Sisters of the Quilt

by Cindy Woodsmall

  Zabeth placed both hands on her hips. “Hey, I have electricity, a piano, and a clarinet. What else does a person need?”

  Faye smacked on another bubble. “She has two outlets and two of those hang-from-the-ceiling-type light bulbs. No phone, no computer, no radio, no television, no air conditioning, no electric dryer, and she says she’s not Old Order.”

  “I have four outlets—one in each room of my house—and indoor plumbing.” Zabeth’s eyes danced with humor.

  “Sounds good enough to me,” Hannah said. The news that Zabeth was planning to take her home sounded like freedom’s ring.

  Faye sighed. “After all you’ve sacrificed for our family, Dad ought to have you living in a mansion.”

  Zabeth removed the gum wrapper. “That’s enough, Faye.” She folded the gum into fourths before placing it into her mouth.

  “Well, good grief, when Mom died, you gave up everything.” Faye elongated the word everything, and Hannah wondered what all Zabeth had given up. Faye rolled her eyes. “And took over running the whole household and raised Martin before he went off to college, while Dad went right on making money, money, money.”

  “Faye.” Zabeth angled her head, trying to catch Faye’s downcast glare. “Hannah has no need to know all this. None.”

  Faye shrugged. “Somebody ought to know it.”

  “Look at me, please.” Zabeth waited. “I don’t want you talking about family history. Not now. Not later.”

  Faye huffed and then nodded her head. A jingly piece of music shot through the room. Faye opened her purse and grabbed a two-inch-long oval thing that looked like a fat beetle. She opened it and stuck it on her ear, making it light up blue. “Hello.” She wrinkled her nose. “Hi, Martin.” Faye studied her chipped, burgundy-colored fingernails while listening. “Hang on and I’ll find out.” She lowered the object. “Zabeth, my little bro has had his fill of watching the kids. He wants to know when we’ll be home. Seems his niece and nephew aren’t as important as the date he has tonight.”

  Hannah pointed at the odd thing in her hand. “What is that?”

  “It’s a phone piece, for talking and hearing.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. Here, say hi.” Faye passed it to her.

  “You mean somebody’s still on the line?”

  Faye laid the odd thing on the bed beside Hannah. “Yep.”

  She shook her head. “I couldn’t.”

  Faye held up both hands, backing away from Hannah. “You have to say hi, or he’ll be on hold all day.”

  Feeling silly and curious, Hannah picked it up and put it to her ear. “Hello? Is someone there?”

  “Wow, Sis, your voice sure has changed. Your accent too.”

  “This isn’t Faye. I … I’m just checking out this beetle thing.”

  “I object to being called a beetle thing—at least before you’ve seen me.”

  Hannah laughed. “Not you. This thing I’m talking into.”

  The deep voice resonated with laughter. She could hear the gentle chatter of a preschooler in the background. “Can I talk to my sister again? I—” Hannah heard a ka-thump. “Whoa, young fella, you can’t dump the can of peaches on the floor until after Mommy gets home. Listen, uh, phone girl, tell my sister if she doesn’t get home within an hour, she can pick her kids up at the local orphanage. Do they have orphanages anymore?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  The man chuckled. “Tell her I have a date, an important one. Bye, phone girl.”

  “Bye.” Hannah held the device toward Faye. “He said he has an important date, and he said something about an orphanage.”

  “Brothers. And to think this hot date will be convinced he’s cool.” She shook her head. “But we do need to go. You ready, Zabeth?”

  “I’m ready.” She pulled a card out of her purse. “We’ll be back when you’re released from the hospital. Until then, here’s Faye’s phone number. Call if you need anything. She’ll get me any message from you right away.”

  Faye pulled a set of keys from her purse. “That’s me, a carrier pigeon.”

  Zabeth gave Hannah a hug. “You take care.” She kissed her cheek. “You done right to come here, Hannah. It won’t be a picnic, but I’ll take as good care of ya as I can.”

