Sisters of the Quilt

by Cindy Woodsmall

Hannah shifted against the cloth car seat, trying to recall what had been written in the upper-left corner of the envelope. There hadn’t been a first name, only a last name—Bender—and the street address: 4201 Hanover Place, Winding Creek, Ohio. She could see it clearly in her mind’s eye.

  Against her will, a few tears ran down her cheeks. The place was nothing but an unlivable shambles.

  In the rearview mirror she saw Gideon avert his eyes to watch the road. She wiped her face and sat up straight. “Th-that’s the address I remember.”

  He nodded. “Well, I was in a bind like this in my younger days. You got a name for this relative, right?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then that’s where we’ll begin tomorrow.” Gideon drove up to the motel entrance and stopped the car. “You sure about staying here? My wife is a wonderful cook.” He patted his rounded belly and laughed. “She’s got some Plain roots in her childhood.” He smiled, as if he knew Hannah’s secret.

  She pulled from her purse the wad of money Matthew Esh had given her and handed Gideon the portion they’d agreed upon. The money seemed to be dwindling awfully fast.

  He hesitated before taking it from her. “Tomorrow, if ya like, we can search for your aunt using the computers at the local library.”

  Paul had told her he used his computer to find almost any information he needed. She figured there was no avoiding them or the Internet now that she was living as an Englischer. She stuffed the remaining money deep into her purse. “Yes, I’d like that. But I also think I’d best spend part of tomorrow applying for a job.”

  A startled look flashed through his eyes. “You’re not giving up on finding your aunt already, are you?”

  “I … no …” After last night, she wasn’t ever going to chance not having a place to stay. Even a crummy roof came with a stiff price in her estimation. “I’ve got to plan for what can’t be foreseen. And even if I find my aunt, I’ll be paying my own way.”

  He smiled, as if he understood. “Got any ideas where to start?”

  “Not yet.”

  From the seat beside him, Gideon passed her a newspaper. “Read the Help Wanted section. If you find something that looks like a possibility, I’ll drive you there.”

  She blew a long, slow stream of air from between her lips. She needed a driver’s license so she could go places herself, but then she’d need a car. The list of her needs in this Englischers’ world seemed to spring up like weeds in a summer garden.

  “Thanks.” She swung open the car door. “Gideon?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Could you not tell anyone that you saw me or that you know where I’m staying?”

  The big man turned in his seat, looking at her directly. “How old are you, missy?”

  She bristled. “Old enough to know what I’m doing.”

  I hope. Oh, dear Father, I do hope.

  He stared at her before he nodded. “I was on my own at fifteen. I don’t reckon you’re that young, are you?”

  “No, Gideon, I’m years past that. I turn eighteen in eleven days.”

  “Good enough.”

  “Thank you. I’ll call you in the morning and let you know my plans for tomorrow.”

  When she’d stepped out of the vehicle and closed the door, Gideon slowly pulled out of the lot. Tucking the newspaper under her arm, Hannah dug in her purse for her room key. The on-site manager came out of his office and stood in the frigid air, watching her.

  Maybe he knew.

  Maybe he’d already called the police.

  As she fought to get the small gold key inserted into the lock of her motel-room door, the number eleven filled her thoughts. In eleven days, when she turned eighteen, freedom would become a reality. Fear of being dragged back to a community that hated her would end on her birthday.

  Eleven days. Eleven days.

  Since before she departed the train, the number of days until her birthday updated daily and hounded her continually. And encouraged her.

  While she jiggled and cajoled the obstinate lock, a lightning zap of pain shot through her lower abdomen. She leaned her shoulder into the door for support and silently counted to ten. The pain would go away as it always had, ever since it began the day after she’d given birth.

  As desperate as she was to get out of the cold and off her feet, she refused to ask the manager for his assistance—even though he wasn’t doing anything but staring at her.

