Sisters of the Quilt Trilogy (77 page)

Wasn’t there any balance in the world?

Determined to weigh each word, Hannah began. “Mamm, Sarah’s changed a good bit since I left, don’t you think?”

Her mother gave a nod.

“I think she needs to see someone professional.”

“No.” Her mother studied Sarah, who sat quietly as if she’d withdrawn into a world they couldn’t enter. “All she needed was to see you.”

“Mamm, what just happened was not someone who only needed time with her big sister.”

“But she’s such a clear thinker some of the time, as if …” She paused.

Grief for Mamm settled over Hannah. Having a willful, difficult husband was one thing, but watching helplessly as her children’s lives slipped from her arms into chaos was too much for any woman.

Needing to talk with Sarah without adding to the heartache Mamm was dealing with, Hannah took Sarah by the hand. “We’ll be back in a bit, okay?”

“I’ll fix us … Do you drink coffee?”

“I do.”

A faint smile crossed her mother’s face. “I’ll set a pot on the stove.”

Hannah and Sarah walked across the road to the dock. Sarah removed her shoes and stockings and sat on the edge of the pier, dangling her toes in the water.

Having given up the traditional black stockings long ago, Hannah slid out of her shoes and sat next to her sister. Bream swam near their feet, looking for morsels of bread. “Samuel could catch five or six fish with one scoop of the net today, ya?”

Sarah swooshed her foot through the water quickly, scattering the fish. “Ya.”

“And we could spend hours cleaning his fine catch of the day to produce half an ounce of meat per fish.”

Sarah giggled. “Our aim was noble though, to prove he could provide a meal for the family.”

“Is that what we proved? All this time I thought our aim was to keep him out of our hair that morning while you and I worked the blackberry patch without his”—Hannah cleared her throat—“help.”

They shared a laugh, and Sarah wrapped her arm through Hannah’s. “I’m not crazy.”

“Me either,” she offered.

Sarah laid her head against Hannah’s shoulder. “I feel crazy sometimes.”

Hannah kissed the top of her head through her prayer
Kapp
. “Me too.”

She squeezed tight. “You won’t leave me again, will you?”

Hannah leaned her cheek against the top of Sarah’s head. “What’s going on? I mean really and truly, all the dirt, no secrets.”

“Like we used to do … before going to Gram’s became more important to you than being with me?”

Taken aback that her sister knew when she began pulling away from the family, Hannah lifted Sarah’s chin and gazed into her eyes. “Yeah, like we used to.”

“If I tell you everything, will you take me to see your baby?”

“Talk to me, Sarah.”

“Jacob’s seeing Lizzy Miller these days,” Sarah began, and Hannah let the conversation meander wherever Sarah wished.

If Hannah was hoping for some encouraging news, she didn’t get it as her sister made perfect sense some of the time but then talked in circles about Hannah’s baby, the fire, and how things were different with everyone since she left. As her sister talked, it became clear she had issues that went way beyond Hannah’s scope of understanding of the human psyche. She’d veer off into nonsense, and Hannah couldn’t figure out how to bring her back around to reality. She wasn’t even able to give a straight answer to what she meant about starting the fires.

“Sarah, everyone needs help at times. I received a lot of mine from counselors at the Rape Crisis Center. I think you might find help by going to a different kind of counselor. Maybe he or she will know about medications that can clear your thoughts a bit.”

“I’d like that.”

“Good. Come on.” Hannah walked back to the house with her. As they crossed the road that separated the house from the pasture with the pond, Mamm came onto the porch, holding a tray with a coffeepot, cups, and cream and sugar.

They came to a stop at the foot of the concrete steps. The awkwardness between Hannah and her mother seemed to stand sentry, keeping them from each other. “I need to take a rain check on the coffee. I really have to go, but I’d like you to consider letting Sarah see someone.”

The dishes clanked and rattled as Mamm set the tray down on the top of a wooden keg they used as an end table. “It’s not up to me. You know that.”

“I know, but you have an influence, Mamm. Use it with all the power you can muster.”

Her mother pursed her lips, looking displeased that Hannah would be so bold. Hannah gave Sarah a hug. “You stay close to home, and we’ll talk again soon. Okay?”

Sarah held on, making Hannah forcibly remove her arms from around her. Mamm grasped Sarah’s hands and pulled her into a hug. The two stood side by side as Hannah went to her car.

“Hannah,” her mother called.

She turned. Her mother walked to her and stared into her eyes. “I … I’m sorry for not standing by you, for not coming to you after your Daed refused to let you come home.”

And in that moment, Hannah saw traces of the long journey of regret written on Mamm’s face.

Mamm shuddered. “Even when your Daed and me got word of what had happened and came to the funeral, I stood mute, so lost inside my own grief and so shaken by the rumors that I didn’t even embrace you.”

There were things Mamm wasn’t saying, like the fact that she’d started to come to Hannah that day by the grave site, and Daed had stopped her. But Mamm wouldn’t lay blame. She’d only confess her part and leave the rest alone. Hannah longed for forgiveness toward her mother to sweep through her, but it didn’t. The Amish way was to forgive, or at least confess forgiveness, but she couldn’t.

