When Hannah exclaimed, “Here’s your daadi,” the kinder didn’t act as if they heard the same false note he did. Rebekah ran to him for a hug, but stopped short, looking horrified.
“Daadi, what happened to you?”
Before he could answer, Hannah shook her head in dismay. “I always thought bobcats were shy, but today one jumped out of a tree onto him. Your father wrestled with it.” She sighed. “And now I have to figure out how to cook bobcat meat. Maybe a stew?”
Both kinder stared from her to him in shock.
She burst out laughing. “I think it was a tree that attacked your daadi.”
“Not a bobcat?” Zeb sounded disappointed.
“No bobcat,” Gideon confirmed. “The scratches do sting.”
Hannah gave him a pointed look. “I put the ointment on the sink.”
He grimaced, gave Rebekah her hug, and then went to clean up. And, ja, the ointment was messy but also soothing. As he stared at himself in the small mirror, it occurred to him that Hannah hadn’t really looked at him. Not when he first appeared, not when she was teasing the kinder.
Wasn’t that what he wanted?
He shook his head impatiently and returned to the kitchen to sit down with Hannah and his kinder to eat dinner.
If he hadn’t been apprehensive about seeing her and finding out whether Zeb’s mood had improved, he’d have noticed the smell of chicken frying sooner. As it was, he raised his eyebrows at the sight of a large platter of chicken in the middle of the table.
“Did you—?”
Her gaze almost, but not quite, met his. “I brought the chicken from Daad’s. Lilian showed me how to pluck it and cut it up. Next time, I’ll let you know.”
He nodded and reached for a piece that looked like white meat. Flavor exploded in his mouth. The spices she’d used in the breading were different, and delicious. The meat itself was moist.
Rebekah was eager to talk about her day, Zeb less so, although he seemed often to be sulky lately. If he were a few years older, Gideon might have blamed Zeb’s up-and-down moods on the approach of the teenage years, but couldn’t seize on that easy answer. Zeb was certainly more hotheaded than his sister, but Gideon recognized that from his own boyhood. Boys worried about their standing among other boys, a form of pride the Amish didn’t admire. Yet it seemed to come naturally. Learning to recognize hochmut, to overcome that kind of foolish pride, was part of growing up.
Gideon didn’t push. It might be better if he didn’t talk to Zeb in front of Rebekah. While Hannah and Rebekah were cleaning the kitchen after dinner, he did encourage Zeb to come out with him to harness Clover and back her between the shafts of the buggy for Hannah’s short drive home. He let Zeb do as much as he could, and praised him. If Zeb could take over this task, Gideon wouldn’t have those strangely intimate minutes when he said good night to Hannah. He would miss that time, just the two of them, but that was one of the changes he needed to make if she was to stay working for him.
Just as Hannah emerged from the house, Zeb let his father down by running to the chicken coop to start a chore that he was supposed to have done earlier. Perhaps tonight it was just as well. He and Hannah did have to talk.
She stopped in front of him, holding herself with dignity, and said, “I should quit staying for dinner every night. I’ve gotten in the habit for no good reason. Tomorrow—”
He interrupted. “We’d miss you. I’m more concerned about middaagesse. Perhaps I should take food with me like the kinder do, so I don’t need to come in.”
“No. I’ll prepare lunch and either eat before you come in, or after. I’ll go back to my work while you eat.”
The midday meal would never be the same again, but Gideon nodded. “That might be best.”
Without saying anything else, Hannah got into the buggy, picked up the reins, and clicked her tongue at her mare. She didn’t even glance at Gideon.
He stood watching her go, a great heaviness inside of him.
* * *
* * *
After reading Bible verses aloud that evening, as he always did, Gideon sent Rebekah to bed, but asked Zeb to stay behind.
Her expression grew mutinous. “Why does he get to stay up?”
“He’s older, and we have things to talk about.” Gideon let her see that he wouldn’t hear any argument, but she still made a huffing sound and stomped upstairs, making a great deal more noise than usual.
His daad would have followed and punished Gideon or any of his sisters and brothers for even an unspoken rebellion like that. Other families among this church district might be harsher than Gideon was, but he thought his kinder should know he listened to their protests. He never wanted them to be afraid of him.
He returned to the living room to find Zeb looking wary.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asked.
Gideon shook his head. “Will you tell me whether the other students are still gossiping about your mamm?”
Zeb shrugged, or maybe only hunched his thin shoulders. “Not so much today,” he mumbled. “Yesterday, Bernice and some of the other kinder said you must be lying to me, because Bernice’s aenti knew what happened.”
“Did she say her aenti’s name?”
Zeb frowned. “Don’t you know?”
Gideon shook his head. “How could I?” And then he said, “I hope you set them straight. How can some woman in our church district claim to know more about the accident than I do? If something bad happened to Miriam Miller, I wouldn’t tell everyone I knew better than her husband or parents unless that accident happened right in front of my driveway and I had been there to help. If I wrote to Bishop Raber, he would speak sternly to this woman for spreading falsehoods. She could have no good reason to brag that she knew more than anyone else.”
