Even though her eyes still sparkled with tears while she crossed the parking lot, she felt both chided and grateful. She had found her grandfather in time to get to know him. He’d learned that his daughter and granddaughter weren’t dead, as he had believed; he had seen them both again. When his time came, she had to believe he would have less to regret than he’d had before she came to Tompkin’s Mill.
How foolish to wish for more than that.
* * *
* * *
After lunch on Tuesday, Hannah went straight out to weed the garden and decide what she could pick for dinner. A few cucumbers were ready, and she thought a first batch of peas, plus enough greens for a good salad. She was especially excited about the peas.
She’d straightened to stretch her back and ease her shoulders when she heard a horse and buggy coming up the driveway.
Gideon was cutting wood in the treed corner of his land, and splitting it for winter, he’d told her during lunch. He made a point every morning and afternoon of making sure she knew where to find him, should there be an emergency. She’d nodded pleasant understanding, sticking to her new determination to be professional.
If her heart ached sometimes . . . well, confusion was probably inevitable given the nature of this job.
She stood, swiped at the dirt on the knees of her jeans, dropped her leather gloves on her bucket, and went to meet the visitor.
A woman was driving the small, open-fronted buggy. She reined her horse to a stop at the hitching post near the house and got out, seeing Hannah.
“Hello!” she called before tethering the horse, which had already cocked one hip and appeared ready to sink into somnolence. The air was still and warm enough to encourage thoughts of a nap.
The hello had been spoken in English, which meant the visitor already knew who she was.
Hannah got close enough to greet her, seeing a woman she thought was a little older than her—early thirties, at a guess—with deep auburn hair and a complexion that should be creamy but had a hint of tan. Her nose was pink—as, Hannah feared, was her own.
She introduced herself, saying, “I guess you know Gideon hired an Englisch woman to take care of his kinder and home. And garden,” she added, to explain the dirt stains.
The woman chuckled, continuing to speak in English with no trace of an accent. “I do know. I’m Julia Bowman. I was born and raised Englisch, too. I converted only a couple of years ago, and married an Amishman.”
Hannah was afraid her mouth had fallen open. From what she’d been able to learn, that was incredibly rare. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did that happen?”
Julia smiled. “Do you have time to visit?”
“Of course I do. Please, come in. I made lemonade earlier.”
“Let me just get the baby.”
To Hannah’s surprise, a baby seat rested on the floor of the buggy. Seeing his mammi bending over him, the little boy in it let out a squawk, then began babbling to her as she released the buckle and lifted him out.
“Oh, he’s darling.” Hannah stepped closer, entranced by the bright blue eyes and a smile that conveyed wonder and delight.
“We think so.” Julia kissed him on the cheek. “I suspect he won’t keep the blue eyes, since mine are brown, but you never know. Meet Nathan Bowman.”
“Hi, Nathan.” She glanced up at Julia. “How old is he?”
“Six months.”
They went into the house, where Julia took a seat at the kitchen table, Nathan on her lap. Hannah produced a set of measuring spoons for him to shake and bang on the tabletop. Then she poured lemonade for the two adults.
“Does he drink out of a cup yet?”
“Not quite. I’m still nursing him—and may I say, these dresses aren’t very well designed for that—but the last month or six weeks, we’ve started supplementing my milk with oatmeal and applesauce.” She shook her head. “I swear, he’s always hungry.”
“A foretaste of his teenage years, from what I hear.”
Julia rolled her eyes. “My mother-in-law tells me Luke and his brother outgrew clothes faster than she could sew them.”
“Oh! Can I ask you some questions about that? After you tell me about yourself.”
Julia laughed and began talking. Her brother was the Tompkin’s Mill police chief, and she’d come to visit, decided she liked the town, and gotten a job. “With Bowman and Son’s Handcrafted Furniture,” she said mischievously.
Hannah laughed. “I gather the ‘son’ is your husband?”
“Yes. He and his daad, Eli, make spectacular furniture. When I first started working there, I’d sneak around stroking dresser tops and whisking drawers in and out just for the sensual pleasure of it. I’d never in a million years have been able to afford to buy any of it. But guess what?”
“You own some now.”
“Bowman and Son’s doesn’t make cradles—there’s another Amish furniture maker in town who does—but Luke made an exception for Nathan’s. He chose cherrywood, and the finish is so silky, the lines graceful.” She sighed. “I’ll hate having to put it away for a crib, but Nathan is thinking about pulling himself to his feet.”
She went on to tell Hannah more about her life once she’d moved here; she’d found herself increasingly drawn to the Amish for the sincerity of their faith and their unshakable belief in forgiveness. “And, of course, I toppled into love with Luke, practically from the day I started to work for him and Eli. He felt the same, but tried to keep his distance from me because I wasn’t Amish.”
That sounded painfully familiar to Hannah, at least from her side. Was there any chance Gideon was distancing himself from her because he was tempted even though she was an Englischer?
Fat chance.
There was more to Julia’s story; Luke had spent over a decade out in the Englisch world himself, getting a college degree, working in the software field, before choosing to give up everything he’d achieved, come home to be baptized, and return to woodworking with his father.
