Hannah's Joy (13 page)

“I’ll remind you of that tomorrow.”

Hannah hurried into the kitchen and retrieved an ice bag and a towel to wrap it in. When she returned, Aunt Paula was leaning back in the chair, eyes closed. The lines in her face seemed deeper, her usual rosy complexion pale.

“Is it very bad?” She put the ice bag gently over the puffy ankle.

“I’m chust tired.” Aunt Paula managed a smile. “I must be getting old, to be so tired out by a simple twisted ankle.”

Hannah remembered what Naomi had said—that for older people, sometimes the smallest accident could be an unwelcome reminder that they couldn’t do what they used to.

“You can still bake rings around anyone in the valley,” she said, hoping for a bit more of a genuine smile. “You just need to take it a little easier.”

Paula patted her hand. “Denke, my Hannah. It means so much to have you here.”

Unspoken was the question—will you accept my offer?

Hannah hesitated. Her aunt, perhaps thinking that she’d pushed too hard, spoke again before Hannah had to say anything.

“I saw that Bishop Ephraim was talking to you yesterday. It is always a special day when he is with us.”

“He’s so kind.” Hannah pulled her chair a bit closer and sat down. “And wise. I had the feeling he understood all the things I didn’t say.” Such as her complicated feelings about her mother and Aunt Paula.

Your aunt is a strong woman.
The bishop’s words seemed to ring in her ears. If he were here, she suspected he’d be telling her to be open with Aunt Paula. It was the right thing to do.

“Ja, he is wise. A great comfort in times of trouble, and I think you are troubled. I did not mean to make you unhappy with my offer, Hannah.”

“You didn’t,” she said quickly. This was what came of not being open, it seemed. “I am worried, yes, but about Travis’s father, not about your offer.”

Paula leaned forward, clasping Hannah’s hands in both of hers. “But . . . what has happened? I thought he chust called to ask about Jamie. Is something wrong?”

Hannah took a deep breath. This would probably hurt her aunt, but she didn’t see any way out of telling her.

“It seems Megan called him and told him some garbled story about our lives here. He was angry.” Her voice dragged, and she had to force the rest of the words out. “He said I wasn’t being a good mother, to bring up Travis’s son among people who hated everything he stood for.”

“The military?” Her aunt seemed to grapple with the problem. “But why? Ja, we do not believe that violence is the answer to a problem, and we do not take up arms to fight. But no one would make the mistake of hating a soldier for following a different belief. Or teach Jamie anything but respect for his daadi.” She glanced at the door to Jamie’s room, as if to assure herself that he was safe in his crib. “Didn’t you tell him that?”

“He caught me so much by surprise, and I was so shocked by what Megan had done.” Her lips tightened. The anger with Megan was still there, but behind it was pain and grief. “I probably didn’t handle Robert Conroy as well as I should have.”

“You must talk to him again. Explain,” Paula urged. “He will understand if you explain it to him.”

Hannah felt herself begin to tremble inside at the thought of another angry encounter with Robert. She couldn’t. She was no good at confronting people.

“I don’t know.” She took a steadying breath. “Travis always said his father could be unreasonable. And the two of them could never be together without ending up shouting at each other. I won’t be able to make him listen to me.”

Hide. That was what she wanted to do. Like the little girl she’d been who’d hidden in the closet when Mammi was having a bad spell and wouldn’t stop crying.

“You must.” Her aunt’s hands tightened on hers. “He has to understand that you and Jamie have a gut future here. You have people who love you, a home, a business if you want it.”

“Aunt Paula . . .”

“Ja, ja, I said I would give you time. But maybe it would help with Mr. Conroy. He would see that you have security here.”

Security. The thing she’d always longed for and never found.

Would that help with Robert? Or was he so wrapped up in his own views that it would seem like even more of a threat?

“I don’t know. Really, I don’t. He’s Travis’s father, but I don’t understand him. I never have. If he decides to cause trouble . . .” She couldn’t finish that sentence, not wanting to go there.

“What trouble could he cause?” Paula asked, her tone rational. “You are the boy’s mother. Where he lives is up to you.” She hesitated, seeming to struggle with something in her mind. “After all, you could live here and still be Englisch. Send Jamie to the Englisch school, go to an Englisch church.”

“You couldn’t be happy with that,” Hannah said, her voice gentle. “Admit it.”

Aunt Paula sighed, shaking her head a little. She looked down at their clasped hands, and with her head bent, Hannah could see the way her hair, thinning a little from years of pulling it back in a bun, was turning completely white. The sight gave an odd, vulnerable tug to her heart.

