Hannah's Joy (3 page)

“Of course we knew that Hannah was a widow.” Sympathy filled Katie’s face. “Poor thing, so young and with a baby to care for, besides. But I’d never heard until today how her husband died.” She hesitated, her forehead wrinkling. “He was a soldier, did you know that? Killed in combat, they say.”

William absorbed that, trying to understand. A Mennonite woman married to a soldier? Mennonites and Amish shared a fundamental devotion to nonviolence, governing their lives by it. He understood the perplexity that underlay Katie’s words. It just didn’t seem possible.

“I d-d-didn’t know.” He saw again the strain written in the lines around Hannah’s brown eyes. Maybe that explained, at least a little, the isolation he sensed in her.

“Hannah’s parents left the valley when she was a child,” Caleb said. “I suppose they might have left the church, as well. I do remember hearing Mamm talk about how sorry she was for Paula, losing the sister she was so close to.”

“It’s gut that she has Hannah back, I guess,” Katie said. “With no kinder of her own, Paula needs someone to take care of. I’ve seen how she dotes on that little boy . . . so cute he is with those big brown eyes like his mammi’s.” Katie paused for a moment. “I just hope it works out for them. An Englisch woman and a soldier’s widow, as well—it seems strange that she’d want to stay here.”

“Ja,” William said softly, thinking of the sorrow in Hannah’s face, the innocent laughter of her little son. How hard her life must seem to her right now.

At least, with her aunt she’d found a resting place. A person didn’t have to be interested in her to see that, to sympathize, and maybe to hope she’d stay.

*   *   *

Hannah
stood for a few minutes by the crib that evening, listening to Jamie’s soft, even breathing. His cheeks were rosy, and his soft brown hair, still damp from his bath, curled on his neck.

“God bless you, little man,” she whispered. Giving him a final pat, she tiptoed out of the small room.

She eased the door closed. The monitor would tell her if Jamie woke, but he was a good sleeper, up in the night only when he was sick.

They were fortunate that Aunt Paula’s apartment was large enough to give each of them a bedroom. When Hannah had stayed with her friend Megan and her family, she and Jamie had been cramped into a room hardly larger than a closet.

Not that she’d complained, of course. If Megan and Jeff hadn’t taken her in when she’d had to move out of base housing, she wasn’t sure what she’d have done.

Come here, maybe, as she had eventually anyway. She certainly hadn’t belonged on the army base, even as a guest, once Travis was gone. When she’d finally been honest with Aunt Paula about her situation, her aunt had responded with two words.
Come home.
She’d never forget that, and never stop being grateful.

She walked out to the living room, finally getting used to the quiet after nearly two months here. Black bumper Mennonites like Aunt Paula drove cars and allowed electricity and telephones in their homes, even computers, but not television or Internet access. She still hadn’t quite figured out the reasons why one technology was okay and another banned, but as long as she lived with Aunt Paula, she’d follow her rules.

Those first months after Travis died she’d had the television on twenty-four hours a day, just for the sake of hearing another voice. But she was past that now. Her aunt must be down in the bakery kitchen, preparing for the next day. Picking up the baby monitor, Hannah hurried down the stairs.

At the sound of Hannah’s footsteps, Aunt Paula looked up from the bread she was kneading. “Is he asleep then, the precious lamb?”

“Out like a light.” Hannah set the monitor on the counter and washed her hands at the sink. “What can I do?”

Aunt Paula nodded toward the bowls draped with tea towels that sat atop the stove. “That rye dough should be ready for punching down and forming into loaves already.”

Hannah nodded, tying one of the large white aprons over her clothes. Sure enough, the dough had risen well over the top of the bowl. She punched it down, turned it out onto a floured board, and set to work, moving in tandem with her aunt, working on the opposite side of the table. The risen dough had its own scent and texture, and she took pleasure in feeling it work under her hands.

At first she’d been virtually useless in the bakery, fit only for waiting on tables in the coffee shop section and making change. But desire was a great teacher. She wanted more than anything to pull her weight as long as she was here. Besides, it was fascinating. There was so much more to the bakery than she’d imagined, and her aunt made it all look almost effortless.

But Aunt Paula really did need her. Running the bakery was too much for one person, and the Amish women who worked for her came only during the day.

“Naomi Esch is coming in early tomorrow,” Aunt Paula said, as if she’d been following Hannah’s thoughts. “So you don’t have to rush around in the morning. If you can just come down during our busiest time . . .”

“Of course I will,” she said quickly. “Jamie will be fine while we’re working.”

