Sisters of the Quilt Trilogy (7 page)

L
uke clomped up the steps of the old farmhouse. He looked into his parents’ bedroom and found what he was searching for: Hannah. She sat on a low-rise stool with her back to him, sewing. He tapped on the open door.

Hannah jerked as if he’d startled her, but she didn’t turn to see who had knocked. “
Kumm uff rei.
”

Doing as she bid, Luke entered the room.

He was still baffled as to why his mother had made him move the sewing machine out of the kitchen and into his parents’ bedroom yesterday. Every Amish home in his community had the sewing machine in front of a set of windows in the main part of the house, either the kitchen or the sitting room. It was what the district leaders had agreed upon, long before either Luke or Hannah was born. The bishop’s job was to help keep conformity inside and outside each home to squelch man’s natural bent toward competition.

So why had his mother insisted that he move it upstairs? He wasn’t at all sure the church leaders would approve. But when he had turned questioningly to his father, his
Daed
had waved a hand in the air and barked at him to do as his mother told him. It had cost Luke the better part of the afternoon to disconnect, move, and then reconnect the machine, the automobile battery, and the converter to the upstairs.

Realizing Hannah wasn’t going to stop sewing, he spoke over the whir of the machine. “I’m not sure if you heard, but there’s a singing tonight. The bishop’s gonna be gone tomorrow, so he moved it to tonight instead of Sunday. Don’t know if that’s ever happened before. But I’d be glad to take you.” He crossed the room to stand beside her.

Accelerating the speed of the machine, she continued to run a pair of broadcloth trousers under the needle. “You’ve talked me into all the singings I ever care to attend.”

With his middle finger and thumb, Luke lightly thumped her shoulder—half joking and half in frustration. “You beat all. Everybody that’s not married likes the singings. It’s the only way to really get to know someone.”

The machine stopped its annoying hum, leaving the soft ticking of the wall clock as the only sound in the room. His sister shifted her focus and stared up at him. The circles under her eyes and her pale skin revealed exhaustion, although she’d done very little work of late. For reasons that made no sense to him, she was being allowed to do nothing but sew clothes for the family in a private room. She wasn’t even responsible for juggling any cooking and childcare duties while she sewed. That was even stranger than moving the old Singer.

Hannah scowled. “I have no desire to be driven home from the singing by some … man … in hopes of us finding interest in each other.”

Luke grasped a straight pin out of an overstuffed, tomato-shaped cushion and plunged it in and out, over and over. His sister had always had a mind of her own, one that didn’t follow all the beliefs of the Old Ways, but she’d never been rude before. He decided, for both their sakes, to keep his tongue in check with her.

“I didn’t tell ya that the bishop said the singing won’t last long tonight. If you don’t come, Mary won’t either. She’ll think it’s too brazen to be seen alone with me at my parents’ place on a singin’ night. Plus, she’s afraid if we’re together without you, it’ll cause rumors to spread that we’re a couple.” Luke shrugged. “She’s not ready for that. You know Mary gets miserably embarrassed if she thinks people are talking about her.”

He picked up one of Samuel’s newly made shirts and tried to poke his pinky through a fresh-sewn buttonhole. Hannah hadn’t done a good job of cutting the hole inside her stitching. “I was hoping to take Mary for a walk across our land tonight after the singing. I want to show her where
Daed
and I are considering building me a harness shop. If you’ll come too, no one will think anything about us all going to the pond and millin’ about since the three of us are seen together all the time.”

Surely his sister understood what he was unable to speak of freely. If he could get Mary to see how stable his future was and if she cared for him as he hoped, they would become promised to each other by the night’s end.

Hannah, seeing the mistake with the buttonhole, held her hand out for the shirt. “If you want to walk the property with Mary, just do so.”

He passed her the shirt, holding on to part of it to help keep her attention. He boldly stared into her eyes.

Hannah released the shirt, leaving it dangling from Luke’s hand to the floor. Her head lowered as if she were too weary to continue holding it up. “I … I … can’t.”

Disappointment formed a knot in Luke’s chest. He dropped the shirt on the floor and grabbed his suspenders, squeezing them tight. “Your company for the night doesn’t have to include a guy from the singing. It can be just us three.”

Hannah didn’t answer. She left the shirt on the floor and began sewing on the trousers again, ignoring Luke altogether.

If he told their father about Hannah’s disinterest in being courted by any Amish men,
Daed
would set her straight quick. A
rumschpringe
was for finding an Amish mate, nothing else. Luke had plenty of suspicions about why Hannah found such great joy in working for the elderly woman down the road. But he hadn’t shared his thoughts with their father.
Daed
had a strong opinion about his kids not turning to the Mennonite ways.

Luke hoped his sister’s desire to spend time at the Waddell place had nothing to do with any of the English farm hands or Mrs. Waddell’s grandson, whatever his name was. The grandson was from a very conservative Mennonite family but they weren’t in fellowship with the Old Order Amish. “
Daed
still doesn’t know that Mary and I have been bringing you home from the singings.”

