He moved the tape as she requested, trying to focus on the street below him instead of the citrus-shampoo scent of her hair. Only when she bent to measure the bottom of the window was he able to draw a full breath. “Funny how holes are left when something is no longer there that used to be.”
She’d certainly left holes in him. Some he’d managed to plaster over through the years. Some that might never be filled again. Especially if he couldn’t breach whatever barrier she’d put between them.
Hannah spoke to the sill below him. “Maybe it never should’ve been there in the first place.”
Dropping his arm, he released the tape. “You don’t believe that.” He watched as she straightened, rolling the white length into a tight coil. “I’ve missed you, Hannah.”
Her eyes were wide, liquid with tears. “I...”
Gabe held his breath, waiting to hear why she’d abruptly abandoned him years before. Pressing her lips together, Hannah glanced away to stare out the window. Instantly, she stiffened.
“What is it?” Gabe looked out the window when Hannah backed to the center of the room. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary on the street below. Shallow piles of snow edged the street. A scattering of cars were passing by. A handful of people were on the sidewalk, including a man directly below them.
“Barb mentioned you were all moved in.” Arms crossed tightly over her chest, Hannah was scanning the rest of the small, sparsely furnished apartment. “There’s not much here.”
At least her comment admitted that she had talked with her employer about him. It wasn’t much, but he’d take it. His breath escaped in a slow hiss at her obvious avoidance of their history as Gabe followed her gaze. “Well, I haven’t collected much. There are some boxes yet to unpack in the kitchen. Some more still in my vehicle. Otherwise, that’s about it. Did you think I was kidding when I said I needed curtains to cheer the place up?”
Her gaze was fixed on his well-worn brown couch. “I thought you had other motives.”
It was the closest she’d come to mentioning their past. “I did.” Gabe studied her face. There were signs of strain under the polite composure. He longed to press her, but recognized the need to pursue a light present instead of bringing up their fractured past. “But it still was pretty dreary up here. I don’t suppose you could make me a pillow for the couch, as well?”
“You’ll be lucky to get the curtains,” she retorted, but her lips curved in the first genuine smile he’d encountered since he’d seen her again. Ah, this was the Hannah he remembered.
“Well. What was it Barb had said? ‘Much is lost for want of asking.’” He trailed after her to the apartment door. “Don’t forget the window in the bedroom. It’s the same size. Basically.” He wobbled a hand in a so-so movement. “As far as old buildings go, anyway. I truly don’t want to be a sideshow for anyone when I’m home. Or bother anyone else who happens to live downtown when I respond to a call at odd hours.”
Hannah paused in the open doorway. “The community was thrilled when the grant went through to start the EMS service. How did you end up being the one...?”
“I saw the job opening and I was looking.” For a way to get into the area remained unsaid. As did any mention of the solid-paying job he’d left to come here in exchange for the baseline salary the grant provided and a collection of part-time work that barely scraped up enough for the apartment and other living expenses. But if he could convince Hannah they belonged together, that and the difference he knew he could make in emergency care for the rural area would be enough reward.
“Will you be driving an ambulance and such?”
“I’ll be going out on local calls, but there’s a bit of groundwork to set up at first, like working with the newly identified medical director. The grant budget won’t stretch to an ambulance.” It barely paid for him to do local EMS work while he helped establish the program. “A share of the schedule will still be covered with volunteers. Part of the work I’ll be doing is local fire department and EMS training, so folks like the Amish volunteers don’t have to travel so far for it. Also, I’ll be teaching CPR classes at the Portage hospital, as well as businesses and the junior college.”
Hannah’s brows furrowed. Gabe figured it was the mention of the college. He’d been studying something else years ago when, on a whim, he’d joined some friends at a weekend party that’d involved a mixture of local youth, including the woman before him.
The muffled jangle of the shop door drifted up the stairs. With a slight frown, Hannah turned her head in that direction. “I have to go. Barb might need some help downstairs.”
Gabe winked at her. “Remember the measurements?”