  As Zabeth followed Faye out of the room, Hannah realized she still didn’t know where her aunt lived. She had a thousand questions, but the pieces of what she did know bothered her. The illness Zabeth had written about in the letter along with her lack of hair and frailty of body said her aunt was probably fighting some type of cancer. Hopefully one she could win against.

  And Faye? She left uneasiness in her wake. Or was that Hannah’s imagination?

  Studying Mrs. Waddell’s house in the distance, Sarah hoped the woman was gone to church. She tugged the reins and made a right turn onto the driveway that led to Luke’s harness shop. The midmorning chill sat heavy on her, and she pulled the lap blanket tighter. Sometimes having church only every other Sunday was the most freeing part of living Amish. It reminded Sarah of slipping into a warm pair of lace-up boots that didn’t pinch her feet. As a matter of fact, if it weren’t for being able to watch Jacob across the way in the men’s seating area, church Sundays would hold nothing for her. But the few words she shared with Jacob during the after-services meal made the going bearable.

  Pulling under the huge lean-to designed as sheltered parking for Luke’s customers, Sarah had other things on her mind besides trying to share a glance or a word with Jacob Yoder.

  Hannah’s baby.

  It wasn’t dead. Sarah knew that. Not one thing in her doubted that the infant was alive somewhere. Clearly her sister had given birth and left, but no one had directly confirmed that the infant had died—not even Naomi, who was there that night. So far, Sarah hadn’t seen any hint of a new baby in anyone’s home, and she’d spent plenty of time this week looking. She’d baked items and used that as a reason to make visits to people’s homes. And for her efforts, all she knew for sure was the community was grieving something fierce over what had taken place with Hannah. Sarah clicked her tongue in disgust. Why should she grieve when she knew it wasn’t true? She’d never seen the likes of such guilt as she’d encountered this week. But when she proved to them Hannah’s baby wasn’t dead, their grief would disappear, and rejoicing would return, not to mention a renewed dislike and distrust for Hannah.

  She pulled to a stop and removed the blanket from her lap. Feeling confident she’d find signs that Mrs. Waddell was keeping Hannah’s baby, Sarah trod across the mushy, snowy fields that separated the Lapp and Waddell properties.

  She tiptoed up the steps and across the back porch of Mrs. Waddell’s home. Rapping on the glass, Sarah peered through the window. The large farmhouse was quiet inside, with no signs of movement. As she waited, her excitement grew—just as she’d expected, no one was home.

  Without wasting any more time, she went to the storage cabinet and searched for the spare key. Mrs. Waddell kept it in here somewhere. After shifting baskets, tools, and some junk around, she finally found it.

  Triumphant, she unlocked the door and stepped inside. The warmth of the place surrounded her, filling her with hope. She was close to finding Hannah’s baby. She could feel it.

  Mrs. Waddell had some really nice things—fancy things—but she couldn’t let them distract her. Sarah looked in the refrigerator and pantries for any signs of infant formula or bottles. When she found none, she worked her way through the living room, looking in drawers and closets as she went. Upstairs she searched through each bedroom and its closet.

  Nothing.

  She sank onto Mrs. Waddell’s bed, wondering where else Hannah might have left the baby. Her fingers danced over the lace-patterned coverlet, the softness triggering some recollection. She’d seen this print, these yellows and purples, elsewhere in this house. But where?

  Her mind jumped to the guest room. There she’d seen a baby crib and diapers. Maybe …

>   Paul helped his grandmother up the steps before he unlocked the front door. They entered the warm house and slid out of their coats without speaking. The fact that lately they both seemed to live in their own worlds nagged at him.

  He put his hand on her shoulder. “Can I fix you a bite to eat before you lie down?”

  “I didn’t ask to leave Sunday school so we could eat.” She pointed to the steps. “I’m tired.”

  As Gram made her way up the stairs, Paul went to his place of refuge—the back porch. It faced the dirt roadway and if Luke or Matthew were to come visit him, he’d spot them. He’d sat out here for hours, even in the cold, and remembered the dozens of times Hannah had walked across the pastures up to Gram’s.

