Sisters of the Quilt

by Cindy Woodsmall

  There were things Mamm wasn’t saying, like the fact that she’d started to come to Hannah that day by the grave site, and Daed had stopped her. But Mamm wouldn’t lay blame. She’d only confess her part and leave the rest alone. Hannah longed for forgiveness toward her mother to sweep through her, but it didn’t. The Amish way was to forgive, or at least confess forgiveness, but she couldn’t.

  Wondering if her years of hiding out in Ohio had more to do with her own inability to forgive than anything else, Hannah hugged her mother. “Let’s handle Sarah with as few regrets as possible. Okay?” She stepped back, looking at her mother.

  Mamm nodded. “Ya.”

  Hannah got into her car and pulled out of the driveway. Her mind ran in a thousand directions without finding solutions to any of the issues at hand. It’d take more than a name of a therapist to convince her family it was absolutely necessary that Sarah see a counselor and get on medication.

  Her Daed seemed to barely tolerate Hannah’s being here, even at a distance. What would he or the church leaders be like when she asked them to handle things more like the Englischers did?

  Matthew weaved through the crowd of church folks and relatives in his Mamm’s kitchen and walked outside. People stood in small groups on the front porch, talking in muted tones and eating. All eyes moved to him, and he nodded and spoke briefly before going into the barn. He bridled his horse and mounted it without a saddle. If he stayed at the house one more minute, he might lose his will to live.

  The sadness in his mother’s eyes was too much, and he’d already grown weary of trying to comfort her. He aimed the horse west and let it amble along. The brokenness and guilt made him unsure if he’d ever get out from under it. He’d worked so hard and had nothing to show for it. Nothing but debt from money received and promises made for a product he could no longer make. But that didn’t compare to the Grand Canyon-size ache inside him for David. If he’d spent more time with his brother, he might have some sense of peace. Instead, he’d stayed too busy to really listen when David tried talking to him.

  And Elle.

  Whatever patience David needed, Matthew had probably used it on Elle.

  Elle. Born an Englischer. Raised half her life in an Amish home. Left two years ago, promising to return, join the church, and marry him.

  He’d loved her. Believed in her. Worse, he still longed for her. He had to be the biggest fool ever born.

  Her father’s request for her to come away from the Amish community that had raised her and to live with him in Baltimore for six months had ended long, long ago, and yet she continued living there. Her reasons were numerous—helping her dad in his bakery, attending photography school, keeping her part of the contracts she’d signed with a studio—and her promises of returning and joining the faith continuous. When he’d written to her, releasing her from the promise to marry him, she’d returned, complaining about his lack of faithfulness to give her time.

  What bothered him the most was that he didn’t really know how he felt about Elle. He wanted to be free of her while he longed to hold her.

  From the crossroad he saw a woman kneeling beside David’s grave. He pulled the horse to a stop, taking in the scenery. Feeling some odd connection to life for the first time since this had happened, he wanted a closer look. He guided the horse along the edge of the paved road until he came to the grass and dirt entryway. Dismounting, he winced in pain. He led the horse to a hitching post and wrapped the reins around it before heading to the grave site.

  Kathryn.

  She ran her hands over the fresh dirt as tears splashed onto the ground. Matthew’s eyes clouded for a moment. He’d seen her a dozen times at his house since the fire, helping Mamm dress and serving meals to his Daed and Peter, but never once did he think how she must be feeling. Until this moment all of David’s comments about talking with Kathryn and admiring her hadn’t clicked. But whatever the two had going, it probably hadn’t been romance, especially since David had been only sixteen. She was older and seeing someone from her own community, a man he’d met for the first time earlier today. Yet that seemed to do nothing to dull the pain he was witnessing.

  “Kathryn.”

  She gasped and stood to her feet. “Matthew.” Her lips quivered as she wiped at tears that didn’t slow. “I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head. “No need to be sorry. I envy the tears.”

  She scoffed. “And I the lack of them.” Without any sign of the tears stopping, she looked at the grave, and a soft moan escaped her. “He had so many dreams and desires. It’s so unfair.”

