Hannah's Joy (18 page)

“Then listen to your heart, and you’ll be all right.”

The words, coming from Nancy and echoing what Rachel had said, gave Hannah comfort. Still, there was that edge of fear. “I wish Robert could understand that as well as you do.”

“I do, too, my dear. But if he refuses, well, there’s still nothing he can do about it. I feel sure he’ll come around in time. You just have to stand your ground.”

Hannah nodded, hoping Nancy was right. Unfortunately, she knew that standing her ground was not one of her gifts.

*   *   *

William
had a feeling something was going on that he didn’t know about around the supper table that evening. His married sister, Emma, and her husband, John Eicher, were there. Not that it was so unusual to see them. With their children grown now, they often came over for a meal.

Isaac and Emma had been the two oldest of the family, the ones who’d taken over when Mamm and Daad were both doing poorly at the same time. William and Ezra, being a good bit younger, had generally been left out of any decisions to be made.

William scooped up the last bite of Ruth’s excellent apple crumb pie. One thing about having Emma and John here—it put Ruth on her mettle to produce the finest meal possible, even though she’d never have admitted to any competitive feelings.

But tonight . . . well, he wasn’t sure why he felt uneasy. Isaac and Emma were doing most of the talking, as they usually did. His earliest memories were of the two of them fighting, but then instantly supporting each other if anyone else criticized.

Ruth moved back and forth between stove and table, making sure everyone had plenty, her mind clearly focused on the meal to the exclusion of everything else. And John, aside from a few comments about the fall harvest and the quality of the pumpkins he was raising, concentrated on eating. But each time his gaze met William’s, he looked quickly away.

Isaac and Ruth’s three teenage boys were their usual selves, eating heartily and teasing each other about what girls they’d see at the singing on Sunday night.

John had barely taken the last bite of his pie when Isaac collected everyone’s attention and bowed his head for the prayer after meals. When the silent prayer had ended, he glanced at his sons.

“You get on with the evening chores now. It’s getting late.”

It wasn’t, but no one argued. They rose quickly, and William started to go with them.

Isaac gestured to him. “Sit down, William. Stay. We can talk a bit now with those boys out of here.”

“Would anyone like some more pie?” Ruth poised her knife above the pastry. “John? I’m sure you can manage another piece.”

“Ach, not a whole piece, that’s for sure. Maybe chust a sliver, ja?”

Nodding, Ruth cut the pie and flipped it deftly onto John’s plate. Catching her husband’s eye, she seemed to flush. She slid back onto her chair.

Isaac cleared his throat, as if he was about to say something of importance. He looked around the table, making sure everyone was looking at him.

“William, it is time we talked to you seriously. We are all agreed on that.”

Emma nodded. Ruth looked down at her lap in what might be considered a nod. John made a movement of his heavy shoulders that seemed to indicate he’d rather be somewhere else.

William’s stomach tightened. Isaac seemed to be waiting for a response from him.

“J-ja?” William made it a question, but he didn’t doubt he knew what Isaac wanted to talk about.

“Stories are going around,” Isaac said. “Stories about you and that Englisch woman, Paula’s niece.”

William fought to control his temper. “N-not Englisch. H-Hannah is M-Mennonite.”

“Well, that’s as may be. Just because she’s dressing Plain, that doesn’t mean she’s living Plain. Or that she’ll stay.”

William couldn’t help glaring at his brother. “Are y-you the j-judge of th-that?”

Isaac dismissed his question with a gesture. “It is not what I say. It is what everyone says. People know that her father-in-law is here. That he has been trying to make her leave. That he has been asking questions about you.”

John put his fork on his plate. “William cannot control what that man says.” At a look from his wife, he shrugged. “It is true.”

“That is not the point,” Isaac said firmly. “The point is that William has been linked by talk to this woman . . . to Hannah,” he corrected himself. “I am not saying that she is not a gut woman, William. I am saying that I don’t want my brother the subject of gossip.”

“I-I have d-done n-n-nothing against the Ordnung.” Nothing but fall in love with a woman who probably didn’t love him. He wasn’t in danger of having people talk about him. He was in danger of having his heart broken.

“Sometimes just the appearance of wrongdoing is enough,” Emma said tartly. “You should do nothing that would embarrass your family.”

He was not going to be cowed by his older siblings. He frowned back at Emma. “I h-have d-done nothing. H-Hannah has d-done nothing. She i-is a g-gut p-person. I d-did not think you w-were a b-blabber-m-maul, E-Emma.”