“No, I wouldn’t be.” Paula looked up, and there were tears in her eyes. “I want to see you a true part of the community, as you would have been if my sister hadn’t gone away. But I would settle for less if it kept you and Jamie here.”

Hannah leaned forward and kissed her cheek, struggling to control her own tears. It was impossible for Aunt Paula to see her in any way that didn’t involve her mother, it seemed.

“I know,” she said softly. “But if I am to bring Jamie up the way his father would want, can I do that here?”

“Travis is gone.” Aunt Paula’s voice was filled with sympathy, but there was steel in her voice, too. “I have thought that way, too, sometimes in the years since your uncle passed. Wondering if he would approve of all the decisions I’ve made about the business. But he’s not here, and I have to decide as best I can. Just as you must.”

Travis is gone.
The words echoed in Hannah’s mind. She’d said them herself, often enough, but had she ever really accepted what they meant?

“How would it be,” she said slowly, feeling her way, “if we try out the partnership for a few months before we make a final agreement? That way, if either of us feels it’s not going to work, we can say so.”

Paula studied her face for a long moment. Then she nodded. “Ja. All right. We will do that.” She smiled. “But I will not change my mind.”

One burden seemed to lift from Hannah’s shoulders, at least temporarily, and she felt relief. But there were others.

William. Robert Conroy. And Megan. Those she would have to deal with on her own.

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

W
ould
William show up or wouldn���t he? Hannah went down the back stairs to the bakery kitchen, carrying the baby monitor. Jamie had been talking himself to sleep, his voice drowsy and slurred. Fortunately he didn’t seem to have picked up on his mother’s anxiety.

Maybe she shouldn’t have waited until today. Maybe she should have tried to talk to William sooner about what had happened between them on Saturday. She could at least have made it clear that he wasn’t to blame.

She didn’t want to lose the opportunity to help him. And she certainly didn’t want to hurt him. If he didn’t show up today—

Hannah walked into the kitchen. William was there already, waiting for her. He’d taken off his straw hat, and his hair was the pale gold of ripe wheat under the overhead light. His expression was so serious that her breath caught. Had he come to tell her he was giving up? If so, he wasn’t the only one who’d be hurt.

“I’m glad you . . .”

“H-Hannah . . .”

They both started to speak at the same time, and both stopped at the same time. Hannah took a few quick steps toward him, until only the width of the table separated them.

“Let me go first,” she said, rushing the words and then hesitating, not sure what to say. “I’m sorry,” she said finally. Simply. “What happened between us was my fault.”

“No.” William gave a quick shake of his head. “M-mine.”

A spasm of pain in his face hurt her heart. She had to make this clear to him, and she didn’t dare lose control of herself again.

“I was upset.” She managed a rueful smile. “I guess that was obvious. My father-in-law . . . well, he intimidates me at the best of times, and his call left me so shattered.”

She pressed her lips together, trying not to think about Megan’s betrayal or about the threatening tone of Robert’s voice.

“Anyway, I shouldn’t have cried on your shoulder like that.”

“Because I-I am n-not c-capable?” William’s jaw tightened and hurt mixed with anger in his blue eyes.

She had done exactly what she hadn’t wanted to do. She’d sent him the message that she didn’t take him seriously, and she had to fix that, even if it took her onto dangerous ground.

“No.” Hannah’s fingers tingled with the urge to reach out and touch him. She knew how his arm would feel if she did, his muscles taut, his skin warm. She shook off the image. “It’s exactly the opposite. I leaned on you because you are strong and kind and dependable. But I shouldn’t have. I’m ashamed.”

The anger and hurt faded from his face. “Not y-you. I-I’m the o-one to feel sh-shame. I k-kissed you.”

“But I kissed you back.” She felt her cheeks grow warm, hardly able to believe they were talking this way. “I know better. I’m older . . .”

The words were out before it occurred to her that he’d probably heard them before, from Rachel.

“Ja.”

He turned away, but not before she’d seen the hurt—hurt she seemed destined to cause whatever she said to him.

“I didn’t mean it that way.” She bit her lip, appalled at how inept she was with him.

William looked back at her, his gaze probing. “You are thinking about R-Rachel.”

“Yes. But our situation is not like that one was.” She wasn’t his sister-in-law, for one thing, though that didn’t make it any easier. “I just meant that I should know better how many barriers there are between us. And I’m the one who crossed the line.”

She surely didn’t need to enumerate the barriers for him. She was Englisch, she’d been married to a soldier, she had a child, and she had trouble with Travis’s father looming over her.

“My future is too uncertain for me even to think about a relationship with anyone.”

