Between You and Me

by Susan Wiggs

  Reese bristled. “Women’s work is still a thing at your house?”

  “Nah,” he said easily. “I just said that to get a rise out of you.”

  “Congratulations. You got a rise.”

  “Work is work,” he said. “The supper doesn’t care who burns it.”

  Hannah blushed again. “Most girls learn to cook and clean from their mothers.”

  Reese washed up at the sink and opened the cartons of food. “Caleb told me what happened to your parents. I’m so very sorry.”

  Hannah kept her head down. “Thank you for your sorrow. That’s all I know to say about it.”

  “It must be really difficult. My mother and I are close,” said Reese. “I’m an only child. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

  “Something tells me you would figure it out,” said Leroy.

  “Did she show you how to cook?” asked Hannah.

  That drew a short laugh from Reese. “All my cooking skills were taught to me by the housekeeper. Mom never had the time to cook, let alone to teach me. She and my father are both physicians. One day, I’ll be joining their practice. That’s the plan, anyway.”

  “Then it’s not so different from the Amish custom,” Hannah said. “We’re supposed to follow in the footsteps of our elders.” She grew more chatty as they set out the food. “It’s not a law or anything. More like a tradition.” She glanced at Leroy. “Some folks go their own way.”

  “They do,” he agreed. “But there’s always the chance to change our minds.”

  Reese cleared the table of clutter—mostly paperwork related to exams and the residency match—and they sat down. The meal from the farmers’ market was a feast of summer’s bounty—a salad of corn and peppers, fresh-baked rolls and potted cheese, a bowl of greens and thick slices of tomatoes, and for dessert, Indian pudding that had been slow baked in maple syrup.

  She was about to dig in when she noticed that Hannah had bowed her head. Caleb and Leroy followed suit. Reese couldn’t remember the last time she’d said grace. A bit of eyes-closed silence before a meal was probably a very good thing, no matter what thoughts might pass through her mind—gratitude, regret, contemplation, or nothing at all.

  Her attending during a rotation in general surgery had been a practicing Buddhist. His advice before cutting into living human flesh had been nearly identical to a silent prayer. Be still. Be silent. Find the center of yourself. He’d been one of her favorite mentors. Under his supervision, she’d scrubbed in on her first kidney transplant.

  “Lemonade?” asked Caleb, nudging her back to the present.

  She flushed, realizing how inappropriate it was to be comparing a surgical procedure to a meal. “Sure. Thank you. Bon appétit, everyone. That’s my fancy way of saying eat up.”

  “Mahlzeit,” Hannah said. “That’s how we say it at home.”

  Reese smiled and repeated the phrase. “How’s that?”

  “Pretty good for an Englischer,” Caleb said.

  After dinner, Caleb and Leroy cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. “Thanks for doing the women’s work,” Hannah said in a teasing voice.

  Caleb grinned. “No one is doing any work at all. It’s all done by the machine.” He and Leroy finished up quickly.

  Reese noticed Hannah trying to stifle a yawn. “What time did you start out this morning?” she asked the girl.

  “Plenty early. I rode my bike to the bus station just as the sun was coming up.”

  “You must be exhausted. Come on,” said Reese. “Let’s make up the sofa for you.”

  At the door, she looked up at Caleb. “Don’t worry,” she told him. “I’ll look after her.”

  “I know you will.”

  She closed the door gently behind them and stood there for a moment, struggling with the now-familiar sense of incredible yearning, which bumped up against an even stronger sense of utter impossibility. She was entrenched in the culture of the hospital and her world, yet Caleb’s arrival had thrown her off track. She caught herself reacting differently to situations. In unguarded moments, she looked beneath the surface of her life and felt a desperate unhappiness.

  Yet the things that anchored her to this life exerted enormous pressure—not just her parents’ expectations, but her own. Patients she yearned to help, a future she was pursuing with relentless determination.

  “Reese?” Hannah’s quiet voice broke in on her thoughts.

  Flustered, Reese turned to face her guest. “Sorry, just thinking about . . . organizing my day for tomorrow.”