  “Mach’s schnell, du Dummkopp—” Her angry whisper, “Make it quick, you dumb—,” ended the moment the key turned.

  She shoved open the door, entered the dimly lit room, and deadbolted the lock behind her. Her breath came in shallow spurts as she made her way to the shoddy-looking bed. Sitting on top of the frayed bedspread, she closed her eyes and tried to fight off the sense of panic.

  Images of Rachel’s tiny body lying inside that homemade pine box buried beneath the frozen earth disturbed her. If only she’d handled things differently—

  Refusing to be plagued by a past she could do nothing about, she opened her eyes, trying to dispel the image. The room might be drab with worn carpet and faded paint, but it was warm.

  She slid out of her clothes and stepped into a hot shower. While the hot water soothed her taut muscles, she tried to think of another way to find Zabeth.

  After drying off, she put on her nightgown and sat on the side of the bed, longing to curl into a ball and cry the night away. If Paul could see her now, he’d think her irrational on top of his other negative opinions of her. But whatever he thought, at least she didn’t have to face him.

  Hannah slid between the cold sheets and placed her hand over her aching stomach, refusing to cry. She had little doubt that she needed medical attention. But she couldn’t go to a doctor, not yet, not as a runaway minor. Odd, but it seemed that living under the Ordnung and the bishop was easier than finding ways around the Englischers’ laws. But all that would change the day she turned eighteen.

  She thought about when she’d called Paul the night before she left Owl’s Perch. After placing the call, she remained in the motel room near the train station for nearly fifteen hours—waiting, hoping he’d call her back. Hoping he might still want her. He never returned her call, letting her know that he wasn’t even willing to say good-bye.

  How could she have lost his love so quickly?

  A sob ripped through her, and she could no longer hold back her emotions. Rolling onto her side, she buried her face in the pillow and let her tears flow.

  Paul Waddell paced outside the police station, arguing with himself as to whether he should file a missing person report. Hannah had left of her own accord, and maybe she needed a little more time to choose to return. But he had given her two days.

  He’d spent most of yesterday trying to make sense of the missing money from his joint checking account with Hannah. Mr. Harris, an officer at the bank, agreed to begin an investigation—if Paul would sign an affidavit swearing Hannah hadn’t taken the money. Paul had no problem doing that. Matthew had told him the account was already empty when she tried to get her portion of the money.

  Regardless of who had removed the money, Mr. Harris said the bank would not replace it. Too much time had passed. All Paul’s years of working as many hours as possible around his schooling, all his weekends and holidays away from Owl’s Perch in order to build for their future and support a child at House of Grace—all of it for nothing. Hannah was gone. And all his time away from her had been spent—on less than zilch.

  Brilliant plan, Waddell.

  As it stood, the only thing left was to hope the bank’s investigation would cause the police to get involved, and maybe it would lead them to Hannah’s attacker. In the meantime, Mr. Harris suggested Paul return to his normal life.

  Paul scoffed. Normal life?

  He’d helped chase into hiding the one person who meant life to him.

  And to make matters worse, he seemed to be searching for Hannah by himself. There was no way her family wou
ld turn to a government agency and allow it to meddle in their private affairs. So if he didn’t file a missing person report, no one would.

  Reading the letter Hannah had left with Matthew had given Paul some peace, but it had faded over the last two nights, leaving in its stead a churning anxiety to do something to find her.

  But what?

  If the police found her and dragged her back to her father’s house, that could cause her more complications than trying to live on her own for a while.

  Paul shook his head. She was in no position to make it alone. She needed him.

  He rubbed the back of his neck as he continued pacing the asphalt lane that ran beside the white masonry building.

  Even though he believed she was right to leave her community, he ached to join her and build a life with her. That was only possible if he could find her. He headed toward the police station.

  The solid blue door to the station reflected the sun. He backed away, wavering in his decision. He moaned aloud. If only he’d heard her out the night he discovered she was pregnant, she wouldn’t be in some distant place trying to survive.

