What could Gideon say but, “Ja, come along.” The boy carried a lunch pail, so his mother had gotten that far. But should she be left alone, her sick and her other kinder so young?
No, he decided, and took the time to detour to Isaac Miller’s house on the same property. When he knocked, it was Enoch’s grossmammi, Judith, who came to the door. Enoch rushed to tell her the tale, too, and she shook her head in dismay.
“Ach, she should have sent you over to let me know! I’ll just turn off the stove and go right away.”
Of course, Gideon offered to pick the kinder up, as well, an offer Judith accepted. He worried about Susan all day, and was relieved when he brought Enoch home to have Judith come out to the porch to say, “Feeling better, Susan is. Denke, Gideon.”
His kinder were quieter than usual, but not seeming distressed. When he asked about school, Rebekah told him about reading aloud and how she hadn’t stumbled over a single word, but Zeb only mumbled, “It was okay.”
Tomorrow would be better, Gideon couldn’t help thinking, because Hannah would be here.
That turned out to be so, Zeb telling her enthusiastically over supper about the big fish he’d caught all by himself, and how he and his daad had caught several others, but Rebekah had only watched. “They tasted so good,” he declared.
Rebekah pouted. Gideon caught Hannah’s eye and grinned. As sometimes happened, she looked startled and then blushed, which gave him a gross feelich—ja, a big feeling—in his chest.
He made a point after that of being careful not to meet her eyes. And even though he knew he should ask when she intended to leave, he didn’t. The week was good; he hoped the gossip about Leah’s death was past.
Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, he reminded himself. It seemed as if the Lord was nudging him to put aside his worries about the future. He could do that—at least until tomorrow.
Chapter Twenty
David and Miriam Miller were to hold church this coming Sunday. Grumbling that she wished she’d known in advance so she could take a day to help, Hannah baked up a storm on Saturday so at least she could contribute in this way. Poor Miriam, pregnant, and having to scrub every inch of her house and probably the barn, too, Hannah told Gideon.
Amused at her fussing, Gideon reminded her that both David and Miriam had large families. “I doubt any of the women let Miriam lift a finger.”
“Oh, because—” She stopped.
He gazed blandly at her. “Because?”
Hannah wrinkled her nose. “You know perfectly well.”
“You will be there tomorrow?” he asked, the question careful, as if he really wanted to know.
“Certain sure.” She narrowed her eyes. “Half the food might not make it out of this house if I weren’t there to notice.”
He laughed. “But then what will we eat Monday?”
She pretended to look grumpy. “I kept back some bread, and bacon muffins, and split pea soup you can warm, and a funnel cake. Oh, and those gingerbread cookies you like so much, too. You won’t starve.”
He suspected he would also find a full meal or two in the refrigerator, labels affixed to the lids that told him what was inside and how to warm it. Hannah took care of them even when she wasn’t here.
Gideon hated imagining the day when she was truly gone. He only wished her cooking was what he’d miss most.
He would look for a good-natured, older widow this time, he decided, even if she were slower moving. Amishwomen learned to cook from the time they were kinder, as Rebekah had begun to do. He would live without meals that had Hannah’s special touch. He could only hope that Rebekah had learned about some of the spices and different ways of cooking from Hannah.
Although nothing would replace Hannah herself.
His mood was dark when he finished harnessing her mare and saw her horse and buggy receding down the lane. Reminding himself that she would be there tomorrow didn’t help.
For at least the hundredth time, he told himself he shouldn’t have hired an Englischer . . . although how could he have guessed that she would knock down all his defenses and leave him open to feelings that endangered everything he was? He didn’t understand himself. As shocked as he’d been at losing Leah in such a way, how could he have allowed himself to care so much about a woman who would always be anchored in the Englisch world, whatever decision she made in the coming weeks?
Yet it seemed every time he turned around he was reminded of everything she’d done for his family. Sunday morning was one of those moments; he was pleased to see how well dressed his kinder were. One more improvement in all of their lives. Hannah had finished the new dress and apron for Rebekah, who had rushed down from getting dressed to twirl to show him. His own father would have chided her for vanity. Gideon only smiled.
“That looks very fine. I was starting to think you’d soon be wearing those short skirts, like the Englischer teenage girls do.”
She giggled. “That’s ’cause I’m growing, Daadi!”
“Ja, I have noticed. I hope Hannah has time to make you another new dress.”
“She says she will. She’s sewing another pair of pants for Zeb right now. ’Cause he’s growing even more.”
“That’s true,” he agreed. “Boys do that.” He opened the refrigerator, hoping by some chance Hannah had made one of her breakfast casseroles, and there it was. He toasted slices of the lemon–poppy seed friendship bread, smiling when he remembered her teasing that he wouldn’t want to bring anything she’d baked to share. In truth, he liked having such good food to offer; he’d rarely been able to make any contribution to the fellowship meal until Hannah started working for him.
Once he and the kinder had eaten, he shook his head when Rebekah jumped up to clear the table. “You don’t need to get spots on your new dress before you even leave the house. While I clean up, will you gather everything Hannah made for the fellowship meal? Zeb, go to the cellar for a basket or two.”