  Surprised that she didn’t say what everyone else was saying—that God knew best—Matthew found comfort in her words. “A fallen planet is no easy place to live.”

  “Ya, but heaven is.” She drew a deep breath. “We talked a few weeks back. I know he told you he was unsure about remaining Amish, but I showed him scriptures of what it takes to be saved, and he prayed with me. He accepted the forgiveness Christ paid for and chose to believe God’s Word above all circumstances; he just wasn’t so sure he’d join the Amish church.”

  Although her words would be considered heresy by many, they poured salve on his aching soul. Most of his fellow Amish who’d joined the faith spent their lives trying to live as pure as possible, hoping salvation would be theirs at the end of the journey but always unsure. He understood their belief, agreed with it for the most part. It seemed some sects of Englischers wanted to believe one prayer did it all; after that they could do things their own way until death took over. Kathryn’s confession of confident salvation through a simple prayer would stir quite a hornet’s nest if news of it reached certain church leaders, but it brought waves of peace to him.

  Tears worked their way down his face, the first ones since he’d lost his brother. Odd as it seemed, they brought a sense of relief. “I didn’t know … thank you.”

  “I shouldn’t be thanked. I can’t do spit.” Kathryn mimicked a country accent. “How many times have you had to retrain me on how to file your work orders? But God—He can make donkeys talk.”

  Matthew chuckled, and more tears fell.

  Kathryn took another useless swipe at her cheeks. “I reminded you of my work skills and made you cry.” She giggled through her tears. “No?”

  He wiped his face, thankful for the release only crying could bring. “Ya, that’s it.”

  The laughter and talk stopped, and they just stood there, staring at the grave.

  “You can rebuild, Matthew.” She whispered the words. “I overheard you telling your Daed that you can’t or won’t, but you can.”

  A car engine turned off, and they looked to the road several hundred feet away. Elle got out of the car. She waved, clearly wanting to talk. Matthew motioned that he’d be there in a minute.

  Kathryn turned from Elle and swiped her apron over her face. “I’ll go on back now and leave you two to talk.”

  Matthew looked around the edges of the field for Kathryn’s buggy. “How’d you get here?”

  She smoothed her apron back into place. “Walked.”

  “That’s quite a walk. You must’ve been pretty desperate for time alone.”

  Kathryn cleared her throat and offered a wobbly grin. “Just me?”

  He smiled. “At least I rode a horse. Here, take her. I’ll either walk or catch a ride with Elle.”

  “Ride bareback? In this? Clearly, being raised without the benefit of sisters did nothing for your understanding of the restraints of the female Amish garb.”

  “You can straddle it or ride sidesaddle. It’s a gentle horse, so you won’t have a problem.”

  Looking a bit skeptical, she nodded. “If you say so.”

  “It was good of your Daed and Joseph to come today. It was quite a ways for them.”

  “Only a little over two hours by driver.”

  “Have they already gone home?”

  “Daed has. Joseph is staying with the Bylers, hoping I’ll be more in a mood for visiting before a dri
ver takes him home tomorrow.”

  “Go on back and spend some time with him, Kathryn. Mamm has plenty of other help for tonight and tomorrow.”

  Elle waited by her car as he walked with Kathryn to the hitching post. He laced his fingers together and offered his hands as a step onto the bareback horse. As he stooped to help her, the pain across his back and shoulders was almost unbearable. She slid her foot into his hands and positioned herself on the back of the horse as if she were sitting on a sidesaddle.

  Matthew passed her the reins. “Thank you, Kathryn. I needed this.”

  “Ya, me too.” She took the leads. “I’ll continue to pray God’s best for you and Elle.”

  “Thanks.” He slapped the horse’s rump and ambled to Elle’s car, hoping his movements looked natural rather than stiff and painful.

  Elle angled her head. “How are you?”

  “Better.” He leaned against the car. “What’s on your mind, Elle?”

  “I wanted to offer my deepest sympathy. I just don’t have any words to share …”

  “I understand what you mean, and I’ll pass that along to the family. But you didn’t ignore my demand for space in order to share your condolences. So I’ll ask again, what’s on your mind?”

