Hannah's Joy (7 page)

“Ja. D-d-denke.” He hesitated, not wanting to say more, but needing to. “Jamie.” He jerked his head toward the monitor. “Bringing h-h-him up w-well is the b-b-best memorial to your h-husband.”

Hannah’s eyes filled with tears, and she blinked several times. “Thank you, William.” She whirled and hurried up the stairs.

*   *   *

“You
have us so curious, Hannah.” Aunt Paula peered at her over a forkful of egg salad. “How did it go with William yesterday? You haven’t said a word, ain’t so?”

Hannah sat with her aunt and Naomi at one of the round tables, having their own meal after the lunch rush was over and Jamie was tucked up for his nap. She hesitated, considering her words. Aunt Paula had contained her curiosity for nearly a full day, but now it was bursting out.

“We made a good start,” she said, knowing that wouldn’t be enough to satisfy her aunt. “It’s much too soon to know how successful we’ll be.”

“But what did you do? What did William say?” Her aunt’s glasses wore a light dusting of flour, but her blue eyes sparkled behind them.

Naomi put down her soup spoon with a little clink. “Maybe it’s not right for Hannah to talk about it to us,” she said. “Like a doctor wouldn’t talk about you to someone else.”

Naomi’s quiet understanding continued to surprise Hannah.

“Yes, it is something like that,” she said, grateful. “One of the first things they teach you before they let you near a client is the importance of privacy. Even a child would be upset if he knew you were talking to someone else about his treatment.”

She carefully didn’t say the word
gossip
, afraid of offending.

Aunt Paula looked on the verge of objecting, probably to say that working with William had been her idea, after all. But Naomi nipped in again before she could speak.

“It wonders me how people ought to speak to someone like Will. Probably we do all the wrong things, ain’t so?”

“That’s sometimes true,” Hannah said, relieved to turn the talk in that direction. “The most important thing is just to listen in a relaxed way and wait for the person to finish, not try to complete the person’s thoughts yourself.”

Naomi nodded. “I remember William’s sisters always tried to finish his sentences for him when they were younger.” She paused, glancing down at what remained of her chicken noodle soup. “He’s a gut man. I hope this helps him.”

Aunt Paula nodded. “It would be nice to see William taking part in life, instead of watching. It’s time he found himself someone to love.”

“Ja, it is,” Naomi said, punctuating the words with a nod.

Did Naomi see herself in that role? The thought hit Hannah with a disturbing suddenness, and she was dismayed to find herself reacting negatively.

She had no right to feel that way. It wasn’t any of her business who was interested in William. Naomi was a lovely person, and she and William shared the same faith. They both seemed lonely, in a way. Surely it would be good if they got together.

Hannah had a feeling she was coming up with too many arguments. She barely knew William, after all.

But he had done something yesterday that more than repaid whatever she might do for him. He’d said that bringing Jamie up right was the best memorial to Travis, and the words had been echoing in her mind ever since.

He was right. She’d had her chance at love, and it had been a wonderful experience. She might grieve how soon it had ended, but in a way, it made her future more clear. Her only job now was Jamie, and he was a full-time occupation.

“Ach, look at the time.” Aunt Paula stood, gathering up her used dishes. “We should get busy. And there’s the supply order still to do this afternoon.”

Hannah noticed the frown lines gathering between her aunt’s eyebrows. Aunt Paula always seemed to look harassed when it came time to deal with the supply orders. She seemed to love everything about running the bakery except the paperwork.

“Would you like me to take care of the orders?” Hannah spoke impulsively, and as quickly wondered if her aunt would think she’d presumed too much.

But Paula’s face expressed only relief. “You would do the orders for me? Ach, it would be so nice.”

“I’d be happy to.” It was a simple way to repay her aunt’s kindness, and the record-keeping would be easy for her. “I’ll double-check the amounts with you before I call the order in. All right?”

“Ja, ser gut.” The frown lines had disappeared. Aunt Paula turned to Naomi. “Naomi, you’ll be able to mind the bakery on Saturday, ja? I want to be sure I can take Hannah to the work day.”

“That is fine.” Naomi rose, too. “I have told my daad already. You will have a gut time together with all the sisters, ja?”

Hannah was a step behind. The other two obviously knew what they were talking about, but she didn’t. “Work day?”

“Didn’t I tell you about that?” Her aunt tossed the question back over her shoulder as they headed for the kitchen. “I thought I had. We . . . all the women from Pleasant Valley who are interested . . . have one Saturday a month when we meet at the fire hall to work on quilts and other crafts for the benefit auction.”