  How could he have thought that Hannah, his beautiful girl who didn’t even kiss him until after they’d been engaged for months, was guilty of giving herself to a man?

  His anger had been a reflex, as if he’d taken a sucker punch and had come up fighting mad.

  Now he had to find Hannah. He’d messed up by not being there for her, but from this point on, he would be—if he could find her. If the police became involved, they had the authority to get the train records; they’d know where to start looking. He prayed that the Lord would soften her heart toward him and that she’d trust him enough to give him another chance.

  Sure of his decision this time, Paul entered the small police station.

  Hannah stared out the car window at another brick medical building. It was the fifth one today she’d gone into and applied for work. If she needed another assault on the fragment of self-esteem she had left, applying for more jobs was the best way to do it. She and Gideon had spent a few hours early that morning trying to track down her aunt using the Internet, but everything led to a dead end.

  Pain sliced across her abdomen, reminding her that instead of applying for work at a medical facility, she needed to be a patient. Waiting on the pain to lessen, she promised herself that if she wasn’t better by the time she turned eighteen, then she’d go.

  Longing for life to give her a break, Hannah eased her fingers over her mouth and whispered another plea for God to help her. She had no idea whether her prayers would be heard since she was without her prayer Kapp. Maybe God would never listen to her again until she came under the authority of the church.

  Her pinned-up hair had a bit of a stylish, puffed-out look to it, with curly wisps escaping here and there. The solid blue caped dress resembled the Plain Mennonites much more than she wanted it to, even though she’d made a belt by cutting the ties off her discarded black apron. When there was money, she wanted a new styled dress, one that didn’t set her apart so easily.

  “Miss?” Gideon interrupted.

  “Oh. Sorry.” Hannah opened the car door.

  “I got some other errands to run, and since you said you’re not hungry, I’m gonna eat while you’re puttin’ in applications in that building. I’ll be back for ya in a couple of hours. Okay?”

  She nodded and got out of the car. The large building loomed in front of her, daring her to think she had any qualifications to work there. She stood on the front sidewalk, staring at the place. Maybe her strong emotional pull to and fierce thirst for the medical field were signs of her mental instability. Rather than looking for employment at a place where she couldn’t possibly get it, perhaps she needed to seek psychological help.

  Drawing a deep breath, she ignored the negative thoughts. She could wallow in the misery of her stubbornness and stupidity later as she spent another long night in the motel.

  Half a mile in the distance, down in a small valley, smoke rose from the chimneys of a few homes. Voices of children playing in a patch of woods, climbing trees a couple hundred feet away, danced across the snowy fields. Desire to see her three youngest siblings burned within her. She wanted to help them scale trees and to hear them tease one another about who would reach the highest point.

  Feeling like homemade taffy being pulled in two directions at once, she drew a deep breath and headed for the building. She’d chosen a path, and there was no sense in looking back.

  She walked through the foyer, past a packed waiting room, and went to the front desk. A sliding glass partition separated her from the office staff. A thirty-something woman with smudged eye makeup and a short crop of fuzzy blond hair glanced up before she turned her attention back to her computer screen. Using a phone headset, she talked while she typed. Behind the woman sat several other women, all busy with phones, computers, or paperwork. A fresh charge of intimidation ran through Hannah. She knew she had few skills to offer a place like this, but she wanted a job at a medical facility of some type, where she could put to use all she’d learned from the nurses who trained her to take care of Mary for all those months. That was her plan, unless she had no other choice.

  Without removing the phone headset, the woman behind the counter opened the glass partition. “Can I help you?”

  Hannah swallowed, trying to brace herself for another rejection. “Hi, I’m looking for a job.”

  The woman motioned to the worker behind her. “On a day like today, any one of us would give you ours.” She chuckled and pointed to a door at the far end of the room. “Go through that door, pass the first set of counters, and turn right. Human Resources will be the first door to your left.”

