Sisters of the Quilt

by Cindy Woodsmall

  She glanced at the funeral and back to Hannah. An expression crossed her face as if she’d forgotten where she was and why. She looked at her palms and began scrubbing a thumb against the palm of her other hand.

  Hannah slid her hands into Sarah’s, stopping her sister’s odd gesture. She squeezed her sister’s hands and nodded toward the cemetery. “Go on.”

  Sarah looked a bit calmer.

  Daed arrived, out of breath and definitely out of patience, if he’d had any to begin with. He paused, his face red. His eyes narrowed, and he skimmed her from head to toe.

  “What were you thinking?” Her father whispered the words. “Gone for more than two years and arrive just in time to interrupt a community funeral. And look at you.” He pointed at her hair and then her dress. “You didn’t remain Plain.”

  Wondering if she looked that different or if she simply wasn’t what he’d expected, she shook her head. She wasn’t Plain, but she was his daughter.

  He pointed to her car. “Go on to the house, and Sarah will meet you there later.”

  Hannah looked across the crowd that stared at her with heads grouped in pairs, whispering. Refusing to allow powerlessness to engulf her, she lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and slid her sunglasses on. Before closing her car door, she heard the preacher speaking loudly, beginning the service again. Hannah drove away.

  Of all the possible times to cause a scene, a funeral had to be the worst. She never should have come.

  Doing as her father told her, she pulled into the driveway of the Lapp homestead. When she’d talked to Martin yesterday, he’d told her that Lissa had climbed his five-tier glass shelves, and it broke with her on it. She received four stitches in her left leg on Saturday. Lissa couldn’t be in better hands than Martin’s, but that didn’t keep Hannah from wishing she’d stayed with them.

  She got out of the car and headed toward the bench that sat on a knoll behind the Lapp home. It favored the one at her aunt Zabeth’s cabin, the one where she and Zabeth used to sit at the beginning and ending of each day as oft as the weather permitted.

  Drawing a deep breath, she took in every familiar aroma she’d grown up with. The smells changed with the seasons, but September’s fragrance brought a flood of memories—summer’s heat breaking, the last of the garden’s produce, and the aroma of freshly cut hay. Her childhood had been as idyllic as allowed any human on this planet. It wasn’t until she hit her teen years and began wanting things that weren’t Old Order Amish that life under her father’s roof became bumpy.

  She let her mind wander, and it filled with a dozen hayrides, take-a-pet-to-school days, and summertime produce and lemonade stands. Memories of laughter ringing across the fields as she played with her siblings eased in and out of her thoughts. In the midst of them all, a vision of Paul crept in, and before she could stop it, she heard his voice as clearly as the day he asked her to marry him.

  “Hannah, you are all my thoughts and hopes … There’s no one for me but you …”

  A shudder ran through her, and she slid her fingers over the diamond and ruby ring Martin had placed on her finger before she left.

  The sounds of a horse and buggy approaching interrupted her thoughts, and she stood. There wasn’t a male in the buggy, just Mamm and Sarah. Before Mamm pulled the buggy to a stop, Sarah jumped off, ran to Hannah, grabbed her hand, and pulled her toward the barn. “We gotta talk.”

  Hannah tugged back, stopping Sarah from leading her anywhere. “Yes, I know. That’s what I’m here for, but I need to see Mamm first.”

  Her mother pulled the buggy to a stop beside Hannah and sat there, staring. Feeling as if she’d just stepped out of a Victoria’s Secret ad, she reminded herself how modest her below-the-knee, dark green cotton dress was. Her favorite dresses were made of mostly polyester with enough spandex to make them fit and flow in a way that wasn’t appreciated among the Amish. She’d chosen her dress today carefully, knowing how ingrained the views toward clothing were.

  Her mother’s brown eyes locked on hers. “Hannah?”

  The doubt in her voice said she had changed in more ways than just her clothing.

  She swallowed hard, unsure how to break the ice between them. “Hi, Mamm.”

  Mamm set the brake, gathered her skirts, and climbed out of the buggy. She stood in front of Hannah, saying nothing. Her mouth opened a few times as tears welled in her eyes.

