Hannah's Joy (6 page)

Unless it was raining, Hannah took Jamie for a walk in the stroller before his afternoon nap. Sometimes she went to the right out of the bakery, headed for the post office or the drugstore on an errand. More often she turned to the left, walking to the small playground that overlooked the stream.

He wanted to catch her for a talk, and he’d rather do it where neither his relatives nor hers were around to overhear. Easier said than done, he knew.

Caleb looked up from his work, stretching, and then nodded at the quilt rack William had been working on. “That new design is ser gut. We’ve sold two in the last week. Too bad the tourist season will end soon. We’d sell a lot more, for sure, if we had the customers coming in.”

William nodded, distracted from the window. “If y-you w-won’t need me s-so much then—”

“Ach, no, that’s not what I meant,” Caleb said quickly. “I’d like it fine if you were here full-time. I just wish we had more of an outlet for our business.”

Caleb was right. Business would slow down for the shop as the weather grew colder. Stores in the bigger towns around probably weren’t so affected. An idea stirred in William’s mind, but then it skittered away as he glanced out the window.

There was Hannah, pushing the stroller, headed for the playground. Good. It would most likely be deserted this time of day.

He waited a few minutes just in case Caleb had seen her, too. Then he took a step back from the workbench, stretching as he moved out of the patch of sunlight that poured through the window.

“Think I’ll t-t-take a b-break.”

“Sure thing.” Caleb didn’t look up from the chair he was working on. “I’m going to do the same, once I set this glue to dry.”

William went quickly down the stairs, smiling at his cousin Becky, who was minding the shop. “B-b-back soon.”

Once he was out on the street, he had to force himself to slow down. Might as well give Hannah a chance to get settled, first.

Nothing wrong with giving himself a chance to think about what he was doing, either.

Still, he’d made up his mind, hadn’t he? Hannah had offered him a chance that might never come again.

He passed two more shops and came to the grassy stretch that sloped gently down toward the creek, which was shallow at this time of year. The playground was small . . . a swing set, two slides, monkey bars, and a sandbox. But that was enough to keep a child occupied.

Jamie was already in the sandbox. Hannah had said once that it was his favorite. She sat on the edge, where the wooden frame formed a narrow seat, bending forward to talk to Jamie, or maybe encourage his play.

William walked across the grass toward them, trying to plan what he would say. That made it easier, when he could think things out and find the fewest words to use.

Hannah’s voice reached him. “. . . I’ll figure it out, sweetheart. Mommy will take care of you.”

He stopped, realizing she didn’t know he was there. Realizing, too, that she probably wouldn’t want anyone to hear that.

He stood for a moment, not sure what to do. Jamie pushed a small tractor in the sand, making noises meant to sound like a motor. Hannah had fallen silent, her elbow on her knee, hand cradling her cheek.

He moved again. His shadow must have fallen across her line of vision, and she jerked back, turning her head.

“William. I didn’t hear you.” She was smiling, but it seemed to him that he could see fresh lines of strain in her face.

He blinked. “Y-you are w-w-wearing a k-kapp.”

Nodding, she patted the rough wooden bench. “Join us. Jamie is always glad to see you. Look, Jamie, it’s William.”

Jamie threw his hands up, spraying sand in all directions. Laughing at him made it easier for William to sit down, keeping a careful space between himself and Hannah.

Hannah gave him a sideways glance. “You’re surprised by the kapp, aren’t you?”

“A l-little.” Actually, a lot. Hannah dressed simply enough, but for sure not Plain. Still, all the different groups of Mennonites had their own traditions.

“I thought . . .” She let that trail off. “I remember my mother telling me about the kapp when I was little. About how it made sure our heads were covered when we wanted to pray.” Her lips curved a little, as if that was a nice memory.

“Ja. I r-remember m-my mamm s-saying that t-t-to one of my s-sisters.” So much for his planning what he was going to say. This talk had gone in a different direction before he’d even gotten started. “S-so that’s why?” He indicated the kapp, white against the rich brown of her hair.

“I guess.” She sounded as if there was more, but she didn’t go on.

He bent, picking up a plastic horse and sending it galloping toward Jamie’s tractor. Jamie giggled and grabbed for it. Rachel used to say, when her kids were this age, that toddlers thought everything they touched belonged to them.

“I thought it would make my aunt happy.” Hannah’s voice was so soft that she might have been talking to herself. “I didn’t realize . . .”

“W-what?” He tried to keep his voice as low as hers, his gaze on Jamie.

Hannah sighed, putting her hand to her cheek again as if to comfort herself. “She thought that meant I would stay, join the church, be what she thinks is best for me.”

The words set up an echo in his mind. A lot of people seemed to think they knew what was best for someone else.

“D-don’t you w-w-want to?”

