A Hope for Hannah (Hannah's Heart 2)

by Jerry S. Eicher

  When the door opened, Hannah could hardly believe her eyes. Bishop Nisley came in, followed by Elizabeth, his wife. Jake closed the door behind them, a concerned look on his face. Hannah instantly knew this visit could not be for social reasons.

  Bishop Nisley took off his hat and held the black rim in his hands. He looked friendly enough as he took the seat on the couch Jake offered him. Hannah felt frozen to her spot in the kitchen. She saw Elizabeth glance toward her, obviously on the verge of moving in her direction even as Jake offered her a seat beside her husband.

  Hannah knew she must face this, whatever it was. It might only be a church matter—perhaps this was Bishop Nisley’s way of handling such things. Though, why it couldn’t wait for their regular Sunday morning meeting, she couldn’t imagine.

  With a forced smile on her face, Hannah stepped forward to greet Elizabeth. Normally the smile would have come with no effort, as she had felt close to the bishop’s wife since spending the summer at Betty’s riding stable. Now, though, her smile was simply out of politeness. Was this her destiny as a minister’s wife, inventing expressions while trying to feel what she ought to feel? That’s what she had done when Betty confessed her youthful indiscretions, and now she did it again.

  “Good evening,” Elizabeth said, all smiles. “I hope we aren’t interrupting your supper.”

  “No.” Hannah forced the smile again. “We’re finished.”

  “Can I help with the dishes?” Elizabeth glanced into the kitchen.

  “I can get those later,” Hannah told her quickly.

  “No, I’m helping.” Elizabeth obviously had made up her mind. Her help meant this visit was going to be lengthy, whatever its purpose. It seemed unlikely she would offer to help just to have a five-minute chat.

  When the women were in the kitchen, Elizabeth turned the sink’s hot water faucet on but succeeded in getting only cold water.

  “We have to heat the water,” Hannah said, motioning toward the bowl of water already warm on the stove. “We only have a spring.”

  “Oh, that’s different,” Elizabeth said. “I didn’t know.”

  “Well…” Wild thoughts ran through Hannah’s head. Does Elizabeth think I, her new minister’s wife, am completely strange for how I live? Is she disappointed in how poor we are? Does she think Jake ought to own a gas water heater?

  Elizabeth must have noticed her face. “Oh,” she said, laughing softly, “I didn’t mean anything. There’s nothing wrong, really. We didn’t always have everything just right either.”

  “Oh?” Hannah tried to feel normal again.

  “That was in Indiana,” Elizabeth recalled. “John could afford a water heater when we were married, but we did without other things.”

  “Oh.” Hannah felt worse now, as she could well imagine the other things Elizabeth referred to were probably furniture—new furniture items she didn’t even dream of owning. She was still stuck on a gas water heater. Shame filled her, and she wished she could disappear through the kitchen floor.

  “What can I do?” Elizabeth asked, glancing around. “John probably wants us back in the living room before too long.”

  “I’ll put some more wood on the fire,” Hannah said, feeling very much like a country bumpkin who must stoke her smoky fire before she could even wash the dishes.

  Perhaps it was the light from the fire as Hannah bent over the stove that gave Elizabeth a good look at her face. Hannah had made no attempt to hide her feelings.

  “I’m so sorry,” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Did I say something? I really didn’t mean to. Here I am barging in, disrupting your evening and your kitchen.”

  When Hannah didn’t say anything, Elizabeth gently took her arm and guided her to a chair beside the kitchen table.

  “I’m sorry. This must all be so sudden. You’re both so young. John thought he had to come over tonight, though I tried to tell him it wasn’t that serious. He just thinks things should be taken care of before they get out of hand.”

  “Elizabeth,” the bishop’s voice called from the living room. “We shouldn’t be staying too late.”

  Hannah was grateful she wasn’t in tears yet. What had she and Jake done already? It must be something terrible. She felt frozen in place and wasn’t sure she could have stood up if Elizabeth hadn’t helped her.

  “It’s nothing serious, really,” Elizabeth whispered, as if she were afraid someone might hear. “John just wants to talk to Jake.”

  Numbly Hannah followed Elizabeth into the living room, all attempts at fake smiles gone. She knew the bishop was looking at her, but she didn’t care at the moment.

  “Ah…” John cleared his throat, seeming to search for words, no preacher tone in his voice. Hannah dared glance at his face and was surprised to see it soft and tender. Jake had his head bowed, as if he already knew what was to come.

  “Mose Chupp told me about the other Sunday,” John said, tightly clasping his hands. “I knew you would have to preach, and that so soon.”

  Hannah glanced at Jake, who was still looking at the floor.

  “From what he told me, you did quite well.”

  No one said anything.

  “I know this may sound strange,” the bishop continued, “but I just had a concern about that. I know it’s soon, but perhaps it’s best to say it now rather than having to say something more important later.”

  “He’s just trying to help,” Elizabeth spoke up. “I told him Jake meant no ill. He was trying so hard, they said.”

  “What did I do?” Jake managed, his eyes still focused on the floor.

