Sisters of the Quilt Trilogy (8 page)

“I can let you talk to Sarah next time she comes,” Gram said with a bit of mischief in her voice.

Paul chuckled. This was the grandmother he’d known growing up—before the aches and pains of old age made her irritable with life and everyone around her. “You offer that every time the Lapps send her. Why can’t you do that when Hannah’s there?”

“Because ya need no encouragement when it comes to her.” Silence filled the line for a moment. “Paul, are ya sure you’re doing the right thing … for Hannah’s sake?”

The concern in her voice echoed his own anxiety. But his grandmother had no idea how far he’d let his feelings for Hannah take him. She only knew they cared for each other. There was no way she could miss that.

“She’s of courting age, Paul. She needs to be going out with her own kind. Is she doing that? Or is she waiting for you?”

Jealousy and guilt nibbled at his conscience. He couldn’t bear to think of her seeing anyone else. That was why he had asked her to marry him before he left—that and his concern that she might join the church this spring if he didn’t give her another option.

“Paul.” His grandmother’s firm tone brought his thoughts up short.

“Yes ma’am.”

The line fell silent again. He had no desire to try to answer her question. Fact was, he had no answer that she’d care to hear.

“There’s no sense in you looking for letters from Hannah or sending any here for her, not for a while. Sarah says it’ll be weeks before Hannah returns. In the meantime, you’d better think this through. Let this space clear your thoughts.” She worded it as a suggestion, but her tone made it more of an order, one he’d better follow if he didn’t want the wrong people to learn of this relationship.

“Were you able to give her the letter I sent?”

“I haven’t received any mail from you since you left for school last.”

“You must have. I sent a manila envelope with a letter to you and a thick white envelope inside it for Hannah.”

“I’d remember a letter from you, Paul, and it ain’t arrived. Just as well. I think it’s best if you two stop conversing for a spell. I let things get out of hand over the summer.”

Keeping his voice respectful, Paul said, “I’m not a child, Gram.”

“No, you ain’t. But she is.”

“You and Grandpa were eighteen when you married.”

“Our parents approved of us seeing each other from the get-go. If Hannah’s father weren’t so stubborn about his kids remainin’ Amish and staying in his district …” Gram paused.

Paul wondered why Gram, who had nothing to do with the Amish community aside from Hannah working for her, seemed to think she knew how Zeb Lapp felt. “But—”

“But,” Gram interrupted. “But Hannah’s father will not spare the rod on her if he gets wind of this, and you know it. Now, no more talk. You’d best spend your time looking at the realistic aspects of this relationship instead of letter writin’ and callin’ and such.”

Paul’s temper threatened to get the best of him. “I need to go, Gram. I’ll call you in a few days.” He hung up the phone.

Irritation pulsed through him. Still, Gram had made some good points. Hannah was young. But she was mature enough to make lifelong decisions.

Wasn’t she?

He glanced at the psychology books spread out over the desk. He was torn between his desperation to make a connection with Hannah and the nagging feeling that maybe his grandmother was right.

But where was the letter he’d written, the one in which he’d shared openly about his love for her? If a letter from him never arrived, what would she think of his commitment to her?

He could try to circumvent his grandmother’s wishes and drive to Owl’s Perch to see Hannah. But that could prove detrimental to their future relationship and get Hannah in a lot of trouble.

Paul’s only option was to give his grandmother time to change her mind about allowing Hannah and him to communicate through her address.

Her heart pounding, Hannah unfolded the letter. The top page had a watercolor painting of a sunset on a beach. She shifted to the second page, where large handwriting in the salutation said, “Dearest One.” Refusing to give in to defeat just yet, she flipped to the last page. It was another beach scene but from a bird’s-eye view. She flipped back to the second page to find the closing: “With all my love, Zabeth.”

Disappointment drained what little strength Hannah had. She sat on the side of the bed, holding the letter in her lap. Her momentary hope that Paul had written to her and that somehow, through the mystical way of love, the letter had found its way to her was gone. It was a childish dream, without merit or good sense. As she adjusted to the fresh setback, a new thought worked its way to the front of her mind: who was Zabeth, and was that even an Amish name?

