Sisters of the Quilt

by Cindy Woodsmall

  He cleared his throat. “Okay, I’ve covered all that a doctor is supposed to tell you. Now there are some things I need you to tell me. We’ll start with your name.”

  “Hannah,” she answered, hoping he wouldn’t push for more information than necessary.

  The man drew a deep breath. “That’s a start. On the application, you gave Lawson as your last name. Is that real or made up?”

  Hannah shook her head without opening her eyes. “I’ve got money to cover part of the bill. I’ll pay the rest when I get a job.”

  The doctor didn’t respond.

  Hannah pried her eyes open. The doctor was perched on the edge of a chair next to her bed.

  He ran his hands through his thick gray hair. “An older man named Gideon came looking for you the day you passed out. He says he’s been driving you around since Tuesday morning, but he knows nothing about you other than you pay in cash and you’re staying in a motel.” He shifted in his chair. “I know you’re Amish—otherwise, you wouldn’t know the language so well. You’re underage, or you would have put your date of birth on the application. Since you’re staying at a motel, you’re probably a runaway.”

  Hannah winced as fear rose within her. He’d figured out a lot about her.

  “I also know you’ve recently given birth to a baby, and you’re lucky to be alive, considering the amount of blood you lost when you began to hemorrhage.” He drew a breath.

  Wooziness washed over her. She closed her eyes, drowning in the awareness that this wasn’t the life she’d expected to find. Loneliness. No safe harbor. A cheap motel. Constant fear of getting caught. And now this.

  God, please.

  Uncertain what else to say, she ended her prayer at two words.

  “The surgeon did what he could to repair your uterus. I think you’ll recover nicely, but due to the extensive damage …” He paused. “Hannah, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but it seems unlikely that you’ll ever conceive again.”

  Panic choked her. “Unlikely?”

  “The damage was quite severe. It’s highly unlikely, probably impossible, that you’ll ever have another child.”

  The words rolled over her. She covered her face with her hands. Was her dead child truly the only one she’d ever have? As if a hidden part of her had just worked its way free, she realized she’d still been harboring hopes of a life with Paul. Somewhere inside, dreams of one day bearing his children were fading.

  Something touched the backs of her hands, causing her to lower them. Through teary eyes she looked at the doctor.

  “Here.” He shoved tissues into her hands, staring at her. “I’m sorry this happened to you, but you had to know you needed medical help long before you passed out.”

  Accusation pointed an ugly finger at her. He was right—she’d known.

  “Where’s the baby you gave birth to?”

  She shook her head. Her life was none of this man’s business. And if he knew the truth, he’d try to send her home. She couldn’t go back. She just couldn’t.

  He shifted. “I need to know that you haven’t abandoned your newborn somewhere. If you don’t convince me, I’ll call the police right now, and you can finish recuperating wherever they take you.”

  The sternness reflected in his eyes matched his tone. There was no doubt he wanted answers. His motives for prying into her life were sound enough, but she couldn’t make herself answer him.

  “Fine.” He stood.

  Hannah tried to lean forward. “Okay.”

  He turned to face her. “Where’s your baby?”

  She wondered what the authorities would do with her after she explained what happened. “She died. We buried her.”

  “How far along were you?”

  Hating not knowing, Hannah closed her eyes and wished he’d just go away.

  “When did you conceive?”

  Hannah fidgeted with the sheets. “I don’t know how to figure that.”

  “Were you sexually active?”

  “No!” She stared at him. “How can you just blurt out such wrongdoing at someone?”

  Dr. Lehman returned to the seat beside her bed. He sat in silence, as if waiting for her to volunteer information. “Hannah,”—his voice was barely audible—“when were you raped?”

  She pursed her lips as tears worked their way free against her will. That day would linger with her forever. “August thirtieth.” A sob escaped her. “Paul asked me to marry him that morning.” She closed her eyes. “On my walk home a man in a car came up and …”

  The doctor patted her hand. “Take a breath, Hannah. I understand enough. According to the surgeon, you gave birth less than a week ago. That means you had a miscarriage, Hannah. The child was not developed enough to survive—unless born in ideal circumstances—and even then it probably would have had serious complications if it had lived.” He passed her a few more tissues. “Where are your parents?”