  “You preached pretty good,” the bishop said as if that explained things. “I’m just concerned about that. So good so quickly. It can do things to a person. I don’t want you spoiled, Jake. I really don’t.”

  “He’s just trying to help,” Elizabeth said again. “He really is.”

  “So what am I supposed to do?” Jake sounded puzzled.

  The bishop cleared his throat. “Apparently you are one of those to whom preaching comes naturally. You’re good at this, Jake. That is a great danger. I don’t want to lose you.”

  “How would you lose me?” Jake asked.

  “I don’t want to put things into your head.” The bishop shrugged. “A lot of churches are looking for good preachers. Liberal churches, that is. Things get around. People hear. They make you offers. I hope you don’t go down that road.”

  “I don’t plan to,” Jake said.

  “Temptation is a strange thing.” John spoke slowly. “It comes when we least expect it. It comes in ways we hadn’t thought of. I just wanted to warn you right away. Walk humbly with God, Jake. We need you around here.”

  Jake nodded.

  “Well, we’d better be going,” the bishop said, glancing toward his wife.

  “We haven’t finished the kitchen,” Elizabeth replied. “We were just going to start.”

  “I can manage,” Hannah spoke up. “I really can.”

  The bishop waited a moment before he said, “We really should be going. Good night, then.”

  Jake opened the door for them, and they stepped out into the brisk night air.

  Numbly Jake sat back down on the couch while Hannah went back to the kitchen. The water was boiling furiously in the bowl, and the fire had burned down to hot coals. She dipped some water out to fill the sink and added soap. Her tears soon joined the dishes in the suds. She didn’t hear Jake until his arms came around her shoulders.

  “I wish this had never happened. I wish we were free again. Free to…” She wondered if she should say it. “Free to move back to Indiana,” she whispered.

  “No.” His answer came as if from far away. “God wants us to stay here.”

  Then she laid her head on his shoulder and wept till he gently joined his hands with hers in the kitchen sink. They washed dishes, four hands in one tub, plates sliding past their fingers, and then Jake’s lips brushed her cheek.

  Twenty-six

  The Friday sun shone wi
th full vigor as Hannah busied herself with preparations for the evening meal with Mr. Brunson. She had marinated the deer steak since Wednesday, using Betty’s recipe plus a few added touches of her own.

  Kathy had always told her a good cook must allow intuition, not just a recipe, to guide her. If something went wrong, it was just food that was wasted. That might be true in Indiana, Hannah thought, but here and now, I cannot afford to be wrong.

  She had thought of inviting Steve and Betty but decided against it because Betty would wonder if her recipe had been followed to the letter. If the new formula worked, then things would be okay. If not, then Hannah would feel thoroughly embarrassed. She didn’t want the pressure.

  When the potatoes boiled early, Hannah let them cool by the stove while she prepared the cherry pie. The crust turned out satisfactory—not quite like her mother’s but good enough. And really, could she expect to do as well as her mother? Not yet. But perhaps later in life—if she survived what she was going through now.

  Waves of self-pity rushed through her, and Hannah had to remind herself that, after all, Jake loved her, and that should help her weather any storm.

  She didn’t understand, though, why Jake didn’t want to move back to Indiana. It would make both their lives so much easier. The thought puzzled her as she peeled the steaming potatoes. He never really mentioned why. He just said God wanted them here. Was it something deeper? Some reason he wasn’t telling her?

  She remembered the comfort of his presence as they washed dishes last night and couldn’t imagine him hiding anything from her. Yet was he? The thought wouldn’t go away, and she gave up trying to figure it all out. Besides, she was too busy to be preoccupied with such impossible thoughts.

  Jake arrived home at the usual time and offered to help. She told him he could set the table, which he did—not perfectly, but the dishes were in the right vicinity.

  As he tugged on the tablecloth to straighten it out, he announced his good news that he had finished his first log table at the hardware store. A customer had stopped by and taken a look at the still unvarnished product and placed an order for two tables.

  “Just like that,” Jake said with a huge smile. There would be a bonus in his paycheck next week, Mr. Howard had said, just in time for the doctor’s bill.

  A few minutes later, the sound of Mr. Brunson’s tires crunching on the gravel in the driveway announced his arrival. Jake lit the gas lanterns and hung one in the kitchen tonight, a little extra light for which Hannah was thankful.

  When Mr. Brunson had been shown in, they sat down almost immediately to eat. They bowed their heads for prayer, but Jake didn’t offer to pray out loud tonight. With the “Amen,” Hannah brought out the steak from the oven. Still a bit unsure how it would taste, she set the steaming platter on the table with shaking hands. Earlier she had sampled the meat and liked what she tasted, but would the men feel the same way?

  She knew men did not always agree with a woman’s taste on such matters. Jake served himself gingerly while Mr. Brunson seemed to have no such qualms, piling his plate high with meat.

  Jake cleared his throat and said, “You might want to go slow on that. It’s Hannah’s first time marinating deer meat.”

  Mr. Brunson laughed and turned to Hannah as he said, “I have full confidence in Hannah. She’s a good cook.”

  “Better taste it first,” Hannah said. “I might not be.”