  Hannah slid her arms around her and hugged her. “I’m fine, Mamm. I told you that in the letters.”

  Her mother engulfed her, her body shaking as she sobbed. “Oh, child, how could you stay gone so very, very long?” She took a step back and stared into Hannah’s eyes. “I’ve missed you.”

  Hannah knew nothing to say. If her parents had tossed any understanding or affection her way before she boarded that train, she might have stayed. But now she couldn’t receive an unspoken apology without question.

  “How did you see me that night, put balm on the gashes in my hands, and dry my tears, yet decide later that I hadn’t been attacked after all?” Her insides quaked as she dared to speak her mind. In Zabeth’s home, openness had been cherished more than restraint, and Hannah longed for that with her Mamm.

  Her mother’s eyes grew wide with disbelief, and Hannah knew she’d just burned the bridge Mamm had wanted to cross.

  Hannah slid one hand into the side pocket of her dress, wishing she could talk to Zabeth about all that was going on. “How did you get my number?”

  Sarah clutched Hannah’s arm firmer. “Paul brought it to the house last week.”

  Paul knew how to reach me? The slap in the face stung a bit even now, and she wouldn’t mind being able to return the favor. A wallop of one. He knew how to reach her, which really wasn’t the point—not any longer. What did she care? Years ago he could’ve returned her call the night she stayed at the hotel, waiting until time to go to the train station, and yet he didn’t.

  Hannah focused on her sister, thinking maybe she was mistaken. “He brought my address and phone number to the house?” She searched Mamm’s eyes for understanding. “Here?”

  Mamm nodded. “He’s made a bit of peace with your Daed. I think he and Luke are friends. Matthew too.”

  Disbelief rang in her ears, making her lightheaded.

  For the first time ever she realized the man played games. He had to. It was the only thing that explained his behavior. He didn’t return her calls or try in any way to make peace with her, and yet he’d become friends with Matthew and Luke, and he’d brought information about Hannah’s life to her Daed.

  Of all the nerve …

  Mamm shooed a fly away. “I talked to him once myself. He … he doesn’t seem to be such a bad guy after all.”

  “Oh good grief!” Hannah took a step back. Paul had them totally bamboozled. “You know what? Let’s not talk about Paul.”

  Sarah started clearing her throat in long, weird sounds while rubbing her right thumb across the palm of her left hand again. Hannah remembered the odd sounds as an old habit of her sister’s when she was tense. The palm-rubbing thing was newer.

  Mamm looked bewildered. “But, Hann—” Her mother shook her head. “You’re impossible to understand. What’s wrong with me thinking he’s okay? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  She thrust her hands, palms up, toward her mother. “I wanted that when it might have mattered, and there’s no way you would have ever given him a chance if I’d stayed, but now you do?” She sighed. “And I’m the one who’s impossible to understand?”

  Sarah began rocking back and forth on her heels. “The male cats eat the mama cats’ babies.” The words pushed out through labored breathing. “And fires destroy truth that’s not even there.” She put her thumb on her middle finger and turned them, as if doing the motion for the itsy, bitsy spider song. She sang the words. “The tongue sets on fire the course of life.”

  Chills climbed up Hannah’s back and through her scalp. What was wrong with her sister?

 
Mamm clapped her hands. “Stop it, Sarah.”

  Her sister stopped moving her hands. Her eyes darted back and forth. “You can’t hate each other.” She moaned.

  Hannah reeled under the shock of her sister’s words. She didn’t hate Mamm, not even close, but her mother had stood silent as the men decided Hannah was a liar and guilty of sexual sin.

  Sarah’s lips were turning blue as she continued breathing fast and heavy.

  Hannah put her arm around her. “Mamm, get a lunch bag and bring it here.” She forced a smile. “Sarah, look at me.”

  This breathing issue was new, wasn’t it? Sarah turned her head, avoiding her gaze.

  Mamm stepped forward. “What’s going on?”

