Sisters of the Quilt Trilogy (6 page)

B
ristly heat and sweat roused Hannah to consciousness. She pushed the sheet away from her face and half opened her eyes, checking the clock. Streams of sunlight filtered in around the green shades. The room was sweltering as the cool morning air gave way to the scorching heat of late summer. Unsure why she was still in bed, confusion swirled for a moment before the all-too-familiar images hurled against her. How many days had passed since the attack—two, maybe three?

She lay motionless, searching for a ray of hope that would bring comfort, but she couldn’t find one.

Nausea rose. Desperate for some cooler air, she darted down the steps and out the front door. She hurried to the beech tree, hoping to go unnoticed by her family. A cool breeze stirred the air.

“Hannah.”

The sound made her jolt. Looking in the direction of the voice, she saw her twenty-year-old brother, Luke, striding across the yard toward her. Her body tensed, making her injuries hurt even more. Standing in the yard in her nightgown, she could easily imagine what words of correction her eldest brother would have.

Luke came to a halt in front of her. He held a galvanized bucket in one hand; with the other, he hooked his thumb through a brown suspender. Compassion shone in his brown eyes. “Are you still feeling poorly this morning?” He gestured to her gown. “I suppose that’s a foolish question.
Daed
said you lost a whole pail of berries the other day. He had me scavenging the countryside this morning to replace them, but it’s so late in the season, I’m surprised you found a bucketful when you did.” He set the almost-empty container on the ground.

Hannah tried to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.

Luke smiled. “Cat got your tongue?”

Determined to give an answer, she found her voice. “It was a nice try.” She stared at the pitiful pile of blueberries lying in the same bucket that had been brimming with them before …

Luke gently took her hands, facing the palms up.
“Ach, wie entsetzlich.”
He raised his eyes to hers. “Are your knees this bad?”

She cleared her throat, surprised to find that the simple action helped her gain control of her emotions. “I’m fine, Luke.”

Her brother tilted his head, a dozen questions reflected in his eyes. He nodded and released her hands. “I’m sorry you got hurt.”

Knowing nothing else to say, she left without answering him. If she could see through the fog that covered her mind, maybe she could make some sense of what had happened and figure out how to fix it. But clear thought seemed impossible.

She walked barefoot across the thick grass, eased open the screen door, and stepped inside. Hoping to avoid seeing anyone else, she paused to listen. She heard her youngest sister, Rebecca, in the kitchen with their mother and Esther. By the sound of things, they were busy canning. Somehow Hannah’s bolt outside had escaped her mother’s notice.

Or maybe her mother was unwilling to face her.

Too weak and drained to work through any more thoughts, she tiptoed upstairs and crawled back into bed. She covered her head with the lightweight sheet.

The rumbling of an English vehicle startled Hannah from her sleep. A sense of panic rose within her as the engine noise grew louder and then stopped right outside her window. The acrid smell of exhaust fumes drifted through the open window and past the closed blind. Visions of her attacker loomed in her mind’s eye.

Shaking, Hannah rose from the bed. Barely able to breathe, she forced herself to take a quick peek out the side of the drawn shade. Relief flooded her. It was only Mr. Carlisle in his refrigerated truck. He was here to get the milk. He always came between two and three in the afternoon.

He stepped out of his truck, talking to her father. As Mr. Carlisle leaned against his truck, he looked up at her bedroom window. She jumped back as if she’d touched a fire. Could he tell what had happened just by looking at her? She crawled between the sheets and buried her head again.

Moments later a rapping on the bedroom door seemed to shoot through Hannah’s last nerve. She lay still, with her head under the covers. She heard the door open and tried not to budge so whoever it was would go away and leave her alone.

“Mr. Carlisle stopped by.” Her mother’s reassuring voice worked its way through Hannah’s mind.
Mamm
sat on the side of the bed. “It’s almost suppertime. You’ve got to eat. You can’t hide forever.”