  “Thank you.”

  A woman named Mrs. Lehman seemed to be the entire department. Mrs. Lehman said they were looking to fill a few entry-level positions as soon as possible, and she asked how quickly Hannah could start work. When Hannah said, “Today,” the woman passed her an application, then told her to fill it out and wait for an interview. Hannah wasn’t sure what “entry level” meant, but she was hopeful.

  Before long she was sitting in a chair outside the Human Resources office doing her best to fill out the application. Her hands shook as thoughts of lying on the application tempted her. She had no desire to be dishonest, but she couldn’t list her real name after all she’d been through to get this far. Besides, she might change her last name just as soon as she was eighteen, had the money, and knew how to do it. With her decision made, she filled in her name as Hannah Lawson.

  The office door beside her opened. “All set?”

  Hannah stood. “Yes.”

  Mrs. Lehman took the clipboard that held the application. “Come on in.” She entered the room behind Hannah, leaving the door open, and read the application as she walked to her desk. “Do you have any computer skills?”

  “No.”

  Mrs. Lehman frowned. “None?”

  Hannah shook her head. “I was at the library this morning, working with someone who showed me a few things about connecting to and searching the Internet.”

  “Oh.” Mrs. Lehman took a seat and flipped the application over. “You haven’t graduated from high school?”

  Hannah shook her head. “No.”

  The woman took a deep breath. “You didn’t fill out the year in which you were born.”

  Hope began to dwindle. “Is that really important?”

  The woman raised her eyebrows. “Yes, I’m afraid it is, along with schooling.” Mrs. Lehman tapped the application. “Or lack of it. We need someone with office skills. I’m sorry. We do need help, but you don’t meet the qualifications for any of the available positions.”

  Hannah blinked, trying to dispel the tears that threatened. “I see. I … I learn pretty quick.”

  “I’m sure you do. Did you take keyboarding in high school?”

  “Excuse me.” A man’s voice from somewhere in the building interrupted them. “Does
anyone here speak German?”

  Hannah rose. “I do.” Without waiting for Mrs. Lehman to respond, she walked in the direction of the voice. A boy about five years old stood in the middle of the waiting room, looking panicked.

  A man wearing a white lab coat was squatting in front of the boy, holding on to his shoulders. “Don’t you speak any English yet?”

  “Dabber schpring! Dabber schpring!” Tears fell from the boy’s eyes.

  Hannah crossed the room and knelt in front of the boy. “Shh, liewer. Es iss net hatt.”

  The boy jerked air into his lungs, and the panic across his face eased a little.

  She took his trembling hands in hers. “Was iss letz?”

  He let out a sob and opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out were a few broken syllables.

  Hannah smiled at him with a calm she didn’t feel. She gently rubbed his cold hands between hers, as her mother had done for her when she was little. “Seller Kall will hilfe.” She nodded at him, assuring him he was able to say what was on his mind. “Du muscht schwetze.”

  Her words of encouragement, mixed with a touch of firmness, seemed to settle him a bit more. Through his sobs he shared broken pieces of what had taken place.

  Hannah glanced at the doctor. “His sister has fallen from a tree, and she’s not moving.” She patted the boy’s chest, assuring him they would help his sister. “Gut.”

  The man turned to a woman wearing scrubs. “Get our coats and my medical bag.” He pointed to another woman. “Call an ambulance. Watch what direction the boy leads us, and send them that way.” He gestured at Hannah. “Where to?” He slid into his coat and clutched his medical bag in one hand.

  Hannah asked the boy if he could show them where.

  He grabbed her by the hand. “Kumm! Kumm!”

  They ran out the front door, made a sharp left toward the patch of woods, and crossed over fields that lay covered in untrodden snow—except for the deep, small prints the boy had made on his way to the medical building.

  Determined not to fail in this task, Hannah forced her aching body to keep moving.