If Alton and Claire were surprised, they hid it well. Claire stood and began clearing the table. Alton offered to see him out. They’d stepped outside when Jacob shared his ideas for a wooden walk to the playhouse as well as a small platform for the dinner table.
“Must be hard on Hannah, on her back I mean—moving him from one chair to the other so often.”
“And I have to be fast to beat her to it. Your ideas sound gut, but I’m afraid the grant doesn’t cover that, and I don’t have any extra money at the moment.”
Jacob waved away his concerns. “I have leftover lumber. It won’t cost me anything but time.”
“Which is precious for every man.”
“It’s okay. I don’t have to start the next job until Monday.” He didn’t mention the orders he had at his shop. He could put in a few hours each night and stay ahead on that.
“Then I accept, and I thank you.”
“You can tell me it’s none of my business, but Hannah seemed particularly preoccupied tonight. Is something wrong? Something else?”
Alton stuck his thumbs under his suspenders. “Money is a bit tight.”
“How tight?”
“Missed a few payments on the place.”
“What did your banker say about that?”
“Said they could extend me another thirty days, but then they’ll have to start the foreclosure process.”
“I’m sorry, Alton. I had no idea. Have you spoken to your bishop?”
Alton waved that idea away. “My family has received plenty of help from the benevolence fund in the last year. We’ll find a way through this on our own.”
“And Hannah?”
“Hannah is determined to find a job.”
* * *
The entire drive home he thought of Alton’s words, of the family’s financial problems and of the help he needed in order to prepare him for the IRS audit. He could ask Hannah. It wasn’t a completely crazy idea. He remembered that she was good at sums, and it wasn’t as if she needed to understand algebra. It only required someone more organized than he was.
She was stubborn and willful and curt at times, but he wasn’t going to be dating her. He was going to hire her.
Or was he?
It wasn’t until he was home and cleaning up for bed that he realized the error of his thinking. He caught sight of his reflection in the small bathroom mirror and stared for a moment at his scars. His fingers traced the tissue that was puckered and discolored. He’d been so fortunate that his eye wasn’t permanently damaged, and in truth he’d become used to the sight of his charred, disfigured flesh.
Others, though, they often found his face harder to look at. They would turn away, or blush bright red and hurry off. Sometimes children cried when they first saw him.
Had he forgotten about those reactions?
Did he really think that his appearance wouldn’t matter to a woman, to an employee? Hannah had been polite, sure, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t horrified by the sight of his scars.
As for the thought of her working with him, she probably wouldn’t want to spend her days in the company of a disfigured man. Possibly he even reminded her of the accident that had killed her husband. He would be a constant reminder of her misfortune.
He’d been around her for two days, and he was already creating sandcastles in the sky. Probably because he’d felt an instant connection to her and that was okay and proper. As a friend. As a brother. But what about as an employer?
He hadn’t spent much time around women in the last few years. It was simply easier not to. Sure, he knew what he was missing out on, but it wasn’t as if he had a chance with any of the single girls in their district. Even the widows could do better than him. He might have grown comfortable with his disfigurement, but he wouldn’t ask that of a woman.
But he wasn’t thinking about courting. He was thinking about a business arrangement, which was crazy. He’d seen the look of relief pass over her features when he’d promised her he would be done this week. She was already looking forward to having him out of their lives. Why would he offer her a job?
On top of which, she’d had enough tragedy in her life. He wouldn’t be adding to that burden with his own problems. No, she’d be better off working in town, working for an Englisch shop owner. He’d do best to keep his distance. As for the audit, perhaps he could scrape up enough money for the accounting firm. He’d need to do something and do it quick, because the clock was ticking down to his deadline. Not that he remembered it exactly, but it was within the next month. That much he knew for certain.
Four weeks, maybe a little less.
By then, he needed to have found a solution.
Chapter Four
Hannah had scoured the paper on both Wednesday and Thursday looking for a job. What she found was discouraging. The Amish restaurant in town wanted her to work the four-to-nine shift. She wouldn’t be home to share the evening meal or put Matthew to bed. The thought caused her stomach to twist into a knot.
Amish Acres in Nappanee needed someone in the gift shop, and they understood that Amish employees didn’t work on Sundays. They even provided a bus that picked up workers in downtown Goshen for the twenty-minute ride. But she would be required to work on Saturday. In an Amish household, Saturday was a day spent preparing for Sunday—cooking meals, cleaning the house, making sure clothes were cleaned and pressed. She wouldn’t be able to do any of that if she worked at Amish Acres.
And with any of the jobs she considered, the same questions lingered in the back of her mind. Who would take Matthew to his physical therapy appointments during the week? Could she really expect her mother to add one more thing to her already full schedule? Could her mother handle the physical demands of lifting Matthew in and out of the buggy?
