Hannah's Joy (16 page)

“Probably so. Don’t get me wrong—I am proud of my husband for his service. But I remember only too well what it was like when Phil came home. He was a long time getting back to being the man I’d married.”

Hannah nodded, looking down at her hands, linked together in her lap. “I worried about that. About what it would be like when Travis came home.”

“And the reality was much worse than you’d anticipated,” Nancy said softly. She put her hand over Hannah’s. “Those two men hatched this meeting up, you know. They wanted me to try to convince you to get involved with the veterans’ group. Maybe take part in the parade.”

Hannah’s gaze went, startled, to Nancy’s face. “I couldn’t.”

“Well, I know that, believe me.” Nancy patted her. “You’re not ready, and I certainly won’t try to persuade you. And I’ll make an effort to explain so that your father-in-law will understand.” She smiled ruefully. “Although I can’t guarantee I’ll be successful.”

Relief flowed through Hannah, and thankfulness. “Travis always said how stubborn his father was. But I didn’t know Robert at all well. I’ve only seen him twice, before this visit.”

“It’s difficult.” Nancy’s voice was warm with sympathy and understanding. “I just want you to know that anytime you need to talk to someone, you can come to me. Anytime.”

“Thank you.” Hannah’s voice was husky. Maybe she hadn’t reached any better understanding with Travis’s father today, but it seemed she had found an ally who did understand.

*   *   *

It
was later than his usual time when William turned the horse into the lane that led to the stable behind Caleb’s shop on Tuesday. Isaac had asked for his help with the milking that morning.

Asked
was the surprising word, William decided. After more than a week of silent disapproval emanating from his older brother, William had gotten used to the state of affairs, and when Isaac had actually requested his help instead of assuming it, William had been unaccountably moved. Maybe Isaac was beginning to see him as an adult at last. That was progress he hadn’t anticipated.

The mare stopped automatically at her usual spot, whickering a greeting to the horses already out in the paddock. William slid down, his thoughts running through the day ahead and coming to an abrupt halt at the afternoon, when he’d see Hannah.

There’d been no opportunity to see or speak with her since Saturday, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t thought about her. And he’d worried about her situation with her father-in-law.

It wondered him that any man would behave that way toward his own kin. Asking questions about Hannah as if she’d done something wrong—well, William couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

If Robert Conroy had thought his questions would go unnoticed, he didn’t know much about places like Pleasant Valley. Murmurs had been drifting through the community like smoke, enough so that the back of William’s neck prickled when he drove through town. Hannah probably felt it even more.

His hands paused on the harness buckle when he caught a glimpse of movement. Hannah, coming toward him along the lane between the buildings, was a graceful figure in her green dress, apron fluttering a bit in the breeze that sent a few leaves slipping down from the maple next to the fence.

She looked as if she belonged here now. The thought stuck in his heart. She belonged here.

But then he saw her face and knew something was wrong.

He moved to meet her, but she waved him back.

“Don’t stop what you’re doing,” she said. “I just happened to see you go past the bakery, and I wanted . . .” She looked up at him and seemed to lose the thread of what she was saying.

He wasn’t doing very well in that area himself. He couldn’t look at her without remembering the touch of her lips, the softness of her body in that moment when she had clung to him.

He shook the thought away, focusing on her face. “You w-wanted . . . ?” he prompted. Was it his imagination, or did the pink in her cheeks deepen?

“I wanted to thank you again. For Saturday.” She took a step back, then turned and stroked the mare’s neck as if hiding her face from him.

“Knowing about y-your father-in-law h-hurt you. I am sorry.”

“You thought I needed to know, and you were right.” She straightened. “I’m sure half the township knows about it by now.” She gave him a fleeting glance. “Be honest with me, William. You’ve heard people talking about it, haven’t you?”

He nodded, reluctant to upset her more. “B-but most p-people feel for you, not him. I know it.”

No need to mention the few who considered that Hannah was an outsider and what happened to her was no concern of theirs.