  “The same thing that’s been on my mind since before the fire: us. I don’t want to lose you. Tell me I’m not alone in that.”

  He stared at the ground and shook his head. “I’m not sure what I feel, Elle, but I can’t do this, not anymore.”

  “I know. Me either. But …”

  Matthew lifted his gaze. “But what?”

  “Maybe you should give us another chance, consider this as a good time for you and me to start over. It might help if you got out of Owl’s Perch. There are so many things you could make a living at with your talent.”

  “Outside of Owl’s Perch or outside of the Amish faith?”

  “Please don’t get angry again. I can’t take it. Just hear me out.”

  The strength that had entered him a few minutes ago faded. “I’m listening.”

  “I’ve thought for a long time that it’d do you some real good to get away from here, just for a while. The business had you so consumed … changed who you were, but now you can take a break. I think you’d like Baltimore, and it might open up new ideas that’d help you find a different career.”

  Matthew folded his arms across his chest, wondering if she actually believed the load of manure she’d just dumped at his feet. “I should just give up here and go to Baltimore. Is that what you came here, today of all days, to say?”

  She moved in closer. “Matthew, I’ve not handled us right. I know that, and I couldn’t be any sorrier.” Dipping her head, she whispered, “You can’t imagine the remorse I carry. But I love you, Matthew. I can’t get free of that.”

  He gazed at his brother’s simple tombstone, totally unsure of what he wanted to do from here. The idea of getting away held stronger temptation than he’d felt in a lot of years. “This is not the time.”

  She nodded. “You’re right. I know you are. It’s just that this is what I came to talk to you about before the fire. I had to come back again and let you know that just because the business is gone doesn’t mean your life is too. It’s a huge, fascinating world in Baltimore—just entering the city is exciting and will bring encouragement into your life. I needed to share that hope with you.”

  Hope? Confusion is more like it.

  She reached out and cradled his cheek in the palm of her hand. “I’ll go now, but you’ll call me in a few days, please?” She tilted her head, appealing for a favorable decision.

  The warmth of her hand brought up emotions he wished didn’t exist, not for Elle. He remained silent, willing himself not to respond to her. Part of him wanted to grab her and kiss her until the awful pain of what life had done to him eased, but that wasn’t the answer either.

  He nodded.

  Finally she pulled her hand away and went to her car. The notion of going to Baltimore echoed through him like the lustful desires of his youth, and he wished she hadn’t come by. Not today.

  With her cell phone to her ear, Hannah paced the floor of her hotel room. “I know, Martin, and I’m sorry. Your yelling at me isn’t going to change anything.”

  She’d tried to explain her need to stay in Owl’s Perch for at least three more days, maybe a week, but he wasn’t in much of a reasoning mood.

  “I’m not yelling,” he snapped. Then silence. Then he sighed. “Hannah, sweetheart.” His voice was calmer, and she knew he was trying. “It’s ridiculous that these people get another chance to damage your life. After investing nearly two full years in nursing school, will you even be allowed to graduate if you’re not here for class by Wednesday night?”

  “I don’t know. The mandatory attendance rules have a little give, but I’m afraid to ask. Whatever the answer, it changes nothing concerning my plans, and I don’t need the anxiety of knowing I’m ruining my chance at graduation by staying here. Sarah needs my help, and I’m going to do what I can.”

  “It’s not that I care about the degree or your being a nursing school graduate. You know I don’t. But you’ve worked so hard for it. Why can’t someone else do this?”

  “Because it’s not a course anyone in the Amish community will pursue for her if I don’t. And whether she’s innocent of setting the fires or not, you can’t think I’m going to leave her in the community’s hands. Although I’m not sure what Daed will agree to even if I get a counselor lined up.”

  “You can’t save the world. Doesn’t any of this seem uncomfortably familiar to you? You went out on a limb for Faye, and we ended up with two children to raise, a stack of bills for therapists, and she is nowhere to be found. Come on, this isn’t your battle.”

