Her Brother's Keeper (15 page)

Hannah was all worked up, but Charlotte suspected it didn't have anything to do with the way Charlotte was talking—or Ethan. As she sat back down in the rocker, she leaned back and settled into a slow motion, wondering if she should tell Hannah that Isaac had spent much of their time together talking about her. But Charlotte was confused now that Isaac had asked her out for next
Saturday. She didn't want to get Hannah's hopes up, and it also felt disloyal to Ethan if Charlotte encouraged anything between Hannah and Isaac. Charlotte would be gone soon enough, but she wanted one more chance to get some more information from Isaac since he'd clearly been holding back. She was still pondering Isaac's intentions when Hannah stood up.

“I have something for you, Mary. Can you wait here while I get it out of my room?”

“Okay.” Charlotte couldn't imagine what it might be, but a minute later, Hannah came back down the stairs with her hands behind her back, and she was wearing a glowing smile as she approached Charlotte.

“These are for you,” Hannah said as she extended her hands from behind her.

Charlotte accepted the beautiful pink-and-red potholders and tried to corral her emotions into a place that made sense. She was sure that Hannah was jealous, a bit ticked off at her, yet she chose this moment to do something nice for Charlotte.

“Did you make these?” she managed to ask before swallowing back a lump in her throat.

“Ya.
I had planned to use them after Ethan and I were married, but I had one left to finish when he died. I finished it the other night for you.” Hannah's smile quickly shifted to a frown. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. I mean,
ya
.” Charlotte stared at Hannah for a while, trying to figure her out. And trying not to cry. Not
only was it a lovely gift, but it was something that had sentimental value. “These are truly beautiful, Hannah.
Danki.
”

“If I behaved badly, Mary, I'm sorry. It isn't fair for me to begrudge anyone love or romance just because I don't have it in my life anymore.” She squatted down in front of the rocking chair where Charlotte was still sitting. “I will hope and pray that things work out for you and Isaac.”

“Oh, no no.
Nee
. It's not like that. I see us more as friends.”

Hannah wasn't jealous of Charlotte and Isaac . . . Hannah was jealous of the situation and regretful that she didn't have anyone in her life. Charlotte had been so wrong about Hannah, and she could see why Ethan loved her so much. Charlotte had another impulse to make a full confession.

“Sisters' Day will be soon, Mary. I would like for us to go together. I haven't been in a long time, and it would be nice for you to meet some of the women that you didn't get to meet at our worship service.”

“Sisters' Day?” Charlotte wondered if there would be more praying. This soul cleansing was wearing her out.

Hannah stood up and folded her hands in front of her. “Usually, we have Sisters' Day once a month. Don't you have it in your community in Texas?”

Charlotte had never heard the Amish ladies in Beeville mention it. “Um. No.
Nee
, we don't.”

“It's a time to quilt, can vegetables, or work on other fun projects. Sometimes we visit a shut-in and clean their house or cook for them.” She smiled. “And it's always a time to find out what's happening in our community.” Whispering, she added, “Gossip.”

“Gossip?”
That's allowed?

Hannah sighed. “
Ya
, gossip. Everyone knows it's wrong, but it finds its way into conversations. Usually, it's about an upcoming wedding, teenagers who are starting to date, or things like that. But every once in a while . . .” She grinned. “We hear something we didn't expect. It wonders me, is there no sharing of tales in your community?”

“Ya
. I guess so.”

“Gut.
Then it's a date.” Hannah pressed her palms together in front of her, smiling again. “I'm going to go ready up my bedroom, then I'll be down later, and if you'd like, we can start supper.” Hannah moved toward the stairs, then took them two at a time.

Charlotte just sat there. In the rocking chair. In this surreal world that was nothing like she'd imagined.

Hannah dropped to her knees, folded her hands, and put her elbows on the bed as she bowed her head.
Lord, forgive me for my lie. And I ask that You forgive me for any ill will I might have shown Mary. Jealousy is a sin, and I've felt
it seeping into my heart, especially now, since I'm finding myself angry with Ethan. But Lord, I hope and pray that Ethan is there with You, that You took mercy on his soul.

She stood up, sat down on the bed, and put her hands in her lap. It was hard to understand what she was feeling. She'd spent a year swallowed up by sadness, and now unwelcome emotions like anger and jealousy were slipping into her heart. Hannah reached up and touched her lips. Closing her eyes, she thought about all the kisses she'd shared with Ethan, and how wrong it was to feel attraction toward another man. After three years, Isaac was finally stepping out to date, and he'd chosen Mary. Maybe Mary would choose to stay here, a possibility her mother had mentioned.

She lay back on the bed, her thoughts shifting between Ethan and Isaac. She'd been very much in love with Ethan. And she'd grown up with Isaac. She could recall the many times she'd caught him staring at her over the years, and she'd always wished things could have been different. Isaac was kind. And brave. Hannah recalled an accident during a barn raising. Isaac had been the first one to climb to the top of the structure to help Jake Beiler, who had slipped and broken his foot. Isaac was only a teenager at the time.