If it was, she’d never heard of it. Dozens of questions floated through her mind. She wondered who “Dearest One” was, why the letter had been stuffed under a drawer, and if the written words might hold any clues as to why she hadn’t heard from Paul. As she sat there, the questions grew and so did a desire for answers.

Rising, Hannah hid the letter behind her. After bolting the door, she returned to the bed and unfolded the letter.

Dearest One,

It has been too long since we’ve seen, spoken to, or written to each other. I pray you will set aside your shame of me and find it within yourself to return a letter.

When we were but youth, I made my choices and you made yours. Now we are fast approaching old age, and I need no one’s judgment—every day of my life I’ve paid the price for my decisions. But surely, as I deal with this horrid illness, our separation need not go any further.

I’m your twin. We shared our mother’s womb. And once we shared a love so deep we could each feel what the other one felt before any words were spoken. Perhaps the need to break that connection is why you moved away from Ohio and joined the Amish in Pennsylvania.

The shunning of the past two and a half decades has been bitter. When it is my time to die, I do not wish to leave you behind with acrimony in your heart against me.

With all my love,
Zabeth

Like hornets buzzing in panic during late fall, Hannah’s thoughts zipped around furiously without landing anywhere.

Who is “Dearest One”?

She flipped to the backside of each page, looking for a clue. There was none, not even a date anywhere on the letter, so it could be really old, although it didn’t appear to be.

She glanced back to the closing of the letter. Zabeth sounded like a woman’s name. Skimming the note for any hints of whom it was to, Hannah paused at the word
Ohio
. Her father had a few distant relatives in Ohio, but he didn’t have a sister. Most of his brothers lived outside Lancaster, where his parents were buried.

She’d been told her grandparents
Daadi
John and
Mammi
Martha had moved to Lancaster several generations ago. So whoever Zabeth was, she—or he—had probably been a sibling to one of Hannah’s grandparents.

In spite of her disappointment, the few moments of reading the letter had given Hannah’s raging emotions a welcome distraction. But her attention wasn’t drawn away for long, especially over something that went back to her grandparents’ youth.

Deciding that the letter was none of her business and not of interest anyway, she put it back where she’d gotten it—careful to hide it better this time. But one nagging thought kept coming at her as she headed for bed. Would she one day send a letter begging her siblings to write to her?

L
uke positioned the harness over the gentle mare’s muzzle, then slid the bit into her mouth before placing the bridle around her head. He connected metal fasteners, leather straps, and leads from the horse to the courting buggy. Blue skies and wispy clouds filled the late-September sky. It was perfect weather for an outing. Since there’d been church last Sunday, no services would be held tomorrow.

As he hooked the shafts from the buggy to the mare, he wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers, hoping he didn’t look as nervous as he felt. He’d been courting Mary Yoder for nearly five months. Tonight, after the singing, he was going to ask her to marry him. He hoped she was willing to do all that it would take for them to wed.

He threw the leather straps across the horse’s backside and pulled its tail through the loose restraints. He remembered the first time he had worked up the nerve to ask Mary if he could take her home after one of the singings. He’d spent hours that day polishing his buggy to a shine and grooming the mare in preparation. He grinned as he looked at the buggy and horse he’d readied for tonight. He didn’t feel any less nervous now than he had then.

In spite of Hannah’s attitude about the singings, he thought the ritual was a good setup. All those of courting age within the community gathered in a barn and sang a cappella for hours. One or two of the older singles would start the hymn at a faster pace than used during church times. And even though the bishop and some of the parents were always there, plenty of laughter and quick-witted humor rang out during the singings. Sometimes words were altered to make the serious lyrics come to life with youthful glee. As long as the songs stayed respectful, the bishop allowed it.

Young people could get to know each other better during a ride or two home, without anyone committing to a relationship. If they weren’t compatible, no one’s feelings got hurt. The man didn’t have to take a girl home again if he didn’t want to. The girls never had to accept a ride from anyone.

This was one area that parents didn’t get involved in, not even with a suggestion. The bishop saw to that. He said God was responsible for putting young people together, not man.

In his years of going to singings, Luke had taken several girls home. But Mary was the only one he’d ever truly courted, the only one he made a point of seeing at times other than during a ride home from the gathering. Now they ducked her parents’ eyes and went out every chance they got.