  She wiped her eyes. “When rumors started spreading, they thought I was lying about how I became pregnant. I couldn’t take any more.”

  “So you are a runaway.”

  “I turn eighteen soon.”

  Dr. Lehman drummed his fingers against his thighs. “How soon?”

  “March ninth.”

  “You should have waited until then to leave home. You’re a minor, which means I have to inform social services. Besides, issues between parents and their children can almost always be worked out. Your folks may not have responded as they should have, but you were wrong to run off.”

  She wanted to scream at him. He didn’t know what it was like to have an entire community set against you or to have your parents trick themselves into thinking you were the problem. If she had stayed, the People would have continued to ostracize her. Then her only choice would have been to work for Gram and live with her or with others close by who weren’t Old Order Amish. Then she would have been forced to endure her worst nightmare: having a front-row seat as Paul fell in love with someone else, got married, and had children.

  She closed her eyes and covered her head with a pillow.

  “I’ll contact the authorities, and someone from child services will be here in the next few days. In the meantime you’ll be staying here.”

  She swallowed hard and waited to hear him leave the room.

  The glass door made a swooshing sound as it slid open.

  “I’m sorry, Hannah,” Dr. Lehman whispered.

  She flung the pillow off her head, waves of anger replacing her misery. “You’re sorry? Then try being right instead of lawful. You can’t think it’s right to send me back home when I’m just days away from being an adult. My family despises me!” She gasped for air. “I’ll have to wear a scarlet letter for the rest of my life because of things that weren’t my choice.” She paused, realizing she was yelling at the man. She lowered her voice. “I’m begging you. Please don’t make that call.”

  He studied her, and for a moment Hannah thought maybe he’d see this her way. But then he shook his head. “I can’t break the law, Hannah.” With that, he left the room.

  The nurse at the station outside Hannah’s room stared at her before returning her attention to her desk. No wonder the Amish avoided contact with policemen and doctors. They followed the law, whether it held any wisdom for the individual or not.

  If she had any strength, she’d find her clothes and get out of here. But whatever was wrong with her had left her weak.

  Staring at the ceiling, she mourned the loss of something she’d never fully had: freedom.

  If she had any chance of winning Paul’s heart again, she could endure going back. If she could bear him children, he might forget that she’d once carried a child concealed from him. But the news that she’d never be able to have another child slashed the last threads that might have bound her and Paul together.

  Oh God, help me. I can’t go back. I just can’t.

  Sitting in the enclosed buggy, Luke tapped the reins lightly against the horse’s back as he
drove down the dirt road toward his harness shop. In spite of how broken his relationship with Mary was and how much he loved her, that’s not what he’d try to repair first. If he could go back and do things over, he would treat his sister right. He’d stand against his father and the bishop, even knowing he’d be frowned upon and ostracized, if not shunned.

  He spotted a man about his age tossing loose hay into the snowy pastures that bordered the Waddell and Lapp properties. Considering Mary’s description, Luke would’ve bet this was the guy Hannah had been secretly engaged to. The Lapp and Waddell homesteads were a mile apart, but until now Luke had never laid eyes on the guy. Of course the man didn’t live in Owl’s Perch year round. He only came here during his summer breaks from college—just long enough to make his sister believe she was in love with him.

  Torn between indignation and the reminder of his own mistakes with Hannah, Luke had no idea what to think of the man who had tried to steal his sister from her Amish roots. As he rode closer, the stranger glanced his way. Intending to ignore the man and keep going, Luke looked straight ahead. A scene flashed through his mind, causing the hairs on his arms to stand on end.