  Hannah wanted to protest his laying the blame solely at her feet for their becoming guardians over Kevin and Lissa, but she’d taxed him over a need-help issue with his own sister, and he’d done it her way. At her insistence they’d gone through a lot to try to get his sister off drugs, only to have her run off and abandon her kids. Until today he hadn’t voiced any blame.

  “I can’t leave. Not yet. I won’t drag this out one minute longer than necessary.”

  “Great. Just great.”

  She closed her eyes, feeling that awful sense of powerlessness take a seat on her chest. Since meeting Zabeth, it hadn’t been a part of her life. “Martin, please don’t do this. You can’t imagine how hard this is.”

  “Then come home.”

  She took slow, deep breaths, trying to free herself of that claustrophobic feeling. “I will, but I need to find help for Sarah and try to figure out if she started the fires or not.”

  “Just how the …” He stopped short. “How do you expect to do that?”

  “I have no idea. I was hoping you’d help me figure it out.”

  “Sorry, I’m not caught up on my CSI episodes.”

  “It’s not like you to act like this. I basically have no support here.”

  When he didn’t respond, she let the silence hang.

  “Yeah, okay,” he whispered. “I hear you. Kevin’s whining nonstop about when you’re going to return. I really think he’s scared you’re not coming back.”

  “Assure him I’m only gone because of family issues and I’m coming home as quickly as I can.”

  “And Lissa misses you way more than I expected. The stitches in her leg really bother her, especially at night, and she won’t let the nanny get near her once it’s bedtime. I guess because she doesn’t know Laura well enough yet. I’ve paced the floors with Lissa on my hip for two nights.”

  “That’s because you’re a good man, albeit spoiled and testy from time to time.”

  He didn’t laugh, which was even more unusual than his present disposition. “Was spoiled.” He sighed. “Before children took over my bachelor pad. Right now I’d pay anything to buy myself a little sleep and an evening out with just the two of us.”

  “Mmm.
You can buy almost anything, that’s true, but are you aware you can’t buy my love but it’s yours anyway?”

  Martin chuckled. “Yeah?”

  “Yep.”

  “I guess I am being a bit whiny and demanding.”

  “Just a bit?”

  “Well, I can’t be charming all the time.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  He laughed. “Man, I miss you.”

  She refused to remind him it’d only been since Saturday. It’d clearly been a rough couple of days. “I know. I’ll get some help for Sarah squared away and be back as quickly as I can manage. Okay?”

  “Yeah, I understand, but I don’t like it.”

  “I got that part, loud and clear. Let me talk to Lissa and Kevin.”

  “Sure, hang on.”

  Lissa’s and Kevin’s precious voices did more to ease the tightness across her chest than anything else, and by the time she finished talking to them, she felt more like herself. After disconnecting the call, she went to the business center of the hotel, got on a computer, and started searching for psychiatrists and psychologists who catered to the Plain community. Although it soon became clear this was not an easy task, investigating whether Sarah was guilty of starting the fires would be worse. The community would have no desire to let anyone ask questions or snoop around, and they’d stonewalled her years ago. If she could just figure a way around their avoidance of her, then maybe she could find some answers.

  After another miserable night without sleep, Martin sat behind his desk at work, suppressing a yawn as he shifted the set of blueprints in front of him. Thankfully he’d talked Hannah into letting him hire a nanny a few weeks before the family emergency whisked her out of state. Still, he hadn’t realized how much Kevin and Lissa depended on Hannah like a mother. At only twenty years old, she tended to be more nurturing than most of the women his own age.

  Remorse settled over him as he spot-checked the curb grades. He’d been really hard on her yesterday and had wanted to call her back several times throughout the night, but it would have been even more selfish to wake her. In all the time he’d known her, he’d never been that difficult. Felt like being that way, yes. Given in to it, no. Dating an Amish girl wasn’t easy. She just had this take-the-high-road way about her, a way he didn’t get but found equally frustrating and intriguing. When she looked at him with those gentle brown eyes that always held a trace of absolute stubbornness, he did his best to keep a respectful tone. Hannah Lapp Lawson—daughter of the Old Order Amish, niece to his surrogate mom, Zabeth, and a fledgling crusader of women’s health—needed his support, not his griping.