Her decision to marry him would mean she was ready to give up her time of extra freedoms and submit to the
Ordnung
, the written and unwritten rules of the People. Luke never doubted that she would give up those things. He just wasn’t confident she was ready to do so now. If they planned to marry next fall, Mary would have to start going through instruction by springtime.

He’d chosen to be baptized into the church a year and a half ago. According to the
Ordnung
, he could only marry a baptized member.

Luke pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and gave the leather seats one last cleaning.

Sometimes, after an evening of a cappella hymns, Mary liked to try her hand at driving the buggy. He considered himself a liberal man, and he enjoyed occasionally letting her take the reins. His father would scowl at a woman driving when a man was in the buggy, but Luke saw things differently. When Mary grasped the reins, her greenish blue eyes reflected both excitement and insecurity. She even talked to the horse to get it to behave. Luke never conceded whether he thought the horse understood her. But Mary was awfully cute working her way through her fears and making the horse do her bidding. As the only girl among the ten siblings, Mary’d had little opportunity to drive a buggy at home.

After tucking the bandanna into his pocket, he climbed into the buggy and sat on the leather seat. He stared at the house and thought about Hannah. Something was wrong with her, seriously wrong. She hadn’t been the same since the night she had fallen nearly a month ago. She barely ate, talked, or worked.
Daed
had even allowed her to stay home from church since the incident and to get out of the work gathering at the Millers’ yesterday.

Worse than all that, Hannah had no spunk lately. Why, she hadn’t baked him a cake or even fetched him some cool water when he was working in the fields. He flicked the reins and clicked his tongue.
Wunnerlich
. That’s what it was.
Strange
.

Too tormented to do any more work and too anxious to sleep, Hannah lay on her bed, listening for the sound of a horse’s hoofs, while daylight still streamed in her window. She felt a little sorry she hadn’t gone to the singing with Luke. Some fun time with Mary might have helped Hannah’s sanity return. But she was still waiting to hear from Paul. Her chest ached with worry that when Sarah returned, she might not have a letter with her.

Thoughts of the letter from Zabeth came and went. Asking her parents about it was not an option. When Hannah was very young, they’d made their position clear: if a topic was approachable, they’d bring it up during mealtime. If they didn’t bring it up, their children weren’t to do so. But what if her parents had lost the letter and then forgotten it? Hannah sighed. That was silly. People didn’t just forget such important—

She bolted upright.

Paul’s gift!
The small leather book. Hannah rubbed her forehead, desperate for a moment of clarity. Where was it? When had she last seen it?

Feeling dizzy, she sprinted down the stairs, grasping the handrail firmly.
“Mamm?”
She hurried through the living room and into the kitchen.
“Mamm?”

“In the laundry room.”

Barely recognizing her mother’s scratchy and tired voice, Hannah came to an abrupt halt when she arrived at the doorway. Huge stacks of dirty clothes were shoved into a corner, covered with a sheet. Clean, wet clothes sat in a pile in the large galvanized tub. “Why are you doing laundry this close to nightfall?”

Her mother turned and smiled. “Oh, Hannah, it’s good to see you downstairs again.”
Mamm
looked about the room. “We aren’t managing things very well without you.” She whispered the words as if
Daed
wouldn’t figure out how poorly Hannah was doing if
Mamm
didn’t tell him.

“I had a small leather book in my apron—”

“Today?”
Mamm’s
brows furrowed.

“No. When …” Hannah searched for the right words.

Her mother lifted an armful of dirty clothes and tossed them into one of the smaller galvanized tubs. “You mean the last day you worked for Mrs. Waddell?”

Blinking back her resentment, Hannah realized how comfortable her mother had become with that awful night. “Yes. I had a small book in the hidden pocket. Have you seen it?”

Studying her daughter,
Mamm
pushed the tub of dirty clothes into the corner. “I never saw it. But the clothes you had on were burned the next day.”

Burned?

Hannah dashed out the side door and across the back field. Clawing through cold ashes and soot in the barrel where they burned trash, she found no shreds of clothing.

It was Esther’s job to burn trash. Maybe she had found the book and put it away somewhere. Looking across the yards and gardens, Hannah soon spotted her sister picking lettuce in the garden.

“Esther, can you come here, please?”

Leaving the small basket, Esther strolled toward Hannah, wiping the dirt from her hands on her black apron. “Feeling better?”

