Hannah's Joy (8 page)

It wasn’t unusual these days for a man with a family to support to be working at more than one job. Myra had said Samuel and his family would be over for supper as well. It would be nice to get a glimpse of their little son.

William came to a stop short of the hitching post, making the horse turn its head, as if to ask what he was doing. That elderly black car belonged to Paula Schatz. It looked as if he had the answer to where Hannah and Jamie were spending their Sunday afternoon.

Clucking to the horse to step up, he jumped down and went to tend the animal while questions buzzed around in his head. Was this a coincidence, Myra inviting him when she had Hannah here? Maybe. Or maybe she thought that since he and Hannah were working together, it would be a kindness. Either way, he wasn’t sure it was a good idea.

Joseph was in the backyard at the charcoal grill, holding his palm out to check the temperature, it seemed. He glanced at William and grinned.

“Myra keeps asking me if the grill is ready yet. She’s afraid it won’t be hot in time to cook the burgers and sausages, and she’s determined not to carry the other stuff out until it is.”

“L-looks like it’s c-coming along fine.” The coals weren’t white yet, he guessed, but they soon would be. “I s-see you have other c-company.” He nodded toward the car.

“Ja, Myra got to know Hannah at the work day yesterday. It turns out they are relatives of some sort through Hannah’s father, so Myra wants to be sure Hannah feels welcome here.”

“The Z-Z-Zercher family, that w-would be.” William ran his thoughts back over the tangle of family trees in Pleasant Valley. Sometimes he thought it must be hard to live here if you weren’t related to somebody or other.

“That’s it.” Joseph rearranged the coals with a long fork. “Myra has the family Bible out, showing her. I told them best to keep the little ones inside for now. I don’t want anybody getting too close to the grill.”

Joseph was a careful father to his little girls, gentle but firm. The kind of daadi William would like to be, if he ever had the chance.

The screen door on the back porch swung open, and Myra leaned out. “William, I’m glad you’re here. Wilkom. Joseph, is the fire ready yet? I see Samuel and Anna and the kinder walking over.”

Sure enough, Samuel and his family were skirting the paddock on their way, with Samuel carrying an infant seat. The single horse in the paddock tossed his head and then trotted along beside them. It looked like little Gracie was talking to the animal.

In minutes, everyone was clustering in the backyard, the other women helping Myra carry food out to the picnic table, while Samuel tried to corral the young ones a safe distance from the grill. William went to help just in time to intercept Jamie making a wobbly run toward it.

“Whoa, l-little Jamie.” He lifted the boy in his arms, loving the instant grin that showed the dimples in Jamie’s cheeks. “No r-running to the fire. Hot,” he said with emphasis. He pointed to the grill. “Hot,” he said again.

Jamie wiggled his fingers, his brown eyes round. Obviously he’d heard that word before, what with the bakery ovens heated much of the time.

Carrying Jamie, William walked around the end of the picnic table to where Samuel was spreading out a blanket on the other side. Samuel upended a basket of toys, and the little girls dived in, giggling. William plopped Jamie down in the middle of them.

“S-so this is your l-little one.” He smiled down at the small bundle. Samuel and Anna’s little boy slept intently, his tiny hand against his cheek.

“Six weeks old today,” Samuel said, beaming as only a new father could. “This is our David.”

“A g-gut baby, f-for sure.”

“Ja, for sure. Eats gut, sleeps, cries.” Samuel grinned, nodding toward Gracie, who was cradling a baby doll. “Gracie wants him to stay awake longer, I think. She’ll probably be regretting that when he’s old enough to grab her toys.”

William was still nodding in reply when he realized that Jamie had taken off again, toward the paddock this time. He caught up with the boy in a few long strides.

Jamie wiggled in his grasp. “Horsie. Horsie!” he demanded, pointing. “Horsie!”

“Ach, y-you want to see him. All r-right.”

He swung Jamie onto his shoulder and headed for the paddock. Better to let him see the animal than have to keep chasing him, he’d think.

