by Marta Perry
“I will.” But she was afraid there wasn’t anything anyone could do. “I have to get off the phone now.” Because her voice was thickening and she’d start to cry if she stayed on any longer. “I’ll talk to you again and let you know what’s happening.”
After she’d hung up she stood for a moment, wiping her palms on her skirt. Megan did sound grieved at the results of her hasty act. Maybe she’d even stop arranging people’s lives for them for a bit. But it was too late to undo this situation with Robert.
Hannah went slowly back to the kitchen. She’d like to indulge in a good cry, but that wouldn’t mend anything. And she wouldn’t leave Aunt Paula alone to finish the work on her own.
Aunt Paula, her face apprehensive, was watching the stairs when Hannah came down. “Was it bad news, then?”
“Not exactly.” She went back to the table, but in her absence, Aunt Paula had finished the bread. Hannah began cleaning up. “It was Megan. She told me she was sorry.”
Aunt Paula nodded. “Now that she knows what her careless act caused, she regrets it. She was your friend. What did you say?”
Hannah picked up the bowl and stood holding it cradled against her. “I said that I forgive her. Now I’ll try to do it.”
“Forgiveness is not easy.” Her aunt sighed. “I was a long time forgiving your mamm and daad for going away. It seemed to me they didn’t think about the people who would be hurt.”
Hannah considered. “I think Mammi didn’t really want to leave. She always tried to do whatever Daadi wanted. She’d just go along, whatever it was.”
“But if that’s so, why didn’t she komm back after he went away? Elizabeth must have known I’d have taken her in.”
Aunt Paula’s obvious distress made Hannah wish she hadn’t spoken. Maybe she was as bad as Megan, speaking without thinking about the consequences.
“There was nothing you could have done. If anyone should have helped, it was me, but I didn’t understand her depression.”
Aunt Paula came to her. She put her arms around Hannah and hugged her close. “It is all right. We both did the best we could.”
Hannah’s throat tightened. “I should have tried harder to get her to go into the hospital. But she refused, and the suggestion upset her so much . . .”
Her voice trailed off. It was an old hurt, and it had never really left, lingering with what-ifs.
Aunt Paula patted her cheek. “Listen to me, my Hannah. We must forgive other people their wrongs against us. And we must also forgive ourselves. It is God’s will, in the end.”
“Ja. I know,” she whispered. But perhaps that was the hardest forgiveness of all.
* * *
The morning rush was over at the bakery on Saturday, and Hannah had taken Jamie out of his play yard to run about in the bakery. He ducked between the tables, giggling when Naomi played peek-a-boo with him around the chairs.
The bell jingled, and a small boy came sidling in, looking shyly toward the counter.
“What is it, Thomas?” Aunt Paula paused, hands full of the whoopie pies she was putting into the case. “Did your mamm send you for something?”
He shook his head, blond hair nearly hiding his eyes. He came forward and held out a note to Hannah. She took it, managing a smile for the boy. “Denke.” But a frisson of apprehension slid down her spine.
“Denke, Thomas,” Paula added. “Have you room in your tummy for a whoopie pie?”
He nodded, grinning, and took the waxed-paper-wrapped treat. He ducked his head toward Hannah and darted out, apparently not needing to wait for a response.
Hannah ripped the envelope open and scanned the contents, aware of Aunt Paula’s gaze on her.
“What is it?” Her aunt slid the whoopie pies into the case and moved next to her.
Hannah handed her the note, frowning. “It’s from the bishop. He says he has some early apples you might want, if I’ll come by this afternoon and get them.” She glanced from her aunt to Naomi, who’d finished wiping the tables and now came closer, face troubled. “What do you think this is about?”
The other two women exchanged glances. “More than chust apples,” Aunt Paula said, and Naomi nodded.
“Not anything bad,” Naomi said quickly. “If it was, he’d for sure komm here, maybe with the deacon.”