Zeb looked just as fine in his new shirt and pants. He and Gideon both put on their best straw hats. Gideon had a suspicion that Zeb’s new clothes would not look the same by the time they came home. How could a boy play baseball without sliding into base, diving for a ball, or getting hit by a pitch? He only hoped Hannah would see the two before the service.
As it happened, they arrived shortly after Samuel, Lilian, and their younger kinder in the family sedan, and Mose and Hannah in the small buggy she drove to his house five days a week.
She saw them, beamed, and hurried to hug Rebekah.
Gideon smiled at her and asked if she’d like to inspect the baskets to be sure they hadn’t forgotten anything.
She laughed at him and said, “No, I trust you.” Her smile quickly died, and she continued to study him as if perplexed. At last, she said, “I do,” so softly he thought he was the only one to hear her.
When he turned away, it was to find himself almost face-to-face with Bishop Troyer, who had raised his brows as his gaze moved from Gideon to Hannah and back.
Fortunately, Hannah was admiring the new clothes and praising Rebekah for stitching one long seam all by herself.
Zeb said, “Can I go ahead, Daad?”
The moment Gideon gave his okay, Zeb broke into a run.
Hannah shook her head, smiling at Amos. “He is so hard on his clothes.”
Amos unbent enough to smile in return. “Maybe you should teach him to sew up rips. He might be more careful.”
She just chuckled. “When he’s playing or working, he shouldn’t have to worry about his clothes.”
“Nancy mended many tears while we raised our kinder.”
“I’m sure—oh! I abandoned Lilian.” She rushed away. “Adah, I can take that, it’s too heavy for you.”
Rebekah chased after her.
“As much energy as your Zeb,” Amos commented, as the two men started walkin
g. “Hannah and Rebekah.”
“Ja, I’ve begun to wonder whether I have gray hairs and just haven’t noticed them.”
Amos smiled, but said nothing. Gideon braced himself.
“I think if Hannah was Amish, you might consider marrying her,” the bishop remarked after a minute.
Gideon wanted to lie, but couldn’t bring himself to do that, and to Amos of all people. “Ja,” he said, “but I haven’t forgotten that’s not possible. There has been nothing between us you wouldn’t want to see.”
“It might still be best if she leaves soon,” Amos said gently.
“She hasn’t said how long she means to stay,” Gideon admitted. “Not since I first hired her. I don’t know what she’s thinking.”
“Does she still see her mother?”
“Ja, but not often. At church last Sunday, she said, but briefly. I think she’s still too hurt to want to visit.”
“Perhaps I’ll talk about forgiveness today,” Amos said thoughtfully. “Will she understand me?”
The two men had reached the open ground between the house and barn, where most people had gathered. “Sometimes she’ll ask for a word,” Gideon answered, “but she is close to speaking Deitsh like one of us.”
“Well. I should join Josiah and Ephraim. But I must counsel you to be careful.” Amos nodded once and walked away
Roiling inside, Gideon joined a group of men his age, including Luke and David.
* * *
* * *
Moved by the service but also flushed with anger, Hannah looked for Gideon among the men carrying the benches out of the barn and setting them up for the meal. She didn’t like to be the bearer of bad tidings, but he needed to be warned before he overheard the talk himself.
There he was, taller than most of the other men and with a beard darker than was common, too. She saw him turning his head in search of his kinder, spotting Zeb with a group of boys, and Rebekah, who was solemnly placing a platter with sliced bread on one of the makeshift tables.
But Gideon continued to scan the gathering until he saw Hannah. For an instant, he was all she saw, his face stern enough to seem harsh, except she’d learned that he was harder on himself than on the people he loved.
Hannah started toward him. Between the broad brim of his hat and his beard, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but he waited until she reached him.
“Hannah.”
Reasonably sure no one else was within earshot, she said urgently, “I overheard some women talking in the kitchen.”
His mouth tightened. “What did these women say?”
“Nothing new, but one lowered her voice and said her sister wrote that everyone knew that ‘his’ wife liked the bottle too much, so it was no wonder she was in the car with a drunk when the accident happened. And that . . . that those two women killed a boy, too. Englisch, not Amish, but still, she said.”
Gideon’s dark eyes bored into hers. “Did the woman see you?”
“No. I quit listening and hurried out. Gideon, how can they talk like that? And even if it was all true, why would they? It’s hateful!”
He tore his gaze from hers and looked away. “I don’t know. But if they’re still talking, their kinder will be, too.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. No.” She scowled. “It’s unkind for your sake, too. I should have stepped in and told them.”
“An Englischer, telling them what to think?”
She recoiled, both from his scathing tone and the dislike she swore she saw on the face he turned back to her. “You’re right,” she choked out and started to back away. “I probably shouldn’t have told you. It’s nothing to do with me.”
“No!” he exclaimed. “Hannah, my anger is at them, not you. If Rebekah will be crying when she comes home from school Tuesday, it does have to do with you.”
She stopped, a lump still stuck in her throat. Her gaze dropped to his big, powerful hands, curled into fists.
He looked down, too, seeing what she had, and deliberately relaxed his hands. “Don’t be afraid of me.”
