Sisters of the Quilt Trilogy (10 page)

Feeling naked without his hat, Luke placed it firmly on his head. “Just the two of you?”

“Oh no. There were a dozen girls there. We laughed about silly things until my sides hurt.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. “Only girls?”

“Luke Lapp, are you edging toward asking if I went swimming with boys?”

He gazed into her eyes, determined to confront the things on his mind. “It crossed my mind.”

“I would never …” She scowled at him. “You know, if I weren’t so fond of you, I’d get out of this buggy and walk home.”

A goofy smile etched itself on his face, and he was powerless to erase it. “How fond?”

“Luke!”

Confident this was the door he was looking for, he became serious. “Fond enough to be baptized into the church this spring, published next October, and married by early winter during the wedding season?”

Her face went blank. Luke couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Soon her greenish blue eyes danced with laughter. “Are you asking ’cause you’re curious or because you’d like to be the one I’m published with?”

“You got somebody else in mind?”

She giggled and huffed at the same time. “Answer my question before you go asking more things.”

Doing his best not to lose his nerve, he took a deep breath. “I’m asking because I can’t imagine there being a better wife in the whole world than you.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when Mary flung her arms around his neck. “Oh, Luke, when you started taking me home from the singings, I was sure it was just because Hannah and I are such good friends. As I grew to love you, I was afraid you didn’t return those feelings.”

Joy turning flips within his chest, he held her tight. Slowly he backed away and bent to kiss her on the lips.

She put her hands against his chest and pushed against him. “There’ll be no lip kissing until we’re married.”

His jaws ached from the huge smile on his face. “And is this a new rule?”

She planted a kiss on his cheek. “That’s the first kiss I’ve given any young man who wasn’t a brother.”

“Ah, so you kiss
old
men, is that it?” The buggy shook as Luke laughed.

Mary lifted one of the dangling reins from its resting post and playfully smacked him with it. Luke wrapped her delicate face in the palms of his hands. “I’m so proud of who you are. I … I wish I could give you the same gift of not having kissed anyone else.”

Her playfulness stopped cold. She released the leather strap. “Luke, I remember the day you joined the church. Although you didn’t say the words, I knew your time among the English had brought you nothing but grief in your soul. I forgave you that very day, knowing even then that I’d marry you in a minute if you asked. Now, we’ll talk no more of it. Ever.”

Feeling warm and blessed, he kissed her on the cheek. Luke wanted to marry her immediately and not wait until harvest season was over next fall. But Amish life didn’t work that way. He puffed out his chest, a silly move that might be deemed prideful and sinful if certain ones within the community saw it. “I didn’t realize I was such a fine catch as to have Mary Yoder willing to marry me back when she was but fifteen years old.”

She slapped his hat off.

“Mary!” Luke grabbed his hat off the floor of the buggy, wanting ever so much to tickle her rib cage. “That’s not proper.”

She clicked her tongue at him. The buggy jolted forward as the horse began walking. They broke into laughter.

“You’d better take the reins and drive, Mary.”

“Not me. I’ve had enough driving for one night.”

The horse kept plodding forward, though neither one took the reins. They laughed and joked, but each refused to be the one to give in. The horse continued onward, leaving the small path and ambling straight across the three-way, unpaved intersection. When the horse came to the edge of the ditch on the far side of the road, it stopped. Luke and Mary stared at each other, laughing.

Out of the pitch blackness, rays of car lights crossed the top of the hill. Luke grabbed for the reins, but they wouldn’t loosen from the post. Standing, he reached for the reins closer to the horse’s backside.

The lights blinded him.

Mary screamed.

H
annah folded the clothes she’d sewn for Samuel and laid them on
Mamm’s
dresser. Through the open windows, she heard people moving downstairs. The back screen door creaked open and then slammed. She recognized the heavy, paced footsteps that entered the home as her father’s.

He’d been in the barn for well over two hours, and from the sounds of it, he’d returned without any of her siblings. He must be ready for that private talk he’d mentioned earlier. Hannah eased down the steps. Halfway down the stairs she heard a few whispery words from her mother, and Hannah stopped cold to listen.

“Zeb, I can’t stand seeing you like this. I know I agreed to your terms when we married, but it’s been twenty-four years, and I’ve changed my mind.”

In an effort to hear the whispers of her parents, Hannah stilled her breathing.

“It’s not
your
mind you want to change, Ruth. It’s mine. You’re not seein’ how dangerous this is. Zabeth destroyed the roots of an entire family. I had to move hundreds of miles just to get some peace. She was the cause of an early grave for both my parents. If we aren’t careful …”

His voice lowered, and Hannah couldn’t hear his words for several long moments. Was it possible that her father and Zabeth were the twins she’d read about in that letter? Something about that idea tasted delicious—as if there was a depth to her father she hadn’t known existed.