William studied her face, eyes serious, as if measuring her feelings. “Ja, but even s-so it c-can’t be wrong to have a friend. Or t-to c-comfort a friend.”

She closed her eyes for a second, reliving how it had felt to let go, to depend on William and borrow some of his strength. It had felt good, dangerously so.

“I’m glad to have you for a friend, William. But we have to be careful. If people started gossiping about us, it would be . . . unbearable.” She looked at him, seeing his instinctive need to reject that. “You know it’s true,” she said.

He nodded, his jaw tensing until a muscle twitched there. “You w-want to quit helping m-me, ain’t so?”

“No, I didn’t mean that.” It was nearly a cry, she felt so strongly about it. “You’re making progress already. We can’t quit now. You won’t, will you?” Until this moment she hadn’t known how much her sessions with William meant to her.

“N-no. N-not as long as it’s okay w-with you.”

Relief washed through her. “That’s good. We’ll go on, then.”

In answer, William pulled out the chair he sat in when they worked together. Then he paused, one hand braced against the table.

“J-just remember. If y-you need a friend, I am always h-here.”

She smiled, nodded. And tried not to think about just how much she’d like to lean on him.

*   *   *

By
the next Friday, Hannah’s emotions had settled down to something approaching normal. As she sat in the rocking chair with Jamie, singing softly to him as he finished his pre-nap cup of milk, she wondered if she’d overreacted all along the line.

She hadn’t heard anything more from Robert Conroy. He wasn’t likely to admit he was wrong about anything, but she’d write to him over the weekend, a newsy letter about Jamie, avoiding any mention of their conversation. And life would go back to the way it had been.

The sessions with William were rewarding beyond anything she could have hoped. Of course, she couldn’t know how well he did when talking with his family, but around her, he’d come a long way. More important, he seemed to be overcoming that instant embarrassment when a word wouldn’t cooperate.

The cup slipped from Jamie’s grasp as his hand relaxed. She caught it, setting it on the dresser next to her. Jamie wouldn’t object when she put him in his crib, as close to sleep as he was, but she treasured this moment, cradling his warm body against hers. Too soon he’d rebel at that, probably, pushing forward to being a big boy even as she clung to his babyhood.

Already he took steps away from his dependence on her. Of course now he had others he could trust and rely on. Aunt Paula, for one, who loved him like her own grandchild. And Naomi, who was part of his daily life, always patient and loving.

He’d developed a relationship with Rhoda, as well, laughing each time he saw her. Even though Aunt Paula was well enough to get back to her usual work, Rhoda popped in most days, lending a hand when they were busy, playing with Jamie when they weren’t.

And there was Myra, the unexpected cousin she’d found. Myra stopped by the bakery each time she was in town, giving Jamie a chance to play with his little cousins.

Jamie had the home and family Hannah had longed for. It was a family of women, though, and that did trouble her sometimes. A boy needed a man in his life to model himself on. Maybe that was why Jamie seemed to turn to William almost instinctively, running to him the moment William appeared.

She dropped a kiss on Jamie’s damp curls as she rose and carried him to the crib.

“Sleep tight, little lamb,” she whispered.

Without opening his eyes, he reached for his teddy bear, pulling it close and rubbing his cheek against it in his sleep routine. Smiling, she walked softly out of the room.

As she pulled the door shut, she took one more look back. The blue curtains at the windows moved in the breeze, sending shadows dancing in fanciful patterns on the white walls. Aunt Paula had hung an illustrated Bible verse between the windows—Jesus blessing the children. The room was peaceful, quiet, safe, and her son was asleep already.

Hannah walked down the hall to the living room. She’d take the monitor downstairs and give Aunt Paula a hand. She’d need it, with all the extra baking she’d been doing.

Everyone in the valley had been busy this week, it seemed, getting ready for the charity auction tomorrow. Katie’s quilt shop had been a hive of activity as women sorted out quilts to go to auction. Caleb was donating some wooden furniture pieces, and William had been working with him as well as helping to set up stands and canopies at the fire hall.

As for Aunt Paula . . . well, every other minute it seemed she was thinking of something else she should bake for the stand. Naomi, carrying in jars of honey from her bees that morning, had suggested that she and Hannah might have to take away her wooden spoon if she didn’t stop soon.

Smiling at the memory, Hannah headed for the stairs, only to stop when the telephone rang. She snatched the receiver up quickly, not wanting the phone to wake Jamie when he’d just gotten off to sleep.

“Hannah? It’s Megan.”

The familiar voice made her throat tighten. She wasn’t sure she was ready to talk to Megan yet. But apparently she didn’t have a choice.