Zeb looked startled. “Maybe you should send a letter to Bishop Raber.”
“I can’t do that when I don’t know which member of his congregation to name.”
“Oh. That’s why you want to know?”
Gideon held his gaze. “No. My hope is that you’ll use your head when you hear irresponsible talk. That you’ll take time to think about what’s said, and recognize falsehood from possible truth.”
Zeb seemed to shrink. “I just got so mad.”
“Part of becoming a man is learning to control your temper, but it isn’t always easy when you’re provoked.” He paused. “I also decided you’re old enough to hear more about the accident. When it happened, I wanted to protect you and Rebekah. You were too young to hear everything. The talk being flung around has taught me that I can’t always protect you. You need to be able to hold up your head and say, ‘You can’t tell me anything I don’t know.’ ”
He thought that was trust in his son’s eyes.
“Your mamm was with her friend, Brooke, like I said. It’s true that Brooke was drunk. She was speeding when she crossed the yellow line on the road and hit another car head-on. The other driver died, too. He was only a boy, seventeen. He hadn’t been driving long.”
“An Englischer,” Zeb whispered.
“That doesn’t matter. He was still a boy. Brooke could just as easily have hit a buggy. As fast as she was driving, she could have killed an entire family.”
“So that part was true.”
“Ja.”
Zeb looked stricken now. “I wish Mammi hadn’t gone with her.”
“I understand, but we both have to accept that God called her home to be with Him. We can’t understand His purpose, but how can we? What I don’t like is knowing how scared your mother would have been. Thinking about us, praying that she would make it home safely.”
“Had she been drinking the alcohol, too?”
“I can’t say for certain sure,” Gideon admitted, almost steadily. “The police chief offered to check her blood to find out, even though she wasn’t to
blame for the accident since she wasn’t driving.”
Zeb waited, unblinking, but his eyes were wet.
“I said no. How could I not have faith that she wouldn’t have done something like that? I had never seen her with a bottle, never seen her act strange, stagger when she walked as drunks do. I believe exactly what I told you: that her friend sometimes drank when they were together, but your mamm didn’t understand what could happen. One extra drink could have made the difference, but not been something your mamm would have noticed. Maybe that day she worried, but wasn’t sure how to get home and told herself Brooke had never had an accident before.” Gideon moved his shoulders. “It would have happened fast. They told me she died right away. God was merciful.”
Tears ran down his son’s cheeks now. Gideon stood, and joined Zeb on the couch, resting a hand on his shoulder.
“That’s the truth.” Gideon took a deep breath. “The talk afterward was about me. Bishop Raber hadn’t liked me letting your mother ride in the car with her friend. He didn’t like her spending time with an Englischer. Sometimes, I think he might have been right, that I was to blame for her being in the car when the accident happened.”
“But . . . you said we’re not forbidden from riding in cars.”
“No. I never saw Brooke drunk. I liked her.”
“She was nice to us,” Zeb said in a small voice.
“She was.” Heeding thoughts of Hannah, Gideon told Zeb about his own childhood and, finally, why he’d decided to move. “I’m glad we did. Bishop Troyer is a good man, not as restrictive as Bishop Raber was. I accept his word with an open heart, because I can tell he respects the ability of all the sisters and brothers to make the right choices. He thinks and listens to God before he tells us we made a bad choice.”
“Do you miss Grossmammi and Grossdaadi?”
“Not as much as I miss your other grossdaadi.” Leah’s mother had died unexpectedly almost ten years ago now.
“I liked him best, too. I mostly miss fishing with him.”
“Ja, I’m thinking soon we’ll go for a visit. Maybe this winter, when there’s less work to be done on the farm. Now,” he said, “do you have other questions?”
Zeb swiped at his tears with his forearms. “Should I tell Rebekah what you said?”
“No, if she has questions, she should come to me.”
Zeb turned and threw his arms around Gideon, who hugged him convulsively.
“I love you,” he murmured.
Zeb rubbed wet cheeks on Gideon’s shirt. “I think you’re the best daadi in the whole world.”
Gideon laughed. “Probably not that, but I try.”
“And . . . and I wish Hannah could be our new mamm.” He pulled himself free, jumped to his feet, and ran toward the kitchen and the staircase.
Left reeling at a wish he couldn’t fulfill, a wish that devastated him, Gideon didn’t move for a long time.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Friday morning, Hannah barely had a chance to nod at Gideon before he hurried out the back door. Usually, he paused long enough to tell her where he could be found, but apparently he didn’t want to bother today. She was just as glad; it hurt to see him. Increasingly, she was thinking she had to resign, only . . .
She couldn’t bear knowing she’d never see any of them again. Well, except at church, but that would be from a distance, and only if she chose to be baptized and stay.
Rebekah chattered, a welcome distraction, as Hannah put together school lunches. It was her turn to walk them as well as Enoch all the way to school. Once they reached the foot of the Millers’ driveway, Enoch came running, cheerful as always. He liked silly jokes, and told several that had Rebekah in stitches and even Zeb and Hannah laughing.