  Hannah tilted her head to one side. “But it’s still today.”

  The simple words brought Reese up short. She was so entrenched in the culture of the hospital, yet something about Hannah—and her uncle and brother—threw her off. When Reese was around them, she acted differently in familiar situations, seeing things from a different angle. Seeing, sometimes, that she was desperately unhappy underneath all the busywork.

  She nodded. “You’re right. It’s still today.”

  8

  Despite Hannah’s reminder, Reese began to tally up all the things she needed to do in order to prep for the following day. The list was already a mile long, and it grew even longer after she listened to multiple messages from her parents and colleagues.

  She was beginning to hate the list. With a huff of defiance, she turned off her phone. She had company tonight. “How about a shower, Hannah? It’ll feel nice after that long bus ride.”

  The girl glanced around the apartment, knotting her fingers together. She focused on the open door to the bathroom. “Yes, sure. Thank you.”

  “I’ve never met an Amish girl before,” Reese said. “You’ll have to tell me how I can help. Do you have running water back home?”

  Hannah shook her head. “Some do, but not in our house. There’s a hand pump in the kitchen. When it’s bath time, we carry pails of water to a big copper boiler that sits on all four burners of the oil stove. Then we pour the hot water into a big round steel tub from the cellar and set it on the rug in front of the woodstove in the keeping room.”

  “That sounds . . . effortful,” Reese said, trying to imagine going through the process every day.

  It made her to-do list look like a haiku.

  “We’re used to it. Bathing’s easier in the summer ’cause we can jump in the creek behind the house. There’s a deep eddy that makes a natural swimming hole. Caleb put up a rope swing there. Jonah can swing himself clear out to the middle and—” Hannah’s voice cracked. “I’m so scared for him. What’s he going to do without an arm?”

  “He’s going to get a lot of help figuring it out,” said Reese. “He has a long road ahead. There are lots of adaptive devices to help him. When the time comes, he’ll have an extremely advanced artificial limb. Maybe more than one, including something that works great in the water. I don’t know about a rope swing, though.”

  Hannah shuddered. “An artificial limb is not the same. He’s just a little boy.”

  Reese touched her shoulder. “I know this is awful, and I don’t blame you for feeling sad.”

  Hannah drew in a shuddery breath, using her sleeve to wipe her cheeks.

  “How about I show you how to work the shower.” Reese stepped into the bathroom and demonstrated the light switch and the hot and cold water. She gave Hannah towels and a big terry-cloth robe, fresh from the laundry service. She was fascinated to see that Hannah’s long skirt and blouse were secured with nothing but straight pins. “Do you need anything else?”

  Hannah shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  The girl’s shower lasted forty-seven minutes. Reese timed it. She imagined the teenage girl indulging in the endless stream of warm water, not needing to worry about boilers or tubs or what to do with the water afterward. The Amish ways seemed incredibly labor intensive. Yet at the same time, there was something appealing about the uncomplicated nature of life in a community like Middle Grove. According to articles Reese had read online, the simple rhyt
hm of the days and seasons kept the heart open to one’s faith. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

  By the time Hannah reappeared, bundled in the thick robe, Reese had the sofa made up with a set of spare sheets and a light summer blanket.

  “Everything all right?” she asked.

  Hannah nodded eagerly. “Yes, thank you.” She regarded the sofa with almost comical amazement. “That was all folded up inside, then.”

  “Yes.” Reese patted the pillows. “It’s not the most comfortable bed in the world, but . . .”

  “It’s just perfect,” Hannah said quickly. Then she touched the mass of wet golden hair that fell in a tangle down her back. “I forgot to bring a brush.”

  “No problem. There’s a comb and a brush in the drawer under the sink.”

  Hannah returned to the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. She buried the brush in her thick hair, tugging hard enough to make Reese wince.

  “Let’s use some detangler,” she suggested. “There’s some in the cabinet there.”

