Sisters of the Quilt

by Cindy Woodsmall

  Then again, she figured it was her problem. She couldn’t even manage to wear her hair loose, so what did she know? It’d taken her far too long to become comfortable wearing the mandatory scrubs when doing clinical rotations for nursing school.

  Martin looked her way and raised his brows, showing his surprise. If he thought her making it to church when she was on call was unusual, she might need to get the ammonium carbonate out of her medical bag for the next shocker.

  When the musicians moved to their seats for the preaching, Martin headed her way as he’d done every Sunday since last Christmas. As he took a seat, she could smell his cologne.

  He placed his arm on the back of the bench. “I’m glad you made it. You doing okay?”

  “Sure. You?”

  “Yeah, I am. Listen, I’m having a memorial type gathering at my place this Friday. I can count on you being there, right?”

  “For Zabeth?”

  “Yeah, just a time with the band, singing her favorite songs.”

  “That should only take about three days.”

  He coughed into his hand to hide his laughter.

  Howard, the man in front of them, turned around, smiling. “We know how to separate the youth when they get rowdy during service.”

  Martin pointed his thumb at Hannah, like it was all her fault. The man chuckled and turned back around. She folded her arms across her waist and frowned at Martin.

  Pastor Steve opened the service, the PowerPoint slide behind him declaring the subject in bold, black letters. “Today’s topic is intimacy and sexuality.”

  Hannah’s breath caught. Martin leaned in, rubbing her shoulder sympathetically. “Breathe, phone girl. It’s a five-part series,” he whispered through his laughter.

  She swallowed, wondering what all would be covered from a pulpit.

  The pastor unbuttoned his bright red sports jacket. “Intimacy can be thought of as in to me see. And we let very few people really see who we are, but when we’re a couple under God’s direction, we long for that. But how do we get it?”

  Hannah’s cheeks burned mild to flaming as the service went on, but the teaching was insightful and filled with humor. As the pastor brought the service to a close, Martin got up to head for the keyboard. Before leaving the pew, he pointed at her. “You stay.”

  She gave a nod. When the service ended, she hung around in the sanctuary, chatting with people while waiting for Martin to finish playing the last songs. She was totally engrossed in answering some questions from a grandmother-to-be when she felt the warmth of Martin’s hand on the small of her back.

  “You about ready?” he asked.

  The woman took her cue, thanked Hannah, and left.

  He studied her, not looking his normal, confident self. “I’m starving, and you’re not going to make me eat Sunday lunch alone, right?”

  “Actually, no.”

  “Wow, can’t say I saw that one coming.”

  Hannah straightened his shirt collar. “We need to talk.” She patted his chest. “I brought us a picnic lunch.”

  He looked suspicious. “Where to?”

  “Somewhere no one will hear you screaming at me.”

  “Hmm, I don’t like the sound of this.” They headed toward the exit. “There are picnic tables beside my office. No one will be anywhere near there on a Sunday.” He pulled his keys from his pocket. “I’ll drive and then bring you back here to pick up your car.”

  She dangled her keys. “I’m the one with the food. I’ll drive and bring you back here.”

  He got in the car and made himself comfortable, punching the radio stations and making smart remarks about her driving. His sarcasm kept things lively from the time she got into the car until she pulled into his office parking lot. The manicured lawns and walls of windows gave the one-story, redbrick building a very classy look.

  She put the stick shift in reverse and set the brake. “Nice place.”

  “Not bad.” They opened their car doors in unison and got out. “I’m looking at leasing a new building next year since we’re outgrowing this place, provided I pass my engineering exams in October.”

  “Have you turned in your board application forms?”

  “Yep.”

  They chatted over little things while covering the table with a cloth, setting out the food, and eating lunch, only pausing to say a prayer before eating. The conversation meandered throughout the meal, but when he tossed his napkin onto his paper plate, an obvious transition took place.

  “Okay, I’m full and completely satisfied, so what’s on your mind, Esther?”