Emma looked surprised, either at his attack or at his stringing so many words together.

“This isn’t about whether or not Emma is repeating gossip,” Isaac said.

Emma switched her glare to Isaac. “I am not a blabbermaul.”

“Ach, we are getting off track.” Isaac’s face had reddened. “William, we are your family. We have a right to know. Are you involved with Hannah or not?”

He might argue that Isaac didn’t have the right to ask that, but it would just prolong this discussion. If he could not protect Hannah in any other way, he could at least do this.

“W-we are f-friends. Th-that’s all.”

Isaac’s tension visibly eased. “Gut. That’s gut.”

“We are not saying there’s anything wrong with her,” Emma put in, ready to be conciliatory now that they’d had the answer they wanted from him. “It’s wonderful brave of Hannah to come here with her little boy, starting over like that. But she is not for you, William.”

“No, she’s not.” Isaac didn’t seem to relish having Emma take over. “However gut a person, Hannah is not of our faith. She is a widow, and of a soldier, besides. She is older. She has a child. It is all unsuitable. Everyone in the family agrees.”

That shook William. They’d all been talking about him. His control began to slip.

“E-everyone?”

Isaac looked surprised. “Everyone, ja. Even Caleb. What is wrong? You said there was nothing between you but friendship.”

“There i-i-isn’t.” He stood, the chair scraping back. “Y-you d-d-didn’t ask i-if I w-wanted there t-to be.”

Isaac stood as well, his ruddiness deepening. “This is foolishness. I am telling you—”

William started toward the door. “J-ja. Y-you h-have s-said. I-I h-heard.” He stalked out the door and closed it firmly behind him.

It would be satisfying to follow that declaration by going to Hannah and telling her his feelings, but he wasn’t that foolish. Hannah liked him, maybe was even attracted to him. But that didn’t mean she’d welcome hearing that he loved her, and telling her could put an end to their friendship.

Still, he’d finally made his feelings known to his brother. He suspected he owed Hannah for that. Let Isaac make of that what he would. He had heard enough advice for one day.

Or maybe not quite enough. If Caleb was against him, too . . . well, he had to find out.

He tried not to think at all during the drive to town. Caleb had said he was having supper next door with Katie and Rhoda at Katie’s apartment. He should still be there.

The route to the quilt shop led past the bakery. William couldn’t help glancing at the windows on the second floor. Lights were on in the living room, and the longing to stop was like an ache in his chest.

Halting the mare at the hitching rail behind Katie’s and Caleb’s shops, William jumped down from the buggy. He had to know.

He leaned on the doorbell at the back door, wondering what he’d say if Katie or Rhoda came to answer. But it was Caleb who came down the stairs and opened the door.

“William?” Surprise widened his eyes. “Was ist letz? Has something happened?”

“We h-have to t-talk.” Only after he’d said it did he realize that it was the same thing Isaac had said to him.

“Ja, sure, komm up. I bet there’s some cake left.” He grinned. “Rhoda baked it, but it’s gut.”

He shook his head. “This w-won’t take long.” It was as if something inside him pushed him forward with his need to know. “Isaac a-and Emma d-decided to lecture me at s-supper. About Hannah.”

“I’m sorry.” Caleb stepped out onto the porch, closing the door behind him as if to give them privacy. “That was foolish of them.”

Foolish, not wrong. Wrong was what he’d wanted to hear.

“They w-want me to stay away f-from Hannah.” That was what it had amounted to, no matter how they tried to dress it up.

“I’m sorry,” Caleb said again. “I know Isaac means well, but he doesn’t often see other people’s point of view.”

“Ja.” It struck him suddenly. “Like Hannah’s f-father-in-law.”

Caleb seemed surprised, but then he nodded. “You are right. Both of them think they know what’s best for other people. They don’t see the harm they are doing.”

William was comforted that Caleb saw the truth, but there was another question he had to ask.

“Isaac s-said that the f-family agreed with him. All th-the family. Including you.”

Caleb hesitated for a long moment. William’s heart sank. He’d thought Caleb was one person he could depend upon.

“You, t-too, then.” His voice was tight.

“I didn’t talk to Isaac about you,” Caleb said quickly. He put his hand on William’s shoulder. “Believe me on that. Isaac tried, but I told him what you did was nobody’s business but your own. But . . .”