  Hannah placed her fingers on Sarah’s jugular, taking a quick assessment of her heart rate. “She’s hyperventilating, best I can tell. Get a lunch bag, please.” Hannah took Sarah’s cheeks into her hands. “Sarah, look at me. I want you to imagine being in a field of flowers. Remember that game?” Hannah did. When they were kids, she spent as much time trying to calm Sarah down as she spent doing chores.

  Mamm came out the door with the lunch sack. Hannah took it, shook it open, scrunched the top part, and put it over Sarah’s mouth.

  She tried to claw it away.

  Hannah resisted. “None of that. You called me to help, and you’re going to let me help, right?” She covered Sarah’s mouth with the edge of the bag. “Imagine that we’re lying in the field, counting all the different types of wildflowers: black-eyed Susans, morning glories, daisies, forget-me-nots …” She prattled on like when they were younger.

  But this was different. Sarah was different. Worse. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t a bad case of nerves or a meanspirited sister or even jealousy, as she’d thought for years.

  Sarah’s breathing eased.

  “That’s my little sister.” She lowered the bag, but she intended to keep it with her.

  Sarah’s fists were clinging to the sleeves of Hannah’s dress. “Where’s the baby?”

  Hannah blinked. “What?”

  “You … you gave birth. Where is the baby?”

  Hannah looked to Mamm.

  Mamm’s face paled. “After you left, Sarah began looking for things. We didn’t know what she was searching for.” Tears streaked down her face. “I … I guess the baby’s been it all along.” Mamm wiped her face with her apron, closed her eyes for a moment, and then began again. “Sometimes she has burns on her hands that no one can explain. The day after the Bylers’ barn burned, I found charred clothing in the trash.”

  The oddness of being in some alternate world pushed against Hannah, making her feel like she was stuck inside a dream. Was it possible her sister was guilty of setting fires? Hannah moved to the steps of the porch. Nausea came in waves.

  Did her mother understand that if Sarah was guilty of setting fire to Matthew’s business, she was guilty of manslaughter in the eyes of the law? And belonging to an Amish community that was willing to protect its own from the courts would not stop the legal system.

  Hannah studied her sister. Sarah clearly had times of acting normal, like now as she stood there looking ordinary and … and perfectly sane. But was she? The questions about where Hannah’s baby was and the odd little sayings and songs had ended abruptly, leaving her to appear like any other Amish girl.

  Hannah swallowed. “Sarah, you wanted us to talk. We can go for a ride in my car or use the horse and buggy.”

  Sarah shook her head, her fingers trembling. “Daed might not like it if we go off together.”

  Their Daed might not like it? Sarah was an adult! Irritation swelled again, forcing her to stockpile it. Under Zabeth’s tenderness and support, she had forgotten how infuriating life with Zeb Lapp could be.

  Mamm looked to the door, and Hannah waited to be invited inside, but the invitation didn’t come—probably a verdict passed down from her father. Hannah gestured for Sarah to sit next to her on the porch steps, unsure what to think, let alone what to do next.

  Doubts as to whether her mother and she could ever recover the closeness they’d once shared pressed in on her. Hannah rubbed Sarah’s back, reassuring her through physical touch of things that couldn’t be promised in words. In the Englischer world, words flowed quick and cheap, saying things that shouldn’t be said, telling things that shouldn’t be shared. But here, words were too rare and perceived fate accepted without a fight. How many Englischers ran for help and medicines, spewing the ills of their life to anyone who’d listen? And here, how many Amish stood stalwart in silence, reaching out to no doctor and telling no professional of the pain they bore?

  Wasn’t there any balance in the world?

  Determined to weigh each word, Hannah began. “Mamm, Sarah’s changed a good bit since I left, don’t you think?”

  Her mother gave a nod.

  “I think she needs to see someone professional.”

  “No.” Her mother studied Sarah, who sat quietly as if she’d withdrawn into a world they couldn’t enter. “All she needed was to see you.”

  “Mamm, what just happened was not someone who only needed time with her big sister.”

  “But she’s such a clear thinker some of the time, as if …” She paused.

  Grief for Mamm settled over Hannah. Having a willful, difficult husband was one thing, but watching helplessly as her children’s lives slipped from her arms into chaos was too much for any woman.

