Sisters of the Quilt Trilogy (91 page)

M
atthew turned off the shower, feeling sore, but with more energy than he’d had in a really long time. The ache for David was nonstop, but he was able to grieve and keep moving. That was a welcome improvement. He and Luke had two weeks of hard work ahead of them getting the old buildings torn down. He dreaded facing that, seeing in his mind’s eye the day of the fire, the day David died, over and over again as they worked, but it had to be done. They’d begin tomorrow. Today was a church Sunday, and he hoped it’d bring him strength to face the next two weeks.

An aroma of coffee hung in the air as he finished shaving. By the time he slid into his Sunday suit, the smell of scrapple and cinnamon rolls filtered through the upstairs. He stepped into the hallway, almost bumping into his mother as she staggered out of her bedroom.

“Mamm, aren’t ya goin’ to church today?”

Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Ich kann net.”

“Mamm, you can.” He kissed her forehead. “We need you. Daed’s lonely for you. Right now it’s like he’s lost a son and a wife. Peter still needs his Mamm. He’s just a kid, but growing up so fast. And Kathryn shouldn’t be tryin’ to run the house while helping me rebuild the business.”

“I wish I’d been a better Mamm for my sweet David.” She brushed tears off her face. “I want another chance.”

Guilt. That hopeless, life-choking guilt
.

He hated it.

“Kumm.” He put his arm around her shoulders. “Please.”

She barely nodded, and he escorted her downstairs.

Closing the oven, Kathryn turned. Her gentle eyes surrounded his mother with understanding, but when she looked at Matthew, something else sparked in them. Or maybe he was just hoping he saw something more for him. His Daed thudded through the back door, and Peter slammed the front door as he entered.

“The horses have come inside, ya?” Kathryn looked at his Daed.

He gave a sheepish look, half smiling. “Sorry, I tripped over the feed bucket.”

“In the house?” Kathryn looked at Peter.

“So that’s what I did with that thing. Sorry.”

“You know, I don’t get paid enough for this nonsense.” She winked at Mamm and poured her a cup of coffee.

When Kathryn returned to the stove and set the coffeepot on the eye, Matthew sidled up to her. “Mamm’s guilt is getting worse, not better.” He grabbed the plate of scrapple.

Kathryn looked up at him.

He shrugged. “I was hoping you knew something to say.”

Kathryn lifted the pan of cooling cinnamon buns off the back of the stove. “I … I have no idea what to say, or I’d have said it already.”

“We gotta try something.”

She nodded, and they both moved to the table and set the items in place.

Kathryn passed out the cloth napkins and took a seat.

“Mamm, you know Kathryn’s dealt with a rough patch of grief too.”

Mamm stirred her coffee. “Yes, I know.”

Kathryn took a sip of coffee and eased the cup back to the table. “When my brother died, it seemed there was nowhere to put the affection I had just for him. It’s like it banked inside me, and I ached to do something for him again. Then I began to constantly relive all the times I fought with him.”

Mamm nodded. “Ya, I can see feeling that way.”

Daed took a seat and poured himself some coffee. “I’m not short on feeling like I failed him. Over the last few years, I’ve spent weeks at a time away from home, traveling with the Amish carpenters.” His eyes rimmed with tears. “I miss the days when most Amish could make a living farming.”

The room was silent, much as it had been since David died, but this time a vapor of hope seemed to swirl, like the unseen aromas of coffee and cinnamon buns.

Peter squirmed in his chair, making it screech against the floor. “I promised him I’d help that day in the shop. If I’d been there, I’d have smelled that gasoline before it could catch fire.”

Mamm gasped and grabbed Peter, knocking her coffee over. “No. If you’d been there, I could have lost you too. You have no sense of smell, child. What are you thinking?”

Peter burst into tears mixed with laughter. Kathryn mopped up the spilled coffee. Matthew didn’t miss the nod Daed gave Kathryn—a slight movement that carried the weight of his full approval.

When Kathryn took a seat, Matthew slipped his arm around the back of her chair, and she whispered, “Real love—it’s the best, most painful thing God ever did for us.”

“So really a person should say, ‘I’m in pain with you.’ ” He kept his voice low and tried to hide his laughter.

“Only when they’re dealing with you, Matthew Esh.”

He laughed out loud, and his Mamm looked at him. He pointed at Kathryn. “It’s her fault.”

His Mamm’s eyes narrowed as she looked from Kathryn to him. He leaned the chair back on two legs so Kathryn couldn’t see him as he placed his index finger over his lips and nodded at his mother, answering all the questions she’d never dare to ask. Then he winked at his Mamm.

I
nside the Daadi Haus that Luke and Mary shared with Mammi Annie, Hannah rinsed the soapsuds off the last breakfast skillet and stacked it in the dish drainer.