“But what? Y-you agree w-with him?”

“No. But I am worried about you.” His grip tightened. “I like Hannah. You know that. But there are problems involved in loving her. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

William took a long breath. So. It seemed he was on his own. Well, maybe that was for the best.

He took a step away, and Caleb’s hand fell from his shoulder.

“Y-you are right,” he said. “It is n-nobody’s b-business but mine.”

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

K
neading
bread dough was a good outlet for the frustration Hannah was feeling. She could twist and pummel the dough all she wanted, letting the worry work itself out. Even the unbaked dough had an aroma of its own, which seemed to release as she worked the dough.

She glanced at Aunt Paula, wondering if she noticed her aggression and guessed at the cause. But her aunt was bent over the rye loaf she was shaping, her face serene, her hands strong and skilled.

“I will never be as fast as you are with the bread.” Hannah plopped the dough into the earthenware bowl, turning it so that all sides were greased. “You are miles ahead of me.”

“I have been doing this for thirty or forty years, don’t forget.” Her aunt gave the finished loaf a satisfied pat. “It’s gut, working with the dough. Satisfying, ja?”

So she had noticed. “Ja, it is. I wish . . .”

The phone rang upstairs. Surely not loud enough to wake Jamie, was it? She headed for the steps. “I’ll get it.”

She ran lightly up the stairs, crossed the room, and snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hannah, is that you? You don’t sound like yourself.” Megan didn’t sound like herself, either. Her voice was tentative, almost timid, as if she feared Hannah’s reaction.

“I just ran up the stairs. I’m out of breath.” She pressed the receiver against her ear, waiting. Megan would have to go first. Neither of them could pretend she’d just called to chat.

“We . . . haven’t talked lately. I just wanted to ask how you’re doing.”

All of Hannah’s worry came surging to the fore. “How do you think I’m doing? Thanks to you, my father-in-law has been here for a week.”

“Well, he does have a right to get to know his grandson, doesn’t he?” Defensiveness slid through the words.

“He does, but that’s not what he’s been doing. He’s been snooping and prying and making my life miserable.”

Thanks to you, she thought but didn’t say. Forgiveness was a basic tenet of her faith, but at the moment, it was the one she had the most trouble with.

“What? Why would he be doing that? I told him . . .”

“You told him that I was planning to raise his grandson in some kind of cult. What did you think was going to happen when you did that, Megan?” For someone who cringed from confrontation, she seemed to be doing surprisingly well when her son’s future was at stake. “Robert is trying to force me to move away from here. He wants me to give up my family, my home, and my faith because they don’t suit his ideas.”

“Hannah, I never expected that.” Megan rushed into speech. “I thought that if he knew, maybe he’d come through with some financial support that would let you live independently. That’s all I wanted. You have to believe that.”

The pain in Megan’s voice sounded real enough. Hannah’s anger began to seep away. That was Megan, after all. She’d act before she thought, and then try to clean up afterward. But this was more serious than her usual misunderstandings.

“Hannah? Please say you forgive me. Tell me what I can do to help.”

Hannah rubbed the back of her neck, where tension had started to build. “There’s nothing you can do. It’s too late for that. I forgive you.” Saying it was the first step toward making it so, wasn’t it?

“There must be something I can do. Maybe if I talked to Conroy, I could convince him that I was mistaken.”

“It’s too late for that,” she repeated, knowing it was true. “I thought surely he’d see what a good life this is for Jamie, surrounded by people who love him, able to be with me all the time instead of shipped off to day care. But he refuses to understand. This life isn’t his idea of normal, and that’s all he can see.”

“I’m so sorry, Hannah. I’d give anything if I could take it back. Honestly. I love you and Jamie. I don’t want to make you unhappy. I just thought . . .”

“You thought you knew what was best,” Hannah finished for her.

“I’m sorry.” Megan’s voice was very small. “If you think of anything I can do that might help, just tell me. Anything.”

“I will.” But she was afraid there wasn’t anything anyone could do. “I have to get off the phone now.” Because her voice was thickening and she’d start to cry if she stayed on any longer. “I’ll talk to you again and let you know what’s happening.”

After she’d hung up she stood for a moment, wiping her palms on her skirt. Megan did sound grieved at the results of her hasty act. Maybe she’d even stop arranging people’s lives for them for a bit. But it was too late to undo this situation with Robert.