Even if
Daed
and Zabeth were just siblings and not twins, Hannah had an aunt on her father’s side—an aunt none of
Daed’s
brothers ever spoke of when they came to visit. Her uncles didn’t come from Lancaster often, not even once every few years. Stranger than that, her family never, ever went to visit them.
Daed
said they couldn’t leave the farm long enough to make the trip to his brothers’ homes. The dairy cows had to be milked twice a day—no exceptions. But inwardly Hannah questioned that excuse. Other dairy farmers hired workers and went on trips.

Her mother’s coarse whisper interrupted her thoughts. “Zeb, you don’t think Zabeth would show up and try—”

“I don’t know, Ruth.”
Daed
sounded upset and confused. A wave of compassion ran through Hannah before her father’s voice rose. “But I won’t stand for Zabeth’s rebellious influence coming into our home, especially with what’s going on with Hannah. We’ve got to remain in unity.”

His voice lowered, so Hannah couldn’t hear anything else. Maybe the letter said more than she realized. She tiptoed back up the steps to her parents’ bedroom. She eased the bottom dresser drawer out of its track and set it to the side. The gas-powered pole lamp cast more shadows than actual light. She ran her hands across the wooden runner. Feeling something made of paper that was thinner than the letter, she pulled it out. An empty envelope. Surely it went with the letter she’d read earlier. She held it up, allowing the lamplight to catch the letters so she could read what it said.

It was addressed to her father. The return address had only one name: Bender. That was an Amish last name. Still, she supposed it could belong to someone not Amish. The street address: 4201 Hanover Place, Winding Creek, Ohio. A warm, relaxing feeling ran through Hannah.

“Hannah?”
Daed
called from the foot of the steps, his voice void of the intensity of a few moments before.

Hannah hid the envelope behind her and hurried to the top of the steps. “Yes,
Daed.
” Her voice trembled, threatening to betray her.

He motioned for her to follow him.

“I’ll be right there.” Without waiting for him to order otherwise, she hurried back into her parents’ room and put the envelope back in its hiding place. After she slid the drawer back in as quietly as possible, she turned off the gas pole lamp.

With her chest pounding, she made her way down the steps and into the kitchen.

Her father waved toward the refrigerator before taking his spot at the head of the table. In hurried movements,
Mamm
grabbed a glass and poured him some cold lemonade. Hannah walked to the far side of the table and took a seat. Once the drink was in her father’s hand, her mother’s motions slowed, and she eased into a chair adjacent to his. The women sat in silence while he sipped his cool drink, the furrow never leaving his brow.

The kerosene lamp sputtered, needing to be refilled. Even in the dim, wavering glow, her father looked weary. Another round of guilt assaulted Hannah. He, too, was getting behind because of the disruption she’d caused. Added to that, there was a stress in her home she’d never known before. She had no idea whether it was because of the new rules concerning the road and her younger siblings needing to be watched closely or because Hannah wasn’t pulling her load or because of hidden stress brought on by her mystery aunt. But the whole family seemed to be suffering under some unspoken, unbearable burden.

Finally he placed the empty glass on the wooden table and removed his straw hat. “The bishop came by today when I was in the potato field. He was checking to see if we were doing all right.”

Hannah’s breath caught in her chest. The flame of the lamp spit and dimmed, barely staying lit as the last of the fuel on the wick burned. Bishop Eli checking on a family usually meant he had concerns that someone in the family was moving toward needing a correction. That could mean her father would be questioned in depth by the church leaders. She always thought the bishop’s visits were nothing more than a spying mission, but her father considered them a worthy part of staying submissive and humble under a higher authority.

Mamm
leaned toward her husband.
“Was denkscht?”

Hannah also wondered what her father thought. They both waited on the head of the household to answer the burning question.

“He wants to know why Hannah missed two church services and the work frolic and why she wasn’t in the field working with me.”

A look of concern shrouded
Mamm
. “What did you say?”

“I told him the truth. I said that Hannah’s behavior had nothing to do with rebellion and that all my children were obedient and respectful.”

“Ya. Gut.”
Her mother breathed a sigh of relief. The ticktock of the living room clock kept a steady rhythm through the quiet house as the three of them sat in silence.

In spite of her upbringing, Hannah wanted to protest this game. Her father was always telling the truth and yet not. It was enough to drive her mad. Why couldn’t he tell the bishop that it was none of his concern what Hannah was or wasn’t doing with her time? She wasn’t a baptized member of the church. The bishop had only a certain amount of say over the young adults who hadn’t yet submitted to the
Ordnung
. So he used his power on the ones who had been baptized—the parents—knowing that few young people were willing to cause trouble for their
Mamm
or
Daed
, even if they disagreed with the views of the church on a particular matter.