“What is the benefit auction?” It sounded vaguely familiar, but Hannah didn’t recall discussing it.

Her aunt glanced at her. “Ach, sometimes I forget you haven’t been here forever. The big auctions we have spring and fall for charity. I’ve told you about that, surely.”

“I guess I’d forgotten.” Hannah started water running in the sink to wash up their few dishes from lunch. “When is the auction?”

“Next month.” Her aunt shook her head in dismay. “I don’t know how it’s come around again so soon already. I haven’t finished half the things I’d intended to make to sell, and the needs are so great this year, with all those tornadoes and then the floods.”

Hannah remembered now. Her aunt had talked about the money the community had raised in the spring, and how they’d sent teams out west to help with rebuilding after the tornadoes.

“You said you’d raised a lot of money in the spring sale, didn’t you?” She pushed her sleeves back before plunging her hands into the hot, soapy water.

“Ja, for sure, but it’s never enough. The Mennonite Central Committee has been swamped with appeals this year, so I’ve heard.” Aunt Paula began filling a tray with more loaves of bread to replace those they’d sold that morning.

“So everyone, even those who aren’t Mennonite, helps with the sales?” Hannah asked. For such a small corner of the world, Pleasant Valley seemed to be involved in a great deal.

“Ja, that’s how it’s done. The Amish want to help, for sure, and they don’t have a central organization to support outside charity, like the Central Committee and its Mennonite Disaster Fund. And lots of the Englisch help, too. They know the money will be well spent.” Aunt Paula picked up the tray. “Besides, it is a lot of fun, working together. You’ll see for yourself on Saturday.”

“But, Aunt Paula, maybe it would be better if I watched the bakery so that Naomi can go.” Naomi probably had many more skills to contribute than she did.

“No, no, we have it all set. Naomi doesn’t mind, and we usually trade off anyway. I want you to go. There’s no better way to get to know people than by working beside them, and some of the teenage girls will be there to watch the kinder.”

Aunt Paula never liked having her arrangements upset, but in this case . . .

“But I wouldn’t know what to do,” Hannah confessed. “I don’t know how to quilt or knit or sew.”

Aunt Paula’s busy hands stilled, and she stared at Hannah, her blue eyes round behind her glasses. “How could you not know how to sew, at least?”

“No one ever taught me.” This must be a pretty big gap in her education, to judge by her aunt’s expression of dismay. She began to feel embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

“But your mamm was wonderful gut at all those things. She had such an eye for color in quilt patterns, even when she was hardly old enough to reach across a quilting frame. You must remember that.”

Must she? A vague memory teased at the back of Hannah’s mind . . . an image of her mother bending over a quilting frame, sunlight streaming through the window to bring out the jewel-like tones of the fabric, Mammi’s needle swooping up and down. But that had to have been long before they went away.

“I guess,” she said. “A long time ago. I think my mother must have given it up after we left Pleasant Valley.” As she’d given up so many interests, letting them fall away from her, one after another, until there seemed to be nothing left except the fear inside her mind.

The tray clattered onto the countertop. “I wouldn’t have believed it.” Aunt Paula seemed almost to be talking to herself. “She loved it so much.” She shook her head slowly, as if mourning the loss of all that her sister had loved.

“I’m sorry.” There didn’t seem to be anything else to say.

“Your mammi started teaching you when you were just a tot.” Aunt Paula gave her a challenging look. “You’ve just forgotten. You’re Elizabeth’s daughter. You’ll have her gifts.”

Hannah set a plate in the drainer, trying not to slam it down. “I don’t,” she said shortly. “Life doesn’t work that way sometimes.”

“But you must. Try to remember.” The urgency in her aunt’s voice was real. What was driving this insistence that Hannah be like her mother?

“I don’t.” Hannah’s careful control snapped. “I don’t think I want to remember. Or to be like her. Not if it means letting down my own child.”

She put a soapy hand to her mouth, horrified at the words that had spilled out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

Aunt Paula shook her head slowly. Heavily. “Don’t. We’d best not talk about it anymore.”

Or we’ll say even more that we regret,
Hannah thought, finishing the sentence for her aunt.

What had possessed her? She couldn’t blurt such things out to Aunt Paula. Her aunt still had such a cherished image of who her little sister had been.

Paula picked up the tray again, heading for the door. She stopped just before she reached it and turned. She cleared her throat, and it seemed to Hannah that she was trying to find something to say.