They’d set up a corner of the shop with some of Jamie’s favorite toys, turning it into a little tot lot where he’d be safe. For the most part, he played well enough, though he’d attempted to escape a few times.

That would only get worse as he grew older. It was a temporary solution, just as her being here was.

“I’d like to have Naomi work a few more hours a week through the fall.” Aunt Paula prepared the dough for a second rising, patting it as if it were a child. “But if she can’t—well, I don’t need to tell you again what a relief it is to have you here to help.”

Hannah’s throat tightened. That was Aunt Paula, always making it sound as if Hannah were doing her a favor, instead of the other way around.

“You know we love being here. If you hadn’t stepped in . . .”

She let that trail off, shaking her head. If she thought too much of those last few months, trying to find a job, trying to find someone reliable to watch Jamie when she worked, afraid all the time that she wouldn’t be able to pay the rent . . . Well, it was best not to dwell on that.

Aunt Paula reached out a floury hand to clasp hers for a moment. “Let’s chust say we both benefit, ja?” The Pennsylvania Dutch accent was more pronounced, as if emotion brought it out. “Having you here is like having my little sister back again.”

Hannah tensed, as she always did when Aunt Paula wanted to talk about Mom. The woman Paula remembered as her little sister didn’t seem to bear any resemblance to Hannah’s mother.

She struggled not to show her feelings. “You still miss her, don’t you?”

“Miss her. Remember her. I’d begun to give up on the idea of having a sister by the time she was born, after all those boys in between. And then Elizabeth came along.” She smiled, her eyes misty. “It was almost like she was my baby. She followed me everywhere. I never thought anything could change how close we were.”

Hannah wasn’t sure what to say. Her mother had depended on her big sister—that much was obvious. Maybe losing touch with her when they’d moved away had contributed to her downward slide. Or maybe it would have happened anyway, no matter where she’d been.

Aunt Paula set the dough back for a second rising and began helping Hannah form the rye dough into the round loaves that were one of her specialties. She sighed, and Hannah knew she was still thinking of that little sister.

“I never understood it.” Her aunt’s hands worked the dough automatically, as if she could do it in her sleep. “It always seemed as if Elizabeth was looking for something she couldn’t find.” She looked searchingly at Hannah. “Did she find it out there, in the outside world?”

Hannah shook her head. “No. I don’t think so.” Whatever it was Mom had hoped to find had probably been swamped by the depression that took over her life.

Took over Hannah’s life, too, in a way. Dad had come home less and less, not able to cope with his wife’s illness. Finally he’d stopped coming at all.

And Hannah’s childhood had been measured by how well her mother was. There’d been the bright days, when Mom had gotten up and dressed and put food on the table and talked about how Hannah was doing in school. And the bad days, when she hadn’t gotten out of bed at all.

“I’m sorry,” Aunt Paula said softly. “I shouldn’t have reminded you.”

Hannah shook her head. “It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not. You had to deal with your mother’s illness all alone after your daad left. If I’d known . . . if she’d stayed here . . .”

If her parents had stayed here in Pleasant Valley, what would her life have been? Maybe she’d have worked here in the bakery with Aunt Paula, just as she was doing now. Or maybe she’d have married early and have a houseful of children by this time.

Either way, she’d have known what it was to feel secure. That was what had been missing in her life from the day they’d moved away—that sense of having a safe, certain home.

That was what she had to give Jamie, no matter what the cost. Her heart clenched. She must never let him feel as lost as she had.

But this life was too restricted. That was probably why her parents had left. Jamie’s future wasn’t here, and neither was hers.

“We have worship this Sunday,” Aunt Paula said, with a change of subject that startled her.

“Yes, I know.” The small churchhouse where Aunt Paula’s Mennonite congregation worshipped was shared on alternate Sundays with another Mennonite group, the horse-and-buggy Mennonites, from whom they’d split years ago. It seemed strange to her, the two groups sharing a building, but everyone in Pleasant Valley seemed to take it for granted.

“I was wondering . . . I was thinking . . .” Aunt Paula seemed to be having trouble getting it out, whatever it was.

“Yes? Is there something you want me to do for church?”

“I wondered if you’d consider starting to wear Mennonite dress.” Aunt Paula said the words all in a rush, indicating her print dress with a wave of her hand.

Words failed Hannah. There it was—the pressure she’d feared, her aunt’s expectation that she would commit to a life here.

She couldn’t. She’d attended worship with Aunt Paula since she’d arrived, even finding comfort in the simple, quiet services. But that was as far as it could go.

“I’m not asking that you be baptized or anything.” Aunt Paula’s tone was worried. “I don’t want you to think that I’m putting conditions on you. It’s just . . .”