Hannah had seemed happy here, and Jamie was thriving. What was in the outside world that made staying here seem impossible?

If he could speak like most folks, he could say all that to her. But he couldn’t. He’d have to trust she understood what he was thinking.

He buried his fingers in the sand and then popped them up, making Jamie laugh. He immediately tried to bury his own little hand, and William helped him.

“It’s so hard.” Hannah almost sounded as if she were talking to herself. “Travis . . . I owe him so much. I have to bring Jamie up the way he would want. He gave his life for his country.”

Did she think that the Anabaptist belief in nonviolence was a betrayal of her husband?

She moved slightly, drawing his gaze. “You understand, don’t you? I have to bring Jamie up to admire and respect his father’s memory.”

“J-ja.” He did understand. She thought the only way she could be true to her husband’s memory was to turn away from her own heritage.

“So I’ll have to go sometime.” She straightened her slim shoulders, as if preparing to carry a burden. “I’ll have to.”

“S-sometime,” he said. “I h-hope not t-t-too soon. I w-wanted to s-say yes.”

Her smile dispelled the clouds. “You’re going to let me help you?”

“J-ja. Afternoons okay?”

She nodded, looking as if he’d given her a present, instead of the other way around. “Let’s start tomorrow. Say Tuesday and Thursday around two. Will that work?”

“J-ja. Unless I h-h-have to h-help my brother.”

He didn’t want to tell Isaac he couldn’t help on the farm because he was working on his stammer. In fact, it would be better if Isaac didn’t know anything about the lessons. He didn’t want to be answering a lot of questions about them.

She glanced at him, and he noticed that a strand of brown hair had pulled loose from her bun to curl against her cheek. It made him want to touch it.

“Is Isaac why you want to do this?” she asked quietly.

He shrugged. That was his usual response when he didn’t want to talk about something. But maybe that was unfair to Hannah, who was going out of her way to help him when she had troubles enough of her own.

“E-everyone t-tells me what I sh-should be d-doing. S-seems like a grown-up sh-should figure that out h-h-himself.”

She stared at him for a long moment, as if his words had struck something in her. “Yes,” she said finally. “A grown-up should.”

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

T
he
disagreement with Aunt Paula the previous day seemed to have shaken her aunt nearly as much as it had Hannah. All morning they’d been carefully polite to each other, so much so that Naomi had given them a curious look now and then.

Coming back downstairs after settling Jamie for his nap, Hannah clutched the notebook in which she’d designed a simple outline for her first session with William. He’d be arriving soon, but there was one thing yet to be settled.

Aunt Paula glanced at the notebook. “You’re ready to start, ja?” She sounded more nearly herself than she had all morning. “This is a gut thing you’re doing, Hannah.”

“I hope so.” She pressed her hand against her midsection, where a troupe of butterflies seemed to be fluttering. “I’m as nervous as if I were facing a final exam.”

“You’ll do fine.” Aunt Paula wiped her hands on her apron and then patted her shoulder. “Have faith.”

“I’m trying,” she said. “Is it okay if we work upstairs?”

The instant she said the words her aunt’s lips tightened, and she knew she’d made a misstep.

“That would not be suitable.” Aunt Paula gestured toward the round tables. “Why can’t you work here?”

Paula’s house, Paula’s rules, Hannah reminded herself. Something that would seem perfectly harmless in the outside world wasn’t proper in Paula’s view.

“I don’t think William would be comfortable working with me where anyone looking in the windows might see. If he doesn’t relax and feel at ease, we won’t get anywhere.”

Aunt Paula looked ready to argue the point, but Naomi intervened.

“What about the bakery kitchen?” she asked. “We won’t have to go back there this time of day, so you and William can work in peace.”

Hannah looked at her aunt. Was their disagreement over Megan’s visit going to color everything she wanted to do?

“Ja, that sounds fine.” Aunt Paula’s expression eased. “Naomi is right.”

Hannah shot Naomi a look of thanks. “Great. I’ll go and set up.” She glanced at the clock. “William should be here in about fifteen minutes. Jamie went down for his nap a little faster than I thought he might.”

Naomi smiled. “He tired himself out this morning, I think.”

Naomi had brought Jamie a small wooden wagon this morning, one she said her brothers had played with when they were small. Jamie had been entranced, filling it up with blocks, wheeling it around, tipping them out, and then doing it all over again.

“He loves the wagon, all right. That was so kind of you, Naomi.” She’d learned that complimenting an Amish person was a tricky thing to do, since they didn’t want to appear prideful about something they’d done.

Naomi smiled, ducking her head a little in that typically Amish gesture that might mean almost anything.

William did that, as well, Hannah realized, and the words he’d said yesterday seemed to echo in her mind again. He was struggling his way toward some form of independence.