  He’d just opened the back door when he noticed someone had tracked snow and mud across the porch. Walking to the edge, his eyes followed a fresh set of prints from the porch to Luke’s property. From the size of the marks, they appeared to have been made by either a woman or a younger boy. Wondering if someone had come to see him when he wasn’t home, Paul headed toward Luke’s shop.

  He heard a window open. “Paul!” Gram whispered loudly and motioned for him.

  He ran back to the house and up the stairs. “Gram?”

  He went to the room she’d called from. She wasn’t there. Hurrying through the place, he glanced inside each bedroom door as he passed it. When he came to the guest room on the far end of the second story, he stopped short. Gram stood near the foot of the daybed. An Amish girl was on the floor, sitting on her heels, with her back to him. Every piece of baby clothing his Gram had held on to over the years seemed to be scattered around the girl.

  Hannah? Elation soared. Fear raced. But his body wouldn’t budge. If it was Hannah, sitting in the middle of the room strewn with baby clothes …

  Concern shone in Gram’s eyes. “It’s Sarah.”

  The girl turned to face him. Unlike the family resemblance that Luke shared with Hannah, the girl’s face bore no similarities to her sister’s.

  “Sarah?” Paul stepped into the room.

  With each fist holding one end of a cloth diaper, she yanked it. He figured if she’d had any strength, it would have ripped. “Where is she?”

  Paul crouched. “I don’t know, Sarah. I wish I did.”

  She lifted wild eyes to him. “She isn’t here?”

  Uneasiness crept up Paul’s spine. Did her father realize how unbalanced this poor girl was?

  “I’ve been searching for her all week. She’s safe. That much I know for sure.” Paul stood and held out his hand to help her up. “Does your family know where you are, Sarah?” He repeated her name as he spoke to her, hoping to help center her.

  Shaking her head, she took his hand and stood upright. “I came looking for her by myself.”

  He glanced at his Gram and nodded toward the door. “Come on, Sarah. Let’s get you home.”

  With Paul in the lead and Gram behind, they walked downstairs and through the house. Once on the porch, they paused.

  Gram ran her hand over her chest. “I’d better be the one to take her home. If Zeb sees you—”

  “Then what, Katie Waddell?” Zeb Lapp came around the side of the house and stomped onto the porch.

  Gram jumped and tightened her hand against her chest.

  “Easy, Gram,” Paul assured her. “Go on inside and rest. I’ll talk to Mr. Lapp.”

  The man opened his mouth to speak, but Paul raised his hand, signaling him to stop. Surprisingly, he hushed and waited.

  Paul opened the door and helped Gram inside. “Go lie down, Gram.”

  She nodded, and he closed the door.

  Mr. Lapp pointed a wrinkled finger in Paul’s face. “Stealing one of my daughters ain’t enough?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  The man wrapped his hand around Sarah’s biceps. “Stay away from my family.”

  Sarah trembled, but the faraway, glazed look only seemed to deepen.

  “Mr. Lapp, Sarah needs help. I think she’s struggling with—”

  “Yeah, she’s struggling,” Mr. Lapp interrupted. He pulled himself to his full stature, which was about four inches shorter than Paul. “Just like the rest of us. We’re all living in the wake of you messin’ in my daughter’s life.”

  As the man breathed threats on his grandmother’s porch, Paul struggled to control his tongue. “I know you blame me for Hannah’s troubles. But if you ignore what’s going on with Sarah, you’re going to lose another daughter.”

  “Whatever happens, it’d be best to make sure you are not involved in that process. Do I make myself clear?”

  Paul stepped back. “Are you saying you don’t care if you lose a second daughter as long as I’m not the cause?”

  “I’m saying my family is none of your concern! If you’d kept your hands off my Hannah, none of this would be going on. None of it!”

  The man’s face turned purple, and he shook all over, making Paul wonder if he might have a heart attack. Did he remember enough from his CPR courses to keep Mr. Lapp alive until an ambulance arrived? Paul flinched at the dark thoughts of not performing CPR if the opportunity presented itself.

  “Mr. Lapp, set aside your resentment toward me for just a moment, and look at Sarah. Truly see her, please.”