“You’d feel more comfortable if your niece looked less like an outsider,” Hannah said, finishing the thought for her.

Hannah had known this moment would come, but she still wasn’t prepared for it. She’d dressed Plain when she was a child, of course. Maybe even for the first few months after they’d left the valley. But that had worn off, just as the other things that once seemed an immutable part of their lives had gone.

“I’ve spoken too soon,” Aunt Paula said. “I shouldn’t have asked it.”

“It’s all right. I just . . .”

I can’t.
That was what she wanted to say. Dressing Plain was too much of a commitment. Too close to saying that she was here for good. She couldn’t do that.

And yet how could she say no? When she thought of all she owed her aunt, how could she?

She’d left the outside world out of desperation, feeling caught in a trap of never having enough money, enough security, unless she dipped into the death gratuity benefit, which she was trying to save for her son’s future, always afraid of what the next day would bring.

But maybe, in its own way, Pleasant Valley could be a trap, too.

C
HAPTER
T
WO

H
annah
smoothed the denim jumper down over her waist, frowning at herself in the mirror. She’d always dressed modestly, never been comfortable with the idea of super-short skirts and navel-baring tops. Still, that wasn’t really what had brought up Aunt Paula’s request, was it?

For her aunt, dressing like the other women in her church was showing that you were a part of that community. How you dressed was a reflection of who you were.

That wasn’t who Hannah was, and it hadn’t been for a long time. At some point during a mostly sleepless night she’d almost convinced herself that agreeing would be like wearing a uniform, something you did to fit in at your job. Almost, but not quite.

The clatter of blocks falling announced that Jamie was tired of the tower she’d helped him build. He toddled over to her and grasped the skirt of her jumper, pulling on it.

“In a minute, sweetheart. Let Mommy fix her hair. Then we’ll go downstairs with Aunt Paula. You’ll like that, won’t you?”

By way of an answer, Jamie scurried to the baby gate she’d stretched across the bedroom door. He shook it, a prisoner trying to get out of his jail.

“Yes, yes, in a minute,” she repeated. She pulled her hair back in a ponytail and twisted it into the bun she wore when she worked in the bakery. Too bad she’d had her hair cut in layers the last time she’d had it done. Given the way her hair wanted to curl, getting the smooth look achieved so easily by Plain women was virtually impossible.

She paused, hairpin in her hand, struck by a memory she hadn’t known was there. Her mother stood in front of a mirror, just as she was doing, while a small Hannah sat on the bed, swinging her legs and watching. Mammi put her prayer kapp in place over her hair, and the little girl Hannah had been reached up to pat her own.

“Some people don’t wear kapps,” she’d said.

“Ja, that’s so.” Mammi turned from the mirror to smile at her. “But we do.”

“Why?” she’d persisted.

Mammi sat down next to her. “The Bible says that a woman should have her head covered when she prays. I might want to pray anytime of the day, ain’t so?” She patted Hannah’s cheek. “Besides, it shows where we belong.”

The adult Hannah put her hand on her cheek, almost imagining she could feel her mother’s touch. An unpleasant idea pricked at her mind. She’d thought, so often, of what it had done to her when her parents took her away from Pleasant Valley. Maybe she should have considered what it had done to Mammi.

She went quickly to the door and opened the gate. At least her parents had had a choice. She hadn’t.

Hannah held Jamie’s hand as they walked down the stairs, encouraging him to grasp the spindles with each step. She’d get there faster if she carried him, but he’d never lived in a house with stairs before, and he had to learn to master them safely.

The morning rush was well under way, with the usual mix of Amish, Mennonite, and English sharing the news of the day or comments about the weather. Several people were lined up at the counter, and three of the five round tables were filled.

Hannah guided Jamie to his play yard and lifted him in, nodding to Naomi Esch, the Amish woman who worked for Aunt Paula. Naomi had a nod for her and a warm smile for Jamie as she bent to tickle him, saying something softly in Pennsylvania Dutch. Jamie giggled, making a grab for her kapp strings.

“He loves you,” Hannah said impulsively. “You’d be a good mother, Naomi.”

A shadow crossed Naomi’s face, making Hannah wish she hadn’t spoken. Then it was gone, and Naomi was smiling.

“Ja, I had lots of practice raising my little brothers and sisters,” she said. “Do you want to take the tables, and I’ll help Paula behind the counter?”

It was obviously a change of subject, and Hannah nodded. Tying an apron over her jumper, she picked up the coffeepot and began refilling cups, talking to the regular customers as she did.