The glow of light from the fall morning danced across the room, turning shadows as fresh air whipped through the barely open window. Luke was like her when it came to open windows. Even in cool weather he wanted a bit of fresh air stirring through a room.

She dried her hands on a dishtowel and grabbed a freshly scrubbed pan to dry it. The kitchen still carried the aroma of a robust breakfast, but the counters were now clean, waiting for the next round of meals. These were the things she remembered most: the steady but calm pace of day-to-day chores, the way daylight filtered through a home void of electric lights, the distinct segments of time—morning, noon, and evening—defined by meals cooked and chores done.

Sarah came into the kitchen, carrying a few glasses. She looked distracted, so Hannah stepped back from the sink. “Did you need to put those in the sink?”

She blinked a few times and then nodded. “I found these upstairs while making beds.”

“Okay, thanks.” Setting the pan on the counter and grabbing another wet dish, Hannah caught a glimpse of Lissa through the window. The little girl shadowed Mary’s every move as they dug up the last of the potatoes for the season. Luke had been ready to go to Matthew’s early this morning in hopes that a full day of work would get a portion of the burned-out building torn down today. As he was heading out the door, Mary’s Daed and a couple of her brothers had shown up and gone with him.

Sarah’s hands shook as she began helping put dishes away. Hannah’s time with her over the weekend was something she would carry in her heart for years to come. They’d made cookies, walked the fields, and lazed around while watching Lissa play at the edge of the creek.

Sarah plunked a dish onto the countertop. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I know. It’s been a wonderful visit. I’ll be back after the first of the year.” Hannah moved to Sarah’s seven-day pillbox, making sure she’d remembered her meds yesterday and this morning. She had, and thankfully, she didn’t seem to notice what Hannah was doing. In spite of the telltale signs of nervousness, losing small tracts of time, and being a little scattered, her sister’s progress seemed remarkable.

Sarah should thank Paul. He seemed really good at his job, able to work with people from all walks of life. Maybe that’s how he’d managed to embrace attending an Englischer college while spending each summer with a Plain Mennonite grandmother and falling for an Old Order Amish girl.

Paul
.

She drew a slow breath, trying to control the rogue emotions that hit her concerning him. Aiming to refocus her thoughts, she looked out the window and watched Lissa.

“If you’re not married, can’t you stay?” Sarah asked.

Hannah had clarified she wasn’t married, but that news seemed to make Sarah more determined to hold on to her. “No, I can’t.” She clutched a handful of flatware from the draining basket and dried each piece before sliding it into place in the drawer. Last night Luke, Mary, Sarah, Lissa, and Hannah had sat on the floor near the low-burning potbellied stove, playing a game of marbles. Mammi Annie watched from her rocker, saying she was too old to get on the floor to play a game. It was almost as if nothing had ever ripped them apart, but the weekend had carried a heaviness that Hannah bore in silence.

Mary’s secret.

If Mary truly understood the seriousness of what was going on, she hid it well. But whatever lay ahead, it had to be dealt with openly. Luke had to be told … no matter what the prognosis.

If this Amish district had a medical facility the Plain people trusted going to, like the communities in Alliance had with Dr. Lehman, Mary wouldn’t be in this position. Years ago if Hannah would’ve had somewhere safe to go, her life would be completely different.

Lissa ran inside, chortling. Her cheeks were rosy from the cool morning air. Mary came in the back door, smiling.

“Look!” Lissa held up a funny-shaped rock.

Wondering what Lissa thought she’d found, Hannah glanced to Mary. “What am I looking at?”

Lissa laughed. “It’s a rock. Don’t you know a rock when you see one?”

Hannah, Mary, and Sarah laughed. It was the kind of thing Hannah and Mary would have pulled on adults when they were kids.

Mary placed her hand on Lissa’s head. “Sarah, would you help Lissa wash the rock and then her hands?”

Still laughing at Lissa’s joke, Sarah did as asked.

Mary waited for the bathroom door to close. “Any word yet?”

Hannah removed the towel from her shoulder and placed it on a peg. “No. You doing okay?”

Mary shook her hands, as if trying to wake them. “As nervous as a body waiting to be told whether they’re gonna live or die.”

“How did you manage to push this fear off you for so long?”

“It took us awhile to get pregnant, and I thought God wasn’t going to let me have a baby until I told Luke the truth. When I conceived, I soared on the clouds for months, confident nothing could go wrong. When concern tried to creep in, I did a good job of telling it to shut up—until the pains began.”

Hannah stifled a sigh. “The part about telling it to shut up—we’re just too alike, you know?”

Mary gave a nod. “I’m beginning to see that.”

The phone inside Hannah’s dress pocket vibrated. She opened it and read an unfamiliar number across the screen. It showed a local Pennsylvania area code, so she pushed the green icon. “Hannah Lawson.”