“I should not push.” She hesitated, staring at the bread as if she’d forgotten what she was doing with it. “I hope you will come on Saturday. I think you would like it.”

There was a lump in Hannah’s throat. Her aunt was trying, and she’d have to find a way to do the same. “Yes. I’d like to go with you.”

“Gut.” Her aunt paused again, ready to push the door with the tray. “In the attic there are some things of your mamm’s. A trunk, some boxes. Some of the things she made, if you ever want to see them.” The door swung as she went through.

Hannah stood at the sink, drying her hands on the towel, the movements automatic. Her head was light, as dizzy as if she hadn’t eaten.

She didn’t want to see her mother’s things. She didn’t want to delve back into a past that her aunt obviously remembered far differently than she did. And she definitely didn’t want Aunt Paula to look at her as if she were her mother.

C
HAPTER
S
IX

T
he
number of cars and buggies parked at the fire hall on Saturday certainly indicated that the work day was a popular event. Hannah lifted Jamie from his car seat and hefted the diaper bag onto her shoulder. She carried so much stuff around that it was a wonder one shoulder wasn’t lower than the other, but whatever she left behind was sure to be the very thing that she needed.

“All set?” Aunt Paula, pulling a work bag from the backseat, looked eager to get going.

“We’re ready.” Hannah fell into step with her aunt, Jamie on her hip. “Looks like a good turnout.”

Hannah made an effort to sound as enthusiastic as her aunt obviously was. She could only hope her participation would help to mend the breach between them. She loved Aunt Paula, and she also depended on her. Her aunt provided the only stability in their lives right now.

Please . . .

Hannah wasn’t sure what she was praying for. She only knew she needed some assurance.

The chatter of women’s voices, punctuated by laughter, filled the large room, bouncing off the cement block walls. Groups of women gathered around tables, working busily, while two quilt frames, set up in one corner, were also surrounded by chairs full of women. Hannah hesitated, taking it all in, not sure where to turn first.

“The children are over this way.” Her aunt surged off to the right, obviously expecting her to follow. “You don’t need to worry. They’ll take fine care of Jamie.”

Hannah trailed after Paula, Jamie clinging to her, probably a little spooked by all the people and noise. Whether he was going to let go or not was a good question.

“Here we are,” Aunt Paula said. “Do you want me to wait while you get Jamie settled and introduce you around?”

Her aunt seemed eager to start, so Hannah shook her head. “You go ahead. I’ll look around a little and see what I can work on.” If anything, she added silently.

“Gut, gut. I’m helping with a quilt, so I should get over there.” Aunt Paula paused long enough to smile at her and pat Jamie. “I’m glad you came, Hannah. You’ll have fun. You’ll see.”

She didn’t wait for a response, just hurried off toward the quilt frames at the far end of the room.

One corner of the room had been fenced off into a kiddie yard, complete with toys and a couple of portable cribs. Hannah started in that direction and then stopped, her attention arrested by a large framed poster on the wall. It was a listing of fire company volunteers, and somehow she wasn’t surprised to see William’s name listed under the heading of those who’d served for more than ten years. Obviously he didn’t let his stutter hold him back from doing the important things.

Smiling a little, she went on to the child care area. To her relief, she recognized Katie’s sister Rhoda, the one she’d met at the quilt shop.

“I was hoping you would bring Jamie today. He’s a fine boy, for sure.” Rhoda’s pert face was lit with pleasure, and Hannah felt an answering warmth. The way to a mother’s heart was to praise her child—that was certain.

“It’s nice to see you, Rhoda. Are you watching the children?”

Rhoda nodded, holding a stuffed lion out to Jamie. “Ja, my friend Becky and I are babysitting.” She gestured toward another teenager, also in Amish dress, who was sitting on the floor building a block tower with several small children. At the sound of her name, the girl looked up with a shy smile.

“Becky is Caleb’s niece,” Rhoda said. “When her onkel Caleb and my sister Katie get married, we’ll be . . .” She paused, obviously not sure.

“Maybe cousins,” Hannah suggested. She suspected most of the Pleasant Valley Amish were cousins of some description, if they traced their families back far enough.

Jamie bounced in her arm, reaching for the toy lion, and Rhoda made it jump, laughing a little.

“Want the lion, Jamie? Komm see me, then.” Rhoda held out her arms.

To Hannah’s surprise, Jamie lunged into them, grabbing for Rhoda’s kapp strings.

“Jamie, don’t . . .” Hannah began, but Rhoda was already untangling his fingers.

“Kinder always do that,” she said. “Look, Jamie, let’s fly over here and show everyone the lion.” She swooped Jamie through the air and landed him next to the other toddlers.