Hannah’s face went blank, and her blue eyes blinked a few rapid times before she recited the width and length of the window with a grin. “You were trying to distract me.”
Gabe’s own smile ebbed. “It’s the other way around, Hannah. I’ve been distracted since I met you. You know why I really came to Miller’s Creek.”
The flawless skin of Hannah’s cheeks bloomed in color. She fled down the worn linoleum steps of the narrow stairway. Gabe watched her descent. Had he made progress? It was hard to tell. But at least, for this moment, he knew why she was running away. And where he could find her again.
* * *
Hannah’s heart was pounding as she raced down the stairs. She’d forgotten the joy of just being with Gabe. Maybe they could figure out some way of spending time together? Surely no harm could come of a few casual meetings? The possibility brought a smile to her face as she hustled along the short hallway. Her breathless grin abruptly faded as she stepped into the shop and pulled the back door closed. Facing the occupants in the shop who looked over at her entrance, she shuttered her mind to the thrill and temptation of being with Gabe.
Here was her life. Here was where her mind and obedience needed to be focused. Clasping her hands at her waist, she nodded to Barb to indicate she’d take care of these particular customers and propped up a composed smile to replace the earlier genuine one. Stepping away from the door, she greeted the two who’d arrived while she’d been upstairs. Enjoying herself. Hannah pushed the errant thought away.
“Ruby Weaver, Bishop Weaver, what a pleasure to see you both today. Is there anything I can help you with?” The statement was a stretch. The pleasure would be if they were truly here for material. And not to see her for some reason.
Any hope of that quickly died at the bishop’s next words.
“Hannah Lapp. I need to talk with you.” Bishop Weaver motioned Hannah over to the corner of racks displaying different quilting tools and patterns, away from where the Englisch store owner was working.
Hannah tried not to drag her feet. But she remembered all too well that Bishop Weaver and his wife were the reasons her schweschder, Gail, almost didn’t return to Miller’s Creek with her young daughter Lily. It was only thanks to Gott and the persistence of Samuel Schrock, now Gail’s husband, that they’d rejoined the Amish community some months ago.
Shortly after Gail and Samuel’s wedding, the bishop’s only daughter-in-law and her unborn child had unexpectedly died. Bishop Weaver had pulled Hannah aside at Louisa’s funeral and admonished her that it was time for her to take baptism classes and thereby become a member of the church.
As a member, she was eligible to marry.
Dread pooled in her stomach like water running into a dry creek bed following a hard rain. She knew what he was going to say. She knew what she was going to have to say in return as an Amish woman for whom gelassenheit was a way of life. Hannah swallowed hard to keep the hint of tears from glistening.
“Hannah Lapp. It is selfish of you to remain single at your age when our unmarried men need wives.”
At twenty-three, Hannah was older than many single Amish women. It wasn’t what she’d planned when she’d started her rumspringa. But then she’d met Gabriel. Even th
ough she’d intentionally dropped out of his life, she hadn’t been able to erase him from her mind. She’d since had many admirers, but no other young man in the Amish community had been tempting enough for Hannah to want to share their lives. Not in the way she’d wanted to share Gabe’s. So she’d delayed. And delayed.
“You will marry one of our men shortly after your baptism. You might as well see who will suit.” The bishop droned on, expecting her full attention and cooperation. Hannah bowed her head. And why shouldn’t he be? You’ve always done what was expected of you.
Hannah braced herself. She knew who he was going to mention. It wasn’t that she had anything against the man. He was hardworking and honorable. It was just that, in the times she’d been around him at different functions and church events, there was no spark. Nothing like she’d shared with...Gabe.
But that was years ago, when the man had been single. Hannah admonished herself to be open-minded. Perhaps things had changed since then. There were other Amish marriages that’d started out with not much more than friendship and respect and had grown into solid relationships. She could live with that. She’d just hoped for...something more.
“There is a man, recently widowed, in the community. I will tell him that you expect him to come calling. Plan for Jethro to be here tomorrow to take you to lunch.”