Hannah squeezed her eyes tighter. It couldn’t be suppertime. Hadn’t Mr. Carlisle just left? Something odd was happening. Time kept jumping—as if it were no longer bound by any rules.

A clinking metallic sound, like an eating utensil against a plate, filled the silence. “You haven’t eaten anything in two days, Hannah. I peeled and chopped the fruit for you.” She patted Hannah’s leg through the bedcovers. “Come on, child. Sit up and eat.”

Hannah remained quiet, hoping her mother would give up and go away.

“Now.”
Mamm
tugged at the covers over Hannah’s head. At first Hannah resisted, but out of dread that her mother might call
Daed
, she let go of the sheets.

“That’s my girl.”
Mamm’s
soft hands caressed Hannah’s cheeks, brushing wisps of curly hair from her face. “I know this is hard. But it’s time to push against how you feel and do what’s necessary. Do you understand?”

Fresh tears slid from the corners of Hannah’s eyes. She nodded.

“Good. Now, dry your eyes.” Her mother lifted the bowl of fruit. “Sit up and eat.”

Hannah sat up and took the plate of fruit her mother held toward her.
Mamm
rose and grabbed a hairbrush from the nightstand. With the fork, Hannah stabbed a piece of green fruit.
Mamm
ran the brush through Hannah’s long curls. The soothing strokes of the brush and the delicious medley of fruits provided a welcome relief from the isolation of the last … She didn’t know how much time had passed.

Her mother worked on Hannah’s untamed curls without complaint. She twisted Hannah’s hair into a bun and pinned it. She then placed the translucent white
Kapp
over her head and fastened it to her hair with straight pins.

Mamm
laid the brush on the side table. “Slip into your clothes and sit with us in the yard. There’s a cool breeze. It’s enough to refresh anybody’s soul.”

Hannah didn’t want to, but to refuse would cause more problems than it would solve. “What has
Daed
told everyone?”

Pushing the sheet off Hannah’s legs,
Mamm
seemed unable to look her in the eyes. “As little as possible. They think a car hit you and the fall caused the gashes on your hands.” She took a blue dress off its hook and laid it on the bed. “He wasn’t going to say that much. But you’ve holed up in this room so long, they knew you hadn’t just fallen on your way home. If you don’t get out of bed and return to normal chores, they aren’t going to accept that story either.”

Her mother turned to leave. “We need you, Hannah.” She faced Hannah squarely this time, her brown eyes filled with sorrow. “The house never runs as well without you.” She gave her daughter a forced smile.

When
Mamm
pulled the door closed behind her, Hannah sank back onto the bed. Is this what her life would be like from now on? Pretending she was fine in order to hide the truth of the unmentionable from her siblings, and hiding from her parents the fact that she was going insane? She stared at the floor, trying to gain enough strength to go downstairs and pretend.

Ten minutes later Hannah stood at the back door, running her hands around her waist to verify that she’d pinned her apron securely. She peered through the screen, watching her family.
Mamm
and
Daed
sat on the bench, watching the children. The younger ones were catching fireflies in the open field while the older ones helped them place the bugs in a jar. Hannah tried to take a breath, but a stabbing pain in her chest stopped it short.

As she pushed the door open, the squeaky noise drew her parents’ attention. Willing herself to walk, she started across the lawn. Her chest ached. Her skin felt as if someone were peeling it off. But worse, here in the open she had no ability to silence her thoughts. She came to a halt in front of her father, her gaze fixed on the ground, her arms limp at her sides.

Mamm
rose from the bench. Her fingers cupped Hannah’s face, and she kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll fetch us some lemonade.”

“Dankes,”
Hannah whispered.

Daed
patted the empty spot beside him. “Come and we’ll talk.”

Hannah eased onto the far end of the bench.

With both feet planted on the soft earth, her father placed his hands on his knees and straightened his back. “God will get us through this, Hannah. Our ways are not easy, but they are right.” Her father removed his straw hat and lowered his head. “I’m not yet sure what’s the right thing to do between you and the bishop.”