Wondering if her years of hiding out in Ohio had more to do with her own inability to forgive than anything else, Hannah hugged her mother. “Let’s handle Sarah with as few regrets as possible. Okay?” She stepped back, looking at her mother.

Mamm nodded. “Ya.”

Hannah got into her car and pulled out of the driveway. Her mind ran in a thousand directions without finding solutions to any of the issues at hand. It’d take more than a name of a therapist to convince her family it was absolutely necessary that Sarah see a counselor and get on medication.

Her Daed seemed to barely tolerate Hannah’s being here, even at a distance. What would he or the church leaders be like when she asked them to handle things more like the Englischers did?

M
atthew weaved through the crowd of church folks and relatives in his Mamm’s kitchen and walked outside. People stood in small groups on the front porch, talking in muted tones and eating. All eyes moved to him, and he nodded and spoke briefly before going into the barn. He bridled his horse and mounted it without a saddle. If he stayed at the house one more minute, he might lose his will to live.

The sadness in his mother’s eyes was too much, and he’d already grown weary of trying to comfort her. He aimed the horse west and let it amble along. The brokenness and guilt made him unsure if he’d ever get out from under it. He’d worked so hard and had nothing to show for it. Nothing but debt from money received and promises made for a product he could no longer make. But that didn’t compare to the Grand Canyon-size ache inside him for David. If he’d spent more time with his brother, he might have some sense of peace. Instead, he’d stayed too busy to really listen when David tried talking to him.

And Elle.

Whatever patience David needed, Matthew had probably used it on Elle.

Elle. Born an Englischer. Raised half her life in an Amish home. Left two years ago, promising to return, join the church, and marry him.

He’d loved her. Believed in her. Worse, he still longed for her. He had to be the biggest fool ever born.

Her father’s request for her to come away from the Amish community that had raised her and to live with him in Baltimore for six months had ended long, long ago, and yet she continued living there. Her reasons were numerous—helping her dad in his bakery, attending photography school, keeping her part of the contracts she’d signed with a studio—and her promises of returning and joining the faith continuous. When he’d written to her, releasing her from the promise to marry him, she’d returned, complaining about his lack of faithfulness to give her time.

What bothered him the most was that he didn’t really know how he felt about Elle. He wanted to be free of her while he longed to hold her.

From the crossroad he saw a woman kneeling beside David’s grave. He pulled the horse to a stop, taking in the scenery. Feeling some odd connection to life for the first time since this had happened, he wanted a closer look. He guided the horse along the edge of the paved road until he came to the grass and dirt entryway. Dismounting, he winced in pain. He led the horse to a hitching post and wrapped the reins around it before heading to the grave site.

Kathryn
.

She ran her hands over the fresh dirt as tears splashed onto the ground. Matthew’s eyes clouded for a moment. He’d seen her a dozen times at his house since the fire, helping Mamm dress and serving meals to his Daed and Peter, but never once did he think how she must be feeling. Until this moment all of David’s comments about talking with Kathryn and admiring her hadn’t clicked. But whatever the two had going, it probably hadn’t been romance, especially since David had been only sixteen. She was older and seeing someone from her own community, a man he’d met for the first time earlier today. Yet that seemed to do nothing to dull the pain he was witnessing.

“Kathryn.”

She gasped and stood to her feet. “Matthew.” Her lips quivered as she wiped at tears that didn’t slow. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “No need to be sorry. I envy the tears.”

She scoffed. “And I the lack of them.” Without any sign of the tears stopping, she looked at the grave, and a soft moan escaped her. “He had so many dreams and desires. It’s so unfair.”

Surprised that she didn’t say what everyone else was saying—that God knew best—Matthew found comfort in her words. “A fallen planet is no easy place to live.”

“Ya, but heaven is.” She drew a deep breath. “We talked a few weeks back. I know he told you he was unsure about remaining Amish, but I showed him scriptures of what it takes to be saved, and he prayed with me. He accepted the forgiveness Christ paid for and chose to believe God’s Word above all circumstances; he just wasn’t so sure he’d join the Amish church.”

Although her words would be considered heresy by many, they poured salve on his aching soul. Most of his fellow Amish who’d joined the faith spent their lives trying to live as pure as possible, hoping salvation would be theirs at the end of the journey but always unsure. He understood their belief, agreed with it for the most part. It seemed some sects of Englischers wanted to believe one prayer did it all; after that they could do things their own way until death took over. Kathryn’s confession of confident salvation through a simple prayer would stir quite a hornet’s nest if news of it reached certain church leaders, but it brought waves of peace to him.

Tears worked their way down his face, the first ones since he’d lost his brother. Odd as it seemed, they brought a sense of relief. “I didn’t know … thank you.”

“I shouldn’t be thanked. I can’t do spit.” Kathryn mimicked a country accent. “How many times have you had to retrain me on how to file your work orders? But God—He can make donkeys talk.”

Matthew chuckled, and more tears fell.