She studied the local paper once more Friday morning, in between helping her mother with the meals and taking care of Matthew. After lunch, she again donned a fresh apron and set off to take Matthew to his appointment. She had an interview for a job late that afternoon, and her father had offered to meet them in town.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she said as she helped Matthew into the other buggy.
“I like riding with Daddi,” Matthew piped up. “He drives faster than you do.”
“I could have...”
“What? Taken him with you? Nein. It’s not a problem. My order had come in at the feed store, and young Matthew can help check off items as they load them in the back of my buggy. Besides, I know this interview is important to you.”
“Yes, but it’s not for another hour. I could have brought him home.”
“Go and order yourself a nice cup of tea at that bakery.” Her father had clumsily patted her arm and then turned his attention to Matthew.
“Ready, Matt?”
“More than ready. Is Jacob done with the playhouse yet? Is he still there? Because I made him a drawing. I need to give it to him.”
Hannah didn’t hear the rest of the conversation as they pulled away. She didn’t have to hear it to know what Matthew was saying. He’d been talking about the playhouse and Jacob all week.
She, on the other hand, had specifically avoided Jacob that morning. The more she thought about the job opening he had, the more irritated she grew. He definitely knew that her family was in a tough financial situation. She’d heard her father talking to him about it. Why hadn’t he offered her the job?
Did he think she wasn’t smart enough to handle a column of numbers?
Did he worry that she wouldn’t be a good employee?
Or maybe—and this was the thing that pricked her heart—maybe he would be happy to be free of her and Matthew. Building a playhouse for a week was one thing. Involving yourself in someone’s life, especially when that someone had special needs, was another thing completely.
Hannah’s interview was at t
he new craft store in town. The ad said they were looking for an experienced quilter. That was one thing Hannah was quite good at, but then wasn’t every Amish woman? Still, if it was the job she was meant to have, Gotte would provide a way.
She arrived early and carefully filled out the employment questionnaire, balancing the piece of paper on her lap with only a magazine under it for support. When she had finished, the cashier had taken it from her and told her to wait. The young girl had returned twenty minutes later and led her into a back office.
The owner of the shop was in her forties, stylishly dressed, sporting short black hair, dangly earrings and bright red fingernails.
She stared at the questionnaire for a moment and then she asked, “Do you wear your bonnet every day?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your...” The woman touched the top of her head.
“It’s a prayer kapp, and ya we always wear it when we are out in public.”
“Oh, good. I think the customers will like that, and your clothing—it’s so quaint, so authentic. Wouldn’t want you showing up in jeans and a T-shirt.”
“I don’t own any jeans.”
“It would also be helpful if you’d park your buggy out front so that tourists can see it.”
“There’s no shade out front, and I wouldn’t want Dolly to stand on the concrete pavement all day.”
“I see.” The woman pursed her too-red lips and steepled her fingers. “I’m sure we can work something out. Also, we’d like you to speak as much German...”
“Pennsylvania Dutch,” Hannah corrected her softly.
“Excuse me?”
“We speak Pennsylvania Dutch and Englisch, of course.”
“Yes, but that’s the thing. I’d rather you speak your language.” The woman sat back and rocked slightly in her leather office chair. “I know you people aren’t particularly business savvy, but this is a big venture for my executive board. We have stores in Ohio and Pennsylvania, but this is our first in Indiana. I intend for it to be the best.”
“Which means what, exactly?”
“Tourists come here to catch a glimpse into a different life, to experience in some small way what it means to be different.”
“I’m different?”
“We don’t want to minimize that—we want to showcase it. We’ll be selling the experience of meeting an Amish person as much as we’re selling fabric.”
“Selling?”
“And didn’t you mention on your form that your son...”
“Matthew.”
“Isn’t he disabled? If you could bring him in with you, just now and then when he’d be in town anyway, I think that would be a real plus.”
“Bring Matthew in for Englischers to gawk at?”
But the woman wasn’t listening. She’d already opened a file and was flipping through sheets of paper. “How would you feel about appearing on the flyers that we’re going to place around town? You’re young enough, and if we added just a touch of makeup I think you’d photograph well.”
The muscles in Hannah’s right arm began to quiver and a terrible heat flushed through her body. She hadn’t been this angry since...well, ever. Knowing she was about to say something unkind, Hannah gathered up her purse, politely thanked the woman and rushed from the store.
Once she made it back outside, she stood beside Dolly, running her hand down the horse’s neck and breathing in the scent of her. Slowly the tide of anger receded, and she was left shaking her head in amazement. How could a person be so insensitive? How could she think that such tactics were acceptable? Hannah would not allow herself or her son to be put on display. What was the woman thinking? Only of her business, of making a profit, of selling the Amish experience.
