Sisters of the Quilt Trilogy (33 page)

Naomi eased the quilt away from the infant’s head and gasped. She met Hannah’s stare and shook her head. Hannah didn’t need words to know what Naomi was thinking. Rachel was too young, too premature to survive.

Naomi tied off the umbilical cord and cut it with the scissors she’d brought with her.

Sobbing, Hannah drew her convulsing daughter closer to her chest. “Forgive me.”

Pitiful moans escaped the newborn as she fought for air. “Be stubborn, Rachel,” Hannah cried. “Fight.” Hannah hugged her close, willing her to live. She whispered to her in English, refusing the Pennsylvania Dutch of her forefathers.

Hannah sensed Naomi’s movements about the bedside as she took care of her midwife tasks. But Hannah never once removed her focus from Rachel, even as the little girl’s skin became deeper and deeper blue. After several minutes, her daughter stopped squirming, stopping moaning, stopped everything. Feeling the little girl’s life slip away, Hannah wished she knew what those nurses at the hospital knew Then she might be able to save her.

Rachel’s body jerked and then stilled so completely that Hannah knew beyond a doubt her daughter had drifted into another world, one that Hannah probably wouldn’t see for many decades. Guilt bore down on Hannah’s soul, ripping her heart. She rocked her infant until she knew there was no way to revive her even if medics showed up in the next second.

Regret twisted her heart like a steel vise. If only she’d been up front with everyone about the rape from the start, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. She studied the lifeless being in her arms as one word forced its way out of its hidden spot deep inside her.
Rape
. Chills ran up and down her body. “I was raped!” The words poured forth with strength she didn’t possess. “If only I’d told … if I’d confessed that to begin with …” The words died in her throat.

What was so horrible about owning up to the rape? Hannah closed her eyes, tuning out Naomi’s movements and everything around her.

Resentment at the injustice of the attack rose, demanding to be heard. But as she allowed that thought, a thousand others flooded her: reflections of the bishop’s harshness, Luke’s bitterness against her, Sarah’s backstabbing, the district’s thirst for gossip, her father’s constant wavering on every subject except his dislike of Mennonites and the unquestioning obedience of his children to his strict ways.

Resentment took hold of her, and she nurtured it as strongly as she would have nurtured her child if she’d been given the chance.

H
er body still aching from giving birth less than eight hours earlier, Hannah stood by her infant’s half-dug grave. The sickening hole in the ground that would hold her infant was under the large beech tree on Matthew’s property. The air was unbearably cold, even with the sun shining brightly at eight o’clock in the morning. The fields were covered in a thick layer of snow.

The lines and creases of Matthew’s face hinted at a multitude of emotions. He jammed the blade of the shovel into the frozen ground and dumped icy dirt next to the undersized hole. The frozen flecks of the broken sod glittered like shards of glass under the morning rays.

Matthew drove the shovel into the earth again. Digging deep in frozen turf was an arduous task. But his act of kindness had relieved Hannah’s father of the need to decide whether he would allow an illegitimate infant of an unbaptized mother to be buried on his land.

Matthew had proven again what Hannah had known about him since they were young: that he was stalwart in his decisions and able to bear the weight of the
Ordnung
while carrying out its truths in his heart. Hannah knew Elle hadn’t left his thoughts for a moment. Her name seemed to be etched across his worried brow. But he hadn’t once mentioned her or shirked from helping Hannah in any way he could throughout this ordeal.

He’d missed being there for Elle last night during what was probably the most difficult event the yet-to-be-Amish girl had endured. Elle had been forced to face her father, the man who had turned to alcohol and then abandoned his daughter not long after her mother died. And poor Elle had to do it without Matthew by her side. That had to be eating at Matthew. Keeping him from Elle was another rock in the burlap bag that was tied around Hannah’s neck and another incident she could do nothing about.

When the hole was dug, Matthew leaned the shovel against the nearby tree. The sounds of a horse and buggy made him turn and peer in that direction. Hannah didn’t bother to look. She was too tired, too numb to care who’d come. But even through the haze of trauma and exhaustion, she understood that anyone’s arrival at this secluded spot meant all of Owl’s Perch knew of last night’s events. She could only assume that Naomi Esh had gone home before sunrise and had spread news of the scandalous events to people desperate for Hannah’s correction from God.

