But her warmth shifts, changes, not to a chill, but to a simmering, smoldering burn. “But you cannot run!” she adds. “You must fight!”
I look at her, and she back at me, our eyes locked and bridging the generations. I cry a bit more, this time a frustrated chuckle rolling out slathered in my grateful tears. I nod that I understand, and she smiles that she is honored by my understanding. We communicate without words, without gestures, just the relaxing quiver of my panted breathing, and the quiet love of her ancient agelessness.
She sits quietly as I step out of her room, closing the door behind me. Then I turn and step into my future, entirely uncertain of what it holds. I will fight, just as she told me to.
I’m just not sure how.
But when I turn and see Simon, looking up at me from one bent knee, I know the answer.
“Simon?”
He takes my hand. “Hannah, listen to me. We haven’t known each other long, but I feel like I’ve known you my whole life, and even since before that. When I met you, all my questions and doubts were driven away.”
I can’t help but smile, and I don’t want to help it.
He’s doing it, I hear myself think, he’s proposing. Is it possible? Am I really going to get what I want, after a lifetime of being denied and refused and rebuked, even by those I loved and trusted most? Is this happiness kneeling before me, a wish come true, a fairy tale with me as the princess?
For once.
And this glorious once is all I need, if it is true.
Lord, God, say that it is!
He goes on: “I know other people may have doubts, and you might even have doubts yourself, about...well, about whatever! If you have questions, I can only hope you’ll let me find the answers with you, and to face them by your side, whatever they may be.”
I try to speak, but cannot. It’s probably just as well, because I’m having too much fun listening.
It’s true, it really is! Ask it, Simon, please, hurry up and ask it before I burst with joy!
He says, “I can’t imagine life without you, because without you, there won’t be any life for me. And together, I know we can create new life, for ourselves and for others, in the names of God and love and everything else we know to be true. Because those things, and each other, are the things we’ll always be able to rely on.”
Then, through panted breaths, I find the strength to whisper, “Yes.”
Simon smiles, pulling a ring out of his pocket and holding it up for me to see. “My Gramm’s wedding ring. She’d given it to my father to give to my mother, and she’s held onto it all this time. Waiting to give it to me...so I could give it...to you.”
I want to answer, but my joyous gasp is all that I can offer, and all I need to offer. Simon asks me, “Hannah Schroeder, will you please give me your hand in marriage?”
The room is spinning again, but this time it is as though it is flying off into space, a magic carpet ride with me and Simon as honored guests. My head quivers a bit, then juts up and down quickly, a nod fueled by unbridled enthusiasm. My right hand trembles as he slips that old and beautiful ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly.
We fit perfectly.
Yes, yes, oh yes, a thousand times yes yes yes yes yes!
But all I can say, all I need say, is, “Yes, Simon...I will marry you.”
Simon’s smile breaks across his face, a gleeful crescent with points rising up toward his eyes, now glistening with happy tears. Simon rises in front of me, as if for the first time, a new man.
My man.
We kiss, our tongues meeting once more, a refreshing reunion that celebrates the fulfillment of promises they themselves made to each other, and to us, such a short and blessed time ago. He wraps those amazing arms around me, pulling me so close that I can feel his heartbeat pounding against my own chest, my heart calling out to his as they begin to beat as one.
* * *
As happy as I am about marrying Simon, I feel even more empowered by it. And I’m still chaffing a bit about what Lilly did to Rebecca, how she used those children as a weapon. But to be truthful, I don’t feel great about the kids either. I know they were only pawns in another person’s game. And I know that if their parents haven’t reprimanded them, then it’s more a reflection of the parents’ attitudes toward us than the kids’ attitudes. And again, I know that comes down to Lilly and her small-town talk and gossip campaign rather than anything true or incisive about me or my family.
But I also know that if I don’t step in and teach those children where they went wrong, show them the error of their ways, then I am failing them as much as their parents or Lilly. They won’t learn a valuable lesson about right and wrong, and they’d go on to do more wrong, at the behest of another twisted and angry spirit. And that, I just can’t allow.
Not any more than I can allow a pack of undisciplined brats to bully my poor sister.
So I show up to the schoolhouse unannounced, something I normally wouldn’t do. And I know the weight of the baggage I carry in with me: my sister’s had a breakdown, my granduncle was a well-known lunatic. I’m the sister of the monkey boy, for crying out loud!
Which is exactly why I have to go. I see that Lilly has stepped into Rebecca’s place as schoolteacher, or perhaps she’s stepped back into the role. I don’t know and I don’t really care.
I’m here on other business.
Lilly says, “Why, Hannah, what an...unexpected surprise.”
“Aren’t all surprises unexpected?” I ask, stepping into the room without being invited. “I just wanted to share a little something with the children, a message from their teacher...”
“I’m their teacher,” Lilly says.
“From my sister,” I say, stressing the point. I won’t back down, not now and not ever, as far as she’s concerned, and she may as well step back and leave me to my business. Which she does.
Smart girl.