  The night of his and Mary’s accident, a car had rammed into their buggy, and he went sailing through the air. When he woke in the grassy field, he couldn’t find Mary. He remembered looking toward heaven and praying, “God, please.” Shame had swallowed him. He knew he wasn’t worthy of God helping him with anything. When he made his way back to the road and saw what was left of their upended carriage, his legs had buckled, and he’d landed on his knees, begging, “Please, Father, if You will, help us.”

  It had been a feeble prayer from the lips of a man totally unworthy to ask or receive anything from God, but immediately warmth had run through his body, and he had known what he needed to do to find Mary.

  Unable to justify coldness to Paul when God had been so merciful to him, Luke tugged on the reins and came to a stop a few feet from where the man stood. Fighting against his prejudice, Luke wrapped the reins around the stob on the dash of the buggy and just sat there, waiting—for what, he didn’t know.

  The man stepped forward. “Something I can do for you?”

  If Luke was going to do penance for how he’d treated Hannah, this was the place to begin. By an act of his will, he climbed down from the buggy and offered his hand. “I’m Luke, Hannah’s brother.”

  “Paul Waddell.” He used his teeth to pull off a work glove and then held out his hand to Luke.

  Now that he was standing eye to eye with the man, Luke felt like a gamecock ready to attack. Instead, he shook Paul’s hand firmly. “I’m right sorry for all that’s taken place.”

  Paul’s eyes bored into his. “Have you heard anything from her?”

  Luke shook his head. “No, but I’m sure she’s doing fine.” He shrugged. “Hannah’s not like most girls.”

  Paul seemed relieved to hear something encouraging about Hannah’s circumstances. “She’s tender-hearted. Courageous. And …” His voice cracked with emotion.

  Dislike for the man drained from Luke. “And stubborn. If will has anything to do with making a success out of her new life, she’ll stroll back to Owl’s Perch someday just to let the bishop know he didn’t win.”

  Paul studied the fields. “Just as long as she returns.”

  Luke didn’t respond. When his sister did return, he wanted to see her grow fresh roots among her own kind, the people God had placed her with.

  Paul shoved a glove into his jacket pocket. “If you hear anything …”

  “I’ll let you know.” Luke buttoned his coat against the cold air.

  “How’s Matthew doing working things out with the church leaders?”

  “They seem to have nothing to say to him or anyone else over the events concerning Hannah. But his life is not what he’d hoped. His girl, Elle, was born English and raised by Amish parents after her mother died when she was ten. Her father had been trying to make contact with her for a few weeks. Since he showed up, he’s been pushing her to leave the only family she’s known for the last ten years and come live with him.”

  “Is she going to do it?”

  Luke shrugged. “I guess so, ’cause—”

  Sounds of a horse and buggy made both men look toward the road. The rig turned onto the driveway of the harness shop. Mary’s oldest brother, Gerald, was driving, and his wife, Suzy, sat beside him. Luke hurried to the buggy before it came to a full stop. “What brings you two out this way?”

  Gerald glanced at Suzy, but neither one answered him.

  “Is Mary all right?”

  Gerald gave a slow wave of his hand. “Yes and no.” He spoke casually, as if they were discussing plowing fields. “Daed insisted Mary go see her specialist yesterday, with all the stress of this business with Hannah and you.”

  Suzy leaned forward. “I don’t know what that doctor said, but whatever he told her has her acting funny—all quiet and withdrawn like.” She spilled the words quickly. “Speak with her, Luke. Make her open up to you.”

  Luke wanted to talk to her so badly he could barely stand it, but she wanted nothing to do with him.

  Gerald released the hand brake. “If anybody asks, we didn’t say a word.” He clicked his tongue and slapped the reins, continuing up the driveway so he could turn around and head back out.

  Luke turned to find Paul still standing beside him.

  Paul pulled a set of keys out of his pants pocket. “I can drive you in my truck and have you there in no time.”

  Luke hesitated. It might not go over well with his or Mary’s father—or the bishop—to be seen with the likes of Paul Waddell. But Paul could get him all the way to Mary’s in less time than it’d take Luke to go a mile by horse and buggy.