Hannah greeted mothers dropping off their kinder and chatted for a few minutes before starting home. She didn’t always bring her phone with her, but had this morning because she’d talked to her grandmother Wednesday, and learned her grandfather was struggling.
“I almost called for an ambulance, but he doesn’t want to go into the hospital again,” Helen had said, voice betraying the tears that she had to be shedding. “I’ve been afraid before, but he’s bounced back. This time—”
She didn’t have to say anything else. Hannah had driven to town Wednesday evening to sit with Robert, holding his hand, talking gently when his eyes focused on her. Listening to his desperate struggle to breathe had been agonizing. She finally left when an aide came to help Helen get him to the bathroom and bed.
Last night, when Hannah called to find out how he was doing, her grandmother only said dully, “The same.”
She was just passing the phone shanty when her phone rang. For once, she prayed the caller would be her mother, but the number that showed belonged to her grandparents.
All she could think was, Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no.
“Grandma?”
“He’s gone, Hannah. I’m waiting for the doctor, and the . . . the . . .”
Hearse.
“I’m so sorry.” Tears had begun to blur her vision and run down her face. “So sorry.”
“It’s not as if I didn’t know it was coming, but . . .” Helen’s pain-filled calm evaporated. “I woke up this morning beside him, and realized he’d died during the night. You know what his breathing sounded like! How could I not have noticed when it stopped?” she cried. “Or . . . when his struggles increased? He died alone.”
A car passed on the road. Hannah turned her back so the driver couldn’t see her tears.
“Not alone,” she choked out. “You were right there. You know he couldn’t have talked.”
“But I could have! I could have kissed him. I could have seen the moment he slipped away.”
“He was probably asleep.”
“It doesn’t matter! I should have sat up with him! Oh, Hannah, I wish . . .”
“He knew you loved him until the very end. He’d have never had a single doubt. You gave him that. What more can any of us can do?”
All Hannah heard was weeping.
Crying herself, she said, “I’ll be there as soon as I can. I need to stop at Daad’s house to get the car. You just hold on.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I do.”
Once she ended the call, she lifted her skirt and ran. Near the top of the driveway, she saw Gideon coming out of the barn, pushing a wheelbarrow. His head came up when he saw her. He let go of the handles, not seeming even to notice that the wheelbarrow tipped over and the contents spilled out. By the time he reached Hannah, he was running, too.
His hands closed around her upper arms. “Was is letz?”
For a confused instant, she couldn’t translate his words. But then her brain switched gears. He’d asked what was wrong. He must fear something bad had happened to one of the kinder.
She looked up at him from eyes that felt as if they were trying to swell shut. “My grandfather.” Her voice emerged rusty and tremulous. “He died. I just . . . my grandmother just called.”
“Ah. It’s sorry I am,” he said in English. “What can I do?”
“I need to go. I told her I’d be there as soon as I can. If you’d hitch up Clover . . .”
“Ja, and I’ll drive you.”
“But . . . you’d have to walk back. Or . . . I guess you could bring the buggy back here, and I could have Daad drop me off tomorrow, or . . .”
“Those aren’t important worries.”
She gave an undignified sniff. “Denke. I have to get my bag from the house.”
He was already slipping the reins through rings in the buggy when she returned, having washed her face in cold water. There wasn’t much improvement.
Gideon studied her, but didn’t comment until he had set Clover to trotting down the farm lane. “Should you drive the car? Taking you to town would be no troub
le.”
“I’m sure I can. There’s so little traffic. It would be more convenient to have the car.”
He bent his head in apparent acquiescence. Clover turned onto the road, her steel-shod hooves ringing out against the pavement as she gained speed.
“I hate to desert you,” Hannah said, trying to gather her thoughts. “There’s sliced ham for sandwiches, and sauerbraten left from last night.”
“I can feed myself, Hannah.” He sounded remarkably gentle, even tender.
She wished she could wrap his deep voice around her, as if it were a wondrously soft shawl she could tug close to hold in warmth.
“There is pecan pie, too,” she said, “and some oatmeal-raisin cookies, too, that I froze.”
“No need to worry about us. We’ll be fine tomorrow, too, if you want to stay with your grossmammi.”
“But . . . it’s Saturday.”
“We survived before you came to us.”
She hated knowing that they had, that if she never came back, Gideon would only hire another woman. Hannah thought Rebekah and Zeb would miss her, but Gideon might be glad if she didn’t come back to work. If she chose the life she’d put on hold, in time she’d recede in all their memories, but she’d never forget them.
The buggy swung around the sharp bend in the road and she saw her daad’s mailbox and phone shanty up ahead. They slowed down on the hard-packed dirt driveway, but it seemed no time at all before the buggy swept up to the house.
“I’ll unharness your horse,” Gideon said. “You go ahead and do what you must.”
She would have given almost anything for him to take her in his arms, to be able to rest against him, if only for a moment. Borrow some of his strength. But of course that wasn’t possible.
She mumbled more thanks and clambered out of the buggy. She should hurry, but her feet felt leaden.
Gideon’s voice stopped her. “Hannah?”
She turned.
“This is a good time to pray. Remember that the Lord is near when you most need Him.”
Finding Hope Page 26
