by Susan Wiggs
Hannah’s gaze darted around the place, taking in all the modern electronics and gadgets, which probably seemed bewildering to her. “I don’t rightly know.”
“Have you been to a sleepover before?”
The girl flashed another smile. “I bet it’s nothing like you would imagine.”
“Try me.”
“Ever heard of bundling? That’s when kids have sleepovers together . . . I mean boys and girls together. In the same bed.”
“Seriously? Sounds like a golden ticket to an STD or unwanted pregnancy.”
Hannah’s gaze veered off to the side. “That’s why we bundle—sleep side by side on the same bed, but in bundling bags under different covers. We stay up talking all night. It’s a way to get to know one another.”
“Okeydokey, then. I can’t promise you that level of entertainment, but . . . We could give each other a mani-pedi. Do you know what that is? Have you ever had one?” She held out her woefully neglected hands.
“You mean manicure and pedicure, yes? I’ve never done that. It’s not Plain.”
“Oh. Sorry.” She snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it. Popcorn and a movie. How does that sound? Have you ever seen a movie?”
“No. But I like popcorn.”
“I have the perfect thing in mind,” Reese said in sudden inspiration. “It’s the best movie ever made. We might as well start with the very best.” She picked up the remote and accessed the streaming service. “Brace yourself. I’ll make the popcorn.”
While Reese busied herself in the kitchen, Hannah stared at the big flat screen on the wall, and she didn’t move a muscle as the opening images came up. With the first soft strains of the theme music filling the room in surround sound, the girl sank back onto the sofa, entranced. “What is the name of this movie?”
Reese smiled. “Wait for it.”
The screen lit with the title: The Princess Bride.
When the movie ended, Hannah felt herself melting with emotion so powerful she didn’t know what to call it. The words on the screen rolled upward while a beautiful song drifted from some invisible source. Tears pressed at the backs of her eyes, and she glanced over at Reese to see her swiping at her cheeks.
“Gets me every time,” Reese said, smiling and sniffing.
“I wish we could watch it again,” Hannah said. “It was truly a wonder to behold, like looking at a dream.”
Reese picked up the empty popcorn bowl and took it to the sink. “I agree. It’s late, though, and I’ve got some reading to do for work.”
“All right. Good night, Reese.” Hannah used the bathroom again, just because she could. Back home, she tried to limit her visits to the outhouse, disliking the trek across the yard, the spiders in summer, and the cold in winter. It was a terrible sin of pride to be so enamored of indoor plumbing, but there it was. She liked a hot shower and a flush toilet.
And she deeply loved the movie Reese had watched with her. Settling on the sofa bed with her borrowed linens and pillow, she gazed at the blank screen. Where did the pictures and sounds come from, and where had they gone? Were there other things happening on the screen that weren’t visible until the remote control button was touched?
She wondered if it was like real life, where the people you couldn’t see were still going about their business. She thought about Aaron Graber, trying to picture what he might be doing at a particular moment. Lately, her head was filled with Aaron, Aaron, Aaron.
Did he think about her, too? Did he love her enough to do battle for her heart, the way Wesley did for Buttercup? Did he lie awake at night and relive the moments they’d shared at the singing and the bundling? Was he having regrets about how close they were getting?
She had a think on what Reese had said about the bundling. Had she gone too far a time or two? Moved too close during the cuddling? Other girls had their mothers and big sisters to ask, but not Hannah. There was Alma and the quilting ladies, but Hannah couldn’t imagine bringing up such a personal topic. They weren’t plainspoken about it the way Reese seemed to be. Hannah had to take it on faith that her courtship was a proper one. She wondered if it would lead to marriage. Her friend Ruth was already married. She had a baby, and she was overwhelmed, working all the time. Hannah wasn’t sure she was ready for that.
She sighed, wishing she could see into a boy’s heart the way the movie camera seemed to whenever it focused on a character. Instead, she opened the borrowed book and sank into the story. According to the bishop and to Grandfather, reading was supposed to be strictly confined to devotionals, religious tracts, and the Bible. But Caleb said she should read whatever she wanted and make up her own mind. She loved books of all kinds, and the librarian at the county library was always eager to give her something new.