  Luke grabbed the reins to his horse. “Just give me time to pull the buggy under the shed and put the horse to pasture.”

  Within three minutes he was climbing into Paul’s truck.

  Paul jerked the stick shift into gear. The old jalopy rattled even worse than a horse and buggy, and the fumes stank more than Mamm’s old gas-powered washing machine, but it moved quickly, and for that Luke was thankful.

  They rode in silence, and within ten minutes Paul slowed the truck in front of Mary’s home. Luke opened the truck door and paused. “I’m glad we met, but when Hannah comes back … I can’t side with you about her leaving the People. I think our ways are the right ones for her. Our community hasn’t handled things right, and we’ve got some repenting to do and some things to learn.” Luke swallowed hard. “But she was born Amish, and I believe she’s supposed to be with us.”

  Paul gave a brief nod. Luke figured it wasn’t really in agreement as much as a silent acceptance not to argue. “Will you let me know if you hear from her?”

  Luke climbed out. “I think that’s a reasonable thing to ask.” He shut the door to the truck and headed across the yard as Paul drove away.

  The front door opened before he even knocked, and Mary’s father stepped outside. “What are you doing here?”

  Luke took a deep breath. “I came to see Mary.”

  John Yoder eyed Luke from top to bottom. “She’s been in the Daadi Haus since last night, but she said she didn’t want no company.”

  “I’d like to go see her. I’m not likely to be able to make things much worse, but I’ll do all I can to help her.”

  John nodded. “Just leave the front door open, and keep the storm door unlocked.”

  Within thirty seconds, Luke was tapping on the door to Mammi Annie’s house. When Mary didn’t answer, he stepped inside. “Mary?” He walked through the small house, searching for her.

  He found her in a chair in the living room. She twitched when she saw him. A spool of thread fell from the quilt in her lap and rolled across the floor.

  Luke grabbed it, noticing how pale she looked. “Is that our ‘Past and Future’ quilt?”

  She didn’t answer him.

  The quilt had been Hannah’s id
ea, a gift for Luke and Mary’s marriage bed. She and Mary had worked on it since Mary was released from the hospital in early October. Hannah had gathered patches of cloth from their childhood for the past side of it. He wasn’t sure what they’d done for the future side.

  He held the spool toward her. “I guess you’re hurting awful bad about now, missing Hannah.”

  She took the thread from his hand without looking at him.

  He sat on the ottoman, his knees almost touching hers. “I heard you had a doctor’s appointment yesterday.”

  She repositioned the quilt and ran the needle through an edge of it. “The basting on the future side of the quilt gave way. I don’t know why.”

  He ran his finger along the sleeve of her sweater. “What did the doctor say, Mary?”

  She shoved the quilt into his lap, rose, and walked away from him. Luke resisted the desire to stand in front of her and try to bend her will to his. He stayed on the ottoman, watching and listening. The room was silent for several minutes as Mary rummaged through a stack of material. She unfolded a piece of black broadcloth, her hands caressing it gently.

  “Who will you sew a pair of pants for?” he asked, hoping her answer might give him some clue as to what was going on in her heart.

  She tossed the material on the chair, her eyes focused on the cloth. “It doesn’t matter.” She turned her attention to him. “Not anymore. It’s all ruined. All of it.”

  Luke rose and went to her. “It doesn’t look ruined to me.”

  Taking a step back, she gestured toward the quilt. “Parts of it are already sewn into our future part of the quilt.” She gasped for air. “And now …”

  He was clueless as to why she was so upset but fairly sure he had the answer. “I’ll buy you a whole bolt of black broadcloth, however many bolts you want.”

  Grabbing the material, she mumbled, “You can have it.” She picked pieces of lint off the cloth. “Someone else can make pants for you.”

  Ah, so the material is for making my pants. At least he understood a little more, but the pain that crossed her face when she stumbled over that sentence added to his confusion. She folded the material and passed it to him, staying as far away from him as possible.