by Marta Perry
“Ach, William’s bright enough, and the best thing that could have happened to him was going to work with his cousin Caleb in the shop. He’s got a gift with his hands, so Caleb says, and Caleb’s a master woodworker himself, so he’d know. The boy will maybe find a little respect for himself there.”
“Not a boy,” Hannah murmured, taking the cup from Jamie, who was nearly asleep on her shoulder. She rubbed his back, cherishing the feel of his small warm body against her.
“No, you’re right. He’s not.” Aunt Paula touched Jamie’s brown curls in a quick caress. “William seems younger than he is, no doubt because of the stutter.”
Hannah nodded, moving toward the stairs that led up to the apartment above the shop. She would put Jamie in his crib and—
“I’m nearly forgetting.” Aunt Paula’s voice lifted. “That’s what you were studying in college, wasn’t it? Before you got married, I mean?”
“Speech therapy.”
She’d gotten interested when she’d babysat for a family with a child who stuttered. The Davises had been so helpful, encouraging her and aiding her with loan applications so she could go to school. That had been her only goal, until Travis came along.
But Travis had loved her. It had seemed meant to be, that they should love each other and get married and make a home together always.
Always hadn’t lasted very long. Just a few short years of moving from one army base to another. She’d been pregnant when his unit shipped out to Afghanistan. Travis had never seen his son, and she’d quickly learned that a mother with a young child and an incomplete education had very little chance of making a home of any kind, even with the military’s death benefits.
“You could help William.” Aunt Paula, not able to follow Hannah’s thoughts, smiled broadly. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before. You can teach William, help him get over his stutter.”
“No, no, I couldn’t,” she said quickly. “I’m not qualified. I never finished school, and besides—”
“Well, you’re as near to qualified as William is likely to get,” Aunt Paula said briskly. “It would be an act of charity to help him.” She said it as if that were the defining argument, as it probably was to anyone brought up Mennonite, accustomed as they were to the idea of service.
But Hannah hadn’t been Mennonite since she was a child, and as much as she’d like to help, her instincts told her it was a bad idea to get involved in William’s problems.
“I really don’t—”
“Just think about it.” Aunt Paula patted her shoulder. “You’ll see I’m right. It would be good for you, too, to make use of your education.”
Hannah hesitated, but then she nodded. Agreeing to think about it was easy. Marshaling the arguments against it was more difficult.
Especially since she didn’t want to use the strongest one—that she intended to go back to the outside world as soon as she could swing it financially.
The familiar worry settled on her, darkening the sunny day. How long could she go on staying here, accepting Aunt Paula’s home and her help, without her aunt expecting Hannah to commit to her way of life?
* * *
“Paula had our coffee break all ready for us, ja?” William’s cousin Caleb pulled a cruller from the bag, spilling a little powdered sugar on the maple bench he’d been polishing.
“You’d b-best not l-let K-Katie see you making such a m-mess,” William teased.
“There, all better.” Caleb wiped the sugar with a polishing cloth. “Katie’s out talking to some of the sisters about plans for the fall charity auction. She’ll never know.”
Katie Miller, who owned the quilt shop that was attached to Caleb’s cabinetmaking business, would be marrying Caleb this fall. It had been a long time since William had seen his cousin look as happy and settled as he did since Katie came into his life.
“W-women are always busy,” William said, taking the top off his foam cup and blowing gently on the steaming coffee.
Funny, how easy it was to talk with Caleb—far easier than talking to his own brother. But Isaac wasn’t much of a listener, not like Caleb was.
Besides, working with wood just seemed to calm a person. As if he knew what William was thinking, Caleb ran a hand along the curved back of the bench that was William’s latest project, his touch seeming as affectionate as if the wood were alive.
“Ja, women are,” Caleb said. “Katie especially.” His face warmed as it always did when he spoke of her.
“Katie especially what?” Quick, light footsteps accompanied the words, and Katie came through the archway that linked the two shops, smiling at Caleb in a way that suggested he was the only man in the world.
“Katie especially is busy, ain’t so?” Caleb said, reaching out to link his fingers with hers. “If I’d known you’d be back this soon, Will could have brought you a cruller.”
“I’ll just have a bite of yours.” She broke off a small piece, turning her smile on William. “You’ve been down to Paula’s bakery already, I see. Was her niece there?”
“J-ja.” Hannah’s soft brown curls seemed to frame her heart-shaped face in his mind.
Katie nodded. “It’s been a gut thing for Paula, having Hannah komm to stay. Paula was telling me yesterday how busy she’s been.”
“We’ve all been busy,” Caleb reminded her. “You and the other merchants worked so hard this summer to bring more people to town—now you have to work harder to keep up with them.”
“That’s better than having no customers at all,” Katie said, her tone teasing. “Where would you be without me?”
“All alone,” William said. “A g-grumpy old b-bachelor.”
Caleb grinned. “You’re right about that, for sure. Still, I have to wonder sometimes if Katie won’t be too busy even to marry me, come November.”
“Just you try and get away.” Katie raised their linked hands. “I won’t let you go. William would help me hog-tie you, ain’t so?”