Hannah understood that tourism was a big part of the Goshen economy. It benefited both Englisch and Amish, and there were many places that treated Plain folks with respect. Meeting people from other states was fun for both parties, and the added income was often a big help to families. But she would not be wearing makeup or putting her son and horse on display for anyone.
She would not be working for the new craft shop in town.
* * *
Jacob looked up as Hannah pulled into the drive. He’d been watching for her. He’d actually finished the job a few hours ago, and now he was looking for things to do until she came home. Since they didn’t attend the same church, it would be his last time to see her unless they happened to run into one another in town or at a wedding or funeral.
Hannah practically jumped out of the buggy and didn’t so much as glance his way.
Was it possible that she was unhappy with what he’d done?
Jacob turned and surveyed the play area. The train playhouse was complete, and if he allowed himself to think about it, the finished structure looked better than he’d imagined. The boardwalk leading to it was smooth and wide enough for Matthew’s wheelchair.
But the crowning jewel of the project wasn’t the structure itself but the boy he’d built it for. Matthew was sitting in the front engine room, a train conductor’s hat perched jauntily on his head as he tooted the horn and spoke to his imaginary passengers and crew. The young boy had quite an imagination, and he was enthusiastically happy with the new playhouse. Jacob closed his eyes, prayed that Gotte would bless young Matthew, and his family—his grandparents, his aunts and uncles, and of course his mother.
He’d no sooner thought of Hannah than she appeared before him, clutching an envelope in her hand.
“Hire me to work in your office.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sally Lapp says you’re looking for someone.”
“Ya, I am.”
“So why haven’t you offered the job to me?” She took a step closer and Jacob took a step back.
“I didn’t think—”
“Didn’t think I could handle it?”
“Of course you can, but—”
“I beat your class at math drills even though you were two years older.”
“I remember.”
“And I have experience in accounting. I did some before Matthew was born.”
“That’s gut, but—”
She waved the envelope in front of his face so that he had to step back again or risk being swiped by it.
“Do you know what this is? A notice from the bank. Dat has less than a month to come up with his back payments. If he doesn’t, they’ll begin the foreclosure process.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“While you were out here building a playhouse my parents stand to lose their farm.”
“The playhouse didn’t—”
“Didn’t cost them anything? Ya, I know. But we do. Matthew and I do. There’s the extra food and the clothing and Matthew’s medical expenses...” Her eyes shone brightly with tears, and she quickly pivoted away.
He gave her a moment—counted to three and then did so again. Finally he stepped forward and said, “I’d be pleased to have you work in my office. I didn’t ask because I wasn’t sure you’d want such a challenge.”
He couldn’t bring himself to admit that he didn’t think she’d want to be around him, that his scars might repulse her or even remind her of Matthew’s accident.
“You don’t think I’m up to it, do you?” The fire was back—softer, simmering this time.
“I don’t doubt your bookkeeping skills, Hannah. However, I’m not sure you realize how terrible I am at filing and record keeping.”
Hannah waved that away. “I know all about that. I even know you had one girl quit after only a day.”
“And I didn’t blame her.”
“So what did you plan to do?”
“About?”
“About the IRS audit.” Hannah squinted up at him quizzically, waiting to hear what his plan was. Only Jacob didn’t have a
plan.
“I still have almost three weeks. I figured...well, I figured it would work itself out somehow.”
“That’s not a plan.”
“You’ve got me there.”
“Is this a permanent position?”
“I haven’t really thought about it.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“It could be, I guess. Don’t know how much work there would be once the records are straightened out. I guess we could get past the audit and then decide.”
Hannah crossed her arms and studied the playhouse, really saw it for maybe the first time since he’d begun construction. “It’s a gut playhouse.”
“Ya, it is.”
“Matthew loves it.”
“He’s a great kid.”
“Danki.”
“Ger gschehne.” And there it was, a tangible bond between them—the ways of their parents and grandparents, the river of their past that set them apart and also drew them together.
“I’ll start Monday,” she said and then she named what she expected to make per hour.
Jacob almost laughed. He would readily pay more if she was able to get him out of the paperwork jam he’d created, but instead of offering more he simply nodded. Perhaps he could give her a bonus once the audit was complete.
Hannah’s eyebrows rose in surprise that he’d agreed, but she was holding something back. She was chewing on her thumbnail, a habit they’d all teased her about in school. The memory blossomed in Jacob’s mind with the force of a winter wind—Hannah standing at the board, worrying her thumbnail as she worked out some impossibly difficult math problem. At least it had seemed impossible to him.
“What is it?” he asked, the question coming out more gruffly than he’d intended. “What’s worrying you?”
She stood straighter, glanced at her son and then looked back at Jacob. “I’ll need to take off during Matthew’s appointments.”
“Of course.”
“So you wouldn’t...you wouldn’t mind?”
“Nein. Your son’s therapy is important. I would be a fool not to understand that.”
Amish Beginnings Page 5