Still, something in her quiet brown eyes suggested that she probably knew that well. Did she know, too, how he had wanted to protest when he’d heard people say those things? But his habit of silence was too ingrained, and he hadn’t managed to speak out.

Hannah stood silent, caught in some sad imaginings of her own. He had to say something.

“H-has your father-in-law said anything to y-you about it?”

“About his asking questions about me? No, but then, he wouldn’t, would he?” A worry line appeared between her eyebrows. “I wish I understood what he wants.”

“H-he wants you t-to leave, ain’t so?” That seemed clear. It was the why that eluded William.

“He hasn’t said that to me again.” Her frown deepened, and she rubbed her forehead as if she could erase the thought. “But I feel all the time as if he’s judging me. Us. This whole place. As if there’s some special behavior he expects from his son’s widow, and I’m disappointing him. Letting him down. More important, letting Travis down.”

“Ach, th-that is foolishness. You w-wouldn’t.”

“How can I be sure?” Pain filled her voice suddenly. Maybe it had been there all along, and William just hadn’t heard it. “Whatever I do, it seems I’m failing someone, just like I—”

She stopped, as short as if she’d shut off a tap. But he felt sure that whatever she’d been about to say was important. To her, and so to him, as well.

“Just l-like you what, Hannah?” He asked the question softly, afraid she’d push him away. “Who d-do you think you f-failed?”

Hannah drew in a long breath. She was staring at the horse, but he didn’t think she even saw the mare standing there patiently while they talked.

“My mother.” Her voice seemed to choke on the words. “I went off to school, not even noticing how down she was that day.”

He was silent, mind busy, trying to fill in the blanks of what she was saying. Hannah’s mother had suffered from depression; he knew that from something Paula had let slip to Katie. And Hannah’s father had run off, leaving her to cope with the situation.

“What happened?” he murmured when it seemed she wouldn’t go on.

“She took an overdose.” Hannah’s voice was thick with unshed tears. “If I’d been there, if I’d found her sooner, they might have saved her. But they couldn’t.” She closed her eyes, as if to shut something out. “They couldn’t.”

His heart seemed to be ripping into pieces. He longed to touch her, but he feared comforting might turn to more, and Hannah didn’t need that now.

“It w-was her choice. Not y-yours.”

“But if I’d been there—”

He couldn’t help it. His hand closed around her wrist, and he felt her pulse thud against his palm. “And the n-next time? And the time a-after that?” He hurt so much for her, but he was afraid nothing he said was going to help. “You c-couldn’t be there all the t-time.”

“I don’t know.” She lifted her hand, and he let go at once. She brushed her palm across her forehead, as if to push the bad memories away. “What you say is true, and I’ve said it to myself.” She tried to smile, but it was a failure. “Still, I can’t help feeling that I let her down when she needed me. And now Robert is making me feel that I’m letting Travis down.”

Clearly she didn’t want to talk about her mother any further, so he had to respect her wishes, but even that small amount had shown him a great deal about Hannah.

He tried to speak more lightly, but he’d been mulling over what he knew about Robert, trying to make sense of his actions. “We are n-not what Robert is used to, ja? He finds everything here s-strange, and h-he is still g-grieving for his s-son. G-give him some t-time. Let h-him see that you h-have not forgotten Travis. Robert w-will come around.”

“I hope so.” Her hand moved toward him, as if she would touch him, and then she drew it back. “In the meantime . . .” The words trickled off, but he thought he knew what she would ask him.

“You think it w-would be best if I d-don’t come today.”

Pressing her lips together, she nodded. “I think it’s best. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all r-right.” It wasn’t, not really, but he couldn’t add to her burdens right now. “Wait.” He turned, reaching under the seat for the object he’d intended to take to Jamie this afternoon.

“Here.” He put it in her hands. “This is f-for Jamie.”

Her breath went out in a soft exhale as she held the toy locomotive in her cupped hands. “It-it’s beautiful.” She blinked, as if to chase away tears. “You made this for him?”

“Ja.” He closed her fingers around it. “No n-need for R-Robert to know. This is between us.”