Hannah felt a gentle hand come under her forearm, steadying her.

“I’m so sorry, Hannah.” Mary’s voice cracked.

Mary’s embrace was warm. But Hannah didn’t speak. She didn’t even weep. No amount of crying could change what had happened.

Mamm, Daed
, and Luke filled in beside Mary. There they all stood, about to bury a child no one but Hannah knew the name of. Matthew stretched two long pieces of rope across the open hole. Luke stepped forward and grasped the two ropes on one end while Matthew trod to the buggy and easily lifted out the foot-long pine box that carried Rachel. He had done everything he could to help Hannah while possibly laying an ax to his own life in the process. Grabbing the ropes on the end opposite Luke, Matthew pinned them under his boots on his side of the grave and then leaned over to place the wooden box on top of the ropes. He stood.

Six grief-stricken faces stared at the handmade coffin and freshly dug grave. The chestnut horses stomped the cold, hard ground, causing the black buggies attached to them to rattle and creak. Luke and Matthew, positioned opposite each other, held the ropes that looped under the casket. They carefully lowered the wooden box into the ground.

Mamm
wept quietly. Hannah’s father spoke words of forgiveness. But Hannah couldn’t accept his words. Her heart was being consumed with a brutal rage. How could her daughter be dead, without ever getting the chance to live? The tiny thing had never even felt her mother’s love, because Hannah had never had any, not until it was too late. A sob broke from her throat, piercing the frigid air that surrounded the group.

Hannah thought of how much the Amish had given to support Luke and Mary in the wake of their accident. Yet those same people had devoured the rumors about her. The bishop and preachers had treated her worse than a leper. Her own father had wavered under the bishop’s questioning and had abandoned his daughter in the process.

Matthew prayed aloud, but Hannah heard little of what he said.

A cold wind flapped against their bodies as Luke shoveled frozen soil over the wooden box. His face was as rigid as stone, his movements those of a detached gravedigger.

Mary tugged at Hannah’s arm, trying to lead her to a buggy. Hannah’s feet seemed rooted in place.

Her mother started walking toward her, but Hannah’s father stepped forward and wrapped his hand around his wife’s arm. He stared at the ground, mumbling, “Your daughter grieves severely for an infant conceived by rape, no?” His eyes lifted to meet Hannah’s, accusing her of things she couldn’t disprove. Her mother lowered her head and took her place beside her husband as they walked away from Hannah and back to their buggy.

Hannah’s heart froze a little harder. Would this be her lot forever—to live among a people who condemned her for things she hadn’t done?

She studied the white fields with barren trees lining the horizon and scattered in small patches around cleared pastures. Her vision blurred, and she couldn’t see anything but gray light. Finally she turned to follow Mary’s gentle nudging toward the buggy.

“Hannah.”

She stopped. It was a whisper from somewhere. Scanning the fields, she looked for signs of mockers, but there were none.

Mary squeezed her arm. “What is it?”

“Did you hear that?”

Worry creased Mary’s face. She shook her head. “I didn’t hear anything.”

Hannah stared at the faces of those who surrounded her. Obviously, no one else had heard the voice. She trudged toward the buggy, snow crunching beneath her feet.

“Hannah.”
This time the two syllables of her name were drawn out, like the echoes inside an empty barn.

She stopped and turned. “I’m listening.” She said it aloud, not caring what anyone thought.

“Kumm raus.”

“Come out to where?” She made a complete circle, listening for an answer, but she heard none. When her gaze landed upon Mary, she saw that the girl had gone pale.

Matthew came beside Hannah and led her into the buggy. “You need sleep. It’s over now. It’s time to rest.”

That was it. She needed sleep. With the aid of the portable wooden steps that Matthew placed on the ground, Hannah climbed into the buggy.

“Hannah.”
The familiar voice returned. Afraid of what responding to the voice would do to Mary, Hannah didn’t dare answer.

As the buggy plodded across the field to the Yoders’
Daadi Haus
, the wind whispered her name over and over, begging her to
kumm raus
.

Hannah would be glad to go, if she only knew where.

Through the murky sleep of grief-filled nightmares, Paul’s own groaning woke him. “Hannah,
kumm raus!
” The cry resonated in his head.