“He had a daughter, too. Mine now, of course. Speaking of darlings. Abby is five, not yet in school, so I left her at a friend’s house. She went from barely speaking to becoming a motormouth.”
“A blabbermaul,” Hannah said with a grin.
“Ja.” Julia smiled back at her.
Nathan was getting restless, so Hannah found a few more kitchen implements and a stuffed animal from Rebekah’s room that he could play with. A piece of dry bread, part of a few slices she’d intended to crumble atop scalloped potatoes, for him to gnaw on, too. Julia bounced him on her knee, too, and answered every time he sounded chatty.
“So,” she said, “I’ve heard about you, born and raised Amish but taken away by your Englisch mother.”
Hannah readily told some of her story, and her struggle to forgive her mother for letting her think she had no other family. “Her father, my grandfather, has congestive heart failure. I doubt he has more than a few months left, if that. Just Sunday, I had an attack of fury because Mom had stolen the chance from both of us to know each other while he was still healthy.” She sighed. “I had to remind myself that we’re both blessed to have this time, however short it turns out to be.”
“That’s definitely a blessing,” Julia agreed. “I do hope we can become friends. Samuel is a lovely man, and Lilian has been really good to me. You may be here only for a visit, but I assume you’ll keep visiting in the future.”
“Of course I will. My father and stepmother and my half sisters and brothers have welcomed me so generously, I feel at home. In fact—” She hesitated, then went ahead and told Julia about the unnerving speed with which she was learning the language. “I think it’s like taking a lid off a boiling pot. The vocabulary, even the sentence structure, is rising like steam, as if I’ve always known Deitsh.”
“Which you did.”
She no
dded.
Within half an hour, Hannah felt as if, for the first time in her life, she had a best friend. Their reasons for being split between an essentially Englisch self and an Amish self were different, but they understood each other. Julia talked about the decision to give up her former life despite opposition from her parents and brother, about the hard transition softened by her husband’s understanding and love, the generosity of his family, and her own increasing belief her choice had been right for her.
“I’m here anytime you want to talk. I’d encourage you to attend a church service, to help you understand the Amish.”
“I plan to come to the next one.” She looked down at herself and wrinkled her nose. “Not wearing jeans.”
Julia chuckled. “Probably best not to. You know, I might still have the dress I made for my first time. Unless you have something suitable—”
“The best I can do right now is a few casual skirts.”
“I’ll look for it, then. Or have you considered dressing plain while you’re staying with your Amish family?”
Hannah opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. “I . . . sometimes I’ve thought, but . . .” She tried to untangle her thoughts. “It’s true I’m always conscious of sticking out like a sore thumb. But . . . wouldn’t that be, I don’t know, presumptuous? I mean, everyone knows I’m not Amish.”
“I didn’t wear Amish dress until I made the decision to convert,” Julia said thoughtfully, “but you’re different. You’re Samuel’s daughter, born Amish. I have the impression you’ve been trying hard to fit in, so why not dress as we do, too?”
Was fitting in what she’d been trying to do? Or had she been striving to . . . oh, be invisible, so no one would mind her being here? She’d done a lot of that in her life, hoping to please the various men along the way with her cooking and go unnoticed the rest of the time.
Or were her goals since she came to Tompkin’s Mill, the sense of longing she couldn’t shake, more complicated than wanting to be liked and, yes, to belong in her daad’s household?
“I’m the only Englisch woman delivering kinder to school or picking them up,” she heard herself say.
“You don’t drive them, I assume?”
“In my car? Heavens, no! I never even suggested it. I feel sure Gideon—do you know him?”
“Not well, but he’s in our church district, so I see him around. He tends to look stern until he’s talking to one of his kids. Then he’s tender, and has a wonderful smile.”
Hannah hoped she didn’t sound as rueful as she felt when she admitted she’d noticed. “He’s been easy to work for. I was a chef, and I think he’s really happy with my cooking.”
“Then he’s luckier than Luke.” Julia made a face. “I was a quilter. I sew well, although the restrictions on what the Amish in any particular district wear doesn’t leave much—actually, any—room for innovation. I guess I’m an adequate cook, but nothing I make ever comes close to being as good as my mother-in-law’s food.”
Hannah raised her eyebrows. “If you have time, maybe we should trade some lessons. I can thread a needle and sew a button back on, but that’s about it. Unfortunately, Zeb, Gideon’s boy, desperately needs new clothes. His wrists and ankles are sticking out, and he’s put holes in the knees of every pair of pants he owns.”
“And they don’t have female relatives here, do they?”
“No. I’m not sure why they moved away from family. Gideon hasn’t been quite that communicative.”
“I haven’t heard, either,” Julia assured her. “I gather it’s something he doesn’t like to talk about. I think everyone assumed he’d remarry once he was settled here, but he hasn’t showed interest in any of the maidals or single women who throw themselves at him.”
“He may still be mourning.”
“Maybe.” Julia sounded doubtful. “From a practical standpoint, though, it’s not easy for an Amishman to be a single parent, particularly one who doesn’t have family nearby to step in.”