  Mr. Lapp hesitated, then he studied his daughter. Some of the anger drained from his face. Placing his arm around her shoulders, he bent his head toward her. “Let’s go home, child.”

  It made no sense to Hannah. After all her determination to get here and find Zabeth, her elation had settled, and now she felt oddly uncertain. She eased onto the side of the bed, combing her wet hair. The shower had dispelled the bit of chill that clung to her each time night fell. But all her thinking during the long shower brought her no answers.

  Dr. Lehman and Zabeth had put her future into her own hands. Unfortunately, neither one could see into the future to know what she ought to do.

  What if she did go to work at an Amish clinic and her Daed and bishop found out? Or what if she wasn’t smart enough to pass the GED and go further with her education? What if, after all her hopes for the future, the best thing for her was to work with Zabeth in the solitude of her home?

  In some ways, it seemed easier when others made the decisions for her.

  This approach of your-life-is-in-your-own-hands was uncomfortable territory, for sure. How could she have been so confident as to arrive in Alliance by herself and now, with life looking more hopeful, be completely unsure of what she wanted?

  She went to the bathroom mirror and wiped off the steam. Looking past her features and into her eyes, she wondered who she really was. And she wondered how she could find out before she needed to give Zabeth and Dr. Lehman her decision.

  There was a tap on her door before it swooshed open.

  Hannah peered around the bathroom door. “Gideon!”

  He held up her traveling bag. “The motel called me.”

  She moved to the bed and sat down. “It’s good to see you.”

  He set the bag on the bed beside her. “I’ve come a couple of times, but you were asleep.”

  She pulled the bag into her lap and unfastened its latch. “Yeah, I was unconscious for a few days, and then I slept a lot. I get to leave tomorrow.”

  “Where to?”

  “A man named Dr. Lehman found my aunt.”

  A broad smile shifted his deep wrinkles and loose skin in different directions. “That’s great.”

  Hannah dug through her bag until she found the anatomy book Dr. Greenfield had given her. She pulled it out, glad to have it in her possession again. “Gideon?” She opened the book and slid her hands across the slick pages. “How do you make decisions? I mean, you said you were on your own really young. How’d you know what to do next?”

  He chuckled. “Ain’t much to decide when you’re tryin’ to survive. Each day sort of decides for you.”

  Hannah nodded. He was right, although she hadn’t realized it until he said i
t.

  He tugged at his baggy pants before sitting in the chair across from her. “But when there is a choice, trust what you know about yourself. What do you know about Hannah?”

  She shrugged.

  Gideon crossed his arms over his large chest. “Well, let me tell you what I know. You know how to take blind steps and trust you’ll have what it takes to face whatever is ahead. You’re strong enough to pay the price of your decisions—even if it means staying in a run-down motel by yourself.” He paused. “What has you so spooked that you’re confused about everything after you’ve gotten this far?”

  That was what she wanted to know. His words about taking blind steps and trusting she had what it took to face the next step seeped into her thoughts.

  She drew a deep breath and whispered what was really nagging at her. “Every decision has a price.”

  He gave a hearty nod. “Every lack of decision has a price too.” His gravelly voice rumbled through the room.

  She traced the image of the respiratory system with her fingertips. “I was raised Amish, Gideon.”

  “Had that one figured out the first moment I saw you. It’s part of the reason I was interested in helping you even if you weren’t eighteen yet. The Amish are exacting people, so I understand needing to get free. You came here looking for more than just your aunt. If you hadn’t found her, you were determined to find a job and get by. What’s so different now?”

  She pulled the book to her chest. “Before I left home, I told myself that, if need be, I’d carry my fears with me, but I wouldn’t let them stop me. But it’s not that easy.”

  “Oh, so it’s easy you’re after. See, now that you know what you want, you’ll know what to aim for.”

  She studied him, feeling a little less confused. That wasn’t what she wanted. She wished for guarantees, and there were none. She tapped the book. “I want knowledge, Gideon, medical knowledge. I think it’s what I’ve always wanted, but …”