Hannah went slowly back to the kitchen. She’d like to indulge in a good cry, but that wouldn’t mend anything. And she wouldn’t leave Aunt Paula alone to finish the work on her own.

Aunt Paula, her face apprehensive, was watching the stairs when Hannah came down. “Was it bad news, then?”

“Not exactly.” She went back to the table, but in her absence, Aunt Paula had finished the bread. Hannah began cleaning up. “It was Megan. She told me she was sorry.”

Aunt Paula nodded. “Now that she knows what her careless act caused, she regrets it. She was your friend. What did you say?”

Hannah picked up the bowl and stood holding it cradled against her. “I said that I forgive her. Now I’ll try to do it.”

“Forgiveness is not easy.” Her aunt sighed. “I was a long time forgiving your mamm and daad for going away. It seemed to me they didn’t think about the people who would be hurt.”

Hannah considered. “I think Mammi didn’t really want to leave. She always tried to do whatever Daadi wanted. She’d just go along, whatever it was.”

“But if that’s so, why didn’t she komm back after he went away? Elizabeth must have known I’d have taken her in.”

Aunt Paula’s obvious distress made Hannah wish she hadn’t spoken. Maybe she was as bad as Megan, speaking without thinking about the consequences.

“There was nothing you could have done. If anyone should have helped, it was me, but I didn’t understand her depression.”

Aunt Paula came to her. She put her arms around Hannah and hugged her close. “It is all right. We both did the best we could.”

Hannah’s throat tightened. “I should have tried harder to get her to go into the hospital. But she refused, and the suggestion upset her so much . . .”

Her voice trailed off. It was an old hurt, and it had never really left, lingering with what-ifs.

Aunt Paula patted her cheek. “Listen to me, my Hannah. We must forgive other people their wrongs against us. And we must also forgive ourselves. It is God’s will, in the end.”

“Ja. I know,” she whispered. But perhaps that was the hardest forgiveness of all.

*   *   *

The
morning rush was over at the bakery on Saturday, and Hannah had taken Jamie out of his play yard to run about in the bakery. He ducked between the tables, giggling when Naomi played peek-a-boo with him around the chairs.

The bell jingled, and a small boy came sidling in, looking shyly toward the counter.

“What is it, Thomas?” Aunt Paula paused, hands full of the whoopie pies she was putting into the case. “Did your mamm send you for something?”

He shook his head, blond hair nearly hiding his eyes. He came forward and held out a note to Hannah. She took it, managing a smile for the boy. “Denke.” But a frisson of apprehension slid down her spine.

“Denke, Thomas,” Paula added. “Have you room in your tummy for a whoopie pie?”

He nodded, grinning, and took the waxed-paper-wrapped treat. He ducked his head toward Hannah and darted out, apparently not needing to wait for a response.

Hannah ripped the envelope open and scanned the contents, aware of Aunt Paula’s gaze on her.

“What is it?” Her aunt slid the whoopie pies into the case and moved next to her.

Hannah handed her the note, frowning. “It’s from the bishop. He says he has some early apples you might want, if I’ll come by this afternoon and get them.” She glanced from her aunt to Naomi, who’d finished wiping the tables and now came closer, face troubled. “What do you think this is about?”

The other two women exchanged glances. “More than chust apples,” Aunt Paula said, and Naomi nodded.

“Not anything bad,” Naomi said quickly. “If it was, he’d for sure komm here, maybe with the deacon.”

Hannah breathed a little easier. The patterns of Amish and black-bumper Mennonites were similar enough here in Pleasant Valley that Naomi would know.

“But what, then?” She stared down at the paper as if it would yield a clue.

“He’s maybe heard some talk about Mr. Conroy being here.” Aunt Paula sounded tentative, which was unusual for her. But then, the current situation was beyond her normal experience, wasn’t it?

“I hope he’s not upset about the talk.” Hannah pressed her fingers against her forehead, trying to ease the tension there. “Well, I’ll have to go.” At least when she was out, she wouldn’t be waiting and wondering when Robert would pop in with another ultimatum.

Aunt Paula clasped her hand. “Shall I go with you then?”

“I’d better go by myself. But thank you. If you can watch Jamie . . .”

“Ach, don’t worry about that.” Naomi smiled as Jamie ran into her, holding up his locomotive for her approval. “We will be fine, ja?”

Paula nodded. “Ja. But if you change your mind, I will go gladly.”

