I don’t feel the same about her.
She said, “Thanks, but I’m quick. Fresh peas don’t take long to cook, you know.”
Helen asked for help setting the table. Her back to them, Hannah closed her eyes for a moment. She remembered praying that first time she drove a horse and buggy, but now . . . no. She could be nice for her grandparents’ sake. This would be another important memory for Robert: his entire family, sitting around the table, everyone smiling.
Helen helped her husband move to the small dining area, his oxygen tank with him. Hannah placed the hot casserole dish on a pad in the middle of the table, the bowl of peas beside it.
Once they’d all taken their seats, Helen prayed. Hannah had already begun a silent one of her own. Not the Amish Prayer before Meals, but rather the Lord’s Prayer.
Our Father who art in heaven,
hallowed be Thy name.
Thy kingdom come.
Thy will be done
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive those who trespass against us,
and lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.
Oh, yes, she needed the reminder. She greatly feared she’d never feel the same about her mother again, but she had to find forgiveness in her heart.
Chapter Fourteen
Gideon forked a bite of scrambled eggs into his mouth, Zeb and Rebekah doing the same. He swallowed before, without a word, reaching for the saltshaker. Pepper, too, he decided. His scrambled eggs did not taste like Hannah’s. She’d spoiled him. Not only him, he saw, watching his kinder push their eggs around on their plates with an obvious lack of enthusiasm.
Mondays had become his least favorite day of the week, he thought, and not for the first time.
Fortunately, Hannah had baked enough bread Saturday afternoon to keep them until tomorrow. He reached for a buttered slice of toast, certain to be good.
“Daadi?”
He smiled at his daughter. “Ja?”
“I liked seeing Hannah Sunday. Is she Amish now?”
“No, she was only visiting. She has been dressing plain out of respect for Samuel and the rest of her family.”
“And us.” Zeb lifted his chin pugnaciously.
“Ja. And us.” Although he had no idea whether that was true. “You know she only plans to stay for a couple of months. I should start looking for someone to replace her.”
“No!” Tears filled Rebekah’s eyes, and she scrambled off her chair. “I don’t want anyone else! I want Hannah!” She ran for the stairs, her breakfast barely touched.
Gideon shoved back his chair. “Rebekah!”
Upstairs, a door slammed.
He bent a warning stare on Zeb, who resumed eating.
It was a mistake not to go after Rebekah—but her distress was real. She never caused him trouble. Being hungry this morning at school would be consequence enough.
His interest in his own breakfast had waned, but he made himself continue eating. Unlike the kinder, he could slip back to the house for a sandwich after he walked them to school, but he didn’t like to dump food in the compost bin, and there was nothing wrong with what was in front of him.
“Hannah is really going to leave?” Zeb asked in a small voice.
“So she said. She warned me when I hired her that she could only stay for a month or two. You knew that. It’s been a month already.”
“Maybe she changed her mind.”
Gideon wished he felt as hopeful as Zeb sounded.
Maybe he should ask her.
And maybe it would be better if she left soon. He’d never anticipated his kinder getting so attached to her. The feelings she stirred up in him put him in danger of forgetting who and what he was. He couldn’t let those feelings lead him into temptation, even if her generosity, her warmth, her vulnerability, and, ja, her slim, strong body with a woman’s curves had captivated him from the beginning.
“She’s a kind woman and a good cook,” he told his son, “but she’s not one of us. We can’t forget that.”
Zeb nodded, but he didn’t meet his father’s eyes. Instead, he picked up his plate and took it to the sink.
Gideon ended up scraping food from three plates into the kitchen waste container.
* * *
* * *
Zachariah fretful, his cheeks flushed, Lilian picked him up and cuddled him close. “Poor little one,” she crooned, and laid her hand on his forehead. “Ach, he’s getting sick.”
“Just a cold, maybe,” Hannah suggested.
“He has asthma. Usually he’s fine, but whenever he’s sick . . .”
“Is there anything I can do?”
From her seat beside the five-year-old, Lilian looked up. “Will you find Mose? He’ll have to drive the girls to school.”
“Mose’s gone, remember? He’s delivering one of his doghouses.”
Lilian squeezed her eyes shut. “Ja, of course he is, and to Jacob Stutzman, all the way the other side of town.”
Hannah had no idea who that was, but did know that “all the way the other side of town” encompassed another church district, the farthest geographically from her daad’s.
“I can drive them. Daad already harnessed Clover, didn’t he?” The school wasn’t much over a quarter mile past Gideon’s farm. Okay, maybe a half mile.
“Ja, he said he would. Are you sure?”
She couldn’t blame Lilian for the doubt in her eyes. It was the equivalent of an Englisch mother sending her young children off with a sixteen-year-old driver who had only had a learner’s permit for a few weeks.
“I’m sure,” she said steadily. “It’s not that far past Gideon’s. But, oh, you pick up the Graber kinder, too, don’t you? Maybe it would be better if I take care of Zachariah while you go.”
There was a distinct pause before her stepmother said, “No, no, if you’ll drive the girls, I’ll be glad. No need to pick up any other kinder today. I have the girls’ lunches almost ready . . .”
