Sisters of the Quilt Trilogy (32 page)

H
annah trod across the lumpy, pothole-filled pasture. Her thighs burned and throbbed. The increasing pains in her sides made taking a deep breath impossible. Surely the discomforts she’d been suffering wouldn’t keep growing throughout the pregnancy.

Her foot landed in a brown, grassy hole, and she stumbled. She’d never noticed before how difficult this field was to cross. The aches in her sides turned into sharp pains as she plodded through the barnyard and onto the Yoders’ lane.

When she opened the door to the
Daadi Haus
, she heard low tones of men muttering to one another. Before Hannah had fully entered the home, Mary hurried to her side. “They’ve come to talk to you.”

The horses and buggies must have been pulled into one of the barns, meaning the leaders knew they’d be here a while. Hannah didn’t know whether the bishop and preachers had responded to the news so quickly because they were willing servants of the people, or if they were simply vultures swooping down on a fresh carcass.

Needing a few moments to compose herself, she stepped inside the enclosed back porch, leaned against a canned-goods pantry, and took a deep breath.

Elle had been visibly shaken upon hearing what Hannah had to say. But she responded that she had too much going on with her father to know what she thought of Hannah’s confession. She seemed to want to believe Hannah’s account but needed a little time before making a stand.

Hannah understood Matthew’s desire for Elle. Unusual beauty was the least of the girl’s attributes. She was so open and kind as they talked that Hannah found herself wishing she was more like her. Before leaving, Elle had caressed Matthew’s face and smiled, saying they could remain friends no matter what. To his credit, Matthew didn’t beg her to believe him or become angry with Hannah over her part in all this.

In the face of this upcoming meeting, Hannah could only hope the men would be half as gracious as Elle had been.

“Kumm.”
Mary put her arm around Hannah’s shoulder and led her toward the living room, where the men waited. As they passed the bedroom, Hannah caught a glimpse of the “Past and Future” quilt, lying on the table beside the bed. Each half of the quilt was vital, that which had already happened and that which was yet to happen. A spark of hope danced across Hannah’s heart. Soon enough what faced her today would be part of her yesterday.

The four men rose as she entered—not out of respect for her as a woman, she was certain, but because they thought she had summoned them in order to repent. She did intend to repent of any wrongdoing on her part, but she had no intention of repenting of things that weren’t her fault. That’s where things would get sticky.

She eased into a chair in front of the bishop. The men took their seats as tension mounted. Her father sat to her right, along with Preacher Nathaniel Miller. Preacher Ben Zook sat to her left. She’d known Nathaniel since before he became a preacher. Ben had been close to her grandfather when Hannah was just a girl and had spoken words over her grandfather when he died.

The deacon hadn’t come. He was probably unable to drop everything and get here on the spur of the moment. There were organized ways of doing things—certain days and times set apart for such matters. But exceptions were always made to help those in need. Clearly, Hannah was in need.

The bishop laid his hat in his lap.
“Was iss letz?”
Bishop Eli Hostetler was the most intimidating man in the room. His weathered face and beady eyes made him look as old as Hannah imagined God to be—and just as displeased with her. Eli’s knobby body was as thin as the rickety boards that were barely holding the old barn together.

Hannah tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. The bishop wanted her to get right to the point. But where should she begin?

She gazed at each man, wondering if she possessed the strength to say all that needed to be said. Nathaniel Miller was about her father’s age, early forties, with small brown eyes and a large nose that didn’t fit his face. Ben Zook was older than the bishop’s fifty years by about a decade. He had deep scars over his face that Hannah had always assumed were from acne when he was younger. Slowly her eyes made their way to her father, who wouldn’t even look at her.

She willed herself to begin. “At the beginning of this ordeal, my father asked me to come see you. He begged me over and over. But I didn’t listen.” She drew a ragged breath as another round of aches went through her back and thighs. If the ordeal was Hannah’s pregnancy, then her statement was true.

From behind her, Mary passed her a glass of water and several handkerchiefs. As Hannah took a drink, she skimmed the men’s faces. Her father’s gray blue eyes had a sense of hesitancy about them, of what Hannah didn’t know. Was he unsure of the bishop’s reaction or unconvinced of his daughter’s virtue? Had he fallen prey to the rumors?