I turn to the kids and clap my hands once to grab their attention. I’m smiling. They’re buying it. “Well, it’s good to meet you all. My name is Hannah Schroeder, Rebecca is my sister. So, first of all, I want to tell you all that she sends her best and wants you to know that she’s doing very well. She also, well, she doesn’t want any of you to feel badly about what happened, that was very important to her, she really stressed that I say to you all that you don’t have any reason to feel, I dunno, ashamed...” I really start stretching it out here, driving my point home. I even start strolling down one of the aisles, mingling among them.
“Or remorseful, or embarrassed.”
“Why should they?” Lilly asks me in a snitty little tone. “They’re just children.”
I turn quickly, exaggerating my movements and my tone, performing, I realize. And enjoying it.
I say, “Quite right. It’s not like they’re adults, who are capable of knowing right from wrong. And it’s not like they’re a stampeding herd of cattle, mindlessly trampling over some poor innocent in their animal drive toward absolutely nothing. They’re not a pack of wild dogs, living on the streets, driven by blood thirst!”
The children straighten up at this, frightened by my language just as I intend.
“No, these are kids, just kids, lovely, innocent children.”
They seem to relax a bit, their little postures easing with the more friendly tone of my voice. Then I pull them sharply in the other direction. In a less patient tone, I add, “They’re little boys and little girls, not even close to being grownup. They say stupid, immature things because they don’t know the difference, they don’t realize the kind of harm they can do.”
I’m speaking as much to the children as to Lilly, doing so much as to look them deep in the eyes as I stroll around the room, casually cruel, but only to teach them a very specific and very important lesson that they weren’t going to get anywhere else.
Well, their getting it now. Here. From me.
“I think you should go,” Lilly says.
“Of course, you’re right aga
in,” I say, once more too quick to agree for it to be sincere. Turning back to the kids, I say, “After all, Lilly is here to help you. She’s giving freely of her time to share things with you that you need to know. And she’s allowing you this time to learn from her experiences, and to learn from each other. School isn’t just some person standing in front of a bunch of kids, right? It’s the experience, the building of all these friendships...”
I turn to Lilly and add, now speaking to the kids and not directly to her, “Friendships that may last a lifetime.”
She turns her head and crosses her arms over her chest.
I turn back and stroll among the kids. “And it’s thanks to people like Lilly, and my sister Rebecca, who make it possible for you to have these fun times, during what I know you’ll look back on as some of your favorite years. Anyway, she’s your teacher and we should treat her with respect, right?”
Silence answers me, silence slathered in shame.
I add, “Because it would truly be a sin for you to abuse somebody who is so generous with you, who is so free and giving of her soul and her love and her purity. That would be a shameful, stupid thing to do, wouldn’t it?”
The kids sit, some of them nodding before Lilly’s glare stilled them.
I go on: “But even if that were to happen, we all mistakes, don’t we? And that’s not the best thing in the world. But it’s not so bad because every mistake is an opportunity - an opportunity to learn from your mistakes, and to learn one of the great, lost arts, the art of the apology.”
Lilly rolls her eyes, but a quick glare from me backs her further into the corner behind her desk.
I say to the kids, “Didn’t you know that? To apologize is one of the great things you can ever do! Since we all make mistakes, that’s inevitable. But there is a trick, an almost magical technique you can do to correct that mistake. It’s this close to being able to go back in time.” To their newly amazed expressions, I say, “And that’s to apologize.”
The kids’ eyes are locked on me now, so taken with my presentation. Instead of lecturing them, I’ve seduced their interest in an adventure and now they’re hooked.
Time to reel them in.
“But not everybody can do it. So listen up and I’ll share this amazing secret with you.” As one, they all lean forward, sharing a communal gasp, eyes wide. “First thing, you have to do it. I mean, that may sound obvious, but a lot of people just can’t do it, they can’t physically bring themselves to say it.” I approach one toe-headed ten-year-old. “Just as an experiment, let’s try it. Can you say it?”
Toe-head shrugs and nods.
“Let’s hear it.”
He sits, squirming in his seat.
“C’mon, just say it. Here, I’ll show you how easy it is: I’m sorry.” I pause and look around. “Hey, look, nothing fell out of the sky and landed on my head, no warts breaking out all over.” The kids laugh and I say to toe-head. “You try.”
After a nervous moment, toe-head pushed out a feeble, barely audible, “I’m sorry.”
I look around, exaggerating my joy. “Folks, did you hear that? He said it, he said it! And look, no volcanoes bursting up out of the ground, his head didn’t turn into a pumpkin...” The kids laugh even louder, Lilly rolling her eyes in the corner.
“See, it doesn’t hurt.” I turn to a little girl on my other side. “Give it a try?”
“I’m sorry,” she says, trying to withhold a giggle.
“Nice one,” I say, turning to the others. “And, oh no, it’s a disaster!” After a tiny pause, I add, “Nothing’s happened, we’re all fine!”
I turn to another kid. “Hit me!”
“I’m sorry.”
“Nice one,” I say and we do a fist-bump. I turn to another youngster. “Whaddaya say, big fella?”
“I’m sorry!”
“No problem, my man!” Around me, the kids all throw up their own individual exclamations of I’m sorry, peppered with their own relieved giggles. I hold my hand up to quiet them.
