Sisters of the Quilt Trilogy (109 page)

He held her so very gently with her feet dangling off the ground. “I love you, Hannah. Always have. Always will.”

He set her feet on the ground, staring into her eyes. Leaning down, he brought his lips to hers, and the power of every once-forbidden hope and dream danced as a reality within her. He kissed across her cheek and down her neck.

Her knees gave way a bit, and she backed away.

“Hannah?”

“I just need to sit.” She sank onto the cold snow. Tilting her head, she looked into his eyes. “Talk about sweeping a girl off her feet.”

Clearly the reason for her needing to sit began to dawn on him, and he chuckled. “You had me worried for a minute. Are you sure—”

“I’m sure.”

Paul offered her a hand, but the gesture was more than a moment of help. Everything she had ever wanted or would ever want stood with open arms—just waiting for her. She slid into his embrace, wrapping her arms around him and resting the side of her face against his chest. “I love you, Paul.” Her voice cracked, and tears threatened. “I love you.”

T
he warmth of waking with Paul’s arms around her caused gratefulness to work through her. The first rays of light waited just below the horizon to stretch across the land, dispelling the dark that filled every corner of the room. Enjoying the rumble of the attic fan as it drew in mixed fragrances through the opened window—fresh-cut hay, their vegetable garden, and hints of the patch of woods surrounding the creek—Hannah relished the start of a new day. Life itself stirred her, making her feel as if she were soaring over fields like an eagle. The feeling had become a permanent part of her as she watched Paul build this home during their engagement. The house sat on the ten acres of land that Gram gave them, but the porch, with its ceiling fan for summer and outdoor fireplace for winter, was their favorite spot. It overlooked the footbridge where he had proposed.

The “Past and Future” quilt lay across the foot of their bed, waiting patiently for cold weather to arrive. Her Mennonite prayer Kapp rested on the nightstand beside her. Next to it sat the hand-carved box Paul had made for her, one that held years of letters from people she loved—Paul, Daed, Mamm, Lissa, and Kevin, even a rare note from Martin or Amy, telling her when and where they were traveling so she or Paul could make plans to pick the children up from Laura.

The letters were a reminder that love didn’t have to be perfect when forgiveness was applied. That truth guided her through each part of life—even though her father had not yet allowed her in his home. Accepting her Daed for who he was kept hurt from stealing from her when he hadn’t attended her wedding. She found that same understanding was able to strengthen her when it came to dealing with difficult people from all walks of life.

Her mother came to visit her on at least one nonchurch Sunday a month. Although Hannah saw her Daed here and there when moving about the community and he always spoke to her, she was more grateful that he wrote to her a few times each year and came by her clinic on occasion just to see her. He had come to their home to eat with Paul and her once, but the idea of his daughter having electrical and phone lines coming into her house worried him. In spite of his unbending beliefs, he tried to open his mind and heart to her. And she, in turn, tried to identify with him. The reality of forgiveness planted and growing in her daily life amazed her. She couldn’t claim to understand how it worked, but the freedom it brought was undeniable. And when she got it wrong—overreacted, underreacted, or flared with an incorrect response—forgiveness waited to be embraced.

Running her fingers over the honorary mother’s ring that now hung on a necklace she hid under her Plain clothing during the day, Hannah could hardly believe the children were on the brink of becoming teens and that Martin and Amy would soon celebrate five years of marriage. The former Amy Clarke not only filled everything Martin had been looking for in Hannah, but she adored and respected him deeply, bringing a sense of well-being to him that he richly deserved. As much as it grieved Hannah, Faye had never returned, and Hannah doubted that she was still alive. Thankfully, Kevin and Lissa seemed to be doing well, gleaning life lessons from the two households—Palmer and Waddell—that loved them unconditionally.

Zabeth’s cabin was a second home to Paul and her. During the school year Hannah worked for Dr. Lehman’s clinic one weekend a month, leading a quilting Q and A on Saturday. In the summer she worked at the clinic twice a month. Each time, Paul and she stayed at the cabin. Kevin and Lissa would often stay with them, and in the spring of each year, Paul helped them plant a garden. Kevin chose to grow only watermelons that he sold door to door in Martin’s neighborhood. Lissa never wanted to sell anything from her garden. She wanted her produce used for their meals, or she’d have Paul drive her to the local mission, where she could give the food away.