Hannah shook her head. “My clothes you were told to burn, you know the ones?”

Esther nodded.

“There was a small leather book in the hidden pocket of my apron. Tell me you have it.”

Esther shrugged. “I can’t tell ya that. I would have brought it to ya had I found something.” Still rubbing dirt off her hands, Esther huffed. “I can tell ya that I’m tired of doing my chores and yours. So is Sarah, and now she’s having to work for Mrs. Waddell too. You ought not do us this way.”

Ignoring her sister’s irritation, Hannah got down on her hands and knees, searching the grassy grounds near the barrel. “Is there any way the book might have fallen out of the pocket?”

“Don’t see how.
Daed
had your clothes all bundled up when he gave them to me. I unfolded them over the barrel so they’d burn more thoroughly. I know how to do my jobs, Hannah.” Esther put her hands on her hips. “And yours too, now.”

Unwilling to give up hope, Hannah continued hunting for the missing item until the newly healed skin from the gashes turned raw. It was no use. The book was nowhere to be found. Why had she stayed in bed like a fool and let the gift Paul had given her come to ruin?

Her bitter disappointment jolted to a halt when she heard hoof steps. Standing, she saw Levi and Sarah riding bareback together. The horse ambled toward the barn. Hannah sprinted in that direction.

Levi paused while his sister slid off the back of the chestnut horse. Sarah thrust an envelope toward Hannah. “I don’t see how you put up with working for Mrs. Waddell. She’s the crankiest woman I’ve ever dealt with. According to her, I didn’t do one thing right all day.”

Hannah took the envelope and pressed it to her chest. “Thank you, Sarah. Thank you.” Feeling waves of joy, Hannah beelined to the side yard, ripping open the letter. But it wasn’t a letter. It was a card with a scene of a white-steepled church sitting among autumn trees with leaves of gold, red, and yellow. That was odd. Since the People rotated homes for their services rather than use church buildings, it didn’t seem likely Paul would send her a note like this. She flipped open the card.

Dear Hannah,

I’m sorry to hear you aren’t well. I find it even more distressing that you won’t be returning to work for me. We have an arrangement. I will be in especially deep need when the holidays come. You must speak to your father about this, or I will.

Sincerely,
Mrs. Waddell

Hannah ran inside, searching for Sarah. She found her in the laundry room with
Mamm
. “This is it?” She waved the card in her sister’s face. “This is all you came back with?”

“It is.” Sarah lifted a galvanized tub filled with clean, wet clothes. “Would you have me write the letter myself that you want so badly?”

Hannah stared at Sarah. Then she glanced at her mother, aware of how much she had just revealed.

Her mother sighed, seemingly unaware of the new piece of Hannah’s life she’d just learned. “All right, girls. That’s enough. You’d do well to remember your quiet upbringing and the teachings to hold your tongue, before your father uses his strap.”

Sarah set the cumbersome tub on the floor. “I’ve been doing Hannah’s chores for nigh on four weeks now. That Mrs. Waddell is as harsh as the cold winter’s wind in January. And then my sister comes fussing at me about things I have no control over.”

Nearly four weeks?
Was that possible? Surely Sarah was exaggerating. There was no way nearly a month had passed.

“Silence.” The thunderous voice filled the room. All three women turned, wide eyed, to face Zeb Lapp. “Sarah,” he snapped, “are you complaining?” His voice was loud enough to be heard into tomorrow. “Has your older sister not always carried more than her fair share in this house? Yet now that she’s been feeling poorly, you whine like a feeble cat.”

He turned his focus on Hannah. “And you. Did I not tell you to start pulling your weight around here? Look at your mother. She’s worn ragged. Life on this farm must have everyone’s full strength for each and every day. Have you become lazy like the fancy folks who can’t get meals on the table even when the expensive stores do most of the cooking for them?”

He raised a finger and pointed at Sarah. “Hannah’s not the one who told you to do her chores. I am! How dare you grumble! If I hear one more word, I’ll take you to the smokehouse and teach you a lesson you won’t soon forget. Do you hear me?”

Hannah wondered how they could not hear him. His face was red, and his throat would hurt from screaming when his temper settled. But she refused to apologize. She was sorry for lots of things, but snipping at Sarah was not one of them. And she’d not lie about it, whether she was made to go to the smokehouse or not.