Sisters of the Quilt Trilogy (70 page)

I
nside protective services’ small office, Paul clutched the phone against his ear as Luke shared that Zeb Lapp had information about Hannah’s whereabouts and was hopeful Paul could help locate her. The day had started like any other, with a miserable longing for Hannah. And now …

“J. Lehman, Alliance, Ohio.” Paul repeated Luke’s words as he wrote them down. “Did your father say when he received the last letter from Hannah?”

“The letter didn’t come from Hannah. It came from someone notifying him of his sister’s death.”

“He has a sister?”

“Did. And that was news to me too. She died in May.” Luke paused. “Daed gave me this info in August, over a month ago, but I wasn’t sure it was right to get you involved. Asking you to find Hannah isn’t about what Daed wants or even Mamm. I’d not have called you if this was for them. But Sarah …”

“I’ve had a few encounters with her since Hannah left. She doesn’t seem to be coping very well. Is she doing better?”

“Worse. From what Matthew and Mamm have told me, whatever you saw is nothing compared to what she’s like of late. I think if Sarah could just talk to Hannah one time, she might get better. If you can find a way for us to reach Hannah, a phone number or address where we could send a letter, it’d mean an awful lot to me.”

Paul wasn’t going to tell Luke about his last encounter with Sarah, but there was no doubt she needed help. “Luke, I appreciate that you contacted me with this info. I’ll do what I can and let you know.”

They said their goodbyes, and Paul hung up. He was done with waiting for Hannah to return on her own. If he’d ever thought she’d be gone for more than two years, he would have hired that private investigator before the trail became impossible to pick up.

But this way, she’d been gone long enough to find peace and healing on her own terms. Now she needed a reminder of the worthy things she’d left behind and of the gaps her absence had caused. Her sister needed her. Paul loved her. It was time for her to come home. And now he had enough information to find her and nudge her to do just that—come home. He began an Internet search for any Lehman’s phone number in Alliance. It didn’t take long to learn there wasn’t a single Lehman listed. Paul widened his search to a twenty-mile, then fifty-mile radius of the place and jotted down all the possibilities.

Starting at the top of the list, Paul began dialing.

As the hours passed, he scratched through possibility after possibility. He’d skipped lunch, and his co-workers had left for the day. But all he could think about was hearing Hannah’s voice again. He was unsure what his hopes were beyond that. For her to come home immediately? For him to go to her first and them talk for a month solid until they knew each other again? Too many thoughts and emotions hounded him to discern any of them with clarity. Only one thing he knew for sure: he longed for Hannah to be in his arms. Things were different from when she’d left. The gossip and anger had dissipated. She’d lived on her own long enough that no one would expect or demand she line up with their desires or repent of things that weren’t her fault. It was all different, and he had information in hand to finally contact her and let her know.

He dialed yet another Lehman number.

“Lehman’s Birthing Clinic. Midwife Nancy Cantrell speaking.”

“Hello, this is Paul Waddell, and I’m looking for a Hannah Lapp.”

“Is she one of Dr. Lehman’s patients?”

“I … I don’t think so. She’s a friend, and I’m trying to locate her.”

“This is an Amish birthing center, sir. You must have the wrong number.”

Amish? On the contrary, he must have the right number. “Is Dr. Lehman’s first initial J?”

“Yes, Dr. Jeff Lehman.”

This was too much of a coincidence. Hannah had to be connected to this doctor.

“But there’s not a Hannah Lapp who works for him?” Paul suspected the woman was leery, more interested in getting off the phone with as little said as possible than in helping him. “Does he have any other offices?”

She hesitated. “Yes. He has another clinic and a main office. But there are privacy laws concerning patients and workers.”

Confidentiality laws. As a counselor, he dealt with them all the time. “I’d still like to have those numbers if you don’t mind.”

With the note in hand, Paul connected to the Internet. In less than two minutes, he had the man’s main office address. This Dr. Lehman or someone on his staff might not be willing or able to tell him anything over the phone, so Paul’s best bet was face to face. He grabbed his suit jacket and headed out. There was no reason to leave tonight since he wouldn’t arrive until nearly midnight. But by lunchtime tomorrow, he intended to be in Ohio.

Leaning over the drafting table in his office, Martin tried focusing on his work. His thoughts were everywhere but on the set of engineering plans in front of him. Mostly they were on the brown-eyed girl living on his property.

But even with all their progress toward a lasting relationship, in Martin’s ears echoed the sounds of prison doors clanking shut. Even if Faye returned and succeeded at living clean and being a good mom, as if that were possible, he’d still never be fully free of the responsibility to keep things stable for Kevin and Lissa. At least Hannah had agreed with him about hiring Laura. She’d only work part-time, but it would free them from some of the schedule juggling and give them an occasional evening off. Even if Laura became a live-in nanny, he and Hannah would never have the kind of freedom and bonding time he’d always dreamed of having. He loved Kevin and Lissa, but he chafed at the nonstop patience and effort it took to raise them.