They reached the fence. The gelding, a handsome bay with a white star on its forehead, sidled up to them. Holding Jamie firmly out of reach, William patted the glossy neck, running his hand along the muzzle to be sure the animal was quiet before he’d let Jamie near.

“There, now. He’s a n-nice boy.” He kept his voice soft, soothing.

“Horsie,” Jamie whispered, imitating him.

“Ja, horsie.” William took the small hand in his and helped Jamie pat the horse’s neck. “Nice, g-gentle. Gut boy.”

He heard a step and turned to see Hannah behind them, watching with a smile.

“You like the horsie, Jamie?” She came closer, but made no move to take her son from William. “He’s nice, isn’t he?”

“Horsie,” Jamie said again. He might not have a very big vocabulary, but he could make his wants understood.

“Thanks for showing him,” Hannah said.

William nodded, feeling her gaze on his face as if she were touching him. “H-he w-was d-determined.”

“Do you know that you barely stammer at all when you talk to Jamie?” She kept her voice low and even, as if what she said didn’t matter at all.

He considered. “J-Jamie d-doesn’t judge me.”

“No, children don’t, do they? Neither do I.”

She leaned on the fence next to him, watching the horse, which had dropped its head to crop at the grass. “I heard something yesterday,” she said abruptly.

Not something good, he’d guess. “W-what?”

“A woman at the work day said that some people . . . some Amish, I think she meant . . . didn’t approve of my helping you with your speech. They’re apparently saying that God made you the way you are, and we shouldn’t try to change that.”

He kept silent for a moment, but there was a bitter taste in his mouth. He thought he could probably put a name to who was saying those things. Amish weren’t saints, just people, and there were always those who were a little mean-spirited.

“Does it bother you?” Hannah asked. Her forehead crinkled, and her warm brown eyes looked apprehensive.

“N-no.” He was surprised to realize that was true. “I d-don’t l-like to be t-talked about, b-but it d-doesn’t change my mind.”

“Good.” She said the word on a sigh of relief. “I’d hate to see you stop because of a foolish comment. That’s what Anna said it was. Foolish.”

“Anna w-was there?” Who else had heard?

“I was working with Anna and Myra. And their friend Rachel.” Her gaze slid away from his.

She knew, then. Someone had already told her about him and Rachel.

“R-Rachel was m-my sister-in-law,” he said. “My b-brother Ezra’s w-widow.”

And to Rachel, he was still her younger brother. Would anyone else understand that?

“Yes, I know. It made Rachel angry, that people had been talking that way and that someone repeated it to me.” Hannah hesitated. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but I thought you should know. In case it made a difference to you.”

“It d-doesn’t,” he said shortly. “B-but you have heard m-more about R-Rachel, ja?”

The color came up in Hannah’s cheeks. “I’m sorry if it upsets you. It wasn’t gossip. Katie just wanted me to understand why you might be reluctant to work with me.”

Hannah reached out to touch his hand, a feather-light brush of the fingertips that he seemed to feel down deep in his bones. “Katie and Caleb care about you. She was trying to help.”

He nodded. Katie cared. And she meant well. He’d like to forget what was past, but that wasn’t easy to do when you lived in a place like Pleasant Valley.

“I guess I should have told you about it before now, but I didn’t know how to bring it up. I didn’t want to put any embarrassment between us.” She looked up at him, frowning a little. “Are we okay?”

He nodded. “J-ja. Okay.”

Joseph called his name just then, and when William looked toward him, Joseph waved his spatula. “Food’s ready,” he called.

William waved back. “W-we better g-go.”

They walked back toward the group gathering around the picnic table, and William struggled with his thoughts.

It wasn’t Hannah’s fault that he was in this position. Still, he wished she didn’t know. Or at least, that he had been the one to tell her.

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN

H
annah
sorted bread loaves into the wire baskets behind the counter, hurrying a little. Naomi wasn’t working today, and Hannah wanted to be sure she’d done all she could before William came for his session that afternoon.

At least, she trusted he’d come. She slid a cinnamon loaf into place, noting how quickly they’d been selling out. Aunt Paula might want to think about making more. Maybe she ought to start keeping a record of what was selling when. Like the supply orders, it would be simple enough for her to do, and it would help her aunt.