The borrowed book, Speak, was about kids in high school, which was something Hannah often wondered about. She’d never been to high school, and she didn’t know anyone who had. Girls were expected to help out around the house and farm, learning the crafts and skills necessary to become a wife and mother one day.
That thought swirled around her brain like a bothersome gnat, and mentally she brushed it away. Some of her friends found domestic work keeping house for nearby English families, but that was not an option for Hannah. Grandfather had forbidden her to work in a non-Amish household. Hannah didn’t push back, since she knew very well her cleaning and cooking skills were sorely lacking.
Despite her struggles with all other domestic work, she did have one superpower, as Reese or Jonah would call it. She was the best quilter in town.
Fabric and needlework had always fascinated her. When she was five years old, Mem had given her a pair of faceless rag dolls in typical Plain dress. The dolls were faceless to emphasize the notion that everyone is the same in the eyes of God.
At such a young age, Hannah didn’t have an opinion about that, but she did become obsessed with making clothes for the dolls. With almost no help at all, she pieced together scraps and snippets, ribbons and bows, from Mem’s sewing basket, creating unique outfits for the pair. Grandfather muttered about what a waste of time it was for a girl to labor over doll clothes, but Mem ignored him and encouraged Hannah to keep at it.
And she did, thinking up designs and stitching every night after supper. Even now, years after Mem was gone, needlework made Hannah feel closer to her. At Alma Troyer’s quilt fabrication, she felt valued, a part of something greater than herself. Hand-stitched Amish quilts were popular items at the town mercantile, which was run by Mr. Jolly, who was English but who loved the Amish ways and dealt fairly with the Plain folk. Alma was kind enough to let Hannah design and stitch her own original creations. After mastering the typical starbursts, triangles, rings, and log cabin patterns, she became interested in color and design as a way to express herself. Often, a quilt came to her as if in a dream. And like a dream, it wasn’t orderly and symmetrical.
Hannah’s quilts evolved into free-form bursts of light and shadow, mysterious undulations in the shapes and patterns. There were those in the community who said her designs were scandalous, rich with forbidden colors, much too fancy for a girl in the faith. But others, including Alma, praised Hannah’s diligence and creativity, especially when she stitched hidden messages into the piece. Mr. Jolly called them avant-garde quilts and told the tourists who came to the shop that they were genuine original works of art.
Hannah didn’t know about that or even care. She just knew she was happiest when creating beauty and daydreaming about boys.
Fresh from the shower, Caleb scrubbed his hair dry and had a shave in the steam-filled bathroom of Leroy’s apartment. He could easily get used to a warm shower, that was for sure. He stood looking out the window at the morning. The summer was nearly over, but in the city, the changing of the season didn’t seem to matter the way it did on the farm. Here, people rushed back and forth, going about their business regardless of the weather.
A sense of things undone weighed on his mind. His absence was leaving vital
chores and duties neglected. While he was away, the neighbors were looking after his place in Middle Grove, but that was only temporary. He could count on the Zooks to keep the cows milked and the horses fed. The Haubers would look after the chickens and ducks and crops—for a time. But there were other obligations only Caleb could fulfill—property tax bills, clients needing their bookkeeping, the folks up at Grantham Farm wanting his help with the horses. He was going to have to get back to work soon, but he felt torn. He couldn’t imagine leaving Jonah alone in the city.
Nor could he imagine bringing that broken boy home. Not yet.
And now there was Hannah to worry about. He finished getting ready, putting on his Amish clothes, crisp and clean from the laundry service. Then he knocked at the door to Reese’s place. It opened, and there stood Reese, fresh as the morning. Her dark hair was damp, and she seemed a little breathless, as if she was hurrying or startled. Or both.
That first smile from her flashed like a ray of sunshine. Her gaze flitted over him, eyes widening slightly at the traditional clothes. “Oh, hey. Want some coffee?”