And there it was. Bishop Weaver might state that she should start seeing the single men to see with whom she might suit, but what he’d meant was she was to marry his widowed son. His only son. Hannah felt the burn of distress in the back of her throat at the same time she stifled an inappropriate snort at the possibility that Jethro might have plans for the morrow, and his life, that his father wasn’t aware of. Or more likely, didn’t care about.
“Denki, Bishop Weaver. I will expect to see Jethro tomorrow. I appreciate your consideration and concern for my welfare.” Hannah didn’t know how she got the words out. They must have risen from the deep reservoir of practiced obedience she’d lived all her life, except for the brief, stolen time with Gabe years ago.
She’d always done the right thing. Been the well-behaved daughter to her sister Gail’s more rebellious actions. Always thought of others first and herself later, if at all. Years of that behavior enabled her to respond appropriately to the bishop. But inside, her heart was breaking. Oh, Gabe! Hannah gently set her teeth together to keep her chin from trembling.
Bishop Weaver nodded jerkily before flinching. He raised a hand to rub it along his jaw and down his neck. Furrowing her brow at his actions, Hannah pushed aside her distress when she noted, even in the shop’s temperate environment, beads of sweat were dotting his forehead under the brim of his hat.
“Are you all right?”
“Ja,” he mumbled, but his response was more distracted than his usual brusqueness. “Ruby,” he called across the shop in a strained voice. “It’s time to go.”
Ruby’s narrow face reflected her surprise at the abrupt directive. Hannah supposed it didn’t happen very often. Probably, much more frequently, the other way around. But, with a glance at Hannah and Barb, she turned toward the front exit, her mouth pressed in a lipless line. Hand against his stomach, Bishop Weaver struggled to open the front door of the shop, the bell jangling with his repeated attempts. Finally he succeeded and shuffled out with hunched shoulders, his wife at his heels.
Hannah and Barb watched them climb into a nearby buggy, the bishop pausing on the step before he pulled himself in. “He didn’t look like he felt well,” Barb observed, frowning as her fingers automatically resumed the task of stocking a recent delivery of fat quarters—precut pieces of fabric popular among quilters.
Neither did Hannah after their conversation. The bishop’s health was forgotten as she went to the counter, found a pad of paper and jotted down the measurements of the window upstairs. She was surprised she remembered them after her talk with the bishop. But then, she’d always remembered every moment of her interactions with Gabriel Bartel. Much as she’d once hoped differently, she knew now it was all she’d ever have of him.
Chapter Three
Hannah had always liked the cheery jingle of The Stitch’s doorbell, knowing it announced a customer or someone just dropping by to visit. Today, she flinched at the jarring sound, growing increasingly tense as the wall clock ticked toward noon.
It wasn’t that she disliked Jethro Weaver. He was a gut man. While measuring Gabriel’s fabric to the length needed for his curtains, Hannah mentally listed the bishop’s son’s qualities. He was hardworking. He was quiet. He was... Smoothing the fabric, her lips quirked as she recalled Gabe’s foolish description of what he was looking for. In fabric, or so he had said. In other things as well, she knew he had meant. It wasn’t her. Not anymore. The scissors felt abnormally heavy when Hannah picked them up. She winced at the first snip.
It’s what you have to do with him in your life. Cut him out. You’ve done it before, you can do it again. It didn’t help that she hadn’t heard the other sound her ear had been tuned for—the muted bang of the back door leading into the street—all morning. Was Gabe still upstairs in his apartment? Or had he already left for the day? Where was he?
She couldn’t let it matter. She would do what was expected of her. That was the essence of gelassenheit. Yielding oneself to the will of a higher authority, be it Gott, the bishop or others, with contentment and a calm spirit was a core value of who they were as an Amish community. Hannah resolutely cut across the fabric. She needed to remember that she was beige. Not this vibrant blue.