Maybe it had been a mistake to tell William what she’d heard at the work day on Saturday. Still, he had seemed more resigned than upset. Perhaps he’d anticipated that reaction from some people.

She smiled, thinking of how Jamie had responded to the horse. He’d been playing horsie ever since, and at the moment he was attempting to ride the large stuffed horse that Megan and her husband had given him for his birthday.

Aunt Paula paused at her elbow. “Goodness, is that all we have left of the cinnamon bread?”

Hannah nodded, putting the last loaf in its place. “I was just thinking that we . . . you might want to make more of those, since they’re so popular.”

“We should,” her aunt said, smiling, with a slight stress on the pronoun.

Encouraged, Hannah went on. “It occurred to me that I might keep a record of how the different types sell and when they sell best. Doing so might help you with planning what to make.” Her tone grew a little diffident toward the end of the sentence. Aunt Paula might feel that her methods didn’t need improvement.

But her aunt was smiling. “Ach, you see, I need you to help me stay up-to-date, my Hannah.” She squeezed Hannah’s hand. “I’m glad to see you take such an interest in the business.”

Before Hannah could reply, the owner of the bookstore across the street came to the counter, looking around a bit absentmindedly, as if he’d forgotten why he’d come in.

“May I help you, Mr. Wainwright?” Hannah stepped to the counter. “Would you like a sticky bun with your coffee today?” She’d already noticed that he had a weakness for the sweet, sticky rolls.

“Thank you, Hannah. That will do nicely. When are you coming over to visit my shop?” That had been a running joke between them for weeks now.

“Soon,” she promised. Reading was a pleasure she didn’t really have time to indulge in very often, but Cliff Wainwright was such a good customer that she thought she should stop by. The trouble was that once she got into a novel, she wouldn’t want to put it down.

Once Mr. Wainwright had left, Aunt Paula resumed their conversation. “I was chust thinking that we want to be certain-sure you have some time off when your friend arrives tomorrow.”

“You don’t need—” Hannah began, but Aunt Paula was already shaking her head.

“Don’t argue, now. I’ve already asked Naomi to work some extra days while Mrs. Townsend is here. I want you to enjoy her visit, and not be worrying over what’s happening in the bakery.”

Maybe that was meant as an apology for the fact that Aunt Paula hadn’t wanted Megan to come in the first place. If so, Hannah should accept with gratitude.

“That’s good of you. It would be nice to have some extra time to catch up on all the news. It seems so long since I’ve seen her.”

Maybe Megan would have changed. She and her husband were at a new post in Georgia now, so she’d have found new friends, probably new activities, too, since her oldest had started kindergarten.

Wiping the countertop, Hannah caught a glimpse of her reflection in the toaster, the kapp looking very white against her brown hair. More likely Megan would think she was the one who had changed.

The prayer covering was bound to look strange to someone who wasn’t familiar with the custom. Hannah hadn’t quite gotten used to seeing it on herself. Maybe she ought to stop wearing it while Megan was here . . .

No, she couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t be that hypocritical. Wearing the kapp meant something to her, and surely her friend could understand that. Megan was used to the transient life of a military wife, transferred here and there at a moment’s notice, her friends and substitute family drawn from other military people.

But how was Megan going to react to the setting in which she found Hannah? Everything here, from the bakery to the Plain dress of people here to the rural countryside and the village where everyone knew everyone, would seem strange to her.

The bell over the door jingled, and Hannah looked toward the sound, smiling automatically. And then gaping. Megan was here.

“Megan!” She scurried around the end of the counter as her friend rushed forward, and in a moment they were hugging, and everything else was forgotten.

“It is so good to see you. I couldn’t wait.” Megan gave her another squeeze. “I decided not to stop at my cousin’s in Baltimore after all. I just drove straight through.”

“I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.” Hannah grinned, unable to restrain the joy that swept through her. She’d never, before or since, had a friend with whom she shared as much as she had with Megan.

Same red curls and sparkling green eyes, same dimpled smile: Megan didn’t look a bit different. Or a day older, for that matter.