Hannah breathed a little easier. The patterns of Amish and black-bumper Mennonites were similar enough here in Pleasant Valley that Naomi would know.
“But what, then?” She stared down at the paper as if it would yield a clue.
“He’s maybe heard some talk about Mr. Conroy being here.” Aunt Paula sounded tentative, which was unusual for her. But then, the current situation was beyond her normal experience, wasn’t it?
“I hope he’s not upset about the talk.” Hannah pressed her fingers against her forehead, trying to ease the tension there. “Well, I’ll have to go.” At least when she was out, she wouldn’t be waiting and wondering when Robert would pop in with another ultimatum.
Aunt Paula clasped her hand. “Shall I go with you then?”
“I’d better go by myself. But thank you. If you can watch Jamie . . .”
“Ach, don’t worry about that.” Naomi smiled as Jamie ran into her, holding up his locomotive for her approval. “We will be fine, ja?”
Paula nodded. “Ja. But if you change your mind, I will go gladly.”
But it was best that she do this alone. Hannah was still convinced of that a couple of hours later, when she drove her aunt’s car into the lane at Bishop Ephraim’s orchard. If Naomi was wrong, and this was going to involve a lecture on her behavior, she’d rather not have an audience.
Miriam, the bishop’s rosy little dumpling of a wife, came out onto the porch at the sound of the car. She shielded her eyes with her hand, smiling when Hannah got out.
“Ach, Hannah, it is you. Ephraim said you’d be here for apples this afternoon. He’s up in the orchard. Chust go on up.” She pointed at the gentle rise behind the farmhouse, where the grove of apple trees spread out. “And stop in for a glass of lemonade when you’re done, if you have time, ja?”
“I will, denke.” Hannah started back toward the narrow lane that led to the orchard, moving quickly. Maybe she was trying to outrun her apprehension, but if so, it wasn’t working.
Bishop Ephraim was on a ladder, picking apples into a basket he had hooked onto a branch. He greeted her with a wave and tossed an apple down to her.
“Early apples are ser gut this year. Your aunt will like them for pies and applesauce cake.”
“I’m sure she will.” Hannah held the apple, warm and smooth in her hand. Inhaling brought its sweet scent wafting toward her.
“There is another basket.” He pointed. “You pick the low ones and I’ll get the high ones, and we’ll soon have a bushel.”
Obeying, Hannah took the basket and began to pick, checking each apple to be sure it was ripe. The orchard was quiet, the only sound the plunk of apples falling into baskets and the repeated call of a bobwhite, somewhere in the trees.
The apprehension drained out of her. Nothing in the bishop’s attitude suggested that he planned to reprimand her. Maybe this was only what it seemed . . . the neighborly offer of apples.
“I hear you have been working with William Brand, helping him with his stammering.” He reached out farther than she thought he should for an apple, and she held her breath for a moment, but he had a firm grip on the branch.
“I offered to help him, because I had studied that in school. He’s improving, I think.”
“Ach, ja, I know so. I was chust talking to him a day or so ago.” He chuckled. “I hear it’s made him a bit more outspoken with his brother, as well.”
She nodded, not sure what to say to that.
His hands slowed in their picking, and he looked
down at her. “I also hear that your father-in-law is here visiting.”
Her stomach twisted. Visiting might not be the right expression for what Robert was doing. “He says he’ll be leaving on Monday. He lives in Arizona.”
“A long way.” Bishop Ephraim’s tone was casual, but he studied her face. “His life there must be very different from ours.”
Hannah suspected most of Pleasant Valley knew Robert wanted her to leave here. And that concern was what had led to this conversation. Perhaps the bishop had been wondering why she hadn’t come to him before this.
“Robert has never been around Plain people before. I’ve tried to explain our lives to him, but maybe I haven’t been very successful.”
“Sometimes people fear what they don’t understand,” the bishop observed. “It may be that he fears losing touch with his grandson.”