Kathryn took another useless swipe at her cheeks. “I reminded you of my work skills and made you cry.” She giggled through her tears. “No?”

He wiped his face, thankful for the release only crying could bring. “Ya, that’s it.”

The laughter and talk stopped, and they just stood there, staring at the grave.

“You can rebuild, Matthew.” She whispered the words. “I overheard you telling your Daed that you can’t or won’t, but you can.”

A car engine turned off, and they looked to the road several hundred feet away. Elle got out of the car. She waved, clearly wanting to talk. Matthew motioned that he’d be there in a minute.

Kathryn turned from Elle and swiped her apron over her face. “I’ll go on back now and leave you two to talk.”

Matthew looked around the edges of the field for Kathryn’s buggy. “How’d you get here?”

She smoothed her apron back into place. “Walked.”

“That’s quite a walk. You must’ve been pretty desperate for time alone.”

Kathryn cleared her throat and offered a wobbly grin. “Just me?”

He smiled. “At least I rode a horse. Here, take her. I’ll either walk or catch a ride with Elle.”

“Ride bareback? In this? Clearly, being raised without the benefit of sisters did nothing for your understanding of the restraints of the female Amish garb.”

“You can straddle it or ride sidesaddle. It’s a gentle horse, so you won’t have a problem.”

Looking a bit skeptical, she nodded. “If you say so.”

“It was good of your Daed and Joseph to come today. It was quite a ways for them.”

“Only a little over two hours by driver.”

“Have they already gone home?”

“Daed has. Joseph is staying with the Bylers, hoping I’ll be more in a mood for visiting before a driver takes him home tomorrow.”

“Go on back and spend some time with him, Kathryn. Mamm has plenty of other help for tonight and tomorrow.”

Elle waited by her car as he walked with Kathryn to the hitching post. He laced his fingers together and offered his hands as a step onto the bareback horse. As he stooped to help her, the pain across his back and shoulders was almost unbearable. She slid her foot into his hands and positioned herself on the back of the horse as if she were sitting on a sidesaddle.

Matthew passed her the reins. “Thank you, Kathryn. I needed this.”

“Ya, me too.” She took the leads. “I’ll continue to pray God’s best for you and Elle.”

“Thanks.” He slapped the horse’s rump and ambled to Elle’s car, hoping his movements looked natural rather than stiff and painful.

Elle angled her head. “How are you?”

“Better.” He leaned against the car. “What’s on your mind, Elle?”

“I wanted to offer my deepest sympathy. I just don’t have any words to share …”

“I understand what you mean, and I’ll pass that along to the family. But you didn’t ignore my demand for space in order to share your condolences. So I’ll ask again, what’s on your mind?”

“The same thing that’s been on my mind since before the fire: us. I don’t want to lose you. Tell me I’m not alone in that.”

He stared at the ground and shook his head. “I’m not sure what I feel, Elle, but I can’t do this, not anymore.”

“I know. Me either. But …”

Matthew lifted his gaze. “But what?”

“Maybe you should give us another chance, consider this as a good time for you and me to start over. It might help if you got out of Owl’s Perch. There are so many things you could make a living at with your talent.”

“Outside of Owl’s Perch or outside of the Amish faith?”

“Please don’t get angry again. I can’t take it. Just hear me out.”

The strength that had entered him a few minutes ago faded. “I’m listening.”

“I’ve thought for a long time that it’d do you some real good to get away from here, just for a while. The business had you so consumed … changed who you were, but now you can take a break. I think you’d like Baltimore, and it might open up new ideas that’d help you find a different career.”

Matthew folded his arms across his chest, wondering if she actually believed the load of manure she’d just dumped at his feet. “I should just give up here and go to Baltimore. Is that what you came here, today of all days, to say?”

She moved in closer. “Matthew, I’ve not handled us right. I know that, and I couldn’t be any sorrier.” Dipping her head, she whispered, “You can’t imagine the remorse I carry. But I love you, Matthew. I can’t get free of that.”

He gazed at his brother’s simple tombstone, totally unsure of what he wanted to do from here. The idea of getting away held stronger temptation than he’d felt in a lot of years. “This is not the time.”

She nodded. “You’re right. I know you are. It’s just that this is what I came to talk to you about before the fire. I had to come back again and let you know that just because the business is gone doesn’t mean your life is too. It’s a huge, fascinating world in Baltimore—just entering the city is exciting and will bring encouragement into your life. I needed to share that hope with you.”

Hope? Confusion is more like it
.

She reached out and cradled his cheek in the palm of her hand. “I’ll go now, but you’ll call me in a few days, please?” She tilted her head, appealing for a favorable decision.

The warmth of her hand brought up emotions he wished didn’t exist, not for Elle. He remained silent, willing himself not to respond to her. Part of him wanted to grab her and kiss her until the awful pain of what life had done to him eased, but that wasn’t the answer either.

He nodded.

Finally she pulled her hand away and went to her car. The notion of going to Baltimore echoed through him like the lustful desires of his youth, and he wished she hadn’t come by. Not today.