She shifted her attention to the bishop.

Hannah started to lean forward to set the glass on the table, but Mary reached out and took it for her.

The bishop cleared his throat. “Mary, I think it would be best if you left us alone for a spell.”

Mary nodded. “I’ll be in my house if you need me.”

As she rose to leave, the bishop glanced at Hannah’s father. Hannah knew that what she’d begun might take weeks or even months to finish working out. No matter what the bishop decided, there would be families who disagreed. The families who believed the rumors would accept nothing but full disclosure and repentance on Hannah’s part. The ones who chose to believe Hannah’s confession today would be resentful until the one who began the gossip came clean.

If it weren’t for Matthew and Elle’s relationship, Hannah would welcome people learning all there was to know about the gossip. Matthew could probably set people straight, and Sarah would have to admit that she lied about how long Hannah was gone that night. Hannah would thoroughly enjoy seeing Sarah get put in her place.

When the back door closed behind Mary, Eli nodded at Hannah.

Averting her eyes so she didn’t have to see the men, Hannah explained. “In the last days of August, I was on my way home from Mrs. Waddell’s, our Mennonite neighbor …” With stammering and long pauses, Hannah described the attack the best way she knew how. When she finished, the room was silent for a long time.

The bishop turned to her father. “Zeb, do you believe this account?”

She would have been less startled if the men had held her at fault for walking along the road that day. She’d just revealed the most embarrassing event of her life to these men, and the response was to accuse her of being a liar?

Her father stared at the floor. “I … I was there when she came home. I have no doubt of the trauma that took place.”

Eli arched an eyebrow at him, then turned his attention back to Hannah. “And the midnight ride in your nightgown?”

“It was only a few minutes. I never left sight of the house.”

The bishop didn’t look as though he believed her, but he said nothing.

Hannah’s head throbbed, and her sides ached. Sarah’s rumors had the bishop discounting everything Hannah said. But she didn’t have the strength to drag her sister into this. Besides, it was quite clear that even if she tried to straighten things out by saying that Sarah was a liar, no one in this room was going to believe her.

The bishop continued. “Is it true that you exchanged letters with a Mennonite man against your father’s wishes?”

She wished that was a lie, but she couldn’t deny it. She nodded.

“Is it his child you carry?”

“No! I told you—”

The bishop interrupted her. “Is it true that the day before Thanksgiving you were in that man’s arms, the one you were sending secret letters to, kissing him while your body carried another man’s child?”

So, someone had been watching her that day, and they’d told the bishop. Or maybe he was the one who had seen her. She nodded.

“And is it true that Matthew Esh told you that you were a liar?”

Hannah covered her face with the handkerchief. She was buried too deep in mistakes to ever clear her name. What could she say? The bishop himself had heard Matthew say that. Hannah couldn’t deny it. No wonder the man had kept silent about his discovery of them in the barn that day. He thought Matthew was correcting her, not playing. If she explained that it was a game, then the bishop’s view of Matthew could change, causing even more rumors to run through the community about her and Matthew. If Sarah was ever going to be held accountable for the lies she’d told, Matthew had to be held in high esteem by the church leaders.

She nodded.

“Is it also true that you’ve snuck off from your home to be with this Mennonite man on many occasions over the years, using your work for Katie Waddell as an excuse?”

She lowered the handkerchief and stared at her lap. She couldn’t look at her father. What must he think of her?

The bishop drilled Hannah over and over concerning the same rumors, trying to get her to expound on the reports. She could think of nothing that could open their eyes to the truth. Then again, almost every rumor was rooted in truth, only a twisted version of it. How could she untangle herself from it?

By the time the clock struck five, Hannah was so tired, so racked with physical and emotional exhaustion, she couldn’t even lift her head.

“Look at me!” The bishops’ voice thundered through the house.

Hannah lifted her face for the first time in over an hour.