She leaned against the trunk, looking up at him. “I would never do anything to keep Jamie away from his grandfather, but Robert doesn’t really seem all that interested in Jamie. He’s not one who would get down on the floor and play with him, for instance.”
Just saying the words made her realize how much that bothered her. Naomi, Aunt Paula, William, even someone Jamie knew less well, like Caleb, seemed able to relate to him quickly. But Robert didn’t even try.
“You think it is that he doesn’t want to? Or that he doesn’t know how to?”
“That’s probably the truth of it. He wasn’t around very much when my husband was growing up, and they were never close.”
“That is sad. He is the loser, I think.”
Hannah nodded. If she were not afraid of what Robert might do, she’d find it easy to feel sorry for him.
She picked another apple and held it for a moment, frowning. “He doesn’t approve of our teachings on nonviolence. He thinks I would bring Jamie up to despise his father’s sacrifice, and I can’t seem to convince him otherwise.”
The ladder creaked. Startled, she looked up to see that the bishop was climbing down, lowering the basket with a rope as he did. He smiled, shaking his head. “My wife insists. She is afraid I will fall if I try to climb down with the basket. Ach, well, we worry about the people we love.”
“Yes,” she said softly, wondering if he meant Robert. And wondering if it was really worry about Jamie that propelled his actions, instead of just determination to have things his own way.
Bishop Ephraim poured the contents of his basket into hers, filling it to the brim. “There. That is just right.”
“My aunt will be so pleased. Thank you, Bishop Ephraim.”
He nodded, but she didn’t think his mind was on the apples.
“We Anabaptists believe that God has called us not to return evil for evil, but to overcome evil with good. We know the life to which God has called us. But we can still live in amity with our neighbors, accepting that they may hear God’s message differently.”
He’d said it much better than she ever could. “I wish my father-in-law could understand and accept that difference.”
“Ja. Your father-in-law must see that you honor and respect him, but he cannot pressure you to go away from your home.”
The bishop picked up the basket, forestalling her effort to take it.
“Some of these apples are destined for the cider press,” he said. “They make fine cider.” He paused. “Pressing is all right for apples,” he said, “but not for people. Not for you, Hannah.”
* * *
Despite the fact that so many of the residents didn’t have telephones, whispers went around Pleasant Valley at the speed of light, William sometimes thought. By closing time on Saturday afternoon, three different people had managed to drop the news that the Mennonite bishop had spoken to Hannah today.
The knowledge nibbled at William, keeping him from concentrating. When the joint he was gluing slipped for the third time, Caleb took the pieces from his hands.
“Go and see Hannah, then,” he said, “before you glue yourself to the chair.”
William looked at him, assessing the expression in his cousin’s face. “I thought y-you felt m-my feelings for H-Hannah were a mistake.”
“Ach, what does my opinion matter? Even a friend would go to see if she’s all right, ja?” Caleb slapped his shoulder. “Go on, now. Have supper with us later, ja? We’re going to get pizza.”
“Denke.” William headed for the sink to wash up. At least he and Caleb were still friends.
A few minutes later he was walking quickly down the street to the bakery. They’d be closing, as well, so maybe he could have a quiet word with Hannah, just to be sure she was all right.
Bishop Ephraim was a fair man. Surely he wouldn’t blame Hannah for whatever talk her father-in-law was stirring up. Still, if he felt it reflected on Hannah’s commitment to the church, it would make her situation even more difficult.
When had it started, this need he felt to pick up her burdens for her? He always wanted to help folks, of course. That was part of his nature, as well as his faith. But it was different with Hannah. It went far beyond wanting. He needed to share her burdens. It was what he’d been put here to do.
The Closed sign was already on the bakery door, but it wasn’t locked. He tapped lightly and opened the door.
“C-can I come in?”
“William, for sure you can.” Paula was on her way to the kitchen with a tray of dishes. “Hannah will help you.” She pushed on through the swinging door.