Still holding the notebook, she walked into the bakery kitchen, which was still warm from the heat of the large ovens. They could sit at the table—a homey, familiar situation, with the comforting aroma of bread-baking still filling the air.

She set the chairs at right angles to each other. The little she’d learned of William’s home life, the encounter with his brother Isaac, his stammer . . . those factors certainly suggested that making decisions for himself was a struggle for William.

And what is your excuse?
A small voice in the back of her mind voiced what she knew was true. She had done her own share of drifting, of letting others make up her mind for her. Her parents, her teachers, Travis, Megan . . . even Aunt Paula, in a way.

She glanced at the monitor on the counter, its light flickering a little when Jamie moved, rustling the sheets in his crib. She was the only one responsible for Jamie. She had to make decisions for both of them.

Hannah moved restlessly, hands working on the back of the chair. What if she made the wrong decision, the way she had when she’d hired that babysitter? What if she let her son down again?

Travis had been her rock. Now he was gone, and she had been left to go on alone.

Her throat tightened, and she shook her head, impatient with herself. Now was not the time to dwell on her doubts. She had a job to do.

The swinging door moved, and her nerves jumped. It was time—

But it was Aunt Paula, holding a handful of envelopes. The postman must have just come.

Her aunt held out one envelope, her expression clouded. “This just came. For you. It looks like it’s from Jamie’s grandfather.”

Hannah held it for a moment, studying the return address. Arizona, where Robert Conroy had settled after retiring from the army. He wrote so seldom that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen his handwriting.

“I should leave you alone . . .” Aunt Paula made a movement toward the door.

“No, it’s all right. Stay.” She stared at the envelope, reluctant to move.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” Aunt Paula prompted her.

Hannah blew out a breath. “Yes, of course.” Somehow the return address seemed to bring Conroy’s stiff, frowning presence into the room. They’d met only twice . . . once when Travis took her to visit after they were married and again at the funeral. Robert hadn’t seemed especially approving of her on either occasion.

She ripped open the envelope and unfolded the single sheet she found inside. The note was brief.

I thought you’d want a copy of this. I heard you hadn’t been back to the cemetery.

His name was signed in angular black letters that seemed vaguely angry.

She picked up the photo, knowing what it must be and reluctant to see it. She handed the letter to her aunt.

“It’s not much of a letter, that’s for sure.” Aunt Paula sounded miffed, as if the rudeness had been directed at her. “What does he mean?”

Hannah turned over the photo. Smooth, even green grass carpeted the ground, dotted with straight rows of white crosses. She could read the lettering on the one nearest to the camera.

The photo wavered in her fingers, and she thrust it at her aunt.

“It’s where Travis is buried.” She tried to sound calm, tried to sound like a mature woman who’d dealt with loss and could cope with being left behind.

But inside she knew it wasn’t true, and the pep talk she’d been giving herself was a mocking echo in her mind.

*   *   *

He
shouldn’t have come. William turned to the bakery door, the words repeating themselves in his mind. This was a mistake. Someone would see him, would start to talk.

And they’d remember. Sometimes he thought no one in Pleasant Valley ever forgot anything.

The bell jingled as he opened the door, the familiar sound calming him. After all, what was so unusual in his coming here? He came to the bakery most days, enjoying the welcoming aromas and the sight of the loaves filling wire baskets. No one would think anything of his being there.

The tables were empty at this hour, and no customers lined up in front of the counter. Naomi Esch smiled at him from behind the glass-fronted case that held pastries. “Hannah is back in the kitchen.” She nodded toward the swinging door. “Go on in.”

Naomi probably knew why he was here, but her face didn’t hold any open curiosity. Naomi was a sensible woman, not a blabbermaul like some.

He moved between the tables, pushed open the swinging door, and stepped into the kitchen. And stopped. Paula stood close to Hannah, her arm around the younger woman. Hannah held a paper crumpled in her hand, and her brown eyes were bright with tears.

“Th-this is a b-bad time. I’ll g-go.” He turned toward the door, relief mixing with pity. Hannah was having trouble, and it seemed as good a reason as any for him to back away from this commitment.

“No, don’t.” Hannah said the words before he could push the door open. “I’m all right. Please, sit down.”

He hesitated, but Paula nodded at him.

“That’s right, William. Chust sit now. I’ll leave you two alone.” She patted Hannah’s hand and went quickly back into the bakery.

“You d-don’t w-w-want me here—” he began.

“Sit down.” Hannah almost snapped the words and then gave him a watery smile. “I’m sorry, William. I am upset, but I’d rather work. It will take my mind off things. Coffee? Iced tea?”

He didn’t want anything, but he suspected fixing it would give her a moment to calm herself.

“Ja, tea would be gut.”

Hannah turned to the refrigerator, maybe glad of a reason to hide her face for a moment. She took her time over getting out glasses and putting a few cookies on a plate.

