A Widow's Hope (22 page)

“They never will be wed if gossip gets back to Seth…or Simon,” Julia whispered to Suzanne. She trusted the woman despite not knowing her all that well.

This is just like the time before in Lancaster,
she thought, but said it to no one.

As Suzanne finished fixing the tray, she glanced toward the door before continuing. “I’m afraid there’s more talk too. Even worse.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Word has gotten back to the ministerial brethren that Hannah has been quoting Scripture.”

Julia cut the last two sandwiches in half before replying, and for a brief moment breathed easier. “She knows and loves the Good Book.”

“She’s been quoting passages from books not approved by the bishop. Word has gotten back to him, and he’s unhappy about it. They will be calling on your sister to issue a warning. If she doesn’t take the situation seriously, they will threaten her with shunning.” Mrs. Stauffer cast her eyes downward.

That would be the ultimate humiliation for a grown woman. Hannah was no girl during her
Rumschpringe
but a widow once firmly established in her community. Julia’s eyes filled with tears, but she batted them back.

Suzanne placed her hand over Julia’s. “I’ve spread no gossip about Hannah, nor will I. Please bring her by for an afternoon visit once her critters are better. And I will pray that this blows over quickly.”

“
Danki,
” Julia murmured, gathering her resolve. “Let’s serve lunch on the porch. The rain has held off, and I’m sure everyone’s getting hungry after all the hard work. The wedding quilt is turning out lovely.”

It was all she could do to force down half a ham sandwich and an apple. Julia concentrated on cutting her apple into the thinnest slices possible to avoid talking much. No one seemed to notice her unusual silence. Conversation was lively among the group—from the anticipation of vegetable gardens and the price of corn in the fall harvest to who might be courting whom among the youth. Two circle letters were read aloud from Lodi and Lancaster as many of the women had friends who had contributed to the letters.

Julia listened patiently and nodded appropriately, but she couldn’t wait to return home. There was little she could do to shelter Hannah
from the coming storm except be close by when it hit. She didn’t like feeling so helpless. For the remainder of the afternoon, she stayed as far away from the frame as possible and busied herself cleaning up the kitchen, ironing, and sweeping the floor of scraps and loose threads. She was the first guest to hitch up the horse and start for home, giving Suzanne a heartfelt hug on the way out.

Questions peppered her mind during the drive home: Why was it so terrible for Hannah to sit in the auction barn, especially since she didn’t actually buy? To whom did Hannah quote Scripture who knew it wasn’t from approved chapters? And who went to the bishop about the matter?

Remembering Hannah’s dinner last night added another dose of vinegar to her already sour stomach. Of all nights for things to go wrong! Her plan to patch things up between Seth and Hannah couldn’t have gone worse. And having Simon invite Miss Stoddard hadn’t helped matters. Seth resembled an angry ram with his horns caught in the fence. After the meal he hurried after the boys to help with chores as though he couldn’t get away fast enough. Simon had looked disappointed, Miss Stoddard confused, and her sister embarrassed.

“Oh, Hannah,” she murmured as the buggy turned into her driveway, “may God’s mercy and grace be upon you.”

With her attention riveted to a book of herbal remedies and natural cures, Hannah didn’t hear the car drive up and park near the pasture. Her cherished trunk, brought from Pennsylvania, still hadn’t been moved to the loft, but at least her loom and weaving supplies had been. The freshly whitewashed room had become her favorite retreat to work, pray, and study Scripture. It was easy to appreciate God’s creation from the large window overlooking the pasture and fields. She would sneak up here whenever time permitted for solitude and contemplation.

The English veterinarian nearly startled her out of her shoes when he entered the barn and hollered, “Hello?”

“I’m up here, Dr. Longo,” she called. “I’ll be right down.” It was very unladylike to yell, but she didn’t want him to go searching for her in the other outbuildings. Vets were in short supply in rural communities and busy as ants under a picnic table. He had no time to waste.