But it was best that she do this alone. Hannah was still convinced of that a couple of hours later, when she drove her aunt’s car into the lane at Bishop Ephraim’s orchard. If Naomi was wrong, and this was going to involve a lecture on her behavior, she’d rather not have an audience.

Miriam, the bishop’s rosy little dumpling of a wife, came out onto the porch at the sound of the car. She shielded her eyes with her hand, smiling when Hannah got out.

“Ach, Hannah, it is you. Ephraim said you’d be here for apples this afternoon. He’s up in the orchard. Chust go on up.” She pointed at the gentle rise behind the farmhouse, where the grove of apple trees spread out. “And stop in for a glass of lemonade when you’re done, if you have time, ja?”

“I will, denke.” Hannah started back toward the narrow lane that led to the orchard, moving quickly. Maybe she was trying to outrun her apprehension, but if so, it wasn’t working.

Bishop Ephraim was on a ladder, picking apples into a basket he had hooked onto a branch. He greeted her with a wave and tossed an apple down to her.

“Early apples are ser gut this year. Your aunt will like them for pies and applesauce cake.”

“I’m sure she will.” Hannah held the apple, warm and smooth in her hand. Inhaling brought its sweet scent wafting toward her.

“There is another basket.” He pointed. “You pick the low ones and I’ll get the high ones, and we’ll soon have a bushel.”

Obeying, Hannah took the basket and began to pick, checking each apple to be sure it was ripe. The orchard was quiet, the only sound the plunk of apples falling into baskets and the repeated call of a bobwhite, somewhere in the trees.

The apprehension drained out of her. Nothing in the bishop’s attitude suggested that he planned to reprimand her. Maybe this was only what it seemed . . . the neighborly offer of apples.

“I hear you have been working with William Brand, helping him with his stammering.” He reached out farther than she thought he should for an apple, and she held her breath for a moment, but he had a firm grip on the branch.

“I offered to help him, because I had studied that in school. He’s improving, I think.”

“Ach, ja, I know so. I was chust talking to him a day or so ago.” He chuckled. “I hear it’s made him a bit more outspoken with his brother, as well.”

She nodded, not sure what to say to that.

His hands slowed in their picking, and he looked down at her. “I also hear that your father-in-law is here visiting.”

Her stomach twisted.
Visiting
might not be the right expression for what Robert was doing. “He says he’ll be leaving on Monday. He lives in Arizona.”

“A long way.” Bishop Ephraim’s tone was casual, but he studied her face. “His life there must be very different from ours.”

Hannah suspected most of Pleasant Valley knew Robert wanted her to leave here. And that concern was what had led to this conversation. Perhaps the bishop had been wondering why she hadn’t come to him before this.

“Robert has never been around Plain people before. I’ve tried to explain our lives to him, but maybe I haven’t been very successful.”

“Sometimes people fear what they don’t understand,” the bishop observed. “It may be that he fears losing touch with his grandson.”

She leaned against the trunk, looking up at him. “I would never do anything to keep Jamie away from his grandfather, but Robert doesn’t really seem all that interested in Jamie. He’s not one who would get down on the floor and play with him, for instance.”

Just saying the words made her realize how much that bothered her. Naomi, Aunt Paula, William, even someone Jamie knew less well, like Caleb, seemed able to relate to him quickly. But Robert didn’t even try.

“You think it is that he doesn’t want to? Or that he doesn’t know how to?”

“That’s probably the truth of it. He wasn’t around very much when my husband was growing up, and they were never close.”

“That is sad. He is the loser, I think.”

Hannah nodded. If she were not afraid of what Robert might do, she’d find it easy to feel sorry for him.

She picked another apple and held it for a moment, frowning. “He doesn’t approve of our teachings on nonviolence. He thinks I would bring Jamie up to despise his father’s sacrifice, and I can’t seem to convince him otherwise.”

The ladder creaked. Startled, she looked up to see that the bishop was climbing down, lowering the basket with a rope as he did. He smiled, shaking his head. “My wife insists. She is afraid I will fall if I try to climb down with the basket. Ach, well, we worry about the people we love.”

“Yes,” she said softly, wondering if he meant Robert. And wondering if it was really worry about Jamie that propelled his actions, instead of just determination to have things his own way.

Bishop Ephraim poured the contents of his basket into hers, filling it to the brim. “There. That is just right.”