Hannah took a step back. Could she actually get away without tears?

“I think he will be happy,” a soft voice said.

She turned to find an Amish woman next to her.

“I hope so. I wouldn’t want him to cry and get the others started.”

“They’ll be fine,” the woman said. “Just see how well Rhoda and Becky handle them. That is my little Anna.” She nodded to a tiny blonde girl leaning against Becky, and Hannah’s stomach lurched. Anna was a Down’s syndrome child. While Hannah watched, the little girl handed a block to Jamie.

“How sweet,” she murmured.

Anna’s mother nodded. “I believe God gives some of His children a bit of extra sweetness to make up for other things.” For an instant, sorrow tinged her loving expression, and as quickly vanished. “I am Myra Beiler.” She smiled. “A distant cousin of yours.”

“You are?” Obviously Myra knew who she was, so Hannah didn’t bother to say her name. “How are we related?” She didn’t even know she had any Amish relatives.

“Well, your father was a Zercher, ja? And, let me see, I think it was his father that was cousins with my grossdaadi.”

Suddenly acquiring a cousin was a bit disorienting. “I did know my father was Amish before he married my mother.”

“Ja. He went up the ladder to the Mennonites.” Myra laughed softly at Hannah’s expression. “Up the ladder is moving to a Plain group that is less strict. That’s what we say, anyway.”

“Aunt Paula told me I’d make some friends here today. She didn’t mention I’d find a cousin.”

Funny, that she’d just been thinking about the web of relationships among the Amish. Apparently the Mennonites were included in it, as well.

“If you haven’t already decided what you’re working on, maybe you’d like to join my table,” Myra suggested. Her voice went up at the end of the sentence, as if she weren’t sure how Hannah might react.

“Only if it’s something a person with no skill at all can do.” She’d better confess that right away, before she got entangled with some of the experts. “Aunt Paula insists I ought to be able to remember how to sew, but I don’t.”

“Komm,” Myra said. “We’ll find a job for you, ja?”

Hannah followed her newfound cousin to a table spread with soft stuffed dolls in various stages of construction. She was about to remind her that she couldn’t sew, but Myra was already introducing her.

“Here is my sister-in-law, another Anna, and our friend Rachel. This is Hannah, Paula’s niece. I thought she could dress the dolls for us.”

Well, that she could do. She slipped into a chair, nodding at the other women’s greetings and wondering if she was the only person confused by the remarkable similarity among Amish women.

It wasn’t just that they were dressed alike, although brown-haired Rachel wore a burgundy dress and apron while Anna, with flaxen hair, wore blue, which matched her eyes. Their manner was very similar, a sort of calm acceptance that seemed to say they knew who they were and where they belonged.

“We have a bunch ready to be dressed, so I hope you really want to do this.” Anna smiled, nodding toward a stack of dolls. She had a quick smile and an air of assurance that contrasted with her sister-in-law’s shy, gentle expression. “Has Rhoda taken over your little boy already?” She reached out to pat the infant sleeping in a buggy next to her.

“She has.” Hannah glanced toward the corner, but everyone seemed to be playing happily. “I hope he won’t cause any problems. He hasn’t had much opportunity to play with other children his age.”

“He’ll be fine,” Rachel assured her. “And if he does fuss, it’s not as if we haven’t all heard it before.”

The other women smiled, and Hannah recognized the instant fraternity of young mothers. She’d known that before, on the base, where other young mothers were the ones who really understood.

She picked up one of the soft, faceless rag dolls and began to put on the tiny Amish dress. “I imagine these will sell well.”

“For sure they will,” Rachel said. “If only we have a warm day for the auction, so we get a crowd.”

“We can’t help being excited. It’s our big event of the fall.” Anna stitched yarn into place for a doll’s hair. “Once winter comes, things get quiet here in Pleasant Valley.”

Was there an implication that Hannah might find it boring? If they imagined she’d led an exciting life before she came here, they couldn’t be more wrong.

“That sounds fine to me. I’m too busy for much outside activity anyway.”

“It can’t be easy, raising a small child without a husband’s help.” Myra’s voice was soft, her brown eyes sympathetic.

“Especially out there.” Anna gave a jerk of the head that seemed to indicate the English world. “I know, you see. I lived there for three years, and it was a struggle to take care of myself and my little Gracie.” She hesitated, her gaze on Hannah’s face. “I wanted you to know, in case you need someone who understands.”