  She noticed Hannah staring into the fogged-up mirror. The girl reached out and smeared the fog with her hand, a look of fascination on her face. “We don’t have mirrors,” she said. “My grandfather says it’s a sign of vanity.”

  “No one’s going to think you’re vain.” Reese handed her the spritz bottle.

  Hannah frowned at it. Then she said, “Oh. That’s the detangler.”

  Reese couldn’t imagine having all that long hair with no help combing it out. “You’re going to like this stuff,” she said, taking the bottle back. “May I?”

  Hannah nodded. Reese spritzed her hair and gently worked the comb through it.

  “When I was really little,” Hannah said, “Mem used to do the braiding. With only Grandfather, Caleb, and Jonah, I don’t get much help with that.”

  “Mem . . . Your mother?”

  She nodded.

  Reese separated the strands, methodically untangling each section. Once again, her heart went out to the girl. Motherless, and the only female in a house full of men who probably didn’t have the least understanding of her, Hannah seemed awkward and unsure of herself.

  “I hope you keep that memory close,” Reese said. “And I hope you have lots of nice memories like that.”

  Hannah offered a slight smile. “I do. Mem wasn’t so gentle, though. For sure she didn’t use the detangler. But she was a regular expert when it came to the braiding, that’s what I always believed. I can still remember what it feels like, her fingers so fast and light on my head, and the braids taking shape like two shiny ropes.”

  “I hope there are women in your community who help out,” Reese said.

  “Oh, yes. Alma Troyer, I work with her on the quilting, and she’s wonderful to me. I’ve been staying at her place while Caleb’s away.”

  Reese furrowed her fingers through the long, golden strands. “Your hair is lovely—so long and thick.”

  Hannah sighed, watching the motion of the comb in the mirror. “It’s never been cut. Sometimes Alma trims up the ends for me, is all.”

  “I had long hair when I was younger,” Reese said. “I’m not sure my mom knows how to braid, though.”

  “I think you’re so pretty,” Hannah said, flashing a shy smile over her shoulder, “even with short hair.”

  “What a nice thing to say. I keep it short now to save time.”

  “Time for what?”

  “For . . . well, everything else,” she said. “Studying and work, mostly. There—we got through all the tangles. Let’s head into the living room. You can have a seat while I try my hand at braiding.”

  While Reese carefully plaited the silky blond hair, Hannah perched on a kitchen stool and perused her bookcases, which were crammed with textbooks and study guides as well as classic novels and the latest bestsellers. “So many books,” she said. “Have you read all of these?”

  “Almost,” Reese said. “I like keeping my favorites close at hand, in case I want to revisit them. Do you like reading?”

  “I love it. There’s a whole world inside a book. In our community, there are rules against reading certain books—the worldly ones—but I’m not sure what the rules are. Uncle Caleb doesn’t restrict what we read, even if it’s not Martyr’s Mirror or Family Life magazine.” She paused. “Mem and Dat used to scold me for reading English books.”

  Reese had no idea what to say about that. She didn’t want to speak ill of the dead, but restricting a kid’s reading choices made no sense at all. “I’m glad you get to read anything you want,” she said. “Do you have a favorite?”

  “No, it’s too hard to choose. I love My Antonia and Little Women. The librarian in Stephensville gives me modern books as well, like The Hunger Games.”

  “Librarians are amazing. Many of the best moments of my childhood were spent between the pages of a story. You can borrow any book you see. I love sharing books.”

  “Thank you. I’d like that.” She got up, selected a novel from the bookcase, and studied the cover. It was Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson. “What’s this one about?”

  “That’s about a high school girl who stopped speaking because she was afraid to talk about something bad that happened to her. I won’t spoil it for you by saying what the something bad was.”

  Hannah put the novel on the table. “Maybe I’ll borrow it.”

  “Sure, of course.” Reese smiled. “You’re more talkative than your uncle.”

  “Am I? Could be that comes from the quilting circle. We talk the whole day long. Uncle Caleb, he’s all day with the horses.” She paused and looked around the apartment. “He was going to leave Middle Grove for good. The only reason he came back was to look after Jonah and me.”