“So, nothing bad happens to us when we say that, as you can see! Not sure why some people can’t say it, but not us, right?” They cheer, Lilly shrugs and I smile.
This is my favorite day so far in Lancaster, and this is the place I met my fiancée!
I go on: “But there is something great that happens to us. See, when we hurt somebody, that’s us hurting ourselves, that’s us hurting God, fighting against God. And when we apologize, we show that we’re better than that, that we’re fighting alongside each other and not against each other, which we’re fighting alongside God and not against God.”
Silence fills the classroom now, the power of the Almighty casting a pallor over my audience. I have cleverly drawn them in with a mixture of humor and guidance and even fear, and now I leave it to the power of faith to drive my point home.
“You remember the first two commandments, right? Love God, and love one another. Well, an apology is one of the best ways there is to love each other. See, when we make mistakes, a lot of times that winds up causing other people a lot of pain or sorrow, which didn’t need to happen. That’s what happens with mistakes, it’s what makes them so important to avoid.” I turn to shoot Lilly a mean glare before adding, “Because they hurt people, very often they hurt the people we love. That means we hurt the ones we love with every mistake.”
The kids sit in solemn silence, absorbing the lesson I came to teach and which they need to hear.
I say, “But there’s the power of our time-machine magic move, the apology. Because when you apologize, not only can you reverse the damage to yourself, to your relationship with God, you can also reverse the damage you did to someone else, you can help to take away the pain you helped to create. It’s not exactly going back in time, but it’s just about the next best thing. And if you can do it, you’ll have power and strength that may not be magic, but it will work wonders for you, believe me.”
I step slowly back toward the front of the classroom. “Well, I think we’ve all learned a lot here.” I turn toward Lilly, our eyes lock - her expression reads angry determination, eyes cold and teeth clenched.
I smile before turning back to the kids. “I know you’ll all give this a lot of thought and consideration, and you won’t miss the opportunity to do what’s right and maybe correct some of your own recent mistakes.”
I fade back and out of the classroom, and when I’m halfway home I know they’re all still thinking about it and that they will never, ever forget it. Whether they learned anything from it is something else again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
My first decision surprises even me. Once we choose the date (as soon as possible!) and place (Simon’s family farm), I take Simon’s carriage (and Simon) to my own family’s farmhouse, just a few miles away.
We want to invite them personally to the wedding and try to end my feud with them now, once and for all.
We knock on the door and stand, waiting. I can hear footsteps inside, and both carriages are parked near the side of the house. They’re home. And they’re ignoring us.
“Maybe they don’t want us here,” Simon says.
“They definitely don’t,” is all I can say, but that doesn’t keep me from knocking again, even louder. It’s because they don’t want us that we’re here at all. Another long wait. Another refusal to answer.
Simon and I exchange a glance that shares our mutual sense of despair. I know Simon is patient and supportive and that he’ll stand here with me for as long as I care to wait, but I really don’t care to wait any longer. I’d had a thought that they might not want to see me, or perhaps that nobody would be home. So I wrote them an invitation letter, which I now pull out of my pocket and slip into the crack between the front door and the jab.
Simon and I turn, clasp hands, and walk away.
We make it about twenty feet away from the house when I hear the door open behind us. We turn, to see Daed standing in the opened doorway, my letter in his hand. He looks at it, and the
n at us. With a snarl, he crumples it up and tosses the jagged little paper ball at us, landing to roll on the gravel at our feet.
I ask,“You won’t even read it?”
“Doesn’t matter what it says,” Daed replies before pulling himself back into the house and slamming the door.
A few little thuds from above grab our attention, and we look up to see Abram in his bedroom window. He’s looking at us, waving from behind the pane. I smile in the glare and wave back. Abram turns to see something (or someone) behind him, then pulls quickly away from the window.
That’s our cue.
Simon and I turn to leave before we get poor Abram into even more trouble.
“I can’t stand to leave him here with them,” I say as we approach Simon’s carriage and he helps me in. “And I certainly don’t want to get married without him being there, or any of them, really.”
“Even after what they’ve done to you and your siblings?”
“Of course. Simon, they’re my family.”
Simon nods and crosses around the back of the carriage, then climbs in and takes the reins. “Then we’ll do our best to make it happen. We’ll get Abram there if we have to wrap him up in an area rug and smuggle him out of here.”
He shakes the reins and we roll on, leaving my family behind.
For now.
* * *
We’ve decided to have the wedding in one month’s time, which will give everyone in the community plenty of time to make sure they can attend. It’s important to both me and Simon that the entire community be there, if possible. Simon’s farm is big enough, and after the rooms fill, we can seat others at long communal tables in the back.
We want as many people to come as possible for a number of excellent reasons. I personally want to show Lancaster County that my family isn’t crazy or odd or strange, and that neither am I. I want to bring honor back to our family name. And although Simon is already well-regarded in the community, he knows that we’re forming a new family of our own, and he’s every bit as keen on seeing us accepted into the community as a new family. It’s important for us, for the children we hope to have.
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