Hot pain shot through her chest. She lifted her head and stared into her father’s eyes. “What do you mean?”

He turned toward the fields. “I should inform him of what happened so he can make a ruling of what needs to be done.”

Swallowing hard, she willed herself not to cry. “
Daed
, no, please. No one can know.”

His sigh assured her he understood her feelings. “I’m not saying I’m going to tell him. I haven’t decided yet. To keep this from the bishop is wrong. He’s our spiritual leader. He can’t guide us properly if we keep secrets from him.” His jaw clenched as he stood. “Because this is so uncommon, if we share it, he’s likely to seek counsel from the church leaders, maybe even from the head of each household. Then it’ll be impossible to keep it from spreading to our whole community and beyond. That’ll mean the news will reach any prospective beaus.” He glanced at her, sorrow filling his eyes. “And that will ruin your chance of ever having a family of your own. You’ve lost your virtue, child, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”

As she stared at the bend in the dirt road that led to Mrs. Waddell’s, guilt threatened to swallow her. Maybe God had allowed this attack so she wouldn’t leave the community He’d placed her in. Who was she to consider changing God’s plan for her life?

Guilt gave way to anger at the injustice of her situation. How could she
not
want to get away from this place?

She stood. Like nectar to a bee, her bed called to her. But she couldn’t continue to give in to the urge to bury herself in it. She had duties, responsibilities. “I should take a loaf of bread to Mrs. Waddell,” she said, dreading even that chore.

“No,” he said, his voice gruff. “You’re not to return there for now. Luke or Levi will take Sarah back and forth to help the elderly lady until she can hire someone else.”

Hannah turned to look at her father. He seemed to expect her to plead for the right to work at Mrs. Waddell’s, but she had no energy to walk on eggshells while she argued with him. The set of his jaw was a clear indication that his patience with her was used up.

He stared at her, as if reminding her of his rights as head of the household. “You must help out around here. Your family needs you.”

Numb, she trudged toward the house.

T
he round-faced clock that hung on the wall behind the professor’s head showed that class should have been over ten minutes ago. Nonetheless, the man droned on, making Paul later for work by the minute.

School had been back in session for three weeks, and he missed Hannah so badly he couldn’t sleep at night or concentrate during the day. If a letter would arrive, maybe that would take some of the edge off his misery. Letters from Hannah were always slow in coming, but it’d been weeks since he’d left.

Writing to him was problematic. She had to have time alone to secretly pen him a note. Then she had to get it to his gram’s place so she could mail it without Hannah’s family getting wind of it. Even though he often went up to six weeks without hearing from her, he’d never gotten used to it.

Scribbling notes as quickly as he could, Paul tried not to think about the interview he had coming up this afternoon. He was hoping to land an internship as a caseworker with social services. If he landed this position, he would get enough training so that he could find a job closer to Owl’s Perch after he graduated. If he found a job near Owl’s Perch, he could juggle working for Hannah’s father and for social services.

His boss at the tire store wouldn’t be too thrilled when he arrived late. He’d be even angrier when Paul requested time off during the middle of his shift to go on his interview.

His part-time job at the retail tire store came with long hours and unfriendly co-workers. But it was his own fault. Instead of putting in his job applications in May for the fall, he’d hightailed it to his gram’s place the day school was out so he could see Hannah. And he hadn’t returned to campus until the weekend before classes began. Now he’d spend the entire school year paying the price for his impatience.

Paul sighed and glanced at the clock again. As usual he was half paying attention to the teacher and half missing Hannah. A long-distance relationship was one thing, but no communication other than letters was almost unbearable, especially since it was so long between letters.

A few students slipped out the side door. Paul wanted to follow them, but he needed the details of the next project due for class, and this teacher didn’t pass out info sheets, post assignments on the Web, or write lists on the white board. He gave all pertinent instruction orally, once, as if the students’ presence at the end of class was part of the project itself. Paul drew a ragged breath and began to pack his book bag as he listened to the teacher’s last few recommendations regarding the assignment. As more students slipped out, the professor glanced at his watch and dismissed the class.