Hannah touched her on the shoulder. “I’ll finish them. Zachariah needs you.”
Samuel hadn’t, as it turned out, backed the mare between the shafts; however, Hannah had been watching him five mornings a week. Clover obligingly did her part, and Hannah was confident she’d fastened everything that needed to be attached.
“Mamm usually takes the other buggy,” Emma commented as they set off.
“Ja, because she has to have room for the boys, too. Mose needed it this morning to haul a big doghouse.”
“Clover knows the way,” Adah assured her.
Hannah laughed and hugged her, knowing she was right. Probably, she didn’t have to do a single thing. The mare would deliver them to the school doorstep, and take Hannah home after.
She was pleasantly surprised not to have a single panic attack during the drive, though two cars went by going the opposite direction and another one passed them.
Clover made the turn onto the hard-packed lane leading to the school. A tall man stepped to one side to let them pass, guiding his kinder to the verge, too. Feeling a quiver of surprise, Hannah waved as Adah and Emma shouted greetings.
The mare came to a neat stop next to another buggy, currently disgorging three kinder. By the time the girls jumped down, Rebekah and Zeb had run the rest of the way.
“Hannah! Why are you here today?” That was Zeb.
“I didn’t eat any breakfast.” Rebekah looked beseechingly at her. “I missed you.”
“I saw you yesterday,” Hannah reminded her. “We sat together for worship and for the fellowship meal.”
The young girl’s lower lip pushed out. “But—”
Having approached unseen, Gideon laid a hand on
her kapp, firmly enough to compress the pleats.
Silenced, Rebekah ducked her head.
Suddenly noticing the bagged lunch forgotten on the floor of the buggy, Hannah called, “Adah!”
Of course, chatty Adah was already in the middle of a group, and Emma didn’t hear Hannah call out, either. She smiled at Rebekah. “Would you take Adah’s lunch to her?”
Rebekah gave the tiniest sniff. “Ja, she’s my friend.”
“I know she is.”
“You’re coming tomorrow, right?”
Very conscious of Gideon’s presence, Hannah said, “I am.”
“Daadi said—”
This time that big hand came to rest on her shoulder. “Not now, Rebekah. See, Tabitha is about to ring the bell.”
The young schoolteacher had indeed appeared on the porch. Several late-arriving kinder trotted past Gideon. The other buggy—Hannah recognized the woman in it, but couldn’t remember her name—circled around in front of Clover and, after a cheerful wave, set off down the lane.
“Would you like a ride?” Hannah asked, feeling a little foolish.
His eyes seemed darker than ever when he looked at her, and creases in his forehead deepened, but then he nodded. “Ja, just down the road. Denke.”
The buggy rocked when he climbed in, taking up more space than the two girls combined. Gideon’s muscular arm brushed her shoulder.
Painfully self-conscious, Hannah twitched the reins, and Clover pulled them in the tight semicircle to reverse direction.
“Rebekah seemed sad,” she said, unable to withstand the silence.
“She wasn’t happy this morning.” He paused. “She didn’t like my scrambled eggs.”
He was speaking English, she realized. Because he didn’t know some of the words?
“Really? There’s not much you can do to ruin them.”
His shoulders tightened, then loosened with a long breath. “They were runny. I should have used more salt.”
“Oh. A little grated cheese can do wonders.” Feta was even better, but she suspected that wasn’t a usual part of the Amish diet.
“I’ll remember that.”
“If you had bread left, you could use it to make French toast. If you add cinnamon—” Hannah throttled the rest of her happy homemaker advice. It occurred to her that he might be using the switch to English, rather than their usual mishmash, to set her at a distance. Or was he just being considerate?
Clover slowed, and Hannah checked both ways to be sure there was no oncoming traffic before they turned onto the paved road. They’d be at Gideon’s driveway in minutes. She knew he’d refuse any offer to take him all the way up to the house.
“She was unhappy for other reasons,” he said suddenly. “We can talk about it tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Hannah had become accustomed to Rebekah’s sunny, willing nature that had increasingly blossomed now that she felt less vulnerable.
“I was surprised to see you this morning.”
“Zachariah looked like he has a fever. Lilian says when he comes down with a cold, he has trouble with asthma.” She had a sudden thought. “He doesn’t go out that often. I hope it wasn’t going around yesterday. A bunch of the kinder might get sick.”
“Ja,” Gideon agreed, with no apparent concern. “It happens.”
Of course it did. Colds and the flu and even measles had roared through the students at schools she’d attended. Those had been among the loneliest times in her life, when she’d been left home alone and sick because her mother couldn’t take time off from her job. The only time she’d been really scared to be alone was when she had the measles. She’d been seriously ill. Mostly, she understood. Mom had to work to get paid so they could buy groceries and pay rent.
That time, though, Mom had had to take her to a walk-in clinic. The doctor had been really annoyed with her mother, who hadn’t kept up with Hannah’s vaccines.
Predictably, Gideon said, “You can let me out here. I need to check phone messages.”
“Oh. Sure.” She reined the mare to a stop.
He didn’t move immediately. “You saw your mother yesterday, didn’t you?”