The lump in Hannah’s throat made it difficult to answer. Anna had just handed her a gift, it seemed, and she didn’t even know her.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “I appreciate that.”

The others resumed work, talking or falling silent with the easy familiarity of people who knew one another well. The apprehension Hannah had felt at fitting in had disappeared, almost without her noticing. This was like one of the wives groups on the base—women concentrating on a task while talking about teething and potty training and the best treatment for colic.

She glanced across the room to the quilting frames, where Aunt Paula was seated. Paula looked up at the same time, and their gazes met. Hannah smiled. Aunt Paula had been right. Despite Hannah’s lack of skill, she’d found something worthwhile here.

“William tells me you are helping him with his speech.” Rachel finished the seam she was stitching and reached for another doll. “I’m so glad.”

“Yes, I . . .”

Hannah stopped, unable to come up with the rest of a casual response.
Rachel.
She hadn’t realized. This was the woman Katie had told her about, the older sister-in-law William had fallen in love with. Apparently Rachel was still close to William.

Maybe it was better not to let on that she knew about William’s feelings for Rachel, but she sensed her face had already given her away.

Before she could come up with something to say, another Amish woman, carrying a tray of cupcakes toward the kitchen, stopped behind Anna. She looked at Hannah with curiosity in her round, red-cheeked face.

“This is Paula Schatz’s niece, ja?”

Hannah nodded. She was beginning to accept the fact that everyone here could identify her. “Yes, I’m Hannah Conroy.”

“This is my sister-in-law Barbara Beiler,” Anna said. “My oldest brother’s wife.”

All Barbara’s interest focused on Hannah. “You are the one helping William Brand with his talking, then.”

She nodded. If William had hoped to keep that fact quiet, he’d obviously failed. How did the Amish spread news so quickly, even without the help of telephones?

“It’s wonderful kind of Hannah to do that,” Rachel said quickly.

“It certainly is,” Anna added. Oddly, there seemed to be a warning in her voice, as if . . .

“Ja, I’m sure that’s so,” Barbara said. “It’s chust too bad that everyone doesn’t see it that way.”

“Barbara . . .” Anna began.

“What do you mean?” Hannah felt as if she’d missed a step in the dark and come down hard.

“Some folks are saying that William is as God made him. That he should be satisfied with that and not be trying to change.”

“Barbara, that’s not a thing you ought to be repeating.” Rachel spoke sharply, the tone a contrast to the gentleness in her face.

“I’m not saying I think that,” Barbara said. “Just that some folks are saying it.”

“That doesn’t mean you should tell Hannah such a thing.” Anna’s fair skin had flushed, as if her sister-in-law had embarrassed her, and Myra, also a sister-in-law, looked as if she wanted to crawl under the table.

“Well, I didn’t mean anything.” Barbara looked genuinely surprised by their reaction to her words. “Guess I’d best get these cupcakes to the kitchen.” She hurried off, as if she couldn’t get away fast enough.

There was an awkward silence in Barbara’s wake.

Rachel hurried into speech. “Don’t heed what a few foolish people think, Hannah. Please. You are doing a gut thing for William. He should have a chance to speak for himself.”

“Barbara means well.” Anna’s expression was rueful. “I have to remind myself of that a half-dozen times a day. It’s just too bad that everything she thinks comes out of her mouth.”

“It’s all right.” Hannah tried to muster a normal-looking smile. “I was a little taken aback, but what William wants is all that matters.”

But was it? She couldn’t help but remember what Katie had said—that William was upset about the thought that people would gossip about them.

Now it was happening. How would he react? Would he feel that working with her wasn’t worth the hassle?

That was his decision, Hannah reminded herself. But the possibility made her more uneasy than it should.

*   *   *

On
the off Sunday, when they didn’t have church, most Amish visited friends or relatives. William supposed the Mennonites did the same, making him wonder for a moment where Hannah and her little boy would spend the day. Paula had a flock of relatives in Pleasant Valley, so they were probably visiting someone.

He’d been invited to Myra and Joseph Beiler’s for supper. When he’d stopped by the machine shop that Joseph ran with Samuel Weaver to pick up a mower piece Isaac needed, Myra had hurried out to the buggy before he left to invite him. A kind thought, that was, inviting him by himself instead of assuming he’d be going somewhere with Isaac’s family.

The lane to Joseph and Myra’s place ran between two properties, with the Beiler house on the left and the home of Samuel and Anna Weaver on the right, beyond a fenced paddock. Samuel had a gift with horses, and he was often training an animal or two for someone, besides doing his work in the machine shop.