  “Esther?” Hannah repeated before she realized he was referring to Queen Esther and her appeal for her people. “You’re no king, and I’m not afraid anyone will lop off my head.” She gathered the dirty plates and put them back in the basket.

  He chuckled. “So what gives?”

  After putting the rest of the items into the basket, she took a seat. “You do, I hope.”

  “What do you want?”

  “You to get Faye into rehab and go to counseling sessions with her. Talk your dad into doing phone sessions on a regular basis. He’s got the money. Get him to fly here for a few weeks. We need to help Faye get free of this unfair burden of guilt she carries. Shift the focus from her being the black sheep to the reality that she’s a victim in this too.”

  He sighed. “Hannah, sweetheart, your motives are good, but Faye is a lost cause.”

  “I don’t think so, but this isn’t just about her. I mean, I’ve seen her at least three times a week since I met her. Under that veneer and deeper than her drug use, she’s really sweet and hurting. I think you have enough influence on her that if you pushed in the right ways, she’d go into rehab, but—”

  “No, she won’t. Underneath it, she’s an addict, Hannah. I’m sorry. That’s just the way it is. She’s not willing to go to rehab or counseling. And even if she would, I’m not going with her, and I’m certainly not asking my dad to get involved.”

  “Your dad wouldn’t even call during a session to help his daughter?”

  Martin stood, picked up the basket, and walked toward the car. “You’d have to know him.”

  She followed him. “What’s he like?”

  “Distinguished, filled with charisma, and bitter at Faye. Your plan isn’t going to work. Faye has to want this, and she doesn’t.”

  Hannah opened the trunk of her car. “But if you presented it …”

  He placed the basket in the trunk. “No human can control another one’s will. She doesn’t want help.”

  “Sure she does. She just might not realize it yet, but if you—”

  He slammed the trunk shut. “You’re the one who …” His words came out mocking and condescending before he stopped. He walked away from her before turning. “I’m not willing to spend time and energy to land in the same freaking place with her I’ve been in for the past sixteen years—only to fail again. Do you know what it takes to be my age and run a business like this?” He waved his hand toward the building. “I have forty employees who all have personal issues, but at least they fight for success. Faye has no fight in her, and that’s not our fault. The answer is no.”

  She stepped in closer. “And if you can do that for your employees, think what you could do for your sister. And you.”

  “Me? Are you saying I need help?”

  “I … I’m saying if Faye gets help, it’ll help you too.”

  He raked his hands through his hair. “There’s nothing to help. I resent you implying that I need Faye’s help.”

  He was yelling at her, and she knew he’d rather fight with her than for his sister.

  “I’ll keep Kevin and Lissa during every session. It won’t be easy, but it’s doable. You and your father haven’t really tried. She’s been left alone. You were a kid. It wasn’t your fault, but it’s time to—”

  “You haven’t been here but two years, and you have it all figured out—who’s right, who’s wrong, how you can fi
x it. Just butt out, Hannah.”

  “Fine.” She opened her car door.

  “Zabeth would never ask this of me.”

  “She was a mother to you. I want more. I want what you can’t give me unless you can reach past your apathy and anger and help your sister.” She angled her head, catching his eye. “Is that what you want from this relationship, for me not to ask more of you than Zabeth?”

  An expression she couldn’t read crossed his face. “No, of course not. Although a little of Zabeth’s nondemanding ways would be appreciated about now.”

  “She wanted you and Faye and your dad—her family—to find a resolution to the nightmare that stole everything. All I’m asking is that you go with Faye and try to find some answers.”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked off. “Why?” he shouted at the sky before facing her. “Why is jumping through hoops for Faye so important?”

  In spite of his sarcastic tone, it was a fair question, but she could feel embarrassment burn her skin at the thought of answering.

  She swallowed hard. “It’s not just for Faye that I want this, or for you. I need this.”

  “You?”