He turned to Hannah, who was emptying the display case, but before he could say anything, Jamie ran to him and grabbed his leg.
“H-help, my leg is trapped by a b-bear.” He bent down, catching Jamie and sweeping him up in the air. “Ach, no. N-not a bear. An eagle.”
Jamie giggled and squealed. “More, more!”
William obliged, flying him across the room, loving the sound of the boy’s laughter. When Jamie was breathless and limp with giggles, William brought the boy down for a landing against his chest.
“More,” Jamie demanded.
“You always want more,” Hannah said, coming around the counter to tickle Jamie’s chin. “No more roughhousing this close to supper. Go get your train. Show William how the choo-choo goes.”
William set him on his feet, and Jamie trotted across the room toward the basket of toys in the far corner.
“I hope I didn’t r-rile him up too much.” He straightened, studying her face for any clue to what had happened with the bishop.
“He loves it,” she said. “I think he understands already that . . .” She stopped, as if not wanting to complete that sentence.
“Every b-boy needs a man in his life,” he said carefully.
She nodded. “I thought his grandfather might help fill that gap, but Robert . . .” She shook her head. “He doesn’t seem to know how. Jamie got shortchanged in the grandfather department.” As if needing to keep her hands busy, Hannah straightened the chairs around the closest table.
“Maybe R-Robert c-could use some encouragement.” He helped her with the chairs. “Your f-father isn’t around at all?”
“I haven’t heard from him since he left when I was thirteen.” A shadow touched her face. “I didn’t even know how to let him know when my mother died.”
“I’m sorry.” William’s heart hurt for her. “Sometimes when p-people leave the church, they j-just get lost.”
That was as good a way as any to put it, he guessed. It was a serious thing, to leave the support and love of the community. Maybe Hannah’s father hadn’t realized how much he had counted on that until it was too late.
He looked down at the chair he was pushing in. Would he be able to do that? If he had the chance to marry Hannah, would he be able to leave?
His fingers tightened on the chair back. Since he wasn’t likely to be given that chance, h
e’d best not waste time thinking about it. Right now Hannah needed a friend, and that he could offer.
“I hear y-you talked to the b-bishop today.”
Jamie hurried back to him, clutching the locomotive in his hand, and began running it along the table’s edge. William squatted next to him, making sound effects while he watched Hannah’s face for clues.
“Word spread, I guess. I might have known that it would.” But she was smiling a little, and his heart eased. “Bishop Ephraim wanted to give me a bushel of apples for my aunt. And he added a few words of support as well.”
“That’s gut.” William didn’t realize how relieved he felt until she said it. “I was afraid—”
“I was, too.” She smiled at him, and his heart seemed to turn over. “He understood. He said I could honor and respect my father-in-law and still do what I feel is right.”
“And you’re s-sure now what that is?” He stood, the locomotive still in his hand until Jamie snatched it away.
“We belong here.” She met his gaze, her brown eyes steady. “I think I didn’t realize how much this place and my faith mean to me until Robert challenged my decision. Then I knew in my heart this is right.”
“I am g-glad.” He put his hand over hers where it rested on the chair back.
For an instant she looked startled. Then she turned her hand, very deliberately, so that it clasped his.
Warmth and caring seemed to flow between them through their linked hands. Hope welled up in him. He leaned toward her, forgetting where they were, disregarding everything except the longing to touch her, hold her—
“Will!” Jamie shoved the locomotive at him. “Up, Will, up!”
Hannah blinked, as if rousing from a dream, and then smiled. “Somebody wants you.”
“Ach, I a-am right here, l-little one.” He had to let go of Hannah’s hand to pick Jamie up, but that was okay. He loved the boy, too, and not just because he was part of Hannah. “Here we go.” He hoisted him to his shoulder, feeling the warmth of Hannah’s gaze on them. “How i-is that?”
The door slammed open, its bell clanging as if out of control. Robert Conroy stalked into the shop, his gaze focused on them.