A Dream for Hannah (21 page)

Your son,

Jake Byler

Jake twiddled his pen. A great desire came over him to ask about Eliza. Did he dare? No, he better not. It could result in embarrassment. If anything had changed, they would have let him know, hoping it might just bring him home.

She’s probably already planning her wedding,
he thought, and fresh anger surged through him.
How could she do something like that? Did she care nothing for me? What of all the times she said she loved me?

He rose from the table, walked over to the window, and looked at the valley. His thoughts were not on its beauty. Absently, after only a few moments, he returned to his letter, sealed it, and took it to the drop box in the office.

Hannah sat in the saddle on Prince and slid her fingers into the envelope. Carefully she extracted the letter, holding it away from her as if it were a serpent. Prince shifted his weight beneath her and lifted his head high into the air.

“Easy, boy,” she said. “Let’s see what this says.”

The letter began with “Dear Hannah.”

I suppose you will be surprised at a letter from me. It’s just that I couldn’t keep myself from writing to you.

I wondered how it would be with you gone. I miss you a lot already. I saw your mother in town and asked for your address. I hope you are doing well. Montana is a big state, I think. Don’t get lost in it.

I would very much like to write more to you while you are gone. Would this be okay? It might make the time go faster for me, and if you would write what you are doing that would be interesting as well.

So long,

Sam Knepp

“There it is,” Hannah pronounced loudly as if Prince could understand. “The monster himself. Now what shall we do with him? Mommy’s love and Auntie’s perfection—yet shall he be mine?”

She threw her head back and laughed at the idea. Out here things like this letter didn’t seem as serious.
But life out here is different than back there, isn’t it?

Hearing her sigh, Prince turned his head as if mildly interested.

“You have no idea what’s going on, Mr. Prince,” she said. “Your little horse life is not complicated at all. Just go when you’re told and eat when you’re hungry, hmmm? What a life!”

Prince lowered his head as if looking for grass, and Hannah turned back to her thoughts.
Oh, to dream or not to dream? That is the question, now, isn’t it? Yet, no more dreaming for me. No more wonder boys who charm me. Now it’s time to do what’s right and take the path that Mother wants.

“Well, Mr. Prince,” she said, “are you going to write the letter? Of course not,” she said, answering herself. “That falls on me, the one who needs to do penance for her sins. Oh, if I had never strayed from the path, then this would not have happened to me.” She sighed again. “But I must bear my burden and follow the best I can.”

Then to her surprise, a tear trickled down her face. Prince neighed as if in sympathy.

“You understand,” she said as she looked down to pat him on the neck, “even if I don’t.”

Suddenly Hannah noticed the sun was much lower in the sky. It was time to go back. Not in the mood to gallop, she still urged Prince into a run to save time. He cantered along as she rode smoothly. Hannah wished her life was as smooth, but there seemed little that could be done about it. When the wide plain narrowed down to the riverbed, she had to slow down and take the rest of the way at a walk.

“Where were you?” a worried Betty called out from the kitchen door as Hannah came in.

“Putting Prince up,” she said. “Time got away from me. I was sitting on Prince…thinking some things through.”

“Any decisions?” Betty asked, her curiosity bubbling to the surface.

“I’m going to write him back,” Hannah muttered.

Betty was not to be deterred. “Would that be to Sam?”

“Yes, Sam.”

Betty gushed, “Oh, your mother will be so happy. Does Sam have a lot of money?”

“He’s going to inherit the family farm,” Hannah said without emotion.

“That’s nothing to sneeze at,” Betty proclaimed. “You don’t have to look down your nose.”

“I’m just writing a letter,” Hannah said. “That’s all.”

“You never know,” Betty said. “Little things can lead to bigger things. Remember your mother likes him.”

“I’ll try,” Hannah said halfheartedly as she headed for her room upstairs.

She found her writing tablet and began her letter.

Dear Sam,

I am in Montana, of course, on Betty’s little farm. They have purchased two new horses since I’ve arrived. Business is that good. I suppose you would know all about that. I certainly enjoy myself, and the little church is nice. Friendly people and all…

When she came close to the end of the letter, Hannah told Sam what he really wanted to hear.

I guess writing would be okay for now. I don’t know how often I can, but I will try.

Then she signed it simply, “Hannah.”

After that she couldn’t resist. Carefully she drew a little smiley face after her name.
That will do it,
she told herself.

In her mind, Hannah saw Sam’s mouth drop open—just as plain as day. She sobered a few minutes later. Something would have to be done about that. Perhaps the boy really could be trained.

For the first time, that night Hannah dreamed of Peter. She found herself in a moonless night again but with an awful roar in the air. She was with Peter on the roof of her home in Indiana as leaves and branches flew all around them. In the distance great flashes of light came and went. She clung to the roof in terror while Peter bravely walked around and beckoned for her to come to him. She tried to find the courage, but the strength to move wasn’t in her.

In a swirl of motion and without having climbed off the roof, she was suddenly in his car. They sped along a gravel road as the wind whistled through the open car window. She was rigid with fear, clutching the handlebar above the window. “Stop, stop,” she screamed.

“Be brave,” Peter said, laughing. “Hang on.” He drove even faster, and now blue and yellow lights were everywhere as they raced along in the night.

Her father’s face appeared through the windshield, telling her to come home, but she couldn’t get Peter to stop the car. Her father called her name loudly while Peter laughed.

Hannah struggled, her muscles like water, and finally got herself awake, sure that her cries had been heard by someone in the house. Her hands trembled under the covers, and she knew she needed to do something to calm herself.

Finally she got up enough courage to slide out of bed and lower herself to kneel on the floor. There, as the night air from her open windows blew around her, she begged God to forgive her and never let her dream this dream again.

“I will listen to Mom and Dad from now on. I promise,” she whispered, believing the words spoken out loud were better than just thinking them. Surely God heard spoken prayers more clearly than just thought prayers.

“Just give me the strength to walk away from my own ways and the desire to do things Your way. Help me, please.”

She stayed there until she felt sure God had heard, and then she climbed back into bed and fell asleep.

Sam received Hannah’s letter three days later. He gingerly pulled the letter out of the pile of mail his mother had left on the kitchen table. He took a long and deep breath. If this was from whom he hoped…Well, then he was a man now and must act accordingly.

“Is somebody writing to you?” his mother called from the sewing room. Sam could hear her ironing board squeak.

“Yep,” he hollered and left it at that. He wanted to see the letter first. Perhaps it contained bad news, but at least she had written. He cut the envelope open and slid out the paper.

It
was
from her. That was good. The gentle feminine sweep of the words on the paper told him so. Her name at the end confirmed it. He rubbed his forehead and took another deep breath. That Hannah would write to him shouldn’t come as a surprise, he told himself. He had asked her to write, and, of course, she would. Yet deep down, he knew he had tread on sacred ground, held out his hand to a beautiful blossom, strained for it, and had now touched it.

“Is somebody writing to you?” his mother repeated from the sewing room and stuck her head through the doorway. “I guess someone did.” She answered the question herself when she noticed Sam with his head down, his eyes intent on the words.

Sam read quietly as his mother’s face disappeared. Hannah had written all about what had happened—her trip to Montana, Prince, the new horse, and her work. At the end of the letter, Hannah finally wrote the news he really wanted to hear—she was, indeed, going to write more, and he could write to her.

The smiley face Hannah had drawn struck him to his heart. Sam thought long and hard. A girl now wrote to him. Not just
any
girl—Hannah Miller—the one from school who used to smile at him but afterward would have nothing to do with him. The world almost changed colors in front of him. Hannah Miller was writing to
him.