William sat in the chair she’d indicated, his gaze drawn by what lay on the table. Even without touching it, he could see what the photograph showed—her husband’s headstone. The picture lay next to a torn envelope, which meant she’d just received it. No wonder she was upset.

Hannah put glasses on the table. She picked up the picture, shoving it into the envelope, her fingers fumbling with it.

Questions formed in his mind, but he wasn’t going to ask them. He took a long swallow from the glass of tea.

Hannah slipped the envelope into the pocket of her skirt and sat down. Her lips moved in what was probably meant for a smile.

“You know, William, sometimes your silence says a lot.”

He wasn’t sure how to answer that, so he didn’t.

She let out a little sigh, clasping her hands around the glass. “The picture was from my father-in-law. Jamie’s grandfather. I . . . I hadn’t seen the permanent marker until now.”

“I’m s-s-sorry.” Seeing it must have brought her grief.

She nodded, moving her glass in little circles on the tabletop. “Travis is buried in a national cemetery. They . . . It was a military funeral. His father had been in the army, too, so he took care of the arrangements.”

“It w-was g-g-gut that you h-had h-his help.” At least, William thought it would be. But there had been an undertone in Hannah’s voice when she said the words. Maybe they had disagreed about the arrangements.

“I think he’s upset that I haven’t visited the cemetery since then.” The words seemed to burst out, as if Hannah couldn’t hold them back. “He hardly says two sentences in his note.”

William had never met the man. He couldn’t even guess at his motives. But this was upsetting Hannah.

He couldn’t touch her to comfort her. He’d have to use words, and he wasn’t good at that. Inadequate, as always.

“M-maybe he’s a m-man of f-f-few w-words. Like me.”

A smile tugged at her lips, chasing some of the sorrow away. “Maybe so. Well, that’s not why we’re here. I’m glad you said yes, William. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

If he was going to back out, this was his last chance. But with her gaze hopeful on his face, he couldn’t do it. Instead he nodded.

“Right, let’s start, then.” She opened a notebook that lay on the table. She hesitated, her hands flat on its pages. “I feel as if I ought to say this again. I never finished my studies. I’m not certified, and if you . . .”

He shook his head to stop her. “Y-y-you told m-me before. It’s f-f-fine.” He wanted to say more, to reassure her, but as always, he didn’t have the words. But she was smiling, so maybe she knew.

“Good.” She blew out a breath. “Now, I’ll bet people have tried to help you by telling you to relax, or take a deep breath, or start over again.”

He nodded. He’d heard that plenty of times. He’d tried, but none of it worked, and he’d ended up feeling like he’d failed.

“I know.” She was looking at him with a kind of gentle sympathy in those soft brown eyes. “It just made you feel worse, didn’t it? People like that are trying to help. They don’t understand that those techniques aren’t usually successful.”

He looked down at his hands, clasped around the glass. “D-d-does a-anything?”

“Yes, it does. You have to believe that.” She reached out and touched his wrist, and the warmth of her fingers startled him. She might be able to feel his pulse thud against her palm.

A moment passed. Hannah’s gaze moved, as if she’d lost her place and was looking for it. Then she took her hand away.

“There are some techniques that work with most people who stutter. Not a cure, exactly. Just something to make it easier to say what you want.”

He nodded to show he understood, not sure he believed that anything would really help, but willing to try.

“I want you to put your hand on your stomach.” She laid her palm against herself to illustrate, and he copied her. “Notice the way you’re breathing, small breaths, slow and relaxed.”

He listened intently, trying to hear what she’d indicated.

“That’s a good way to start lessening the stuttering. It seems odd, because you feel as if you want to take a deep breath to talk. If you keep breathing slow and relaxed, you won’t have the breath for long sentences. But you don’t want to talk in long sentences anyway, do you?”

She smiled as she asked the question, and he smiled back. Hannah’s face was intent, her eyes alight with interest, and it made him feel good to see her that way, after she’d been upset.

This was something she cared about, and it was giving her pleasure to work with him. “Now we’re going to practice some breathing exercises, learning to move slowly into the words. Don’t be fooled. It’s hard work to concentrate,” she warned.

Hannah was as good as her word. She led him through the exercises, her voice gentle, praising him sometimes, making him repeat sometimes, but always with that quiet patience.

By the time they’d practiced for an hour, William was as tired as if he’d been cutting hay. He felt as if he needed to duck his head under the pump to clear his mind. He was about to suggest they quit when the small white monitor on the counter came to life with a bit of static and a whimper.

“Mama, Mama, Mama.” Something rattled, as if Jamie were shaking the crib bars. “Mama!”

Hannah smiled, closing the notebook. “When he’s awake, he wants up. We’ll have to stop for today. But I’ll see you Thursday?” She made it a question, as if wanting the assurance that he’d be back.