She let herself meet his eyes. “How can you tell?”
“You’re like Rebekah today.” His answer seemed to disturb him. “Sad, or worried, I don’t know.”
“I took supper to my grandparents last night. She was there.”
“You didn’t know?”
Hannah shook her head. “Grandma and Granddad are mad at her, but she’s their daughter. I understood, even though . . .” She stopped. “For them, seeing her after all these years may be bitter, but also sweet.”
He frowned, but also nodded. “Ja. Have they forgiven her?”
Hannah hadn’t thought of it that way, but seeing the way Robert watched his daughter had almost made her cry.
“I think so. I’m glad they did, for Granddad’s sake.”
“You’re still angry.”
She heaved a sigh. “I am.”
There was the lightest touch on her arm, and then he got out. She turned her head to see a gentle expression on a face more often impassive.
“Forgiveness is necessary, but there are times we all struggle with it,” he said unexpectedly, then turned his back and stepped into the three-sided phone shanty.
Deciding to follow his example, she skipped the whole “goodbye, I’ll see you in the morning” thing, instead clicking at Clover. A few strides later, the mare achieved her usual smooth trot.
* * *
* * *
Gideon disliked feeling indecisive, a state that had come and gone ever since he’d pushed aside his doubts and hired Hannah. Now that he knew her so much better, he was even more confused.
Until yesterday morning, he had let himself almost forget that Hannah was here temporarily. The reminder was best; he and the kinder had grown too comfortable with her, letting themselves need her in a way that could leave them bereft when she left.
He should press her for an end date so that they could prepare themselves, yet he didn’t want to. He hadn’t asked around about any young woman—or older one, a widow—who might step in when Hannah was gone. He dreaded the many irritations he’d felt with his previous employees, and worried especially about Rebekah.
Walking from the barn to the house for lunch on Tuesday, anticipating a good meal, he did battle with his reluctance to find out how little time they had left . . . even as he suspected it would be just as well, for many reasons, if her remaining time were cut short.
Hearing him come in, Hannah looked over her shoulder. He wasn’t sure her bright smile reached her eyes.
“We’re mostly having cold foods. I’ve never paid that much attention to temperatures before, but, wow, it’s really starting to get hot out there.”
Gideon hung his hat on the wall. “Ja, for May. Nothing compared to July and August.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m used to air-conditioning in my apartment, my car, and the restaurant, not to mention all the stores.”
He didn’t know what to say. He did shop in stores in town that were air-conditioned, but for him stepping from the hot sun into an icy temperature was a shock, not that pleasant.
By the time he returned from splashing water on his face and neck, and scrubbing his hands and forearms, Hannah had set two places at the table and put out the usual array of serving dishes.
She’d made a cold potato salad today as well as a cucumber salad, also serving applesauce and sliced ham and cheese for sandwiches. The only hot dish was one he didn’t recognize. He’d never seen a sauce that was green.
This wasn’t the first time she’d tried new dishes with them. On a Saturday, they’d had tacos, refried beans, and spiced rice. That one hadn’t been so strange, as there was often a taco stand at street fairs and mud sales. He, Zeb,
and Rebekah had all loved her spaghetti with meatballs, and even an eggplant Parmesan she’d served with what she called tortellini soup.
They bent their heads in prayer. When that was over, he dished up the potato salad and a spoonful of the unfamiliar dish.
“That’s, um, a Thai green curry. I just thought I’d keep experimenting.”
She watched somewhat anxiously as he took a bite of the vegetables coated in the sauce. Gideon tried to hide his reaction, but could tell from her face that he’d failed.
“So much for that!” she said, too brightly. “Don’t worry, I won’t make it again.”
“I’m sorry—”
She jumped to her feet to grab the coffeepot and whisked the bowl holding the green curry to the counter. “I don’t know what got into me. You notice I didn’t try it on the kids. I’m sure you’ll be happier to hear that I also made my first ever shoofly pie,” she told him as she poured his coffee. “I hope it’s good.”
“I haven’t eaten anything you’ve ever made that wasn’t good.”
“Until now,” she said ruefully.
“I might be able to get used to this Thai curry.”
“Why do that?”
Gideon couldn’t think of an answer. After a while, she asked whether he was pleased with Tabitha as a teacher.
“This is only her second year, but from what I’ve seen and the kinder tell me, ja. She’s strict, but good with praise, and seems to know when the students are getting restless. She takes them for walks to collect leaves or seed pods to learn what grows around us, and borrowed a telescope from an Englisch neighbor so that one night the kinder could look more closely at the stars. When a student has a special interest, she brings books from the library.” Which had gotten her into trouble a few times; the school board chairman, an unimaginative, strict man, had been unhappy that she’d fostered Paul Fisher’s interest in medicine or Katie Wagler’s in art. Gideon had heard talk that the Fisher boy wanted to be a paramedic or even a doctor, either of which would take him away from the Leit, but Gideon didn’t think encouraging reading was necessarily a bad thing. Paul could use some of the skills of a paramedic as a volunteer firefighter, which many of the Amish were. Anyway, interests changed.
Finding Hope Page 16