  Needing to talk with Sarah without adding to the heartache Mamm was dealing with, Hannah took Sarah by the hand. “We’ll be back in a bit, okay?”

  “I’ll fix us … Do you drink coffee?”

  “I do.”

  A faint smile crossed her mother’s face. “I’ll set a pot on the stove.”

  Hannah and Sarah walked across the road to the dock. Sarah removed her shoes and stockings and sat on the edge of the pier, dangling her toes in the water.

  Having given up the traditional black stockings long ago, Hannah slid out of her shoes and sat next to her sister. Bream swam near their feet, looking for morsels of bread. “Samuel could catch five or six fish with one scoop of the net today, ya?”

  Sarah swooshed her foot through the water quickly, scattering the fish. “Ya.”

  “And we could spend hours cleaning his fine catch of the day to produce half an ounce of meat per fish.”

  Sarah giggled. “Our aim was noble though, to prove he could provide a meal for the family.”

  “Is that what we proved? All this time I thought our aim was to keep him out of our hair that morning while you and I worked the blackberry patch without his”—Hannah cleared her throat—“help.”

  They shared a laugh, and Sarah wrapped her arm through Hannah’s. “I’m not crazy.”

  “Me either,” she offered.

  Sarah laid her head against Hannah’s shoulder. “I feel crazy sometimes.”

  Hannah kissed the top of her head through her prayer Kapp. “Me too.”

  She squeezed tight. “You won’t leave me again, will you?”

  Hannah leaned her cheek against the top of Sarah’s head. “What’s going on? I mean really and truly, all the dirt, no secrets.”

  “Like we used to do … before going to Gram’s became more important to you than being with me?”

  Taken aback that her sister knew when she began pulling away from the family, Hannah lifted Sarah’s chin and gazed into her eyes. “Yeah, like we used to.”

  “If I tell you everything, will you take me to see your baby?”

  “Talk to me, Sarah.”

  “Jacob’s seeing Lizzy Miller these days,” Sarah began, and Hannah let the conversation meander wherever Sarah wished.

  If Hannah was hoping for some encouraging news, she didn’t get it as her sister made perfect sense some of the time but then talked in circles about Hannah’s baby, the fire, and how things were different with everyone since she left. As her sister talked, it became clear she had issues that went way beyond Hannah’s sc
ope of understanding of the human psyche. She’d veer off into nonsense, and Hannah couldn’t figure out how to bring her back around to reality. She wasn’t even able to give a straight answer to what she meant about starting the fires.

  “Sarah, everyone needs help at times. I received a lot of mine from counselors at the Rape Crisis Center. I think you might find help by going to a different kind of counselor. Maybe he or she will know about medications that can clear your thoughts a bit.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Good. Come on.” Hannah walked back to the house with her. As they crossed the road that separated the house from the pasture with the pond, Mamm came onto the porch, holding a tray with a coffeepot, cups, and cream and sugar.

  They came to a stop at the foot of the concrete steps. The awkwardness between Hannah and her mother seemed to stand sentry, keeping them from each other. “I need to take a rain check on the coffee. I really have to go, but I’d like you to consider letting Sarah see someone.”

  The dishes clanked and rattled as Mamm set the tray down on the top of a wooden keg they used as an end table. “It’s not up to me. You know that.”

  “I know, but you have an influence, Mamm. Use it with all the power you can muster.”

  Her mother pursed her lips, looking displeased that Hannah would be so bold. Hannah gave Sarah a hug. “You stay close to home, and we’ll talk again soon. Okay?”

  Sarah held on, making Hannah forcibly remove her arms from around her. Mamm grasped Sarah’s hands and pulled her into a hug. The two stood side by side as Hannah went to her car.

  “Hannah,” her mother called.

  She turned. Her mother walked to her and stared into her eyes. “I … I’m sorry for not standing by you, for not coming to you after your Daed refused to let you come home.”

  And in that moment, Hannah saw traces of the long journey of regret written on Mamm’s face.

  Mamm shuddered. “Even when your Daed and me got word of what had happened and came to the funeral, I stood mute, so lost inside my own grief and so shaken by the rumors that I didn’t even embrace you.”