“Mrs. Brown?” he asked once Hannah reached ground level. “I’ve received word that some of your sheep have eye infections. Let me take a look at them.” He discreetly glanced at his wristwatch.

“Thank you for stopping by on short notice,” Hannah said, remembering to use all English. “I’ll lead the way to my flock.” She strode from the barn as fast as she could without breaking into a run. “I’ve found recipes for both a poultice and a salve that I can make if you think it’ll help. I’ve got petroleum jelly to use as the base if that’s all right. I already have or can easily find all the necessary herbs in the woods.” Hannah marched toward the pasture with her herb book tucked under her arm like a scholar.

Dr. Longo trailed close on her heels, lugging his large black satchel. “I’ll take a look at your salve compound before I leave. I’ve brought syringes of antibiotics in case it’s the same malady I saw in Wilmot last week.”

The vet wasn’t a bit surprised by her herbal knowledge. Most Plain folk relied heavily on natural remedies, turning to modern pharmaceuticals only when necessary.

Hannah felt the noonday sun hot on her back as they walked toward the flock. She pulled the brim of her black bonnet forward to prevent her usual summertime sunburned nose. The sheep pranced nervously with the approach of a stranger.

“Just as I expected,” the vet announced after inspecting several ewes. “Pinkeye, same as in Wilmot. Luckily it hasn’t spread much yet. You were wise to call me right away.” He straightened his spine and scanned the rolling pasture.

Hannah noticed deep lines around his eyes from squinting. “What should we do?” she asked.

“With your permission I’ll administer strong antibiotic shots to the infected animals. One shot should do the trick as long as you follow up with your salve. A poultice might be needed for that one.” He pointed to one sad-looking, older sheep with especially runny eyes. “I trust you have no plans to take any to slaughter in the next several months. All meds should be fully out of their fatty tissue by then.”

“No, none will be…harvested,” she said, not able to repeat his word. Hannah felt a measure of relief as they walked back to the house.

He reviewed her salve recipe, decided it was fine, and gave her a jar of plain cream to use for the base. Hannah paid him in cash and because his bill was so reasonable, packed up a box of preserves and canned fruit.

“Send word to me through an English neighbor if my shots and your treatments don’t do the trick,” he instructed.

She followed him to his pickup truck. “Thank you, Doctor Longo. I will be diligent with the salve.”

“You’re welcome. Thanks for the preserves.” With a wave of his hand, the vet headed down the drive.

Just as he pulled onto the road, an unfamiliar Amish buggy turned in. “It’s getting to be a traffic jam on Miller Lane,” Hannah said, shielding her eyes as she tried to identify the occupants. She recognized none of the elderly, somber-looking men who got out of the carriage and tied the horse to the post.

“You can turn your horse out in the paddock while you visit with the deacon,” Hannah said politely as they approached, happy there was nothing unseemly about her appearance that afternoon—no muddy skirt hem or knee-high rubber boots.

The three black-clad men approached in their Sunday best. Hannah feared they might have come directly from a funeral, although she hadn’t heard about any deaths in the district.

“We won’t be staying that long, Mrs. Brown,” a white-haired gentleman said. “And we’ve come to speak to you, not Deacon Miller.”

A chill swept over her, despite temperatures well into the eighties. Her palms began to sweat, and the soup she’d eaten for lunch churned in her belly.

“You’ve come to speak to me?” her voice croaked in a tone no one would recognize as hers. “Would you like to come into the kitchen for a glass of cool lemonade?”

Nothing in their deportment indicated this visit was social, but Hannah tried to hope for the best.

“
Danki,
no.” The eldest swept his hat from his head and looked down his thin nose with a stern but compassionate gaze. “As elders in your new district, Mrs. Brown, we were displeased to learn of some of your recent…activities. We’re unsure how liberal the previous community where you were a member was, but here we expect our female members to behave with restraint. And more seriously, word has gotten back to the bishop that you’ve been quoting passages of Scripture.”