  Hating that she’d backed into a corner where the only way out was to share things she didn’t want to, she made herself speak. “Look, I know this is unfair, but I need to know that when I make stupid decisions and you get caught in them, you’ll reach out to me. Your sister made a mistake, and it feels like you just washed your hands of her.”

  He closed the distance between them. “That’s ridiculous, and you’re not making sense. You’d never do anything as—”

  She placed her hand over his mouth, unable to hear his declaration of faith in her. “Everybody does hurtful stuff, Martin. I need this from you.” Lowering her hand, she forced the next words out. “I never told you, but I became pregnant from the attack, and I tried to hide the whole thing from Paul.” She crossed her arms, hating that her eyes were misting. “I knew if he ever found out about the rape, he’d end our relationship. He did, within two minutes of learning the truth. The baby died, and I came here.” She shuddered. “Your sister made a mistake and has paid too high a price.”

  He took her hand into his. “I’m sorry Paul was a jerk. And I’m sorry for what you went through.” He paused before giving a nod. “I see your point that it’s easier to walk away than anything else.” He sighed. “I’ll see what I can do to get Faye into counseling, but you can’t get upset when this plan does nothing to help her.”

  “It’ll work. I know it will.”

  He rolled his eyes, took a step back, and opened the driver’s door for her. “From now on, I’ll know to beware of beautiful girls carrying loaded picnic baskets.”

  “Yeah?” She laughed.

  He bent, giving her a kiss.

  She caressed his face. “Thank you for doing this.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s what you say now. Just wait until it all blows up in our face.”

  “It won’t.”

  Matthew read the letter one last time before scrawling his name at the bottom. He folded it and shoved it into the envelope addressed to Elle. Against everything he’d spent years hoping for, he went to the mailbox, placed it inside, and lifted the red flag. An early-morning summer breeze carried the burnt smell from the Bylers’ barn. The memory of flames leaping toward the sky last night left a sick feeling in Matthew’s gut. But that didn’t compare to the twisting ache that breaking off with Elle was causing.

  Trudging into his workshop, he couldn’t help but rehash how little he’d seen Elle since she went to live with her father more than two years ago. Each trip back she was different, more of an Englischer and less of the Elle he’d fallen in love with. He’d seen the look in her eyes, the one that said she no longer admired who he was or what talents he possessed. He wasn’t in the same class of people as she was, and her visits seemed only to confirm that for her.

  She’d spent the last year driving all over the U.S. while snapping pictures, but somehow her car just couldn’t make it down these familiar roads very often. She’d signed some sort of contract without realizing exactly what it meant, and Matthew had been patient as she tried to get in her hours so the contract would be fulfilled. When it was time for instruction to begin, she had to get special permission to finish out her contracts among the Englischers and yet still be allowed to take instruction classes. As a testimony to Elle’s ability to talk people into things, her bishop agreed. At first her efforts to be here for instruction had given him hope, but she hadn’t made it for the last two lessons, nor had she called or written him.

  Her agreement with her father not to call Matthew had ended quite a while ago, but her letters and phone calls had dwindled to nothing, and it was time he accepted reality. Her father had won. Elle would never be baptized into their faith.

  Pulling on his tool belt, Matthew ran down a mental list of what he needed to get done today.

  Luke was traveling, taking a week to handpick supplies and stock up for this next year. This was the fourth buying trip in as many months. Matthew went on the last three. Luke had avoided going for a while because of Mary, but now he wanted to get his time in so he wouldn’t need to travel as Mary grew closer to her November due date.

  Sarah drove the half-loaded produce wagon toward Miller’s Roadside Stand.

  She was sick of her parents always whispering about her odd behavior. Her hand had a burn on it, and she didn’t know why. So what? If the constant gray cloud that clung to her thoughts would go away, maybe she could explain how she felt. But it never did.

  Weariness made her movements hard during the day, but the nights were even worse. Fires blazed everywhere, creeping across Amish land until they burned right through her home. She shuddered.

