A Widow's Hope (3 page)

“Let’s all sit and bow our heads,” Seth said when Julia set the child down. After prayers, Seth sliced off a chicken leg for Phoebe and a breast and wing for himself. He then spooned stuffing for them both.

When the child began to eat with gusto, Julia settled back in her chair. “Come back to our house on Sunday afternoon after the preaching service and noon meal. Phoebe can play with her cousins, and your
bruder
will breathe easy that you are not starving to death here by yourselves.”

“
Danki,
Julia. I’ll come if it’s just going to be family.” He leveled his sister-in-law a knowing look, one he didn’t need to explain. Julia and Simon were determined to see him remarried to
somebody—anybody—in the district. He often felt like an animal on the auction block in Kidron during one of their fix-up evening meals.

Seth was happy with how things were. His marriage to Constance had been good, but he wasn’t ready to remarry. With God’s grace, he and Phoebe would continue to manage on their own. He had more pressing matters on his mind than matrimony. He needed a cash crop, another business to augment his meager farm income. Land taxes kept going up while the price of grain fluctuated too wildly to be counted on.

Another source of farm income, that’s what he needed.

Certainly not a new wife.

Lancaster County, Pennsylvania

T
he first rays of dawn were filtering through the muslin curtains when Hannah awoke on Sunday. She heard her mother below, already bustling around the kitchen. She, her father, and Thomas had come early to help get ready because services were to be on her farm that day. The sounds of her mother fixing breakfast reminded her of growing up and made her homesick before she had even left!

Hannah parted the curtains to gaze out on the dark, rich earth of newly turned fields. A red-tailed hawk soared on the wind currents, seeking out a tasty breakfast. A mist hung over the stand of pines on the ridge and spoke to her heart of peace and tranquillity.
Never grow too fond of things of this world. God’s greatest creation is the hereafter.
One of her grandmother’s favorite expressions drifted back, but Hannah didn’t know how not to grow fond when surrounded by such beauty. Would Ohio have hills as lush and green? Would the fields offer as bounteous a harvest in the fall? Would the meadows bloom with violets, wild hyacinths, and trillium to sweeten the air as she counted her flock? She knew she was being silly. She’d visited Ohio several times, and the landscape wasn’t much different than the one beyond her window. But still her heart hung heavy as she washed her face and hands and rolled her hair into a tight bun.

Her
mamm
turned from stirring the oatmeal when Hannah entered the kitchen. A plate of sausages waited on the table, along with a stack of toast. Butter pooled in the center of the top slice. “Are you hungry, my daughter?”

Hannah’s eyes filled with tears while a lump the size of a goose egg blocked her throat.
When did my mother grow so old? When did her dark hair become streaked with silver and her back so stooped?

Hannah couldn’t answer the question; speech was impossible. Luckily her father and brother marched into the kitchen with news of another newborn lamb and plans of where to park the carriages that would soon fill their driveway. Much of their yard still remained soggy from the spring rains. After sitting, they bowed their heads and offered thanks for the meal, perhaps their last together for some time. Thomas and her father were soon eating quickly. Much remained to be done before friends and neighbors arrived for the preaching service, including removing or rearranging the furniture so that long benches could be set up.

Hannah glanced at her father, who was scraping the last of his oatmeal with a crust of bread. Deep lines and creases made his face resemble a county roadmap, one that showed every lane, farm trace, and cattle crossing. The backs of his hands were splotched with sunspots and calloused from years of hard work, while his nails were jagged and torn. The thought that she might not be here when her parents reached the end of their days gripped her heart like an iron vise.

“What’s troubling you, daughter?” her mother asked as the menfolk hurried back to their preparations.

Hannah carried their plates to the sink. “I’m fine,
mamm,
just a little nervous about moving my sheep.” There was much more on Hannah’s mind than her flock, but she had no desire to add to her mother’s worries.

“
Ach,
your animals will be fine. The livestock hauler that your
bruder
hired has plenty of experience and assured Thomas they will arrive safe and sound. It is you I’m concerned about. Thomas says
you might be having second thoughts. Is that so? It’s not too late to change your mind.”

Hannah looked into her mother’s face. This woman had taught her to sew, and bake, and cook, and quilt, and dry herbs and flowers, and whiten sheets, and remove berry stains from tablecloths. How could she get along without her? And how could she admit she was frightened by the prospect of a lonely future? She reached out her hand and forced a smile. “I’m looking forward to living with Julia and Simon on their farm. I can’t wait to spend time with my nieces and nephews before they’re all grown up.” At least all that was true.

Her mother opened her mouth to speak and then cocked her head at the sound of the first buggy. Whatever comment she had remained unspoken as the kitchen filled with women and children. They brought side dishes and freshly baked bread for the lunch, which would be served after the three-hour service. Jugs of lemonade and tea were carried to the cold storage while extra paper products and plates were stacked on the counter. Young people sought out others of their own age to chat before the deacon called everyone to their seats. Then came hymns to recite, several sermons to ponder, and silent prayers to offer up.

Hannah immersed herself in the service and the meal afterward surrounded by the people she’d known her whole life. While toddlers napped and children played, everyone shared fond memories with her. Hannah soon grew weary of all the attention. But no sooner had she longed for solitude than people began to drift off to their buggies, waving goodbye and wishing her a safe trip. Soon even her parents retired upstairs after the long day. They and Thomas would accompany her to Lancaster to catch her bus. Hannah took the few minutes she had to herself to walk around her farm—the place Adam had brought her as a young bride. She said goodbye to her barns and sheds and the rushing creek with an oak plank bridge built by her husband’s hands.