“Hey, it’s Paul.”

Even if he hadn’t identified himself, with one word spoken she’d recognize his temperate, deep voice anywhere, at any time, even after not hearing him speak for more than two years.

Motioning to Mary that she was going outside, Hannah answered, “Any news?”

“The board approved Dr. Lehman coming in. I called to let him know, and he asked me to tell you he’s doing all he can to be here by lunchtime.”

She had no doubts that Paul had pulled every favor imaginable to get the board to approve this unorthodox visit so quickly, but the news only made Hannah more anxious. What if the prognosis wasn’t good? Hannah closed her eyes, praying for Mary.

“Hannah?”

“I … I’m here. Just really nervous, but I appreciate this a lot.” Why was she telling him how she felt? Was she no longer capable of holding her tongue when talking to Paul?

“I’m uneasy too, but the favor was no problem. I heard from Kathryn Glick last night. She spent most of the weekend planning a community workday. Has lots of people going to the Esh place today to help clear the rubbish off the foundation. She called me last night. Said she’d been trying to keep it a surprise.”

“Well, that explains why Luke was so flabbergasted when Mary’s Daed and brothers showed up to go with him to Matthew’s this morning. I guess Kathryn kept this a secret from Luke and Mary too.”

“Are you at the Yoder place?”

Hannah took in the scenery, the hills, pastures, and barns. “Yes.”

“I have a client to see first, but then I’m going to Matthew’s to lend a hand as soon as I can get there. You know, Sarah should go too and help with lunch.”

“You think she’s up to seeing something as emotional as tearing down the shops where David died?”

“If it hits her hard, I’ll help her deal with it.”

“Ah, so you’ll be on hand if she wigs out?”

“Wigs out?” Paul laughed. “Is that anything like YoMama from yoTV?”

Laughter escaped her as he quoted bits of an exchange they’d shared years ago when playing Scrabble. Suddenly uncomfortable for sharing a laugh with Paul, she cleared her throat. “I … I better go.”

“Just make sure to get only good news about Mary, okay?”

“I’ll do my best. Thanks.” She closed the phone. Paul loved board games like she did. Maybe one had to grow up Plain to appreciate those types of games, because Martin hated them. He loved computer war games, though, and television and movies, all of which he indulged in regularly while she was at school or work. But when she was home, their lives were so busy she rarely had time to notice something as unimportant as a board game. She slid the phone into her pocket and went to find Sarah.

After telling her about the events at the Esh place, Hannah walked with her across Yoder property to where Esh land began.

Sarah gazed into Hannah’s eyes. “When will I see you again?”

“I … I’m not sure, but you can use the Yoders’ phone shanty and call me anytime.”

Could her sister possibly understand how hard it was coming back to Owl’s Perch, even for just a visit?

This time had been a bit easier as a few more of her people seemed to be moderately accepting of her. But she figured each one who’d been more open this time knew the same thing Hannah knew; she’d never really fit in anywhere. Not as an Englischer or as an Amish. She was too much like Zabeth, unable to truly become a part of either world. But like her aunt, she’d made her choice. She’d fallen in love with a master of Englischers, Martin Palmer, and she’d live out her days with him. But she couldn’t keep going back and forth from one world to another. And that’s how it felt, like traveling to different planets with each reentry bumpy and heated.

Thoughts of building a life with Martin pulled on her. They’d make a good couple, and it’d give Lissa and Kevin a steady, loving home.

Sarah slid her arm around Hannah’s. “Can you come home over the Christmas holidays for just a day or two?”

She shook her head. “I’ll be in Hawaii with Martin and the children. He’s flying his top employees and a few friends there for a two-week stay.”

“Hawaii?” She stopped walking.

Hannah tugged on her arm, and they began again. “I’ll be back after the first of the year.”

The frown on Sarah’s face was deep, and Hannah wondered if this news was going to cause a problem for her.

She stopped near where the fields became the Eshes’ backyard. “It’s best if I go on back now. I don’t want to make Matthew’s parents uncomfortable by staying, and they aren’t the kind to ask me to leave.”

“Naomi and Raymond won’t mind.”

“Maybe not, but I’m not taking that chance.”

Sarah hugged her. “I’m sorry you and Paul argued, but I was glad you came barging into that meeting for me.” She released Hannah and took a step back. “You really have forgiven me … haven’t you?”

Hannah knew she had so much to learn about forgiveness that it might help her to go somewhere quiet and stay there until she understood the true nature of it. But clearly, learning didn’t come from time alone in prayer. It began there, and then it seemed it became perfected by messing up, digging deeper, and trying again.

Unable to answer her sister, Hannah gave her one last hug. “Go on. You have work to do.”