William nodded, responding with a smile to their teasing. He liked seeing the two of them so happy. And he’d like to believe that someday he’d find what Caleb had with Katie.
But the years seemed to be slipping away, and it almost felt as if life was passing him by. As if he were intended always to be on the fringe of things, watching other people’s lives.
That image of Hannah Conroy slid back into his mind. With her Englisch dress and manner, Hannah seemed out of place behind the counter at the Plain Good Bakery, as if she didn’t quite belong, either.
“About Hannah,” Katie said, almost as if she were reading his thoughts. “I heard something today that surprised me.”
“J-ja?” He couldn’t help the spark of interest he felt.
“Of course we knew that Hannah was a widow.” Sympathy filled Katie’s face. “Poor thing, so young and with a baby to care for, besides. But I’d never heard until today how her husband died.” She hesitated, her forehead wrinkling. “He was a soldier, did you know that? Killed in combat, they say.”
William absorbed that, trying to understand. A Mennonite woman married to a soldier? Mennonites and Amish shared a fundamental devotion to nonviolence, governing their lives by it. He understood the perplexity that underlay Katie’s words. It just didn’t seem possible.
“I d-d-didn’t know.” He saw again the strain written in the lines around Hannah’s brown eyes. Maybe that explained, at least a little, the isolation he sensed in her.
“Hannah’s parents left the valley when she was a child,” Caleb said. “I suppose they might have left the church, as well. I do remember hearing Mamm talk about how sorry she was for Paula, losing the sister she was so close to.”
“It’s gut that she has Hannah back, I guess,” Katie said. “With no kinder of her own, Paula needs someone to take care of. I’ve seen how sh
e dotes on that little boy . . . so cute he is with those big brown eyes like his mammi’s.” Katie paused for a moment. “I just hope it works out for them. An Englisch woman and a soldier’s widow, as well—it seems strange that she’d want to stay here.”
“Ja,” William said softly, thinking of the sorrow in Hannah’s face, the innocent laughter of her little son. How hard her life must seem to her right now.
At least, with her aunt she’d found a resting place. A person didn’t have to be interested in her to see that, to sympathize, and maybe to hope she’d stay.
* * *
Hannah stood for a few minutes by the crib that evening, listening to Jamie’s soft, even breathing. His cheeks were rosy, and his soft brown hair, still damp from his bath, curled on his neck.
“God bless you, little man,” she whispered. Giving him a final pat, she tiptoed out of the small room.
She eased the door closed. The monitor would tell her if Jamie woke, but he was a good sleeper, up in the night only when he was sick.
They were fortunate that Aunt Paula’s apartment was large enough to give each of them a bedroom. When Hannah had stayed with her friend Megan and her family, she and Jamie had been cramped into a room hardly larger than a closet.
Not that she’d complained, of course. If Megan and Jeff hadn’t taken her in when she’d had to move out of base housing, she wasn’t sure what she’d have done.
Come here, maybe, as she had eventually anyway. She certainly hadn’t belonged on the army base, even as a guest, once Travis was gone. When she’d finally been honest with Aunt Paula about her situation, her aunt had responded with two words. Come home. She’d never forget that, and never stop being grateful.
She walked out to the living room, finally getting used to the quiet after nearly two months here. Black bumper Mennonites like Aunt Paula drove cars and allowed electricity and telephones in their homes, even computers, but not television or Internet access. She still hadn’t quite figured out the reasons why one technology was okay and another banned, but as long as she lived with Aunt Paula, she’d follow her rules.
Those first months after Travis died she’d had the television on twenty-four hours a day, just for the sake of hearing another voice. But she was past that now. Her aunt must be down in the bakery kitchen, preparing for the next day. Picking up the baby monitor, Hannah hurried down the stairs.
At the sound of Hannah’s footsteps, Aunt Paula looked up from the bread she was kneading. “Is he asleep then, the precious lamb?”
“Out like a light.” Hannah set the monitor on the counter and washed her hands at the sink. “What can I do?”
Aunt Paula nodded toward the bowls draped with tea towels that sat atop the stove. “That rye dough should be ready for punching down and forming into loaves already.”
Hannah nodded, tying one of the large white aprons over her clothes. Sure enough, the dough had risen well over the top of the bowl. She punched it down, turned it out onto a floured board, and set to work, moving in tandem with her aunt, working on the opposite side of the table. The risen dough had its own scent and texture, and she took pleasure in feeling it work under her hands.
At first she’d been virtually useless in the bakery, fit only for waiting on tables in the coffee shop section and making change. But desire was a great teacher. She wanted more than anything to pull her weight as long as she was here. Besides, it was fascinating. There was so much more to the bakery than she’d imagined, and her aunt made it all look almost effortless.
But Aunt Paula really did need her. Running the bakery was too much for one person, and the Amish women who worked for her came only during the day.
“Naomi Esch is coming in early tomorrow,” Aunt Paula said, as if she’d been following Hannah’s thoughts. “So you don’t have to rush around in the morning. If you can just come down during our busiest time . . .”