She glanced again at Naomi, busy now behind the counter. Naomi was probably close to Hannah in age, and most Amish women were married by then. According to Aunt Paula, Naomi had taken over her younger siblings when her mother died, and her father still kept her close to home, even now that the younger ones were grown. If that bothered Naomi, it couldn’t be read on her serene, pleasant face.

Difficult parents. Hannah’s thoughts flickered to her own again. She hadn’t had a monopoly on that, had she? She turned back to her work, trying to forget.

The bakery had emptied out by midmorning when William Brand came in. Did he time it that way deliberately, so he wouldn’t have to talk to people? The thought bothered her, reminding her of Aunt Paula’s suggestion about her working with William.

Not that she needed a reminder, with her aunt sending her a meaningful glance, which she tried to ignore. Instead, she watched William, who detoured as usual to speak to Jamie.

William’s face relaxed when he knelt by the plastic barrier. It wasn’t just that William stuttered less when he spoke to Jamie. He let down his guard, too. Did he even recognize how wary he looked sometimes, at least around strangers? That was gone now, his strong-boned face gentled by a smile and his blue eyes warm with laughter over something Jamie was babbling.

Aunt Paula elbowed her. “Talk to him,” she murmured.

Sending her aunt an exasperated look, Hannah moved to the counter as William approached it. But before she could say anything, the bell over the door jingled.

The Amish man who entered was solid and middle-aged, with eyes as blue as William’s but a beard that reached below his collar.

“Good morning.” She nodded to him. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

She turned to William, but the other man was elbowing him out of the way.

“Ach, my brother will wait, I know.” He nodded to Paula and Naomi, who were busying themselves behind the counter. “I am Isaac Brand. You must be Paula’s niece, ja?”

Hannah nodded, smiling automatically. So this was William’s older brother. What had Aunt Paula said about him? That he liked snapping orders and had a scant supply of patience?

“I’ll be with you as soon as I’ve finished William’s order.” She picked up a sheet of the waxed paper they used to handle the pastries. “Crullers again today, William? Or would you and Caleb prefer donuts?”

“I-it’s okay,” he stammered, stepping to the side. “You c-c-can t-t-take c-c-care of—”

“You see?” Isaac interrupted him. “My brother doesn’t mind, and I must get on with my business. A large coffee with cream and sugar. And I’ll have one of those Bavarians, ja?”

Hannah opened her mouth to argue, but a quick glance at William’s face told her that her defense wouldn’t be welcomed. And Aunt Paula was already coming to the counter with coffees.

“Here you are, Isaac, and William, here is yours and Caleb’s. Hannah, will you see to the pastries while I ring them up?”

She nodded, bending to the pastry case so that no one would see the indignation in her face.

“We’ll be cutting hay in the south field tomorrow.” Isaac glanced at his brother. “Tell Caleb I’ll need you then.”

William nodded, his face expressionless.

It’s not your business,
she reminded herself. Anyway, William is probably used to the way Isaac speaks to him.

Somehow those rationalizations didn’t help. She handed William the bag with his purchases, their fingers brushing. He nodded his thanks and turned away, face averted.

She watched as the brothers went out, parting ways on the sidewalk in front of the shop.

“That’s Isaac,” Aunt Paula said, unnecessarily. “He’s a gut enough man in his way, I suppose, but he never sees anyone’s viewpoint but his own.”

“Does William live with him?” She regretted the show of interest the moment she said the words. Aunt Paula didn’t need any encouragement.

“Ja,” Naomi said, joining them at the counter. “Well, not exactly
with
him. He lives in the grossdaadi house on the family farm. He helps out there, besides working with Caleb.”

“That must keep him busy,” Hannah commented, wondering if Naomi would say more.

Naomi frowned a little. “Isaac has sons of his own big enough to help, and folks thought maybe William would go in full-time with Caleb. But I guess Isaac still needs him.”

Or liked having William on call. Hannah reminded herself again that it wasn’t her business.

Still, it rankled, the way Isaac had pushed William aside and interrupted him. If all his family showed such disregard for him, it was small wonder that William found it difficult to speak for himself.

Before she was even aware of having made up her mind, she was taking the apron off. She glanced at her aunt. “Do you mind if I take Jamie out for a little walk while it’s quiet?”

“That’s fine.” Aunt Paula had a knowing look in her eyes. “Where are you planning to go?” she asked, all innocence.

Hannah suppressed the urge to say that her aunt already knew. “I think I’ll go and have a little talk with William,” she said.