Hannah closed her eyes and prayed that God would keep jealousy out of her heart.

Charlotte waited until the following Saturday to visit the small, blue-framed house with the overgrown lawn. She hadn't told Hannah she was leaving that morning, fearful Hannah might want to come along. It had been a long walk uphill to her brother's house.

After she caught her breath, she eased the waist-high gate open and walked into the yard as gnats buzzed in the tall grass all around her. She wondered why no one had mowed the yard recently.

She walked slowly up the sidewalk, careful of the deep cracks in the concrete every few feet. Turning the doorknob, she was relieved to find the house unlocked. As she pushed the door open, a rank odor shot up her nose, and she recognized the smell right away.
Skunk.
She stood at the threshold trying to decide whether or not to go in, but she recalled the skunk she'd dealt with a few years ago before she'd moved to a high-rise. It came by most days and sprayed the outside of her apartment building, a place outside of the city and near some woods. That's probably what was happening here, so she pinched her nose and left the front door open as she moved into the living room. A green lizard clung to the window on the far wall, illuminated by the sliver of sun shining onto the dusty hardwood floors.

Charlotte moved slowly about the room, still clenching her nostrils. A dark-green couch, two wooden chairs, and a small round coffee table were the only furniture in the room, unless you considered the potbelly stove in
the corner. There were piles of boxes against the far wall. She eased into the kitchen as perspiration clung to her maroon dress and sweat beaded on her forehead. It took a few minutes to force open a window in the kitchen, but the hot air outside didn't do much to dissipate the skunk odor inside.

No electricity, of course. No air conditioning. More boxes were on the floor in the kitchen. A thick layer of dust covered the white kitchen counters. She crossed back through the living room, then pushed open the only other door she saw, which led to Ethan's bedroom. There were clothes piled up in the corner and the unmade bed was piled with boxes that were half-full. It looked like someone had stopped in the middle of packing.

Charlotte pulled back the flap on one of the boxes. She ran her hand across the high school emblem on the front of the yearbook before she picked it up and put it on the bed. As she thumbed through keepsakes from the past, she wondered if Ethan had been packing things up to make room for Hannah until their house was built. Or maybe Hannah had packed this after Ethan died. That seemed a more likely scenario. Maybe he was packing to go back home to Texas since Hannah had said he broke up with her. She moved to the next box, which was already open and filled with plastic glasses.

What happened, Ethan?
She put one of the boxes on the floor, dusted off a spot on the bed, then sat down. The
smell of skunk wasn't as bad in this room, but it was just as hot. She went and opened a window before she returned to the bed. Sighing, she glanced around, not knowing what she hoped to gain by being here. All it was doing was making her sad.

She decided to leave, but stopped short of the bedroom door and paused at the four-drawer chest against the wall. The top drawer was half-open and she could see underwear and socks inside. The second drawer was filled with folded T-shirts. Shirts that wouldn't be allowed here, but ones that represented Ethan's life and travels. She picked up the one with a picture of the Alamo on the front and recalled Ethan telling her that he and a group of guys were enjoying the Riverwalk in San Antonio and a trip to the Alamo. She flipped through Ethan's memories—Port Aransas, Galveston, Freeport. Then she got to out-of-state shirts from New York City, Atlanta, and New Jersey.

She reached back into the drawer and took out the T-shirt from Port Aransas. She and Ethan had gone to visit a distant uncle there. She could still remember her mother driving them, hoping that Uncle Phil would take them in, but he hadn't been in good health. That had been right before they were placed in different foster homes. Charlotte wanted a keepsake of Ethan's, but she stuffed the shirt back in the drawer, deciding that trip wasn't a time she wanted to remember.

She was crossing the threshold back into the living
room when she felt an invisible nudge to turn around and go back. The closet door was cracked a few inches, so Charlotte reached for the knob and opened the door wider. More boxes. She scanned the small area until her eyes landed on a mothball box in the corner, and Charlotte felt like she'd struck gold as she hurriedly reached for the box. Her heart raced as she picked it up. The box felt empty. But she opened one end and turned it upside down. A single photo fell onto the floor.

She picked up the picture and studied it. The potbelly stove was in the background, so she knew it had been taken in Ethan's house. But who was the woman in the photo? She was Amish, dressed in the traditional clothing, and holding out her palm, smiling—almost as if she didn't want her picture taken, but playfully allowing it.

Charlotte looked closer at the picture. She didn't recognize the woman. But sometimes, it was hard to tell the ladies apart since they dressed so much alike. Disappointed to not have found anything else, she started to put the photo back in the box, but on habit, flipped the picture over first. Written in blue pen was:
To my one and only. I love you . . .
in neat cursive.

She'd planned to snoop in an effort to find out more about why Ethan took his own life, and she hoped this process might help her to face her grief. But she never expected to find something like this. The skunk smell, along with this finding, was starting to overwhelm her,
so she stuffed the photo in the pocket of her black apron, tossed the empty box back into the closet, and sprinted toward the front door.

But when she got to the porch, company awaited her.

Nine