“You will stay here alone tonight. Zeb, since Mary’s family is visiting relatives quite a ways from here and can’t easily return, I think the best place for Mary is with you. The community will accept our decision better if Mary stays with those who will become family members later this year.” Bishop Eli folded his hands and stared at them for a spell before looking at Hannah. “Tomorrow we will return. I suggest you spend the night thinking on this account of ‘rape.’ Consider hard, Hannah, the path you are choosing. There can be no forgiveness without true repentance. We cannot allow you to join the church if you are covering your sin through lies.” He rose, and the other men followed suit. “Perhaps a night alone will cause you to think more clearly. I’m concerned that Mary’s devotion and her naiveté are serving your manipulation and lies, causing them to grow within you, but she won’t be around tonight.”

Without standing, Hannah looked up at her father. “Do you question me about the attack too,
Daed
?”

He stared at his daughter. “You have lied to me for years about Mrs. Waddell’s grandson. What am I to think?”

Hannah was dumbfounded. How could he think that the brokenness he witnessed the night she came home with gashes in her hands and trauma to her body was somehow linked to her rebellious relationship with Paul?

In unison, the men turned their backs on her. It was a warning of what was to come if she kept to her story of rape. When the door slammed, Hannah buried her face in her hands, too drained to even cry.

T
he wall clock above the mantel ticked on persistently. An eeriness she had never experienced before filled the evening. She was truly alone for the first time in her life. This separation from human contact felt unruly—even boisterous. And the silence grew louder with each ticktock.

A howling wind interrupted the lull, pushing hard against the house and making it moan. Hannah rose and ambled to the window. Snow lay sparsely across the ground, but the heavy flakes that continued falling from the black sky said the land would be hidden under a blanket before long.

Thoughts of Ohio played across Hannah’s mind. At the moment it sounded like a safe haven. She wondered if her aunt might appreciate getting a visit from her brother’s eldest daughter.

She huffed at her silliness and placed her hand over her stomach. “We knew it would be a battle to get back in the good graces of
Daed
and the church, but it seems your mother has made things even worse than she realized.” She patted her belly. “I’m sorry, little one.”

Pulling the shade down, Hannah realized she’d drawn one thick curtain after another between her and her parents through years of deception concerning Paul. How foolish could she be?

Her stomach grumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since … dinner yesterday. Plodding into the kitchen, Hannah grabbed a kerosene lamp off a nearby table. As she struck a match and lit the wick, her hunger faded. She hurt all over, from her upper rib cage to her knees. She pulled a few ibuprofen tablets out of a bottle and swallowed them with a glass of water. The bottled medicine had to be better than the homegrown and ground lobelia her family used. On her way back into the living room, a muscle spasm forced her to grab on to a chair and wait.

While she took some deep, relaxing breaths, she wondered if these types of aches were normal. Another spasm hit her lower back and worked its way across her stomach. She moaned, long and low, waiting for the ache to stop. The odd, painful feeling lasted nearly a full minute. Something was wrong. It had to be. Panic jolted her. No one was around. The phone shanty was locked.

Stop worrying. You’re fine. It’s been a long, grueling day, and your body is weary, nothing more
.

The terror leveled off as she assured herself the symptoms were due to the difficulty of the last twenty or so hours. Heartache over Paul lashed out at her. None of what was happening in her life was as painful as losing Paul. But he was gone, and right now her focus needed to be the infant inside her womb.

She shuffled into the bedroom and lay down, covering herself with a blanket. Surely a little rest, along with the pain reliever, would ease the tenseness across her lower back and stomach.

As soon as she laid her head down, sleep came. It was a restless, pain-filled sleep but ever so welcome. When a knock at the door thundered through the room, Hannah glanced at the clock. Eight. Surely the bishop’s decree that she spend the night alone had made the rounds already. Who would dare come to her door?

Paul?

Hope stirred. Could it be possible that he came to believe her?

After tossing back the covers, Hannah waited for another long, hard spasm to abate.

The knock at the door came again. “Hannah? It’s me, Matthew. Are you all right?”

She felt sick as her foolish anticipation fell to the floor with a thud. Pushing against the bed, Hannah rose to her feet. She waddled through the rooms and opened the storm door. A blanket of snow covered the ground, and snowdrifts were stacked in various places as the wind danced across their cottony tops. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be with Elle?”