“I’m not.” That, she could say almost steadily. “I’ve never seen you violent, even when you’re angry.”
His eyes closed. For some absurd reason, Hannah noticed how thick his black lashes were. He rolled his shoulders, then opened his eyes. “Did you know who these women were?”
She hesitated. “Not all. And several of the women in the kitchen were listening but not saying anything. They may have disapproved.”
“But they didn’t say, ‘Enough of this talk.’ ”
“They may have after I left.”
His grunt told her what he thought about that.
Naming names made her feel like a tattletale, but she hadn’t like the speaker’s avid tone.
“I think her name is Ava.”
If his expression could grow any grimmer, it did then. “Ava Kemp is Bernice’s mother.”
“Oh.”
“I hardly know her husband, Willard. He’s a butcher. Also the man you call if you need a dead animal hauled away.”
She didn’t quite shudder, but his mouth relaxed at her expression.
“You don’t approve?”
Hannah made a face at him. “I’m squeamish, that’s all. Um . . . I don’t suppose you know the word.”
“I think I can guess.”
Was that a smile? No, it couldn’t have been.
He bent his head toward the tables, where men had begun to take seats for the meal. “I’ll ask Luke what he knows about the Kemps, and then talk to Amos again, but maybe not today.”
“No, but . . .”
“But?”
“You might talk more to Zeb and Rebekah, so they aren’t surprised.”
“Telling me what to do again?”
Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean that—”
“You’re right.” He nodded. “I’ll do that.”
And, in that infuriating way he had, Gideon left her without a backwards glance.
* * *
* * *
Gideon waited until the women were eating, Rebekah beside Hannah, and the men gathered in groups to talk before he sought out Luke Bowman. He caught Luke’s eye and didn’t even have to ask if they could talk privately. Luke eased himself out of the cluster and came to Gideon.
“Something’s wrong.”
“Ja, you could say that.” He paused. “You heard some of the talk about my wife’s death.”
Luke’s face hardened. “I did. There’s no excuse for it.”
“I went to Amos, and he spoke to the parents of the kinder gossiping at school.”
Luke waited, his blue eyes keen.
“Jacob and Claudia Schwartz brought their daughter to apologize to my kinder. They said they aren’t the source of the rumors.”
“I wouldn’t expect them to be. Have the other parents apologized?”
“No, although it’s been quiet at school. The Schwartz girl plays with the younger kinder instead of following what the older ones say to do.”
“That’s good.”
Gideon sighed. “Hannah told me she just heard Ava Kemp in the kitchen throwing around the same report. Ava’s sister wrote to her saying that ‘everyone’ knew my wife was at the bottle all the time, that it was no wonder she was killed in a drunk-driving accident.”
Luke frowned. “She wouldn’t have driven a car, would she?”
Gideon told him what had happened. “If ‘everyone’ saw Leah drunk, or ever taking a drink of alcohol, I must have been blind. Either Ava’s sister didn’t like Leah for some reason I can’t understand, or she just enjoys stirring up trouble.” He made a sound in his throat. “I don’t even know who Ava’s sister is.”
Luke scratched his jaw. “This is just between you and me.”
Gide
on nodded.
“Ava is a couple of years older than me, if I remember right. She wasn’t well liked, even as a girl. Learned from her mother, probably, because my mother told me once that Phoebe had a nasty tongue. From what I’ve heard, Ava got worse after marrying Willard. There are those who say—” He grimaced. “Here I am, passing on possibly unfounded rumor, but this is a common one. I’ve heard from several people that Willard has a temper.”
“He hits his wife.”
“So it’s said. Daad told me that while I was away, Amos put Willard under the meidung. He had to confess to all the members to be forgiven and reinstated.”
Shunning meant his wife couldn’t sleep with him, or hand him dishes at the table. Stunned, Gideon thought how humiliating the confession would be, and not only for Willard. David Miller had fled to the Englisch world for six years after a tragedy, and had been required to confess before the brethren about punching a man and serving a term in jail, but that would be nothing compared to admitting that you hit your wife.
Trying to be charitable, Gideon said, “Perhaps Willard learned his lesson.”
Luke shrugged. “I don’t know, but Ava is always at worship now, no one having to make the excuse that she’s sick or fell and bumped her head.”
Gideon blew out his breath. “I don’t want to ask Amos to speak to her again, but I think I must. Not for my sake, but for the sake of my kinder. It’s most likely Ava and Willard’s daughter Bernice who started the talk at school, because she heard it from her parents . . . or maybe only her mamm, I don’t know.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, who were the other parents?”
“Mathias and Lois King. Although Zillah didn’t believe their son, Yonnie, was very interested in any rumors he passed on. Just friends with Bernice, I guess, and some other girl named Emmie.”
“I wonder, sometimes, how many of the Leit don’t listen to the sermons or scriptures when we worship,” Luke said wryly.
“And do they read the Bible at home? Or pray?”
Luke shook his head. “For Ava, passing on spicy gossip was probably exciting. As far as I know, she has no interests outside her home. She doesn’t keep bees and sell honey, or quilt, or make and sell cider from their apples, or have a vegetable stand.”
Finding Hope Page 23