  After pulling the wagon under a shade tree at the roadside stand, she climbed out and looped the horse’s reins around the hitching post. The stand had a blue and white tentlike covering, lawn chairs for the vendors, and plenty of parking for customers. The Millers’ home was at the high point of the property, just a couple of hundred feet from the street. They rented a portion of their stand to anyone who needed a good place to sell things. Since the Lapps’ house was so far off the main roads, this was one place they had always come to sell the extra yield from the family garden.

  Leaning over the side of the wagon, she grasped the handles of the bushel basket.

  “Sarah,” Lizzy Miller called from her front porch.

  Setting the heavy container on the ground, Sarah figured the girl was helping her mother collect this month’s rent for the roadside stand. Sarah waved, letting her know she’d heard her. Then she reached into the wagon and unloaded the rest of the baskets while Lizzy hurried down the hill toward her.

  “Did you hear?” Lizzy panted. The girl had graduated the eighth grade with Sarah years ago.

  “Hear what?”

  “The Bylers’ barn burned down last night, all the way to the ground!”

  The words shot through Sarah, making her feel woozy. Was her nightmare coming true? She set the small baskets of raspberries on the ground and straightened. “You sure?”

  “Go see for yourself.”

  Without answering Lizzy, Sarah climbed into the wagon and took off.

  It was quite a jaunt to the Bylers’, but within thirty minutes she was pulling up at their place. Smoke was still rising from a few spots. Lizzy was right; there wasn’t a salvageable piece of timber anywhere.

  Unable to remove her eyes from the damage, she got out of the wagon and edged up to the smoldering embers. The barn had been a full, strong structure. She’d been to singings and church meetings here throughout her life. Hannah had taught her how to jump from the loft into a pile of hay in this barn. Stepping around the smoldering parts, Sarah walked through some of the ashes. How could such a strong building, with thick timber running in all directions for support, be reduced to this?

  The tongue is afire, a world of evil … and sets on f
ire the course of life.

  A shudder ran through her, and those words looped through her mind again and again.

  Aiming to find where the loft had crashed from its high position to the ground, Sarah continued walking around the edge of the building. Sadness deeper than any laughter or joy she’d shared in this building twisted inside her.

  Wondering if the tiny corncob dolls she and Hannah had made and buried under the ground in the tack room more than a decade ago were still there, Sarah went to the spot where she thought they should be buried. The area had been along the outer wall. No smoke rose from that area. She held her hands over the cinders. They gave off no heat. Soot covered her hands and dress as she moved a few burnt two-by-fours. When a portion was cleared, she grabbed a piece of burnt tin from the roof, knelt where she thought they should be, and began digging.

  Matthew heard the door to the paint shop open. David had finished his other chores and had arrived to add another coat of shellac to the fifteen buggies that were close to being fitted to their undercarriages. Matthew worked another spoke into place on its wooden-hoop frame, hoping to get a dozen wheels done before nightfall.

  As the morning wore on, sounds of the outdoors echoed through the open windows, allowing him to hear when the mail carrier approached. A desire to run to the mailbox and snatch back the letter gripped him. His palms became sweaty as he imagined the postal vehicle slowly heading, mailbox by mailbox, toward the Esh place. Ignoring his anxiety, he wrestled to line up the spokes that sprawled from the wooden hub with the hand-drilled holes in the circular frame.

  He reminded himself that long before Elle’s father showed up, her bishop had asked her to wait until she was at least twenty-one to join the faith. At the time he hadn’t understood the reason, but the bishop had turned out to be right. Some Englischers had tried living Amish. It never lasted for more than a few years before they pulled out of the faith, sold their places, and returned to the easier ways of the fancy folk.

  He’d thought it would be different for Elle since she’d been raised Amish half her life. As the mail carrier closed the metal lid on the Esh mailbox and drove off, Matthew went to the barn and bridled his fastest horse. He needed a few minutes away from the shop.