They stood for a moment, looking at each other, and William knew that it might as well be his heart that she held in her hands.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN

I
see you can’t walk very far in this town without running out of sidewalk.”

Robert was pushing the stroller, having said he’d like to go for a walk with Hannah and Jamie. It was one of the few times he’d taken any initiative where Jamie was concerned, and Hannah decided it was best to ignore any implied criticism in his comment.

Besides, Pleasant Valley
was
small. There was no denying that, but it was part of what she loved about the place. She waved to Cliff Wainwright, who was sweeping the sidewalk in front of his bookstore.

“That’s okay. Jamie likes it when the stroller bounces along in the grass. It’s just a little hard on the person pushing.”

Hannah nodded, smiling at Rachel Zook and her daughter, going in the other direction.

Rachel greeted them warmly, but didn’t stop to invite conversation. Because Robert was with her? That was possible.

“You seem to know everyone in town,” Robert commented.

“Not everyone, but it’s hard to stay a stranger here. Especially when you’re related to a good number of them in one way or another.”

Robert shot her a glance, eyes narrowing. “You have relatives here besides your aunt? You didn’t tell me that.”

“My extended family has lived in Pleasant Valley for a long time.” Robert, with a career that had sent him all over the world, probably couldn’t imagine that. “Most of the Amish and Mennonite families here are related if you go back far enough. It’s been nice to get re-acquainted with family I’d almost forgotten.”

Robert nodded, indicating that he understood, but the realization seemed to annoy him for some reason she didn’t understand. Hannah sought for another subject that might interest him.

“Across the street is our churchhouse.” She nodded toward the white frame structure, plain and square, surrounded by grass and trees. The cemetery beyond had rows of identical markers, showing that humility extended beyond life.

“Churchhouse?” he echoed the word. “Why not just church?”

She shrugged, afraid her ignorance was showing. “I don’t know. That’s just the traditional expression. The Amish worship in homes, but Mennonites worship in churchhouses.”

Robert shaded his eyes against the sun, low in the sky this late in the afternoon. “Can we go inside?”

“Of course, if you want. It won’t be locked.” Hannah wasn’t sure whether to be pleased that he was taking an interest or concerned that he was gearing up for another assault on her choices.

They crossed the street, and Robert parked the stroller near the door. Hannah lifted Jamie from his seat, ignoring his obvious desire to get down in the grass. She automatically led the way through the women’s door, then thought how odd Robert would find that if she told him.

Inside it was cool and quiet, a shaft of sunlight coming through the west window setting dust motes dancing. With the backless benches empty, the room seemed larger.

“No padded pews,” Robert said, smiling a little. He sat on the closest bench and looked around.

Hannah put Jamie down, knowing there was nothing here he could get into, and smiled as he ran along the row of benches. Robert watched him, too, and she couldn’t quite make out his expression.

“You know, I got to thinking last night when I was at the motel. I was in Japan when Travis was the age Jamie is now. His mother handled things on her own. We were apart more than we were together.” He shrugged. “Guess I didn’t get to know Travis as well as I should have.”

His honesty startled her. So far as she could remember, he had never admitted any wrongdoing in the raising of his son.

“I’m sure they both missed you a lot.” What else could she say?

“His mother took care of things. That’s how it was when you were in the military.” He sounded defensive.

“I know.” She did. She’d lived the life, too, although he seemed to have forgotten that.

“His mother did a good job. Travis turned out to be a pretty good man, anyway.”

“Yes. He did.” Tears stung her eyes. Jamie ran to her and leaned against her legs, as if he’d sensed her distress. She ruffled his curls, remembering what William had said��that Robert was still grieving, maybe afraid she was forgetting Travis.

Robert watched for a moment, making no move to touch Jamie. “If Travis had lived, you wouldn’t be thinking of staying here.”

“I suppose not.” Though she might always have felt something was missing, even if she hadn’t known what it was. “But he didn’t come back. I miss him every day, but I have to do the best I can on my own.” They kept returning to that hard, simple truth.