“Thank you,” he said, and stepped inside. She gestured toward the kitchen, and he helped himself to a cup from the electric machine. “Is Hannah ready to go?”
“Almost,” said Reese, stuffing papers and electronic devices and cords into a backpack. “She’s been enjoying a hot shower for, oh, the past forty minutes or so.”
He grinned. “Spoiling her already. Now vinegar won’t save her.”
Another smile from Reese. Another beat of Caleb’s heart. “I think she had a good night,” said Reese. She darted here and there, putting more things in her bag. The woman was almost never still. “Are you taking her to the bus station?”
“I’m taking her back to Middle Grove.”
Reese’s smile wavered. “You are? I see.”
But she didn’t. He could tell. “I’ll be back here as quick as I can. Tonight, if that’s possible. Just doesn’t feel right, leaving Jonah in the city.”
“I understand. It can be a challenge, having to juggle work and family, I imagine.”
“Yes.” If only she knew. His mind cut from the hospital to Grantham Farm to Middle Grove. No way to be in all three places at once.
She stopped rushing around and joined him at the kitchen counter. “From what I can see, Jonah is doing well. They’re keeping him busy almost all day with his therapy sessions. You don’t have to be there every moment.”
She was right. Caleb had already spent many hours at the hospital simply waiting. Jonah was looked after by an ever-changing parade of doctors and therapists, hospital volunteers, nurses, and aides. When he wasn’t working on getting better, he was resting, eating, playing in the lounge, or devouring books.
“I don’t want him to be scared or lonely.”
“Is he scared? Lonely?” she said. “Have you asked him how he feels?”
So simple a question from an English girl. Have you asked him how he feels? In the Amish community, and particularly in the Stoltz family, people didn’t ask about feelings. And they didn’t offer to disclose them. Sometimes Caleb wasn’t sure they even felt them.
“I have not,” he told her. He savored a sip of the hot, smooth coffee. It never turned out this good at home. Neither he nor Hannah had mastered the technique of brewing it in the old speckled enamel stovetop percolator.
“Ask him,” she said.
Caleb shook his head. “It’d confuse him. He’s never known anything but Amish ways.”
“And the Amish don’t talk about their feelings?”
“Not so much. Not directly. We don’t even have a way of saying ‘I love you’ in our language.”
“Seriously?”
He had learned that Reese used “seriously” as a way to demand a further explanation. “Lieve is the word for love, but it’s a thing, not something that happens. A noun, not a verb. A person doesn’t say ‘I love you.’ If he’s backed into a corner by some girl at a singing, he might admit, ‘I have a love for you.’”
“I can’t even get my head around that.”
“Actually, nobody would say that. A fellow might say, ‘I think a lot of you.’”
“Pretty roundabout way of telling someone they’re important,” Reese said.
“I reckon it’s not in the telling,” Caleb said. “But in the doing.”
“Then Jonah knows you adore him,” she stated with confidence. “You’ve been incredibly loyal and attentive.”
Her words settled in Caleb’s heart. He appreciated hearing that. He appreciated her.
“I know you’re worried about taking care of things here and at home,” she said. “Maybe Jonah can manage without you now and then. Sometimes kids worry about their parents a bit too much.”
“You got that right. Jonah, he’s always thinking about other people.”
“When he’s supposed to be focusing on getting better, you don’t want him to worry. Tell you what. I’ll check on him while you’re taking Hannah home,” she said.
The tightness in his chest unfurled with relief. “I’d be obliged, Reese. Thank you.”
Her smile glowed even brighter. “I’m glad to help. Remember that.”
Hannah appeared from the next room, all dressed for the day, though she was missing her kapp. Her eyes were sparkling with excitement. “Good morning, Caleb. I saw the most wonderful thing last night.”
He caught himself looking right at Reese. “Did you, now? And what would that be?”
“It was a movie called The Princess Bride.”
“A movie. And you liked it, then.”
She gave an eager nod. “It’s about a girl named Buttercup. She’s a bride and a princess.”
“Some girls have all the luck.” He grinned at Reese.