Slinging the strap of his backpack over one shoulder, Paul merged into the flow of human traffic. The past month had dispelled any question of how crazy his senior year would be. He wished he’d known four years ago how to plan his required course hours. He should have taken extra classes early on to give himself more time for his most important classes now. He had to graduate this spring.

It would be easier if he could stay in school one extra semester. But he couldn’t do that. He’d promised Hannah they’d be together by summer. Besides, his heart was set on being with her come mid-May.
Graduation
. What a liberating word. Right now, however, graduation seemed a decade away.

He ran through the corridors, out the main doorway, and across the parking lot. Jerking open the unlocked truck door, he tossed his backpack to the passenger side and dug into his jeans pocket for his keys.

They weren’t there. He tapped the outside of the pockets in his jacket and on the back of his pants.

Couldn’t
something
go right? One thing? Anything?

He stifled the urge to let an angry scream ring out across the parking lot. Leaning across the bench seat, he grabbed his backpack and searched its array of small pockets. Life had been like this since he’d arrived on campus. Murphy’s Law was working overtime for him, and he wished it would just go to work for somebody else.

Unable to find his keys, Paul climbed into his truck.
God, am I off track? Is this not where I’m supposed to be? Or is this just a part of learning patience?

Paul wrapped his fingers around the top of the steering wheel and leaned his forehead against the backs of his hands. Visions of Hannah flooded his thoughts.
I miss her so badly, Father. I … I didn’t think it would be this tough
. How many times over the past month had he fought the desire to forget school and go be with her?

He lifted his head and squared his shoulders. This was no time to think about quitting school. If life wanted a battle, he’d fight. And he’d win. Because to lose would hurt his and Hannah’s future, and there was no way he was going to allow that to happen. No way on earth.

His stomach grumbled, and suddenly he remembered where his keys were. He jumped out of his truck and ran across the parking lot, back inside the building, to the closest vending machine. He grabbed his keys off the top of the red appliance. All this trouble and he hadn’t even gotten a pack of crackers from the antiquated junk-food source. It wouldn’t take his crumpled dollar, and he had no change.

Running back across the parking lot, Paul was glad his job was only a few minutes away.

Soon he pulled into the parking lot of the tire store and ran inside.

“Waddell.”

Paul stopped midstride. There was no denying that crotchety, booming voice bellowing out his last name as if it were a curse word. He turned. “Sir?”

“You’re late. Again.” Kyle Brown’s face turned a deeper shade of purple than normal.

“Yes sir. I’m sorry. Class was—”

“Give it a rest, Waddell. I don’t care what was going on at that place you call a learning institute. Seems to me you college boys can’t even tell time.”

Paul hated this place. But life was expensive. “I’ll come in early and stay late on Saturday to make up for it.”

“You better believe you will.” The man wiped his hands on a filthy rag and shoved it back into his pocket. “But that don’t change the fact that the guys in the pit can’t begin lunch shifts until there’s a fourth person here. Three men’ve been waiting on you so somebody can go eat.” He glanced at his watch. “At two thirty in the afternoon.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Mr. Brown clapped his hands. “Well, what are you waitin’ for? Get to work.”

“Yes, I’ll do that, sir. But first … I need to tell you that I have to be somewhere at four. I told Mr. Banks about it when—”

“Well, Mr. Banks ain’t runnin’ this department. I am. If you leave before the last customer is taken care of, don’t bother coming back. We’ll mail you your check along with an ‘adios, amigo’ card.”

Paul nodded. He’d explained his scheduling issues to Mr. Banks. The owner had assured him it could all be worked out. But obviously Kyle Brown didn’t care what his boss had agreed to.

If Paul got this internship, he’d be doing his dream job with child services part-time during the week, but he could work here on days he wasn’t a caseworker and all day on Saturdays. Jobs with decent hours that didn’t make him work on Sundays were hard to come by. He had to keep this one.