A look of defiance came over her face. She lifted her hand, showing an inch of space between her index finger and her thumb. “I have about this much freedom under our bishop, and only because it’s my time of
rumschpringe
. Singings and buggy courting are a private thing. Don’t take that away from me, Luke.”

“But, Hannah, you ain’t using your freedom to find a mate. You’re just pretending to. It’s not right.”

Her eyes grew cold and hard. “It’d be best not to talk to me of what’s right. Not now. Maybe not ever.” She turned away from him and pressed the pedal on the old Singer.

Laying the trousers aside, Hannah rose from the stool and crossed to the far window. She watched Luke amble toward the barn to hitch the horse to the buggy. He and Mary would fritter the night away, laughing and having their mock arguments. Not long ago the three of them had delighted in playing board games and strolling in the cool of the evening. Now all she felt was indifference and bitterness. Where had her love for life and for her family gone?

Her dear friend Mary always listened whenever Hannah was chafing against the strict conformity demanded among the People. But even with Mary, Hannah didn’t share too much. If Mary’s parents knew Hannah questioned the authority of the bishop, preachers, and even the
Ordnung
, they’d never let Mary see her.

But those irritations didn’t compare to the resentment and vengeance that warred in her soul of late. What seemed like years ago she used to dream of Mary and Luke remaining close to her even if she didn’t join the faith. Now nothing seemed possible. Hannah no longer shared kindred thoughts with anyone—Luke, Mary, or even herself. Paul had loved her energy and sense of humor, but she didn’t possess that now. She’d become an empty kerosene lamp, the outward part of no use without its fuel.

Yet, in spite of every gloomy thought moving within her, she felt a lingering trace of optimism that when she heard from Paul, her once-hopeful soul would return, and life would again have purpose. The haunting question of why Paul hadn’t written made a shudder run through her body.

For several nights now, her father had been pacing the floors hours before the four o’clock milking. And she knew why. He still hadn’t decided whether to tell the bishop what had happened to his daughter. If he did, all power to have final say over her life would be removed from him. If the bishop chose to tell certain ones in the community about the incident, the news would eventually get back to Paul since he had distant cousins who lived in Owl’s Perch.

Glancing at the shiny, gold-trimmed clock, Hannah took a deep, miserable breath. Paul had promised to send her a letter within two days after he left. Although she couldn’t manage to keep track of the days,
Mamm
had told her it had been more than three weeks since that day on the road.

Sarah had ridden the mile to Mrs. Waddell’s with their brother Levi. Surely Sarah would bring a letter for her today. Hannah had spent quite a bit of time patiently reasoning with Sarah to convince her to bring home any letters without telling
Mamm
or
Daed
. Her sister had finally agreed.

Hannah sighed and shuffled to the machine. Bending to grab the shirt off the floor, she spotted several folded papers sticking out from between the bottom of the dresser and the last drawer—as if someone had hidden them under a drawer and they had worked their way out. A closer look said it was probably a letter. Without hesitation, she eased the papers out of their half-hidden spot.

Paul sat in his apartment with his open books spread across the small desk as he studied for another psychology test. The place was quiet since his roommates were all out enjoying the evening with a group of girls. The alarm on his watch sent out an elf-sized rendition of reveille. He pushed a button, silencing the tinny music. It was four o’clock and finally past all chance that his grandmother was still down for a nap. Now he could call her. Of course his true goal was to speak with Hannah.

If they could instant message each other, e-mail, or talk on the phone, their separation would be much easier to deal with. Conversing only through letters in this day and age felt like trying to send for help by carrier pigeon. His chance of catching Hannah was minimal since her scheduled time at Gram’s was a bit irregular, shifting as the needs of the Lapp household altered. But it was worth trying, repeatedly.

He picked up the cordless and punched in Gram’s number.

The phone was on its tenth ring when the slow, rustling noise told him his grandmother had picked up.

“Hi, Gram. It’s Paul. How are you feeling today?”

They spoke of the weather, her aching joints, and how often she’d walked to the pond to feed the fish. Paul had to ease into the subject of Hannah, or his gram might get defensive. In the past she’d minced no words explaining her feelings about him and Hannah. She wavered between accepting the ever-growing friendship between her Mennonite grandson and her favorite Amish girl and detesting the heartache that lay ahead for both of them—whether the relationship lasted or not.

“Gram, I haven’t gotten any letters from you.”

“More to the point, no letters from Hannah.” Her tone sounded cheerful. That was good. “Sarah’s been comin’ here in her stead. I’d like to say she’s been doing Hannah’s job, but that’d be a lie.”

That piece of news bothered him. He hoped his extra time with Hannah the day he left hadn’t caused her to get into trouble. Then again, whenever life became hectic at the Lapp household, they kept Hannah at home and sent Sarah in her place.