Sitting next to Robert in the quiet churchhouse, she prayed he could understand. Prayed that she knew what to say that would make him understand.

“Is something wrong?” He seemed more keyed in to her feelings than he had been in the past, and she didn’t know whether to be pleased or upset.

She couldn’t tell him what she was really thinking. Instead, she patted the bench. “It seems a bit strange, sitting here with you. Men and women don’t sit next to each other in worship.”

“Why not?” Robert would probably ask that same question about everything here.

“It’s considered less distracting for the sexes to be separated, so that they’re concentrating on worship.” She pointed. “Men and boys sit on that side, women and girls on the other. This is the singers’ table. The song leaders sit here. And that is the ministers’ bench.”

He nodded. “It’s not very fancy, that’s for sure. Not that I’m much of a churchgoer.”

“The interior of the churchhouse is meant to emphasize our beliefs. Especially our belief in showing humility, not competing with others or trying to have something that looks better or fancier. That goes for clothes, houses, and churchhouses.”

When she’d lived on base, it had been easy to judge the rank of the husband by the size of the house. Amish and Mennonites didn’t operate on those standards.

“Humility, huh.” Robert didn’t sound very impressed. “I can’t say I ever thought much about it.”

She couldn’t argue with him. Humility wasn’t a popular virtue for many people.

“Look.” He turned on the bench so he was facing her, face intent, and she knew they were getting to the real reason for this walk together. “Your religion is your own business. But my son was a soldier. You knew that when you married him. How can you belong to a group that looks down on the service he died for?”

“We don’t look down on the service. That’s not it at all.”

Hannah had an overwhelming sense of inadequacy. How could she explain Anabaptist beliefs in a way someone like Robert would understand?

Still, at least he seemed willing to listen. That was more than he’d done before.

“What is it then?” His face twisted, and she heard the frustration in his voice. “Back when I was in Nam getting shot at for my country, you people were draft evaders.”

If she were as educated as she should be, she’d know her own history better. “We don’t believe in meeting violence with violence. We try to bring peace. Mennonites didn’t run away to avoid the draft. They went into other kinds of service, for the most part. Some of them even went to jail for their beliefs. Can’t you understand that kind of devotion?”

“No.” His reaction was blunt. “My son gave his life for his country. I want my grandson brought up to respect and honor that.”

Her head was starting to throb. “Of course I’ll bring him up that way.”

“You can’t,” he said flatly. “Not here, surrounded by all this.” His gesture took in more than just the churchhouse. He meant all of Pleasant Valley, it seemed. Hannah suspected he’d planned this conversation, determined not to lose his temper this time. “I just don’t see why you don’t take your friend Megan up on her offer. If it’s a question of money, maybe I can help out.”

There was a time when that offer might have made all the difference. Not any longer.

“I appreciate that. But I couldn’t go back to living like . . . like an army wife, and that’s what it would be if I moved in with Megan. I’m not an army wife any longer. I’m a widow.”

Robert just stared at her, looking baffled and angry.

She’d thought they understood each other a little better now. But it seemed even understanding didn’t really help when there was no room in the middle for compromise.

*   *   *

The
sun was barely above the hills when William arrived for the barn raising. Not that he wouldn’t have come anyway, but this new building for Caleb and Katie was special. They’d bought a house at the edge of town, and Caleb wanted everything to be ready for them to move in as soon as they were married.

Most newlywed couples spent time visiting relatives on a wedding trip after their marriage, but since they both had businesses to run, they’d decided to wait until after Christmas for that.

William surveyed the scene as he turned the horse and buggy over to one of the boys appointed to care for the animals. The preliminary planning had been done already. Ammon Esh, who’d supervised the building of more barns than even he could probably count, had laid out the design several weeks ago, and the lumber was piled next to the site. All that was required now was willing hands, and they were arriving every minute.

William crossed still-wet grass to where Caleb stood, nodding respectfully at something Ammon was saying. William waited until they’d finished, then grinned at Caleb.

“This is one s-step closer to your w-wedding,” he said.