“Guide me, Lord. Show me Your will. Give me courage and
strength.” Hannah sent up her prayer and then slept soundly that night, her last in Pennsylvania for a long time. The next day she packed a trunk of clothes and things from her hope chest, leaving behind most of the household items for Thomas. She took the quilt made by her mother and the trivets forged by her dad. She packed the books Thomas would have no use for, hugged her family goodbye, and tried not to dwell on when she would next see them. After boarding a bus westward bound, she vowed not to shed one more silly, self-pitying tear.

The bus ride to Ohio took most of the next day. Hannah arrived at the Canton station hungry, tired, and cramped from sitting too long in one position. She was more than a little cranky. Fellow passengers had insisted on talking loudly, making a nap impossible. Looking around the station, her heart lifted on spotting Simon’s familiar face and fell when she noticed he was alone. Her sister hadn’t come from Winesburg to meet her. She would have to ride back without Julia’s tales of the children’s antics for company.

“Hello, Simon.” Hannah greeted him with a smile.

“Welcome, Hannah.” Simon Miller reached for her satchel and then headed for the door.

“Wait, I must retrieve my trunk,” Hannah called, just as a porter wheeled over a cart holding her large, battered trunk.

“
All that?
” Simon asked in disbelief. “What have you there? There’s little you needed to bring, Hannah. Our home is as fully stocked as those of Pennsylvania.” He dug into his pocket for change for the porter and began dragging the trunk toward the door.

“Let me help you, Simon.” But each time Hannah bent down for the other handle, he dragged the trunk beyond her reach. What a sight they must have made in the bus station as they made their way outside.

“Where’s your buggy?” she asked, giving up on the handle.

“Too far for the horse to go. I hired a neighbor to drive.” With that a van pulled to the curb, and the driver helped Simon load the
trunk inside with more grunts and groans than Thomas and her father had uttered. There was nothing for Hannah to do but climb into the backseat while Simon sat next to the driver.

“How is my sister?” Hannah asked, once the van was underway.

“She is well,
danki,
” Simon replied shortly.

“I had hoped she would meet my bus,” Hannah said, leaning forward in the seat.

“It’s her arthritis—a flare-up.” Simon neither turned in his seat nor elaborated more on Julia. His full attention was focused on the road ahead.

Further attempts on Hannah’s part for polite conversation resulted in equally brief responses. She soon tired of hearing “
jah
s” and “noes” and settled back against the seat cushion. It was then she noticed why Simon’s attention was riveted to the windshield. The light snowfall that had greeted her in Canton had turned into a true snowstorm. March always seemed to deliver a final winter wallop before the arrival of spring. The drive, which should have taken fifty minutes, took more than two hours as traffic snarled into great backups, and at times the van seemed to float across the pavement. The Amish have no great confidence in vehicles, especially on slick pavements in near whiteout conditions. How could the driver tell where the road was in the slanting blizzard at such high speed? Hannah spent most of the trip praying with her eyes closed.

By the time the van finally arrived at the Miller farm Hannah had an upset stomach and white knuckles from gripping the door handle. “We’ll just leave this here on the side of the driveway,” Simon said to the neighbor as they struggled to get the trunk out of the van. Hannah’s heart sank with the thought of it becoming covered with snow overnight. She bit down on her tongue and walked toward the house. At long last she would be greeted by her loving sister and see her nieces and nephews.

But the house was dark and silent when she followed Simon inside. A sole kerosene lamp burned low on the kitchen table when they entered.
“Your room is at the top of the stairs, the second door on the left. We’ll get that trunk to the porch and deal with it in the morning.”

“
Danki,
Simon,” Hannah murmured.

“
Gute nacht,
Hannah.” Simon finally met her eye, looking tired and worn. The trip from Canton had frayed his nerves as well, and his forty years were well apparent on his thin face.

A pang of regret at causing additional work for her sister’s husband added to Hannah’s already queasy stomach. As she climbed the steps to the small room she would call her home, an odd sense of foreboding gripped her. Had she made a serious mistake? Had she been too hasty to sell her farm to her brother without even attempting to manage it as partners?

She had no business here. She would be an intrusion into her sister’s life and a thorn in the sole of her brother-in-law’s boot.

Tears ran down her face in earnest as she closed the bedroom door and set her satchel in the corner. Hannah knelt beside the neatly made bed and bowed her head in prayer. At times she cried more than prayed, but finally she was able to crawl under the covers and sleep. When she awoke the next morning, she greeted the beautiful, white-blanketed world of her new Ohio home.

“Surprise!” They all shouted in unison as Hannah entered the kitchen. Hannah looked around at the assemblage and smiled. Her sister, Julia, looked as pretty as ever with her brown eyes sparkling with animation. Simon nodded, looking more rested than he had the previous evening. The deep purple shadows under his eyes had faded. And the shining faces of her nieces and nephews warmed Hannah’s heart. She glanced around the room, fragrant with the smell of bacon frying and biscuits baking, and felt her eyes fill with tears. Here they all were—the reason she’d come to Ohio—her beloved family.