Mamm
rose and pulled a full kerosene lamp out of the pantry. She set it on the table and lit it just as the other lamp went out.

Her father folded his hands and rested them on the table. “I told him that if I had anything I thought needed sharing, I’d come to him right quick like. I just ain’t decided whether this unmentionable should be told or not. It’s not like there are rules concerning it. Still, I’m wonderin’ if it might be best to go ahead and tell him and let him decide what the right thing is.”

Hannah stood. “
Daed
, I think this needs to stay just with us three. You said so yourself the night I was … the night I came home.”

His hand came down on the table hard. “Do not try to confuse me, Hannah. I am trying to do what’s right. Have you no sense of respect for my position or the bishop’s?”

Her chest tightened, and her heartbeat seemed to speed up something horrible. Breathing became difficult, and she bolted outside.

The cool night air brought no relief. She glanced toward the barn with its kerosene lights glowing through the windows. Her siblings were still working, trying to make up for her lack.

Somewhere in the not-too-far distance, a long, continuous car horn pierced the quietness of the night.

An awful noise rang through the air, waking Luke. He tried to open his eyes. Piercing pain ran up Luke’s right arm and down his back. Where was he? And why did he hurt so badly? Forcing his eyes open, he gazed at a dark sky filled with brilliant stars and a sliver of the new moon. He was lying on damp grass, but why? And what was that ear-piercing sound?

He rolled to his side and pushed against the dewy grass, but only one arm was able to help him; the other hung limp with excruciating pain. As he staggered to his feet, pieces of what had happened came to him. He spun, looking across the open field where he’d landed. He didn’t see Mary. Blinking, he turned his attention to the buggy—some thirty feet away. Pain beyond anything he’d ever experienced throbbed through his head and down his right arm and back. He didn’t care. He had to find her.

A car with its headlights on was smashed against the open-top carriage. The impact must have thrown him. Maybe it threw Mary too.

Cringing in agony, Luke strode toward the car. “Mary! Mary!” If he could stop that deafening noise, she might be able to hear him. Scanning the surrounding area through his blurred vision, he stumbled across the open field and toward the road. As he got closer, the car lights silhouetted his overturned buggy. Pain disappeared as panic struck him. With his long legs, he straddled the barbed-wire fence and then brought his back leg over. While trying to gain his balance, he fell into the ditch on the other side.

“Mary! Where are you?” He dragged himself to his feet. The horse was on its side, thrashing and whinnying. Even with the aid of the car lights, he couldn’t find Mary. For the first time in his life he ached to lift a heartfelt prayer, a plea from his soul to God. Suddenly he realized he didn’t know how to pray, other than the standard rote prayers from the
Christenpflicht
.

O Lord God, heavenly Father, bless us with these Thy gifts, which we shall …
The memorized words flooded his thoughts. Pushing past the ceremonial jargon that filled his mind, he tried to think of a more-applicable prayer. He couldn’t. Never in his life had he used anything but the rote prayers. He needed real help, and he needed a real God to hear him. Now.

Luke looked toward heaven. “God, please.” Shame swallowed him. How dare he think he had the right to lift his head toward heaven and speak so honestly to the Lord of all?

He glanced at what was left of the upended carriage. His legs buckled. He landed on his knees. “Please, Father, if You will, help us.”

Warm chills ran through his body, sort of like the ones he felt when Mary touched him, but these were stronger, more …

He looked at the deep purple sky with glittering white stars and a tiny, crescent-shaped moon.

A strong desire to release the mare flowed over him. With renewed strength, he stumbled to his feet and made his way to the horse. In the twin streams of light from the car, Luke witnessed terror in the animal’s bulging eyes. Based on the stride marks in the soft dirt and torn-up grasses of the shallow ditch, she’d worked hard to try to stand. She had gashes where the shafts of the buggy had gouged her flanks when it was pushed forward by the impact of the car.

“Easy, Old Bess, easy.
Begreiflich, alt Gaul. Langsam un begreiflich
.” Luke murmured idle phrases as he used his able hand to unfasten the leather straps from the shafts. Gently pulling on the reins, Luke guided and cajoled her until she finally stood. Old Bess tossed her head toward the sky and took off.

Luke ran to the car. In the driver’s seat he found a man slumped over the steering wheel. “Mister?” The man didn’t answer. Luke reached in and eased the man off the wheel. The deafening noise stopped.

A moment later Luke thought he heard a soft moan coming from the other side of the buggy. “Mary?” He headed toward the sound. When he reached the far side of the carriage, which the car lights didn’t illuminate, he saw Mary’s body pinned under it. He realized the horse had been jerking the buggy back and forth while Mary was pinned under it. What a strange thing that he had felt so strongly about releasing the horse before doing anything else.