“I . . .” A slight hesitation, unusual for Megan. “I wanted to thank you again for the nice visit.”

Megan was feeling her out, it seemed. Maybe she was wondering if Robert Conroy had contacted her yet, or if he’d given away the fact that Megan had talked to him.

Anger flickered in Hannah despite her effort to stay calm. “At least your visit gave you plenty of things to report to Travis’s father.”

“He’s talked to you, then.” Megan didn’t sound remotely sorry.

“Yes. Something you should have done instead of spying on me for him.”

“Come on, Hannah. It wasn’t spying. And I did try to talk to you, if you’ll recall. I told you just what I thought about your current situation. But you wouldn’t listen.”

Hannah gripped the receiver so hard that her fingers cramped. “I listened, Megan. I just didn’t agree with you. So you turned around and complained to Robert Conroy.”

“For goodness’ sake, Hannah, don’t dramatize this!” Megan was crisp, scolding, as she so often was when people didn’t see things her way. “Don’t forget, I even offered to have you move in with me. I care about what happens to you, and I thought maybe Travis’s father would help.”

Any softening she’d done when Megan spoke of caring for her vanished at the mention of Robert, and she fought to contain herself. “Help? Robert didn’t offer to help. He called me a bad mother for daring to bring his grandson up in a place he doesn’t approve of.”

Silence for a moment. “I’m sorry. I had no idea he’d do that. I was just trying to help you see things more clearly.”

Hannah took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Megan was motivated by concern. But she was also so sure she was right that she didn’t consider any other possibility.

“Hannah? Are you still there?”

“I’m here. Megan, you’re my friend. I know you mean well, but this is my life and my responsibility. Jamie and I are safe and happy here. Isn’t that the most important thing?”

Megan was silent. Maybe that silence meant agreement. Surely Megan could understand—

“That’s what your aunt wants you to think,” Megan said flatly. “Don’t you even know when you’re being manipulated? She wants you to stay, wants you to take your mother’s place. And you feel so guilty about your mother’s death that you’re letting her.”

Hannah sucked in a breath, feeling as if she’d been hit in the stomach. She’d told Megan about her mother’s overdose because Megan was the closest friend she’d ever had. She’d never expected that knowledge to be turned against her.

Hannah held the receiver for another moment, her hand frozen as she tried to think of something to say. She couldn’t. Then, very gently, she hung up.

She turned to go downstairs. Stopped. And went up the steps to the attic instead.

Light slanted across the wide floorboards from the windows. Without hesitation, Hannah moved to the boxes marked with her mother’s name.

She had been so happy the day she’d learned that the financial aid had gone through—the money that would allow her to attend college. Putting the financing together had been a struggle that seemed impossible at times. If not for the help of some sympathetic teachers and the Davis family she babysat for, she’d never have succeeded in getting that far.

She’d expected her mother to be happy for her. Mammi had tried to respond in the way she should. But watching her effort to manufacture joy and show pride had been painful to Hannah.

She sank down onto the floor and pulled one of the boxes into her lap. She worked the lid off and folded back the worn sheet that someone, probably Aunt Paula, had put around the contents.

A little girl’s dresses and matching aprons. A hand-knit child’s sweater. They were things Hannah had outgrown before they’d left, probably. Aunt Paula had carefully put them away.

Hannah touched the fabric of a print dress, the pattern so tiny, blue and white. She remembered the day Mammi had finished it, sliding it over her head, laughing at how much taller she had gotten. She remembered herself spinning around, making the skirt swing out.

She held the dress against her cheek for a moment, imagining she felt her mother’s touch.

Beneath the dresses were a few toys. A soft faceless doll with dresses made to match Hannah’s. A set of tiny doll dishes. A well-worn toy dog. Hannah picked him up, smiling through the tears that dripped on her cheeks.

Spot, she’d called him, without much originality but with much love. Jamie might not appreciate the doll, but he’d like Spot. She laid the dog aside and put the other things back into the box, folding the sheet over them, tucking them in.

Beneath the box was a trunk. Hannah lifted the lid, and then nearly closed it again when she saw what it contained. More clothes . . . her mother’s this time.

She pushed the lid all the way back, letting the memories wash over her. Childhood memories, from before they went away.

They’d been happy here, hadn’t they? A child doesn’t understand the decisions parents make. Doesn’t have a say in them. But a child hears, even when she doesn’t understand.

Her father, insisting they would be happier out there, somewhere, in some rosy place where life would be different. He’d been all energy and enthusiasm, sweeping away every objection.