was sharing all the goings-on in her life and thoughts. An afternoon of talking heart to heart with her strengthened him for months.

  She passed him a plate with a sandwich and a bowl of sliced bananas and strawberries. She set a can of pressurized whipped cream on the kitchen table near the Scrabble board. He squirted some fluffy cream onto his fruit. While lining up two letters, he briefly wondered if such a short word was allowed, but he decided it didn’t matter since they played by their own rules anyway.

  She frowned. “Yo?”

  He took a bite of strawberries and whipped cream. After swallowing he answered, “It’s a word.” He leaned over to look at the numbers on the bottoms of the square wooden pieces. “Worth five poin
ts.”

  Her eyes danced with amusement. “Why, Paul Waddell. What’s next? YoMama?”

  Paul laughed. “That’s not one word, and where did you hear such a saying?”

  “At yohospital on yoTV.” She looked at the seven letters he’d doled out to her. She sighed. “Are you rigging the game again?”

  “Hannah,” he chided.

  She moved the letters around, frowning at them. “Yeah, I know, I know, you don’t need to rig it to lose; you can lose all by yourself.”

  Paul burst into laughter. “I think you said that wrong.”

  Hannah cocked an eyebrow. “I think I said it perfectly right for the very first time, no?” She shook her head. “Now, let’s see, H, E, E, A, E, A, P What are the chances of me getting this many vowels on the first deal?”

  “Obviously pretty good, or else you’re just lucky.”

  She placed an A below the Y and her H after the A. “That’s nine points, genius.”

  “That’s not a word.”

  “Yah. It’s a fine word.”

  He shook his head. “That’s zero points for you, dear woman.”

  “You mean liewe Fraa.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “ ‘Dear woman’ in Pennsylvania Dutch is liewe Fraa. Of course Fraa also means ‘wife,’ but …”

  “Ah, so yah is a Pennsylvania Dutch word. But you pronounce it ‘jah.’ ”

  “If you’ll cooperate, I’ll start saying yah.”

  “Oh, I see, my liewe Fraa.”

  “Ya, liewe Dummkopp Buhnesupp.”

  “Hey, I heard the word dumb in that phrase.”

  Hannah covered her mouth, laughter shining bright in her eyes. “It doesn’t have to mean ‘dumb.’ It could mean ‘blockhead’ or ‘dunce.’ ”

  He tried to glare at her, but her eyes, holding such joy, made even mock anger impossible. “I have no idea why I think I can win at this game. So, what did the other word you said mean?”

  “You mean Buhnesupp?”

  “That’d be the one.”

  “Bean soup.”

  “So you called me your dear dumb bean soup?” He fought to keep a straight face while watching her laugh so hard she covered her face. He studied his letters, trying to think of something that might make her laugh even harder. He placed two O’s after her yah word.

  She frowned. “Yahoo?”

  “It’s a search engine, e-mail, chat room. Yahoo covers all sorts of things on the Internet.”

  She patted his hand condescendingly. “The Internet. Didn’t we decide that’s your make-believe friend that you say carries answers for research, mails letters with no paper, and can send pictures without film?”

  He removed his hand from under hers and patted her hand in the same manner. “You’re gonna have to trust me on this one.”

  “I know it’s a word. I think you yelled it out into the evening sky about a week ago, no?”

  He was surprised she brought up the kisses, even in a roundabout way. He was beginning to realize this girl had a lot of surprises in her.

  Paul leaned forward. “I don’t remember actually yelling … or even whispering it. But if you could oblige me again, I’ll be glad to oblige you and shout yahoo.”

  Her cheeks turned a beautiful shade of pink. She lifted the pressurized can of whipped cream.

  He chuckled. “First you threaten to pelt me with eggs and now with whipped cream. You may tease, but I know you won’t follow—”

  Cold whipped cream smacked him in the face. He gasped and reached across the table for her. She leaped up and ran out the back door. He grabbed the can and pursued her.

  She bounded down the steps and across the side yard. When she turned, he saw surprise reflected on her face. “Snow!” She held her hands toward the skies as dainty white flakes drifted down.

  “Whipped cream,” Paul retorted. He took off after her.

  She screamed and ran. He caught her around the waist from behind. She laughed and squealed at the same time. Paul’s heart thumped against his chest. They were made for each other. No doubt. “Apologize, Hannah.”

  She nodded. “Okay. Okay.”

  With her back against his chest, he lifted her off her feet and nuzzled her neck before planting a kiss.

  “Paul, please.” She squirmed against him.

  He let her go, shook the can of whipped cream, and held the nozzle toward her. “Say it.”

  Her smile faded. She lowered her head while smoothing her skirts with the palms of her hands. Her demeanor was suddenly total meekness.

  “Mock submissiveness is never a good thing, not for me.” He grabbed her wrist.