“Of course I will,” she said quickly. “Jamie will be fine while we’re working.”
They’d set up a corner of the shop with some of Jamie’s favorite toys, turning it into a little tot lot where he’d be safe. For the most part, he played well enough, though he’d attempted to escape a few times.
That would only get worse as he grew older. It was a temporary solution, just as her being here was.
“I’d like to have Naomi work a few more hours a week through the fall.” Aunt Paula prepared the dough for a second rising, patting it as if it were a child. “But if she can’t—well, I don’t need to tell you again what a relief it is to have you here to help.”
Hannah’s throat tightened. That was Aunt Paula, always making it sound as if Hannah were doing her a favor, instead of the other way around.
“You know we love being here. If you hadn’t stepped in . . .”
She let that trail off, shaking her head. If she thought too much of those last few months, trying to find a job, trying to find someone reliable to watch Jamie when she worked, afraid all the time that she wouldn’t be able to pay the rent . . . Well, it was best not to dwell on that.
Aunt Paula reached out a floury hand to clasp hers for a moment. “Let’s chust say we both benefit, ja?” The Pennsylvania Dutch accent was more pronounced, as if emotion brought it out. “Having you here is like having my little sister back again.”
Hannah tensed, as she always did when Aunt Paula wanted to talk about Mom. The woman Paula remembered as her little sister didn’t seem to bear any resemblance to Hannah’s mother.
She struggled not to show her feelings. “You still miss her, don’t you?”
“Miss her. Remember her. I’d begun to give up on the idea of having a sister by the time she was born, after all those boys in between. And then Elizabeth came along.” She smiled, her eyes misty. “It was almost like she was my baby. She followed me everywhere. I never thought anything could change how close we were.”
Hannah wasn’t sure what to say. Her mother had depended on her big sister—that much was obvious. Maybe losing touch with her when they’d moved away had contributed to her downward slide. Or maybe it would have happened anyway, no matter where she’d been.
Aunt Paula set the dough back for a second rising and began helping Hannah form the rye dough into the round loaves that were one of her specialties. She sighed, and Hannah knew she was still thinking of that little sister.
“I never understood it.” Her aunt’s hands worked the dough automatically, as if she could do it in her sleep. “It always seemed as if Elizabeth was looking for something she couldn’t find.” She looked searchingly at Hannah. “Did she find it out there, in the outside world?”
Hannah shook her head. “No. I don’t think so.” Whatever it was Mom had hoped to find had probably been swamped by the depression that took over her life.
Took over Hannah’s life, too, in a way. Dad had come home less and less, not able to cope with his wife’s illness. Finally he’d stopped coming at all.
And Hannah’s childhood had been measured by how well her mother was. There’d been the bright days, when Mom had gotten up and dressed and put food on the table and talked about how Hannah was doing in school. And the bad days, when she hadn’t gotten out of bed at all.
“I’m sorry,” Aunt Paula said softly. “I shouldn’t have reminded you.”
Hannah shook her head. “It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not. You had to deal with your mother’s illness all alone after your daad left. If I’d known . . . if she’d stayed here . . .”
If her parents had stayed here in Pleasant Valley, what would her life have been? Maybe she’d have worked here in the bakery with Aunt Paula, just as she was doing now. Or maybe she’d have married early and have a houseful of children by this time.
Either way, she’d have known what it was to feel secure. That was what had been missing in her life from the day they�
��d moved away—that sense of having a safe, certain home.
That was what she had to give Jamie, no matter what the cost. Her heart clenched. She must never let him feel as lost as she had.
But this life was too restricted. That was probably why her parents had left. Jamie’s future wasn’t here, and neither was hers.
“We have worship this Sunday,” Aunt Paula said, with a change of subject that startled her.
“Yes, I know.” The small churchhouse where Aunt Paula’s Mennonite congregation worshipped was shared on alternate Sundays with another Mennonite group, the horse-and-buggy Mennonites, from whom they’d split years ago. It seemed strange to her, the two groups sharing a building, but everyone in Pleasant Valley seemed to take it for granted.
“I was wondering . . . I was thinking . . .” Aunt Paula seemed to be having trouble getting it out, whatever it was.
“Yes? Is there something you want me to do for church?”
“I wondered if you’d consider starting to wear Mennonite dress.” Aunt Paula said the words all in a rush, indicating her print dress with a wave of her hand.
Words failed Hannah. There it was—the pressure she’d feared, her aunt’s expectation that she would commit to a life here.
She couldn’t. She’d attended worship with Aunt Paula since she’d arrived, even finding comfort in the simple, quiet services. But that was as far as it could go.
“I’m not asking that you be baptized or anything.” Aunt Paula’s tone was worried. “I don’t want you to think that I’m putting conditions on you. It’s just . . .”
“You’d feel more comfortable if your niece looked less like an outsider,” Hannah said, finishing the thought for her.
Hannah had known this moment would come, but she still wasn’t prepared for it. She’d dressed Plain when she was a child, of course. Maybe even for the first few months after they’d left the valley. But that had worn off, just as the other things that once seemed an immutable part of their lives had gone.