Maybe he’d want the limited help she had to offer. Maybe he’d reject her, feeling embarrassed or offended. She didn’t know. But she had to try.

*   *   *

Jamie
bounced eagerly in the stroller when they started down the street, hanging on to the tray as if it were a steering wheel. “Go,” he announced.

A woman who was passing slowed, smiling at him. “Hi there, sweetheart.” She gave a friendly nod to Hannah and moved on.

That sort of thing happened all the time in Pleasant Valley, and Hannah still hadn’t gotten used to it. She wasn’t sure whether people were just naturally friendly or whether they knew who she was and connected her with Aunt Paula.

She wheeled the stroller past the hardware store and glanced in the window of the harness shop run by Bishop Mose, leader of the local Amish. She could see him at the counter, white beard flowing to his chest.

Memory stirred. She had walked down this street as a child, probably been wheeled down it in a stroller even earlier, just as Jamie was. Maybe it wasn’t so odd that people seemed to know her.

She hesitated in front of the frame building that housed the cabinetry shop on one side and the quilt shop on the other. It wasn’t too late to turn around and walk back.

Don’t be such a coward,
she lectured herself.
All he can do is say no. That might hurt your pride, but nothing else.

She pulled the door open and maneuvered the stroller inside, and paused again to figure out a path through the furniture pieces displayed in hospitable-looking groupings. Maybe she should have left the stroller on the sidewalk.

“Komm in, komm in.” An Amish woman stood at the count-er, talking to a man behind it who must be William’s cousin. “Can I help you with the stroller?” She was already coming toward them, smiling. “I am Katie Miller. You must be Paula’s niece.”

She must. It was what everyone said. Hannah nodded, returning the woman’s smile. “I’m Hannah Conroy. Everybody seems to know that.”

“Ach, I remember that feeling very well. I was the newcomer for a while, and it seemed so strange that everyone knew me when I didn’t know them.” Katie knelt, face-to-face with Jamie. “This fine big boy must be Jamie. I have heard about you from William.”

Jamie chuckled, standing in the stroller and banging on the tray. He raised his arms in an unmistakable gesture. “Up!” he demanded.

“Jamie, she doesn’t want—” Hannah began.

But Katie was already lifting him in her arms. “For sure I do want,” she said. “Look, Jamie, here is Caleb.”

She carried him to the counter with Hannah following.

“Wilkom, Jamie.” He smiled, holding out a hand to the baby. “And wilkom to your mammi, too.”

Caleb didn’t share William’s blue eyes and fair coloring, but Hannah thought she might have picked them out as relatives. Something in the strong bone structure of the faces was very similar.

“It’s nice to meet you both.” She glanced from Caleb to Katie, who was bouncing Jamie in her arms. Hadn’t Aunt Paula said something about the two of them getting married? Through the archway she could see the bright colors of Katie’s quilts. Maybe sharing the building had brought them together.

“Can we help you with something?” Caleb asked. “We make a few wooden children’s toys, but nothing is on display right now.”

“No, I . . . actually I wanted to speak to William for a moment. Is he here?” She’d nearly had as much difficulty getting the words out as William might.

“Ja, for sure. He’s upstairs in the workroom.” Caleb gestured toward a flight of steps. “Go right on up.”

“I would love to watch Jamie while you talk, if you think he will stay with me,” Katie said.

Since Jamie was pounding on the counter enthusiastically with a wooden dowel Katie had handed him, there didn’t seem to be any doubt about that. And it certainly would be easier to have an adult conversation without his noisy presence.

“Thanks so much. I’ll just be a few minutes.” She waved at Jamie and hurried to the steps.

It might be a very few minutes if William were embarrassed by what she’d come to say. After all, he was an adult. He’d apparently learned to function well in his world despite his speech difficulty. Maybe she was being presumptuous.

By the time she’d reached that point in her thoughts, she emerged into a bright open space at the top of the stairs. William was at a workbench, but he’d obviously heard her coming, and he looked at her with a question in his bright blue eyes.

She took a breath, trying to think how best to start. “So this is where you spend your time.” She glanced around the room, its worktables home to various pieces of William and Caleb’s craftsmanship: rocking chairs, a quilt rack, a child’s doll cradle.

“J-ja.” William put down the wooden handle he’d been holding. “W-what d-do you want, Hannah?”

She didn’t think he’d meant to be rude by the abrupt question. He’d figured out how to say things in the shortest way possible—that was all.

She took another breath. Just get it out.

“I wanted to ask you something, but I think I have to explain a little bit first.” She touched her fingertips to the workbench, as if that would help. “Before I was married, when I was in college, I studied speech therapy.”