He wondered what he’d be like in this situation without Hannah’s influence.

His thoughts jumped to when he’d lost his mother. Zabeth had stepped forward and never once made him feel unwanted. On the contrary, she’d made him think he was the greatest thing to ever happen to her life. But was he? He’d been a bit hardheaded and rebellious at times.

As he allowed his mind to drift, a memory surfaced that he hadn’t thought of in more than a decade. A few weeks after his mother’s death, he got off the school bus to see Zabeth in the driveway, talking to a man. Whatever was going on was intense, because they never even noticed him. Looking back now, he realized how young Zabeth had been—single and in her early thirties, only a few years older than he was now. Funny, she’d always seemed like someone’s mother.

The man had put his arms around her. “Take a few months and get the boy past the worst, but you have a life of your own, Zabeth. A future with me.”

“Can’t we find a way to blend our lives? Must it be a choice?”

“My ranch is in Wyoming, Zabeth. You’ve known that all along, said you’d move there come summer.”

“I know, but—”

Martin had dropped his book bag, causing Zabeth to notice him. He couldn’t really remember much more, other than being introduced and feeling that the man hated him. He never saw the man after that day. Obviously, Zabeth had made her choice, and she chose Martin. Fresh grief for Zebby rolled over him, and before he even realized it, he was praying that he’d become the type of guardian she had been. One who sacrificed without grumbling, loved without resentment, and gave freely, making the kids in his home feel like treasures. When he opened his eyes, he ached to hug Kevin and Lissa. It wouldn’t hurt anything if he checked them out of school a little early.

If Hannah wasn’t too busy today, maybe he could pick up all three of them, and they could go for ice cream or something where they could talk and laugh, and he could let them know he truly did care. Whether he had planned it or not, these children were a part of his life, and he intended to make sure they knew they were a part of his heart.

He picked up the phone and hit the speed dial. A rap on the doorframe interrupted him. Amy Clarke held up a blueprint tube containing a set of plans.

He pushed the disconnect button. “What’s up?”

She stepped inside and moved to the leather chair in front of his desk. He placed the receiver in its cradle. Amy was a couple of years older than Martin and rented space in the adjoining office for her landscape-architect business. This kept Martin from needing to hire and run a whole different department under his engineering firm. Even though she thrived on spontaneity, she maneuvered through the orderly business world with a cool savoir-faire.

“A land plan was sent to McGaffy that I didn’t approve.” She thumped the tube against the palm of her hand. “And it shows more lots than the county will allow on that parcel.”

“Send a corrected land plan back to McGaffy that the county will approve, and the developer can take it or leave it. I’m not willing to work the extra hours to get a variance with the county to make the developer happy.” He placed his hand on the receiver, ready for this conversation to be over. “I’m heading out for the weekend. If anything else comes up, it’ll need to wait until Monday.”

Her blue eyes opened wide, and she tucked one side of her blond hair behind her ear as she rose. “Okay, if you say so.”

“We can talk about this more next week if we need to.” He picked up the receiver and punched the speed dial for Hannah’s cell phone. “Amy, please close the door on your way out.”

Paul parked his car in front of a clapboard house with white columns, black shutters and trim, and a gray porch and steps. It sat on a tiny plot of ground, flanked by dilapidated homes on both sides of the street. The large wooden sign with fancy black painted letters said this was a women’s clinic, with doctors on site Mondays and Wednesdays only. Even though today was Tuesday, an Open sign hung on the glass door.

Paul glanced at the cellophane-covered bouquet he’d bought at the local florist shop, lying on the passenger seat beside him. He knew he shouldn’t have bought these. Such a move was premature and undoubtedly out of place, but he couldn’t resist.

Climbing out of his car, he prayed that this place could lead him to Hannah.

As he opened the door, a bell jangled, making him cringe at the noise. A grandmotherly woman behind a desk to his right glanced up and smiled. “Can I help you?”

He eased up to her and held out his hand. “Paul Waddell.”

“I’m Sharon. Nice to meet you, Paul. What can we do for you?”

“I’m looking for a friend of mine.”

“Is she a patient?”

“I … I don’t think so. I believe she’s a friend of Dr. Lehman’s. Is he here?”

The woman chuckled. “Dr. Lehman is almost never here. He has a couple of doctors on staff and a slew of community-service volunteers. Maybe the friend you’re looking for is one of his volunteers. What’s her name?”

“Hannah Lapp.”

The woman slowly shook her head. “No. There’s no Hannah Lapp. He has a Hannah Lawson, who works really closely with him.”

Paul’s heart leaped. Would she use a different last name? Of course she would. Changing her last name was probably one of the first things she did.

“Is she here?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“She doesn’t work out of this office. She helps Dr. Lehman at the Amish birthing clinics and counsels at the rape crisis center.”

“That’s got to be her!”

The woman’s eyebrows shot up.