Her cheeks turned a pretty color of pink. “I hope it’s all right that we watched a movie.”
“Sure seems like it was all right with Hannah,” he said.
“Oh, yes,” said his niece. “It was the best thing in the whole world. It’s a story about true love. I never knew what true love was like until I saw that movie.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes. I know it’s only a made-up story, but it felt so true in my heart. One of these days, I’m going to find that for myself—the Princess Bride kind of love.” Hannah let out an elaborate sigh. “It’s exactly what love must be like.”
Reese and Caleb exchanged a look.
“Well, let’s find out what a bus ride home must be like,” said Caleb. “We’re going to say goodbye to Jonah at the hospital, and then we’ll go to the station.”
Jonah got himself into the wheelchair. Somebody had parked one out in the hallway, and after Caleb and Hannah had left, he was bored and he wanted to do something. Anything. He was angry, too. Pissed off, one of the kids in Group had called it. Back home, a boy would get a caning for saying pissed off. Not here, though. Here, they let you do stuff and say stuff, probably because the kids in the ward were sick and hurt and scared and everything else.
He unlocked the brakes of the chair and looked up and down the hallway. Nobody seemed to be paying attention. He turned the push ring of the right wheel, and the chair turned. He couldn’t make it go forward, though.
Because he didn’t have an arm on the left side.
He didn’t have an arm. It had been incinerated. Now all he could do was go in circles.
That made him even more pissed off. Pushing with his good arm—his only arm—he made circles in the hallway, over and over again, faster and faster until the sweat ran down his face. Faster and faster until he crashed into a supply cart. Down went the cart with a terrific, satisfying clatter, and stuff went skidding all over the floor of the hallway.
And down went the chair with Jonah in it. He reached out with his imaginary left hand to break his fall. The hand wasn’t there, and his head banged on the floor. A terrible pain screamed through him and he gritted his teeth, his breath chuffing in and out, in and out.
&
nbsp; “Jonah! What happened?” The aide named Tammy came running. She must have pushed a button, because an orderly came right behind her. “Hey now, buddy,” Tammy said. “Let’s get you up and back to bed.”
“I can get up myself,” he said, jerking away from her. He saw her trade a look with the orderly. She sent a message on her device. Jonah scooted away from her. His not-there arm screamed with pain. Phantom pain, they called it. Like that made it easier to take. His arm was a ghost. A ghost that hurt like the devil.
Within a few minutes, Reese showed up. She was breathing hard, as if she’d run all the way. “Looks like you had a little too much fun here,” she said, then turned to Tammy. “How can I help?”
“I don’t need help,” Jonah said.
“Cool,” she told him. “So are you going to sit there on the floor or do you want to get up?”
“I can do it,” he spat.
“Can I watch? This is a teaching hospital, remember?”
He couldn’t get up. It was so embarrassing. He kept losing his balance and plunking back down.
Tammy and the orderly picked up the stuff that had spilled from the cart. Reese sat on the floor beside him. She didn’t offer to help.
Again and again, he tried. But the flaming not-there arm kept making him unbalanced. He was covered in sweat. Breathing through gritted teeth. “Fuck this,” he said. “Fuck it. Fuck all. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” It was the first time he’d said the word aloud. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure what it meant, but he knew it was bad. It was so bad that he sneaked a glance at Reese to see if she was shocked, but she just sat there. Waiting. “Fuck,” he said again.
“That’s actually one of my favorite words,” she said. “It’s pretty rude, but I catch myself saying it all the time. So, remember how I said I know things?”
He didn’t reply. He tried not to listen but couldn’t help himself.
“I know your arm weighed about six pounds, give or take,” she said. “That’s about the weight of a big bag of sugar. That means your center of gravity is a lot different now. You have to learn what they call adaptive techniques. I’m right-handed, like you. So if I put my left arm away as if I don’t have one”—she wound her arm behind her head—“I have to figure out a different way to move.” She rolled around on the floor. Jonah bit the insides of his cheeks to keep himself from smiling.