What mattered now was Jethro. Who was hardworking. And reserved. And—she jumped, slashing the material jaggedly at the jarring bell announcing an arrival—here. Setting the scissors down, Hannah wiped her hands down the side of her skirt and stepped around the counter with a weak smile.
Jethro Weaver responded with a stiff nod as he shut the door. Hannah couldn’t see his eyes below the flat brim of his black hat, but from the set of his jaw, evident even under his short beard, it looked as if he was as uncomfortable being there as she was having him there. Hannah wasn’t sure if the realization made her feel better or worse. Allowing herself a last glance at the fabric on the counter and memory of the man who’d chosen it, she corrected herself. She couldn’t feel much worse.
Injecting pleasant interest in her voice, she started for the door and the man standing rigidly beside it. “Mrs. Fastle should be back from lunch momentarily. When she arrives, we can go. Where did you have in mind?”
“The D-Dew D-Drop.”
She’d forgotten Jethro had a stutter. When she got closer, Hannah could see the faint line of a scar perpendicular to his unsmiling upper lip. Standing just inside the door, they faced each other awkwardly. Jethro shuffled his feet. Hannah shifted hers. She was about to suggest he remove his coat while they waited when she heard the muffled bang of the door to the alley. Her heart jolted at the possibility that it was Gabe. Much more likely, it was announcing Barb’s return. Stifling a sigh, as it meant she was now free to join the man before her for what would surely be an uncomfortable meal, Hannah reached for her black cloak and bonnet that hung on the nearby peg rack.
Hannah hissed in a breath when a smiling Gabe followed Barb through the shop’s back door. Although he was chatting with her employer, his eyes scanned the shop until they locked with her own. Gabe’s gaze shifted from her to the tall, lean man beside her and back again. Hannah found herself holding her breath until Gabe returned his attention to Barb. Fumbling the cloak off the peg, Hannah tossed it over her shoulders.
Nodding to Jethro to open the door, she called over her shoulder to her boss, “Now that you’re back, I’ll be going.”
A cheery “Have a nice lunch!” followed them as they exited. Careful to keep a space between her and Jethro as they walked down the snow-dusted sidewalk, Hannah figured the best outcome she could hope for regarding the pending meal was for it to be tolerable.
> Even that seemed unlikely when all heads turned in their direction as she and Jethro came through the door of Miller’s Creek’s main eating establishment. Hannah could almost tell from the ensuing expressions who was going to gossip about the two of them and who wasn’t. By the time they sat down next to the window, she’d lost her appetite. Ordering a cup of soup, Hannah figured she might’ve agreed to the outing, but she didn’t have to make it last long. She made a few feeble attempts at conversation, only to have Jethro nod or shake his head in response. When her soup arrived and he hadn’t said a word other than to place his order, thoughts of three silent meals a day filled her heart with dread and her stomach with lead, prompting her to stir the soup more than eat it.
In the silence at her table, it was easy to listen to the conversation at the one behind her. Hannah stopped stirring at the words stolen dog. Straightening in her chair, she tipped her head back in order to hear what else was being said by the two Englisch diners.
“Found him down by Milwaukee. Wouldn’t have if the new owners in the city hadn’t taken him to the vet to be checked out and they discovered his microchip.”
The other man grunted. “I’d heard some folks had dogs missing. Some mixed breeds, but mainly purebreds. Mine raised a ruckus the other night. Since then, I make sure if she’s outside, I am, too. So glad you got Ace returned. Scary to think of how many might not be. Do they have any idea who—”
Hannah jumped when the waitress stopped by to refill their coffee cups. Reluctantly tuning out the men behind her, she glanced over to Jethro. Fortunately for future silent meals, he seemed to be a fast eater. Hannah frowned down at her soup. Easy to do, when you’re not saying a word. But, she reminded herself, conversation worked both ways. Hannah had a feeling this courtship wasn’t his idea, either. She needed to make more of an attempt herself. Pasting on a smile, Hannah looked up, just in time to see Gabe walk into the restaurant.
Her Forbidden Amish Love Page 3