Hannah arched her back ever so slightly, stretching just a little, but she felt Paul stir.

He planted a kiss on her shoulder and rubbed across her rounded stomach. “Sleep, Lion-heart, it’s still dark.”

But she couldn’t will herself back to sleep. Didn’t want to, really. The love that ran between them and the love they gave away to others kept life renewed and exciting. For six years Paul and she had contentedly accepted being without children, enjoying every part of the life they’d been blessed with. Always proud of her work and school accomplishments, Paul took satisfaction in their busy schedules, and they continually grew in finding pleasure in each other’s arms—unlike anything they’d expected. And now … she could feel their child moving within her.

After attending the deliveries of so many babies, she was even more amazed by the miracle of what was taking place inside her. At twenty-seven years old and with her master’s in nursing, she was expecting their first child in mid-December.

Although she worked at the Plain Ways clinic just behind the Better Path, she spent much of her time going to Amish homes and visiting. She met resistance from some, especially the men, but she applied respect and forgiveness and continued to make headway talking with the families about women’s health issues.

When it suited Paul, he’d come to the birthing clinic during the long nights and stay in the sleeping room with her. When they were off, they had treasured friends to enjoy—some Amish, some Plain Mennonite, and some Englischers.

Hannah’s thoughts continued to roam. Thankfully for Mary’s health, she didn’t conceive too often. She and Luke had one more child thus far, a son. In the years since Matthew and Kathryn had married, they’d had three children. Kathryn loved organizing her household and working beside Matthew. They’d built a small home near the shops, and Kathryn brought more joy to Matthew than could be measured in a lifetime.

Hannah believed Dorcas’s regret for what she’d done was real and her repentance complete, but the heartache of losing Paul still seemed to cling to her. The battle to keep Lyme disease from ravaging her body was a long one, taking years of medicine and physical therapy to regain her health. She was now overseas, doing missions.

Gracie, Paul and Hannah’s Australian Shepherd, came to the side of the bed. Hannah scratched her head, thinking of all the dogs Sarah had trained and sold over the years. Sarah was still single, not yet trusting her stability enough to marry and have children. She remained on her medicine and in counseling. Moreover she trusted Paul’s and Hannah’s word against any lies her emotions or mind conjured up. In spite of her times of struggling with mental health issues, she continued on, being as productive as possible, sheltering rescued Australian Shepherds. The community had helped fence three acres surrounding Luke’s old place for her dogs, and she trained Aussies for all kinds of jobs—from herding sheep to herding Canada geese to helping farmers guard their crops from deer. She also trained dogs to become working companions for several physically handicapped children. Giving Gracie a final pat, Hannah said a quick prayer of thanks for Sarah. God continued to bring healing in her sister’s life and ways for Sarah to use her gifts to help others.

Paul brushed locks of hair off Hannah’s neck and kissed it, causing goose flesh to run down her. He drew a sleepy breath. “I love you, Hannah.” He planted another kiss on her neck. “Are we up for the day?”

“The joys and victories and challenges of the day are calling. Can you hear them?” She put his hand over the left side of her stomach. “And your son seems to be up for a while too. You don’t have to be.” But she knew he would. They seemed unable to take the other one’s presence for granted.

“It’s not even daylight … again. He’s taking after his mother already?” he teased.

She sat up, smacking him in the face with a pillow.

He laughed, deflecting the bombardment before he pulled her into his arms, and she snuggled against his bare chest. Throughout their years together, the laughter that rang through their small home as they juggled work with play continued to bring healing to both of them.

They worked with healthy people to keep them healthy and with the unhealthy of mind or body to help them find or regain their health. Life didn’t always go the way the suffering ones wanted, but Hannah and Paul drew their strength and peace from things they could never fully understand, that inside the God of
nevertheless
, abundant life could always be found—even on a fallen planet.

“Nevertheless,” she whispered.

Paul’s warm hand gently moved to hers, and he interlaced their fingers. “Nevertheless.”