A Widow's Hope (5 page)

“No, not my wife. Her sister.” Simon’s voice was low and pained. “But I’m glad to take her in. It’s my duty and Julia loves her so.”

“What seems to be the problem?” Seth glanced down, surprised that his brother would mention the matter. He vaguely remembered Julia’s sister from their wedding in Pennsylvania—a skinny scrap of a gal with big green eyes like a cat and plenty of freckles. Didn’t have
an ounce of meat on her bones, but she’d seemed tame enough. Seth couldn’t fathom how that little filly could so rile Simon but wasn’t eager to participate in a conversation that wasn’t any of his business, especially when he had little experience with such matters.

“I nearly threw my back out hefting that trunk from the bus terminal. Do you know what that trunk was filled with?” Simon braced his body weight against the ladder to keep it steady.

“Rocks from her favorite creek bed?” Seth reached to scrape out a sodden clump, surprised at Simon showing his impatience like this.

“Might as well have been! Books and more books! Books on farming and crop rotation and herb varieties and birds and bugs and, of course, sheep. Just about everything that lives or grows on the earth. Why would any woman need so many books?”

“Sounds like a way to pass time during a long winter.”

“
Jah,
sure, but spring is almost here. Those books could have stayed behind in Pennsylvania.” Simon glanced back at the house.

Seth got the distinct feeling it was more than books that had stirred vinegar into his brother’s tea on this fine afternoon.

Just then the subject of their conversation stepped out onto the porch. At least that’s who Seth assumed the woman to be. Half a foot taller than Julia and still willowy, she walked to the rail and dumped coffee grounds into the flowerbeds. Seth stared, trying to get a better look, and almost lost his balance on the ladder.

“Mind your footing,” his brother called. “We’ve only got another dozen feet before we’ll go round to the other side.”

The two men finished the dreary chore, amazed at how many leaves managed to blow in when no tree overhung any part of the barn. After washing up, they headed for the house, their faces and hands stinging from the cold.

Seth followed Simon into the warm kitchen and hung his hat on a peg. The savory smell of onions and celery filled the air and made his mouth water. Phoebe was already at the table with her cousins. She grinned when she spotted him.

“Chicken soup,” Julia announced, setting a basket of biscuits on the table. “Good and hearty for my hard workers.” She patted Matthew’s head lovingly.

The woman at the oven turned and met his gaze. Those green cat eyes had turned the color of pine boughs after a rain since he’d last seen her. Seth had planned to say something welcoming and friendly. He’d planned to reintroduce himself, as it had been many years since Simon and Julia’s wedding day. But all he could do was stare into the woman’s sweet, gentle face…and wonder how this small creature could possibly have upset his brother so.

Silence spun out as the woman waited for him to speak first. When he didn’t, she took her seat and looked at Julia.

“Seth, do you remember my sister from Lancaster? Hannah Brown.” Julia’s voice revealed her fondness. “Hannah’s come to live with us. Let’s be thankful for that along with our food.”

Perhaps a buzzard had plucked his tongue while he’d been busy on the gutters, as speech still wouldn’t come. Seth could do no more than nod before bowing his head in silent prayer. Luckily for him, with five
kinner
at the table there was enough conversation that he didn’t feel uncomfortable. As Matthew and Henry described the antics of their least favorite milk cow, Seth was able to steal glances at Julia’s sister. She looked barely old enough to be courting, let alone widowed already. Her skin resembled the color of that first perfect peach, picked from the highest branch early in August. He forced himself to study his soup and not stare like some young whelp about to ask a girl to take a ride in his courting buggy.

“Phoebe? Do you and your
daed
have cows?” Hannah asked his daughter.

The child stared at the new face with utter terror.

“
Jah,
they have cows,” Emma answered. “Not as many as us, though. Uncle keeps a few beef steers too.”

“Has your
daed
allowed you to try your hand at milking yet?” Hannah asked, softening her tone to put the child at ease.

“A girl’s got no need to learn barn chores. I’d say there’s enough to do inside the house,” Simon stated emphatically.

“That there is, husband,” Julia agreed, passing around the plate of biscuits. Seth helped himself to his third.

“Any new calves born at your farm, Phoebe?” Hannah attempted conversation with the youngster for the third time.

Phoebe’s big brown eyes filled with tears, and she looked as though she’d met a bear on the path to the milk house.

“She doesn’t talk much, Aunt Hannah,” Emma said.

“But she’s a real good listener,” Leah added as two big tears ran down Phoebe’s cheeks.

Hannah looked stricken as she briefly made eye contact with Seth.

“It’s all right,” Seth said to Phoebe, stroking her back gently. When she crawled into his lap, he wrapped his arms around the trembling child. Any time his daughter was upset or afraid, it tore the hole in his heart wide open again.

After Phoebe settled down, Seth turned to Hannah, who was studying the contents of her soup bowl. “Phoebe will get to know you soon enough. She’s shy with strangers,” he said, feeling his communication skills weren’t much better than his daughter’s.

Phoebe was naturally quiet, more so since Constance’s passing. But Seth had never seen her so completely terrified of a person before. Of course, Phoebe only saw the same people in the district over and over, whether at Sunday services or at the neighbor’s where Phoebe stayed while he worked his fields. In the fall, she would start school. When she was around other children more, his little robin would break from her shell.

What he couldn’t figure as he sopped the last of the soup with a bread crust was why he too had suddenly lost the ability to speak in the company of the widow Brown.

H
annah awoke to a beautiful Sabbath morning feeling grateful for a day of worship and rest. The last few days had flown by quickly, getting the sewing and darning caught up and the spring cleaning started. The women had scrubbed floors and washed walls and windows and made the whole house sparkle. But she wasn’t complaining about the hard work. Not since childhood had she known the joy of family living. She hadn’t realized how lonely she’d grown. Despite the fact her parents and Thomas had lived nearby, many days would pass without her speaking to anyone other than the fat yellow barn cat.