  “You mean he was going to leave the way Leroy did?”

  “Yes.”

  Reese was stunned. He’d had a completely different life in mind for himself but ended up back in the community he wanted to leave. To do what? She was dying to know. She tried to imagine what that would be like—to abandon your plans for the sake of family. Did he accept it? Embrace it? Resent it? Did he think about what his future would have been like if his brother had lived? “He seems devoted to you and your brother,” she said.

  “Yes. He’s so very good to us. And now Jonah is going to need him more than ever. And I . . . well, I’m sixteen now. I’ll be married and away pretty soon, so I won’t be around to help.”

  “Whoa, wait a second. Soon? I hope you mean, like, ten years from now?”

  Hannah smiled, her mouth and cheeks as soft as a child’s. “Where I come from, I’d be considered an old maid. By that age, girls have a home and family of their own to look after.”

  Reese gritted her teeth. Don’t judge. “When I was sixteen, I fell head over heels in love with a boy named Troy Decker. The only thing in the world I wanted was to marry him and have his babies.”

  “Well, that’s a nice thought—going head over heels. But we’re more practical. I want a boy who’s a good provider, a good partner. A good friend.”

  “You’re a lot more grounded than I was at your age.”

  Hannah hesitated, then said, “Caleb, now, he’s not in such a hurry. My grandfather wants him to get baptized and marry Amish.”

  “Is that what your uncle wants?” Reese felt nosy asking, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “I don’t know. Caleb’s not one to talk about wanting things. There’s a girl . . . Rebecca Zook, a neighbor in our community. She wants to marry him. Everybody knows she’s wanted that forever.” She looked up at Reese’s cuckoo clock, a whimsical item Reese had rescued from her grandmother’s estate sale. “When a man wants to marry,” Hannah added, “he gives the girl something practical in nature, like a clock.”

  Reese gave a short laugh. “Seriously? Your uncle mentioned that to me but I didn’t realize it was a thing. It would take more than a clock to win me over.”

  “And then the girl, if she wants to accept him, she makes a sampler for him. It’s an e
mbroidered cloth—she gives that to the man to let him know she wants him.”

  “Because nothing says ‘I love you’ like a tea towel,” Reese said.

  “Oh, you English. You have your own funny ideas about love and marriage, neh?”

  Reese had many more questions about Caleb, but she didn’t want to put Hannah on the spot. “What about you? Do you really want to marry so young? Have a family?”

  Hannah flinched and looked away. “There’s someone special. A boy. Aaron Graber . . . He’s sweet on me.”

  “Are you sweet on him?”

  Hannah’s gaze skated away. “My friend Miriam, she already got her clock. She’s the same age as me. They’ll be courting until she’s eighteen, and then she’ll be baptized and they’ll marry up.”

  “So you’re saying you’d like to be married?”

  Hannah shrugged. “I’d like to be gone.” She spoke in such a low murmur that Reese wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly.

  Reese finished up the braid. “Where would you like to go?”

  “I’m . . . nowhere. It was a silly notion. Middle Grove is my home, the only one I’ve ever known or will ever know. I have another friend who had her first baby last month.” Hannah hugged the thick robe tightly around her middle. “I wouldn’t know what to do about a baby. Such a big, enormous responsibility. Maybe if I was married.”

  “You’re so young. You don’t have to know anything yet. I’m no expert, but I think it’s usually best to take your time when it comes to major life decisions.” Even as she spoke, Reese asked herself if she’d done that—contemplated her path to being a pediatric surgeon. Had she taken her time, or had the decision been made so long ago that she couldn’t remember making it?

  “I’ll have a big think on it.” Hannah absently smoothed her hands over the robe. She seemed flustered by the talk about babies and marriage.

  “Thinking big is good. There are days when I get so busy I forget to do that. Other times, I think so big I give myself a headache.” Reese put away the comb. “Now. What would you like to do tonight? It’s been a long time since I’ve had a sleepover.”