“No.” Hannah thought of all the tasks she’d picked up that weren’t in the original job description. “I hate the idea of leaving Zeb and Rebekah. I know the last woman who worked here didn’t give them even close to the attention they need. I’m seeing them blossoming. It’s really hard not to let myself get more attached to them than I should.”
Hannah thought to bring out the gingerbread cookies she’d frozen Saturday and defrosted this morning so she had something to send with the school lunches. She planned to bake a streusel cake this afternoon, but Gideon had seemed happy with the cookies at lunch, even though she was able to tell from the diminished quantity that he and the kids had eaten some on Sunday and Monday as well as for Saturday supper.
Julia swallowed her first bite, her expression blissful. “I think these are at least as good as Luke’s sister Miriam makes, and she’s famous for her cookies. Not that she lets herself get prideful, you understand.”
“Of course not.” They grinned at each other again.
“I should let you get back to work.” Julia sounded regretful. “I need to start thinking about dinner. But what if I come, oh, tomorrow or Thursday again? I’ll see if I can find fabric and buttons so we can get started making shirts and pants for Zeb. And I’ll bring that dress, if I still have it.”
Hannah asked tentatively, “How would I go about getting an Amish dress and apron and kapp, if I decide I should wear them when I’m here?”
“Scissors, fabric, thread. But I’ll tell you what. You and I are close to the same height. And build, too, although I still haven’t gotten rid of the baby pudge. Anyway, I’ll bring one of my outfits for you to try, if you don’t mind clothing someone else has worn.”
“Of course not.” They smiled at each other again. “Either day. Any day. And I’ll plan something for us to cook together that you can take home and reheat.”
The hug they exchanged saying goodbye was heartfelt on both sides, Hannah believed.
Chapter Eleven
The next afternoon, shortly after Gideon disappeared to the barn to harness his team of massive horses, Julia Bowman arrived again, this time with another woman.
Pretty, blond and pregnant, Miriam Miller was Luke’s sister, Hannah learned, just married last fall. She, too, was a quilter, and still worked at the fabric and quilt shop in town.
Hearing that surprised Hannah. She hadn’t known any married Amishwomen held jobs. When she said something, Julia told her she, too, had worked well into her pregnancy.
“And, while it’s not common for married women raising a family to hold outside jobs, many do bring in income by selling quilts, honey from their beekeeping, garden plants they’ve raised from seed . . . I know several women who sell baked goods to the bakery or one of the cafés in town. Essentially, they hold part-time jobs. And many widows take over their husbands’ businesses, or start their own.”
“I’ve held a job for eight years now,” Miriam put in. “Although I have given my notice.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m almost six months along, and it’s getting harder to be on my feet all day. I’d like more time to sew baby clothes, too.” She grinned. “Today, we’ll practice on older-boy clothes.”
They started by slicing the seams on one of Zeb’s more worn pairs of pants, using the pieces as a pattern—after adding Hannah’s estimate of how much extra room, and especially extra length, he needed—to cut out the several yards of sturdy fabric that Miriam had brought along. There was plenty here for three or more pairs of pants.
She spoke English almost as fluent as Julia’s, but with a slight accent and the occasional difference in sentence structure Hannah had noticed from Gideon’s speech as well as Samuel’s.
When Hannah was nosy enough to ask about her fluency, Miriam explained, “Just because I’ve worked at businesses in town for so long, dealing mostly with Englisch customers. My mamm hasn’t worked out of th
e home, and her English isn’t so good.” She gave a sidelong, teasing look at Julia. “Although Mamm’s English has improved now that Sheriff Durant comes around so often.”
Julia’s brother, Hannah reminded herself. She learned that Nick Durant was particularly fond of Deborah Bowman’s cooking.
As the afternoon went on, the three women took turns entertaining Nathan—Hannah thoroughly enjoyed cuddling him—and made great progress on the pants.
Julia had also, as promised, loaned her a loose-fitting, calf-length dress Hannah could wear to the church service. In addition, she’d brought an Amish dress, in a shade of green that Hannah knew would be a perfect color for her, as well as an apron and filmy white kapp.
Hannah hadn’t decided how she felt about actually wearing this dress, but decided there was no harm in her trying it on. She hadn’t expected to need a lesson in how to get dressed, but discovered she was wrong.
First, there was the fact that Amishwomen didn’t wear bras.
Then, she learned the dress was fastened with straight pins rather than buttons or Velcro or any other sensible innovation from the last few decades. Or the last centuries. As she struggled with a pin, she said, “But why?”
The other two giggled. Julia grimaced at her sister-in-law. “Miriam says it is part of the Amish determination to avoid modern improvements that make life too easy—unless, of course, they’re something really helpful, like diesel generators or modern appliances. ‘Enter by the narrow gate,’ ” she quoted, “ ‘for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and there are many who go in by it.’ ”
Hannah laughed and finished the verse. “ ‘Because narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it.’ I was just thinking about that the other day.” She looked ruefully down at the puckered seam she’d just pinned. “This is not what I was thinking.”
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