The wind slashed through the air, ripping the door out of Hannah’s hand. Matthew grabbed the storm door, holding it tight. “Her father’s plane ain’t even landed in Baltimore yet, but I’m on my way to meet a driver just as soon as I make sure you’re doin’ all right.”

Wishing they could enter the warm house, at least enough to close the door, Hannah grabbed a shawl off the nearby coatrack. “You heard about the bishop’s edict?”

He nodded, pity showing in his eyes. “I wasn’t going to come in. I just needed to check on you. His instructions didn’t say someone couldn’t check on you.”

Hannah smiled in spite of herself. Matthew had always been one to obey while bending the rules when he disagreed with a decree. “I’ll be fine, Matthew. I just need some rest.” As she spoke the words, tightness sprang from nowhere, almost stealing her breath. Grabbing the doorframe, she panted. In response to his worried expression, she forced a laugh. “I’m fine. Really. I just overdid it today, and my body’s having a fit about it.”

Matthew stooped. “You sure?”

Determined to leave his life as uninterrupted as possible, Hannah pushed her fears aside and answered as lightheartedly as she could. “Yep. Go. Please, whatever you do, don’t be late.”

“I’ll be back to check on you as soon as I can. It’ll be after midnight for sure, maybe close to two before I return.” He paused. “You don’t look so good.”

“Dankes.”
Hannah managed a tiny curtsy.

Matthew didn’t chuckle. He pulled his hat down low and headed for his buggy.

She locked the storm door, still panting. The only things she needed were her bed and some rest. Matthew should not miss being with Elle because of that, especially not tonight. As the carriage disappeared through the haze of powdery snow, she closed the wooden door and went back to bed.

Between shooting pains and aching tightness, Hannah dozed. Suddenly she bolted upright. Her skirts were wet. She pulled herself out of bed, lit a kerosene lamp, and headed for the bathroom. A sharp pain stopped her cold. Trembling, she set the lamp on the table. Like lightning momentarily illuminating a dark sky, suddenly reality dawned on her. Her aches and pains weren’t from the difficulty of the past day. She was in labor. From the best she could remember, she had been for more than twenty-four hours.

But the baby’s not due until the middle of May
.

As that realization settled over her, she wanted to cry out to God, but a sense of betrayal stole her words before they could form.

It was the third week of February. If the baby came now, it might not survive.

Sinking to her knees, she moaned as a long, hard contraction pulled downward on her stomach. Her mind whirled in a hundred directions. Feelings of utter stupidity flooded her. She should have realized hours ago that these weren’t normal aches and pains, even though she’d never been through so much turmoil in her life.

When the tightness eased, she rose, using the bed for support.

As she gained her footing and her breath, ideas popped into her head left and right. Mary kept the key to the phone shanty in her pocket. That meant Hannah would have to go to the barn, grab an ax, then make her way to the phone shanty and try to break into it. But did she have the strength to do all that? The answer had to be yes. But she could barely claw her way to her feet with the aid of the bed.

The anatomy book
.

Holding her belly with one hand, she scoured the dresser drawers, searching for the book. It had a section on birthing babies. It was only a few pages, and she had read them several times, but … She tossed clean clothing from the drawers onto the floor. Where did she have it last?

Under the mattress! That’s where she’d put it. She eased her way back to the bed and ran her hands between the mattress and the box springs. Her fingers touched the smooth, silky cover, and she pulled it out. Breathing with difficulty she flipped the book open to the section on home delivery and began reading. With each word she read, she shook harder. She couldn’t do this.

A knock at the door made her jump. Hope sparked—someone had come. She shuffled across the floor to the back door. As she lifted the shade to look out, both relief and dread flooded her.

Matthew
.

Fighting within herself, she opened the door. “Matthew,” she whispered, “why are you back here?” Placing her arm under her belly, she lifted some of the weight. She could feel her wet, cold skirts against her legs. Her breath came in short puffs as stabbing pains worked their way down her back.

Matthew put his foot over the threshold, making her back up to allow him entrance. He angled his head, trying to read her face. “I had to return.” He frowned. “Hannah, are you holdin’ a secret?”

She hesitated. If she told him, he’d stay, and nothing about his quiet life would remain intact. Self-hatred covered her, but it held no answer. Fear of being left alone squelched her concerns. “I need help. I think the baby’s coming.” A sob racked her body, causing her to stumble forward.