Megan seemed to be assessing her in the same way. Hannah thought her friend’s eyes narrowed a bit when they rested on the prayer covering, but she didn’t mention it.

“You look great.” Megan patted her cheek. “Rested and not so thin and strained. This place must agree with you.”

“That’s thanks to my aunt.” Hannah took her hand and led her to the counter, breathing a silent prayer that these two women, so important to her, would get along.

“Aunt Paula, this is my friend Megan Townsend. Megan, my aunt, Paula Schatz.”

Megan seemed to suppress any surprise she felt at Aunt Paula’s Plain dress. She smiled, holding out her hand. “I’m so glad to meet you, Mrs. Schatz. Thank you for having me in your home.”

“You are wilkom.” There was a touch of stiffness in Aunt Paula’s manner, but Hannah hoped Megan didn’t notice it. “Hannah has been looking forward to your coming.”

“No more than I have,” Megan said. She whirled toward Jamie’s play yard in the corner beyond the tables. “And to see that big boy. Just look how much he’s grown.”

She swept across the room with one of her impetuous movements and knelt beside the plastic barrier. “Jamie, I can’t believe how big you are. Remember me? Remember Auntie Megan?”

Jamie stared at her, one finger in his mouth, brown eyes round.

“I’m afraid he’s too little to remember,” Hannah said. To Jamie, the time they’d spent here already had been a big portion of his life.

“I’ll bet he does.” Megan stood, holding out her hands temptingly. “Come to Megan, Jamie.”

Jamie burbled something and reached up to her, and Megan lifted him into her arms. “There, see?” She grinned at Hannah. “He remembers.”

“Or he just wants to get out of his little prison,” Hannah said, smiling back. “Isn’t that right, Jamie?”

Jamie patted Megan’s face, and then wiggled to get down.

“Don’t put him down,” Hannah warned, “or we’ll never get him back in.”

Megan glanced around as the bell jingled and two shopkeepers came in, probably for lunch. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“Not right now,” Hannah said, regretting it. She’d like to get Megan settled and hear all about her family, but this wasn’t a good time. “Our lunch rush is just starting, and the other woman who works for my aunt is off today. I can’t leave Aunt Paula alone to deal with the counter and wait tables.”

“I’ll help you, then. I’ve waited tables plenty in my time.”

“I can’t ask you to help. You’re a guest.”

But Megan was already putting Jamie back into his pen and distracting him with the stuffed horse. “You’re not asking. I’m volunteering. It’ll be fun.” She reached out to clasp Hannah’s hand, her expression changing. “Just tell me quick. How are you, really?”

The tone of Megan’s voice, the knowledge behind it, touched something deep inside Hannah. Megan knew. Other people might express sympathy, might feel for her, but Megan actually knew what the past two years had been like.

A lump formed in her throat, and she struggled to speak around it. “All right,” she managed to say. “Better for seeing you, that’s certain.”

*   *   *

William
took his time as he walked toward the bakery that Tuesday afternoon for his session with Hannah. He hadn’t seen her since they’d talked on Sunday, and it wondered him how much that incident with the gossip had bothered her.

As for him, well, it hadn’t really surprised him. Everyone knew who the blabbermauls were.

Barbara Beiler, for instance. She was a good woman, always first in line to offer help. But her tongue flapped at both ends, as his mamm used to say.

Well, so some people thought he was wrong to try to change himself. They would probably be quick enough to get a hearing aid if they needed it. Why shouldn’t he have help to talk? Unless it was the bishop telling him what he was doing was wrong, he didn’t figure he needed to listen.

It was amazing, but the sessions with Hannah were helping him already. He understood better now what was involved in stuttering, even understood some simple steps he could take to improve.

Putting those tools into practice, that was the hard part. It would take time, but he had that.

He found his steps quickening as he neared the bakery. In a few minutes he’d see Hannah. That shouldn’t have anything to do with his lessons, but there was no point in denying the truth. It was a lot more pleasant being taught by Hannah than by her aunt Paula, for instance. He grinned at the thought as he opened the bakery door.