He sighed and sat upright, placing his feet on the floor and his head in his hands. Streams of sunlight poured in around the white shades hanging over the windows. He glanced at the clock. Eight o’clock. Just two and a half days ago he’d discovered Hannah’s pregnancy. How would he ever get over that?

The door to his shared bedroom popped open. Paul leaned back, determined to act as if he were fine.

Marcus strode in with a towel tied around his hips and water covering his upper body. “Man, Waddell, you look like death warmed over. It’s no wonder. You must’ve called for that Hannah girl a hundred times, whoever she is.”

Paul grabbed his pants from the foot of the bed and jerked them on.
Yeah, whoever she is
.

Sifting through dirty clothes, Marcus picked out a pair of pants and a shirt. “The snowplows have cleaned up the mess from the storm night before last. But last night’s winds knocked out the electricity to most of the campus. All classes are canceled.”

Jerking open a drawer, Paul seized a fleece shirt and put it on. No matter how angry and hurt he was with Hannah, his heart kept calling to her, in Pennsylvania Dutch no less.

Marcus pulled on his baggy jeans. “So, I figure this Hannah girl must be what’s kept you from dating anyone else or even looking, for that matter, right?”

Paul didn’t answer. Hannah meant so much more than that to him. She was the lion that roared in his soul.

And the girl who’s carrying another man’s baby
.

Pain thudded against his chest.

Marcus poked his still-damp arms through the sleeves of a dirty sweatshirt. “So, what does ‘come ros’ mean?”

Paul had heard Hannah use the phrase many times. “I’m pretty sure it means to come out.”

In spite of the different worlds that sometimes made it hard to understand each other’s lives, there was always a force within both of them that drew them together. Over the years her sweet innocence and wild sense of humor had clashed with her unwavering sense of propriety, and he’d always understood that.

Clouds of jealousy parted momentarily and for the first time since he’d confronted her, Paul saw something besides the green-eyed monster. Was it possible that the wedge between them wasn’t Matthew or Dr. Greenfield or any other man the rumors conjured up? Could the chasm he’d sensed from their first contact after they were engaged be caused by Hannah withholding some other secret?

“The unmentionable.” He mumbled the words, pacing the undersized room.

Marcus’s face registered confusion. “Uh, yeah, you’ve obviously spent years not mentioning her.”

Paul frowned, refusing to get sidetracked. “No. She used the word
unmentionable
…” Paul raked his hands through the knots in his hair. “You know the Amish a little. One word often means several things. What do you think they would use that word for?”

Marcus sat on his unmade bed, smiling at Paul. “Ah, so she’s Amish. That explains a lot. The way you’ve kept it under wraps, I thought maybe you’d fallen for an older divorcée with a passel of kids.”

Paul scowled. “Stop joking around and stick to the subject. This is serious.”

Marcus nodded, but the grin didn’t leave his face. “Okay, okay. Let’s see, I’ve heard my aunt use that word. She lives among the Amish in Lancaster. The only time I’ve heard it used is when they’re talking about adultery.”

“I know that.” Paul shoved his hands into his pockets. There had to be something he was missing.

The smile disappeared from Marcus’s face, and he sat up straighter. “I think they use that word to describe anything to do with sex. So I guess it would include premarital relations, probably even rape.”

Dumbstruck, Paul couldn’t respond. Rape? That wasn’t the answer he was searching for. Wasn’t there something between Hannah giving herself to someone and rape? Both ideas were incomprehensible. Totally unacceptable. Confusion and anger fought for control of his body.

Marcus broke through his thoughts. “For that matter,
unmentionable
would probably be used instead of adjectives like
pleasure, gratifying
, or
desire.”

Paul bristled, looking at the floor. “Keep the unnecessary annotations to yourself, okay?”

Marcus leaned forward. “I didn’t mean …”

Paul sighed. He had left the subject of sex out of every conversation with Hannah, telling himself it was inappropriate. Maybe it was, or maybe he wasn’t any more comfortable discussing that subject than she would have been.

Paul opened his nightstand and looked in his bowl of change to see if he’d dropped his keys in there when emptying his pockets. If sex was a topic even he was uncomfortable talking about, there was no way Hannah would have brought it up with him. “Especially if she thought I’d think less of her.”

“What?”

Paul sat on his bed and put his elbows on his thighs. He buried his head in his hands. “Never mind. Listen, you date different girls regularly. Have you ever thought one of them was seeing someone behind your back?”