  Her face radiated innocence. “But I’m not mocking. I’m serious.” She took a deep breath. “Du kannscht net verschieb, Sitzschtupp Bobbeli.” She lifted her head, looking completely repentant.

  Paul lowered the can, studying her. She meant her words, whatever they were. He passed her the can. “You win.”

  “Dankes.” She curtsied.

  “So, what did you say?”

  She broke into laughter, squirted him with whipped cream, and took off running.

  In less than ten seconds he grabbed her arm and stole the whipped cream. But he didn’t dare squirt her. She didn’t have a change of clothes here. “I can’t believe I fell for that. You’ve become tricky since I left, no?” He used his best Amish accent.

  She slipped on the snow and fell to her knees laughing.

  He helped her stand, pulling her against him. “What did you say to me, Hannah Lapp?”

  She gazed boldly into his eyes, once again surprising him. “I said, ‘You can’t understand, you living-room baby.’ ”

  “You called me a living-room baby? And I thought you said, ‘Forgive me.’ No fair.”

  She smiled, a flame of desire shining in her eyes.

  “Is that a common insult among the Amish?”

  She grinned and raised one eyebrow up and down quickly. “I just made it up, because it fits.”

  Paul laughed. “Thanks.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, watching snow fall on her face. Slowly he bent and brushed her lips with a kiss. “You’re incredible, Hannah. Every time I get to spend a smidgen of time with you, I’m reminded all over again how amazing you are.” He coddled her face, gazing into her soul.

  Her eyes grew distant. “I’d die without you, Paul.”

  He pulled her closer. “I feel the same way about you.”

  She ran her fingers behind his head, pulling his face to hers. Snow swirled around them as memories of this moment forged in his brain. They kissed until steam rose from their faces and formed a corona of vapor. This was the only woman for him. He’d never forget the joys of today—even when he was so sick of school he didn’t think he could show up for class one more time.

  They could make this work, whether they lived in Owl’s Perch or Maryland. All they needed was each other and a chance. His lips moved over the cool skin of her cheeks, feeling the dampness from a few melted snowflakes.

  Leaning back enough to look her in the eyes, Paul cradled a loose strand of wavy hair in his palm. “I didn’t know your hair was this …”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Uncontrollable is the word you’re searching for, and it’s a hassle to keep confined.”

  Paul wound the soft curls around his finger. “Like the girl it belongs to?”

  She shrugged, lowering her gaze, but not before Paul saw defiance spark in her eyes. She was an oxymoron in so many ways: yielding but defiant, caring but detached, belonging with him and yet … not. Sometimes, when the night was long and quiet, he worried that her undeniable beauty and deep naiveté would pull her into life with one of the young men in her community, leaving him empty ever after.

  “Hannah.” He released her hair and put his hands on her shoulders, looking her straight in the eye. “Be careful while I’m gone. There will be no end to the number of men wanting you.” He ran his palms down her arms and clutched her hands. “Like this Matthew guy
who keeps popping up everywhere you are.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not like that with Matthew.”

  Paul squeezed her hands and forced a smile. He couldn’t imagine any man not being drawn to her. “I trust your heart. That’s not the problem. It’s just … I’d go crazy if someone came between us. You need to be careful with the Matthew’s of your world. They hang around waiting for …” Paul drew her hands to his lips. By the look in her eyes, he could tell he was confusing her. “I don’t want any part of you shared with someone else, not your heart, your dreams, or … your lips.”

  “Ach, Du bischt hatt.”

  Paul chuckled. “I know I’ve pushed too far when you fall into speaking your native tongue at me in frustration. I just want to shield you … us. And wisdom is the best protection against mistakes.” He cocked his head, trying to read what she was thinking.

  He saw deep pain reflected in her eyes, but why? They were clearing the air, making sure she understood the ways of men, preparing her for what was sure to come when she turned eighteen, confined in a way of life that pushed, like no other, for single people to find a mate quickly and among their own people. And he’d be months from returning to her.

  He leaned to brush her lips with his, but she turned her head. “Tell me you understand what I’m saying.”

  “I understand.” She cleared her throat. “You said you’ll have nothing to do with me if I get tricked into sharing so much as a kiss with someone.”

  He kissed her forehead, ready to drop this subject before he ruined their time together. “Yeah, that about sums it up.” He gave the line his best comedic voice.

  She stiffened and pulled from his embrace, searching the horizon in every direction.

  Paul followed her gaze. “What?”

  Rubbing the back of her neck, she shook her head. “I … got the feeling we were being watched.”

  Concern ran hot through Paul. He looked across the vast fields. Gram’s farm sat so far off from the main road in front of it and the dirt road behind it that it would be nearly impossible for anyone to see them. The only visible building was Luke’s new harness shop, but no one was there today. He hoped. He studied the shop off in the distance. “It’d be hard for anyone to see through the swirling snow. But let’s go inside. I need time to win this game of Scrabble, ya?”