Hannah felt heat rise up her neck into her face, but she also felt a measure of reprieve. Certainly if she’d been misquoting passages or applying them in an incorrect context, it couldn’t be as serious an offense as dancing in the milk house while listening to a battery radio as a former schoolmate had done. She wiped her damp palms on her apron and glanced up. “
Jah,
I often find myself reciting verses that might help me or another person during a difficult situation.”

Two of the men seemed to relax with her admission, but the white-haired elder’s expression didn’t change. “You are knowledgeable in Bible passages, Mrs. Brown?”

“Somewhat,” she said. “I’ve memorized many of my favorites.”

He nodded and gave his beard a pull. “The passage you quoted to Mrs. Lehman was from the book of Romans: ‘Pay your taxes, too, for these same reasons. For government workers need to be paid too. They are serving God in what they do. Give to everyone what you
own them.’ And the passage you shared with your niece Emma was First Timothy 6:6-7: ‘True godliness with contentment is itself great wealth. After all, we brought nothing with us when we came into the world, and we can’t take anything with us when we leave it.’ Do you remember them?”

“I do, indeed.” Her uneasiness grew as she contemplated how her remarks to Emma and Mrs. Lehman had reached the ears of the bishop.

“In the hardware store last week you were overheard saying: ‘Serving God does make us very rich, if we are satisfied with what we have.’ That passage is also from the book of First Timothy. And those aren’t chapters approved by our bishop. Nor, I’m sure, are they ones Deacon Miller reads to his family. Do you study the Bible on your own?” he asked.

The other two ministerial brethren leaned forward, waiting for her answer.

“
Jah,
almost every night I read several chapters before bed and after my prayers.” Hannah knew what was coming but saw no alternative but to tell the truth.

“This is a conservative district. We have no assurance of salvation. We must endeavor to lead humble, productive lives until the moment of our death, never certain if we shall be deemed fit to enter heaven.” He shook his head slowly, as though disappointed in a rambunctious child. “Please confine your readings to the approved chapters. Deacon Miller will assist you if you’re uncertain which they are.”

His features hardened slightly. “We take no joy in threatening a widow with shunning. We welcome you to our community, but we want you to conform to the
Ordnung
of your congregation. Look to your sister-in-law or any of the other women for examples for your behavior—in Kidron and elsewhere. We don’t want our matrons setting a poor example for young girls approaching
Rumschpringe.
”

Hannah thought she would crumple into a pile of dust on the driveway, so great was her mortification. Threatened with shunning
for the second time in her life? She felt her eyes fill with tears, but she kept them in check until the three men bid her good afternoon and returned hurriedly to their buggy.

All thoughts of a cool glass of lemonade were forgotten.

Where was Simon during this ministerial visit? She hadn’t seen him all morning and had assumed he’d taken his lunch with him into the fields. Had he simply missed crossing paths with her, or had he known in advance of this warning? He must have known; he was a deacon!

Hannah stood rooted, watching the carriage roll away until it disappeared around the corner. A heavy weight of despondence and fatigue burdened her heart. She loved her family with her whole heart, but moving here had only added another burden to their lives. Now the deacon’s own sister-in-law had brought shame to his household.

With legs feeling like lead, she walked slowly back to the house to change her dress for afternoon chores. She wondered if she could avoid telling Julia about the visit, not wishing to add to her worries. If only she hadn’t lost her temper with Seth about moving the sheep, she’d have someone to talk to. That disagreement seemed silly now. He would never take them away from her. She had been prideful and stingy and ungrateful for his practical suggestion. The brethren were probably correct about her not setting a good example for her two nieces.

Seth. Thinking about the man with gentle hands and soft, wavy hair made her heart ache all the more. She’d had such high hopes of a new life with him, but her sharp tongue had ruined everything.