Matthew tucked his hand under her forearm, steadying her. He helped her to the bedroom. “I knew somethin wasn’t right. I just had this feeling …” He eased her onto the bed. “I’ll call for help.”

“The shanty is locked and boarded,” Hannah sputtered.

Anger ran through Matthew’s eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll get in. You stay put.”

As he ran for the door, a deep pressure grew in Hannah’s body. “Matthew, wait.” Her voice came out a mixture of a desperate whisper and a scream.

In a second he was by her side. Hannah pointed to the book. “I need scissors and string from the sewing kit by the dresser. And I need some clean sheets, towels, and … and the nasal aspirator from the medicine cabinet. Hurry.”

Almost throwing the stuff at her, Matthew fulfilled her requests, then darted out the door.

Settling herself against the pillows piled at the headboard, the desire to push became so strong she almost couldn’t stop herself. She panted through the next few contractions, silently begging herself not to push.

Outside she heard glass breaking and boards being beaten and ripped.

The desire to push grew stronger than her will, more powerful than anything she’d ever experienced. She took a deep breath, and her body took over, ignoring her mental commands to stop. She pushed and moaned. Pushed and panted. Pushed. Pushed. Pushed. Her brow became drenched with sweat. She begged her body to stop pushing, to give Matthew time to get an ambulance. But it wouldn’t.

The back door banged and clattered, sounding as if a herd of cows had come in out of the foul weather. A moment later Matthew stood at the door of the bedroom, his face taut with worry. “I got in, but the lines are down. I’m going to fetch
Mamm.
”

Hannah raised her hand in the air, unable to speak. Matthew paused, rocking back and forth nervously on the balls of his feet. When the contraction eased, she relaxed against the pillow and drew a breath. “Don’t leave me. Please.”

“Hannah, you need help. I’ll ride bareback across the fields and be back in less than ten minutes. My mother’s no midwife, but she’s helped deliver a few babies in her time. I … I can’t keep you or the babe from dying.”

Matthew was as pale as the sheets under her body. His legs carried him like a newborn calf trying to stand. Another contraction slowly built force. “Go,” she whispered.

Matthew sprinted across the room, tripping over the sewing basket he’d left out earlier. She heard the back door slam shut.

Her body told her when to push, when to take deep breaths, when to rest.
Hurry, Matthew
. The minutes ticked by with only the sounds of the clock and the howling wind. Amid the pushing and resting, a small head appeared between her thighs.

It wailed in loud protest. Relief ran through Hannah, giving her fresh strength to take on the newest phase of this ordeal. Stacking pillows behind her for support, she leaned forward, holding the clean towels. The little body that issued from hers was tiny. Too tiny. She’d had baby dolls that fit inside her hidden apron pocket that were as large as this baby.

A closer look told her she had given birth to a girl. A daughter. Her child. She dried the infant, noticing even in the dim light of the kerosene lamp that the little one’s coloring appeared more like that of a salamander than a baby. The skin was translucent, making the mapping of the veins evident.

Hannah drew the flailing girl into her arms. The book said warmth was paramount. Hannah wiped her off more and wrapped her in the soft sheet and then in the “Past and Future” quilt. The infant screamed, but her eyes didn’t open.

Snuggling with her newborn, Hannah smiled down at her. Basking in the maternal feelings that were coursing through her, she cooed. “Rachel is a good name, no?” Her daughter opened her eyelids and seemed to focus on Hannah’s face. Tears burned Hannah’s eyes. “Hi,” she whispered.

The infant blinked, then closed her eyes. Before Hannah drew her next breath, a catlike sound came from Rachel. A moment later a pitiful moan escaped her miniature body. Hannah pulled the wrappings away from the infant’s chest, watching … for what, she wasn’t sure.

Her daughter’s chest caved inward. Hannah’s heart thudded hard. Her baby was struggling for air.

The back door banged open, and Naomi rushed to Hannah’s side, carrying a folded towel full of items. She laid the bundle on the bed and opened it.

Hannah broke into sobs. “She can’t catch a breath. God, please, she’s not breathing.”