At the Miller farm, there seldom was a quiet moment. There always were meals to fix or dishes to do besides the daily dusting and sweeping. With spring plowing underway, a cloud of dust blew in every time the door opened or someone threw up a window for some fresh air.

Hannah enjoyed the afterschool time most of all. The
kinner
would rush into the kitchen with shining faces and playground tales while they ate their snack of chocolate cookies and cold milk. Then the boys would hurry to their chores to allow for some playtime before supper. The girls talked of what they’d learned that day, especially Leah, who loved school, and reading most of all.

Each of the children was a unique child of God: Emma—modest and reserved, always the peacemaker between her two brothers; Matthew—hearty and energetic, eager to show his dad how capable a man he was becoming; Henry—shy and quiet, yet never sullen, eager to help his mom with opening jars or carrying kindling; and Leah—dreamy and playful, with a big heart for such a tiny girl, curious about even the lowly spider spinning its web. Hannah had grown to treasure them all in the short time since her arrival. How silly she’d been to question whether she’d made the right decision to move.

Now as she washed her face and hands and tidied her hair, the night of the blizzard seemed a long time ago. Only one thing troubled her as she put on her best Sunday dress…little Phoebe Miller. Was no one else concerned that the child never spoke a word? There wasn’t a thing wrong with her hearing. Hannah had noticed her nodding answers and laughing enthusiastically at her cousins’ stories. Seth doted on his daughter—spreading her bread with jam, cutting her meat into smaller pieces—yet seemed unconcerned by her extreme shyness. Hannah had thought the child would bolt like a startled deer if she had asked one more question.

But what business did she have questioning how a child was reared? She had no
kinner
of her own to provide practical experience. Her prayers for a baby had gone unanswered during her six years of marriage to Adam.
God had His reasons,
she reminded herself, shaking away her sadness and worry over Phoebe.

Seth Miller seemed like a kind, thoughtful man. If something were amiss with his daughter, he surely would have taken notice.

Hannah joined the Miller family in the kitchen for a pancake breakfast before they walked out to the carriage. Simon, who’d been out readying the horses, sat waiting for them, looking thunderous. “Hurry along,” he called. “A deacon should never be late, and it’s more than ten miles to the Crumleys’.”

Hannah stepped up onto the second bench behind Julia and
Simon, seating herself between the two girls. Matthew and Henry sat in the very back, preferring to view where they had been instead of where they were going. It was indeed a long drive to the farm holding the preaching service, and Hannah was grateful Simon had brought heavy lap robes he’d warmed atop the woodstove.

Simon hunched down in his heavy coat from the strong wind that managed to blow inside the enclosed carriage. He didn’t look much larger than his wife, who leaned into his side for added warmth. Hannah had noticed Seth Miller was very tall with big hands and long fingers. He had to weigh at least fifty pounds more than his older brother.
Funny how siblings often turn out completely different.
She was much taller and thinner than Julia, who’d always been sturdy and well rounded. Both Miller men possessed thick heads of hair, Simon’s lightly streaked with gray, and both were soft-spoken. However, Seth often boomed out a hearty laugh when something tickled his funny bone.

It was Julia who loved making them all laugh. But Simon seldom chanced much more than a halfhearted grin. Perhaps he feared his face wouldn’t return to its natural position.

Hannah bit down on the inside of her mouth as penance for such unkind thoughts. Simon had opened his already full house to take in one person more, so perhaps she could show a little more gratitude. Soon the carriage turned down a rutted lane leading to a large, rambling house. Many carriages were parked neatly side by side, promising a full house for the Crumley family. She clasped her nieces’ hands tightly as Simon maneuvered around the driveway puddles.

“
Guder mariye,
Mrs. Brown. I’m glad the snow you brought from Pennsylvania decided not to stick around,” a voice spoke over her shoulder.

Startled, Hannah turned quickly and stepped down into five inches of icy water. It immediately seeped through her worn boot soles and chilled her foot to the bone. “Goodness, Seth Miller,” she exclaimed, stamping her foot to keep it from freezing into a solid
block. Her surprise stemmed more from seeing the subject of her musings for the last half hour than the shock of a wet foot.

“Beggin’ your pardon. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Seth said, tipping up the rim of his hat. His face had turned the color of pickled beets, but his eyes twinkled with merriment. “I’ll send over Mrs. Crumley to help. Maybe she can supply you with some dry socks before the preaching starts.”

Before Hannah could stop him, he picked up his daughter and strolled off, disappearing into the crowd milling about before services began.

She stamped her foot again—this time from her embarrassment rather than as an attempt to keep the blood flowing—as Emma and Leah giggled. This was her first day in her new district, and the first impression she would make on Mrs. Crumley and the other women was that she couldn’t watch where she walked and that she expected a busy wife to drop what she was doing to find a stranger some dry socks.

Hannah followed Julia and the children into the Crumley parlor where long rows of benches had been set up, knowing very well that some things were much more uncomfortable than a wet foot. At least when she glanced in Seth Miller’s direction on the men’s side of the room, he offered her the smallest of grins.

Simon and the other deacons passed out hymnals, and soon all gathered were reciting traditional German hymns familiar to Hannah from back home. Another deacon read Scripture; Simon delivered a short sermon; and then they bowed their heads in silent prayer. After the bishop delivered the main message, Hannah chanced a peek at Seth. She hoped he hadn’t been offended by her sharp words. He’d been looking in her direction too and flushed deeply when he met her eye. They both looked down at their hymnals so quickly, it could have been mistaken for some sort of race.