“Ja, for sure.” Caleb’s answering smile was warm. “I can’t believe the number of people who are here already. More than we expected on a Thursday.”

Barn raisings were usually on Saturdays, but that was such a busy day in the shops that they’d decided on a weekday. There’d be some who couldn’t get off to help, but Caleb was right. Plenty of folks were here to accomplish the work. Most of the church, of course, and since Caleb and Katie were friends with so many of the shopkeepers in town, there were Mennonites and even a few Englisch present as well.

Ammon glanced over the site and gave a short nod, indicating he was satisfied that all was as it should be. Without a word of direction, the work began.

Well, no one needed direction when it came to something so familiar. There was no room for pride in a community like theirs. Everyone knew the extent of your talents, and you’d automatically go to the work you were suited for.

It was a satisfying way of life, William thought as he fastened his tool belt. How could he ever give it up?

The thought gave him pause. Where had that idea come from? There was no question of him giving up this life.

Hannah . . . well, he loved Hannah, he couldn’t deny those feelings. But she’d given no sign that she felt the same way about him. She’d merely leaned on him in a time of trouble, and for now, that was enough.

Gideon, working next to him, nudged him. “Are you dreaming, then, William? I asked you for a handful of nails, and you stared at that upright like you’d never seen one before.” Gideon’s tone was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of concern in it, as well.

“Ach, I’m half-asleep yet.” William handed over the nails.

Gideon nodded, but it seemed to William that he didn’t quite buy that explanation.

“I see Paula Schatz and her niece are here,” Gideon said, nodding toward the driveway.

“W-where?” William turned, narrowly missing his thumb with the hammer.

“Just there, by the house. By the size of those boxes, I’d say Paula brought enough baked goods to feed half the township.”

“Ja, th-that’s Paula.” He caught a quick glimpse of Hannah, a box in one hand and Jamie clinging to the other, heading into the kitchen.

Gideon was silent for a moment, maybe remembering the issue with Hannah’s father-in-law. “Hannah seems like a gut woman, from all I’ve heard. Settling down here. I hope her father-in-law isn’t going to cause any problems.”

“Ja. Me, also.” He didn’t think he needed to say more. He’d best be careful not to give folks anything to buzz about. He drove a nail with concentrated care. Focus on the work. That was the best way.

He did pretty well at that through the morning. He continued working beside Gideon, talking now and again, but for the most part letting the echo of hammers and the whine of saws do the talking.

By the time they took a break in midmorning, most of the framing had been done. William snagged a wedge of shoofly pie from the picnic table and accepted a mug of coffee from one of his many nieces. The Brands were out in full force today, of course. He was probably related to more than half the people here.

Looking for a spot to sit, he rounded the corner of the porch and nearly ran into Hannah, bearing a tray heaped with donuts. A flash of pleasure, quickly masked, lit her eyes at the sight of him.

But he had seen it, and he wouldn’t forget.

“You’ve had a busy morning,” she said. “I was watching the work for a while. The barn is going up so fast.”

“Ja. We w-will finish today.” He gazed at her, longing to say the words he couldn’t.

Hannah belongs here, some part of his mind argued. If she had never left, never lived another life, surely no one would think a thing about a relationship between them.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. But it happened. Amish fell in love with people from other Plain groups. It would be accepted, in the end—even the fact that Hannah was a couple of years older than he was and a widow.

The need to speak pressed against his lips. He had to tell her—

“My father-in-law is here,” Hannah said quickly, almost as if she guessed at his thoughts. “He wanted to see a barn raising, so Aunt Paula told him he’d be welcome.” She gave a shrug that had something rueful in it. “She is trying hard to be hospitable to him. For my sake.”

“N-not easy for her, I know. Paula s-says what she thinks.”

He smiled, to show he accepted what Hannah was doing. She was reminding him of the barriers that stood between them. And maybe also trying to erase what she might see as weakness in confiding so much in him.

“She does. I . . . I should get these donuts to the table.” But she didn’t move. “On Tuesday, I think you should come as usual.”