Hannah wasn’t waiting as she had been, each time they’d had a session before. Paula, busy behind the counter, looked up at him. Pushing her glasses up her nose, she left a flour mark on the lens.

“Ach, William, I didn’t realize—” She turned, heading for the stairs. “Just let me call up to Hannah.”

“Ja, d-d-denke.”

She leaned into the stairwell. “Hannah? William is here for his lesson.”

For a moment there was no response, and then he heard the clatter of feet on the wooden treads as Hannah came hurrying down. She reached the bottom, cheeks flushed.

“William, I’m so sorry. My friend arrived for her visit a day early, and I was so excited that I forgot what day it was. It will just take me a few minutes to get ready.”

“Th-that’s okay.” Would she rather cancel today? If she had a visitor, maybe so. “If y-you w-want . . .”

Before he could get the words out, another woman came down the stairs behind Hannah. An Englisch woman.

He tried not to stare. She was very modern for a friend of Hannah’s, with her cropped pants, bright red toenails, and dangling earrings. Not that he hadn’t seen Englisch women dressed that way before, but . . .

Or was that the way Hannah had dressed, out in the world?

The woman sent him a curious glance before she turned to Hannah. “What’s up? You ran out of the room so fast I thought something was wrong.”

“No, not at all.” Hannah looked a bit flustered. “I just forgot that William was coming today.”

The woman looked at him, her eyebrows lifting. “William?”

“William Brand, Megan Townsend,” Hannah said. “William and I are working on his speech two afternoons a week, and we meet on Tuesdays.”

“I . . . I d-don’t h-have t-t-to—” Of course his stammer would get worse in front of this unknown woman.

“I’m sure William doesn’t mind skipping today,” Mrs. Townsend said. “After all, I just got here. We haven’t even had time to talk yet.”

“J-j-ja.” He managed to get that much out. “F-f-f-f . . .” He wanted to say fine. He felt the breath of the word moving across his lip, but he couldn’t manage to get it out.

Instead he nodded and headed for the door, eager to get away from the woman’s judgmental gaze.

“But I shouldn’t cancel . . .” Hannah was saying as he opened the door.

“You heard him.” The other woman’s voice carried clearly. “The boy doesn’t mind.”

He shut the door firmly and walked away, shoulders stiff.
The boy.
He’d thought that Hannah, at least, didn’t think of him that way.

Well, be fair. Hannah hadn’t said the hurtful words. She had always treated him like a friend. All the same, he wished he hadn’t come today.

It didn’t help his disposition to see his brother coming toward him down the sidewalk.

“William.” Isaac stopped, looking at him with a question in his gaze. “What are you doing here? I heard from Caleb that you were meeting with Paula’s niece this afternoon.”

“N-n-n-no.” He ought to be able to talk to his own brother without tripping over his tongue. “Sh-she i-is b-busy.” He wanted to keep on walking, but he couldn’t do that.

“That’s just as well, ja?” Isaac put a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t need some Englischer trying to teach you to talk different. Folks are used to you. They don’t mind.”

He minded, but he didn’t suppose Isaac would understand that. “It’s j-just t-t-today she’s b-busy. With c-company.”

It didn’t mean he was giving up. Or that Hannah was, either.

She would have gone ahead with their session in spite of her company, not that he would have agreed. Hannah had a guest. It was only right that she have the time to enjoy that. She hadn’t had anyone come to visit her since she got here.

“I see.” Isaac took his hand away, frowning. “Just remember, William. God made you the way you are for a reason. It’s not up to us to change that.” He shrugged his heavy shoulders. “Think about it, ja? You’ll see I’m right. This business isn’t for you.”

“I-I-I d-don’t—”

The rest of the words, the ones that would show Isaac how important the lessons were to him, wouldn’t come out. They got stuck, like they always did when something was important to him.

“Go on along to the shop.” Isaac turned away, speaking back over his shoulder. “I’ll see you at supper, ja?” He left without waiting for a response.

William strode toward the shop, fists clenching.
I can make up my own mind about what’s right for me.
That was what he wanted to say.