  Mr. Brunson took a healthy bite while Jake put a small piece in his mouth. Both men bit down thoughtfully and for several seconds said nothing as they chewed the meat. Then they looked at each other and burst out in laughter.

  “It’s awful,” Hannah cried, her hands flying to her face, a red blush rising to her cheeks. The supper was totally ruined, she was certain.

  “Hannah, I’ve never tasted a better steak,” Mr. Brunson pronounced, “not even in the best restaurants Boston has to offer.”

  “Agreed,” Jake said, “although I’ve never been to the best restaurants Boston has to offer.”

  “You’re just saying that,” Hannah whispered, still unconvinced. “Is it really good?”

  “Yes, it certainly is,” Mr. Brunson said.

  Jake just nodded.

  “Have some yourself,” Mr. Brunson said.

  “I’ll get the cherry pie first,” she said, wanting to savor the moment fully.

  Mr. Brunson then turned the conversation in another direction. “So how’s the furniture business coming along, Jake?”

  For the next several minutes, Jake eagerly brought Mr. Brunson up to date, even going into some detail about making log furniture by hand.

  With dinner a success, the two men moved to the living room while Hannah cleared the table. Minutes later, Hannah joined the men for a quiet evening of conversation.

  “Jake, tell me more about this ordination of yours,” Mr. Brunson said.

  Jake seemed not to know what to say, and for a few seconds, silence hung heavy in the room.

  “I hope I’m not imposing,” Mr. Brunson finally continued. “I’ve just wanted…for some time to talk with someone.”

  Hannah had an instant flashback to Betty’s drawn and sober face that Sunday when she had confided in Hannah. Had people nothing but confessions to make to ministers and their wives? Was everyone hiding secrets? Was she to bear this burden all her life now?

  Jake, sitting beside her on the couch, finally spoke up. “I’m still pretty new at all this, but if there’s something I can do to help you…”

  “It’s been many years,” Mr. Brunson began. “You will think me crazy, and maybe I am just a crazy old man stuck here in the mountains. Alone and crazy. Yet there is a reason for it.”

  Mr. Brunson took a big blue handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose.

  Jake said nothing, just listened.

  “There is the court date coming up soon,” Mr. Brunson continued. “The bear thing.”

  Does he need help with the fine? I hope not. How on earth could we help with that? We are barely able to get along as it is.

  “We would be glad to help,” Jake said. Mr. Brunson, though, waved aside the suggestion.

  “No son. It’s not money I need. I need to confess my sins. I’m sorry to impose on you two this way.” His eyes went to Hannah’s face and then dropped to the cabin floor.

  “Your sins?” Jake managed.

  “Yes, my sins,” Mr. Brunson said simply. “They are about to find me out, I think, as the Good Book says. See, I have money. That’s not the problem. The fine will be big, but I can pay it. It’s what will happen when I draw the money to pay the fine.”

  Jake looked puzzled.

  “I’m not a criminal, at least not in the eyes of the law. In here I am—” Mr. Brunson placed a hand on his heart. “Let me start from the beginning…if that’s okay?”

  “Sure,” Jake said, and Hannah nodded.

  “I’m a businessman. Or I was,” Mr. Brunson said, “back East, as you know. Beyond that, you don’t know. See…” Mr. Brunson brushed away another tear. “I am also a family man. Or I was. I have a son. I had a daughter and a wife.”

  There followed a long silence, in which no one seemed to move.

  “One night I was driving home from a social function—a business Christmas party, a busy season for the company—with my wife and daughter, whom I had hardly seen for weeks. It was raining, and there was an accident. The car slid off the road. The officer said it could have happened to anyone, but I knew—knew with certainty—that it was my fault. It would not have happened if… My wife, Bernice… Well, we were arguing. It doesn’t matter about what. Some little thing. I wasn’t paying attention to my driving.”

  “Your wife and daughter?” Jake asked.

  “They were both killed,” Mr. Brunson said, his face a picture of agony. “Why did I survive? I was the guilty one.”

  “Your son?” Jake asked.

  “He doesn’t know where I am. He was very bitter after the accident. He and his sister were ve
ry close. He blamed me. And he was right. So I left. I just up and left with enough money to come here to do what I wanted to do—to just forget. I planned on just staying here forever. I planned on never going back.”

  “Would he be looking for you?” Jake asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mr. Brunson said. “That’s the problem. I didn’t want him to find a trail. That’s why I left none. I made it almost impossible for him to find me here. But now what will I do? Will he try to find me? If I draw the money out of the accounts, it will be much easier for him to locate me. I just don’t think I can ever face him again. The blame is too much. The way he looks at me, I just can’t go back to that. It’s destroyed me. Isn’t it enough that I live with the guilt every day?”

  “Perhaps your son has forgiven you,” Jake offered. “Maybe this is God’s way…of mending the past.”

  “Maybe in your world that seems possible. In mine, it doesn’t. I wasn’t the father I should have been.”

  “What’s your son’s name?” Jake asked.

  “Eldon,” Mr. Brunson said. “A fine boy.”

  “I’m sure he is,” Jake said quickly. “I think if he contacts you, it would be because he wants to find you and make things right. Surely he wouldn’t find you just to continue to make your life miserable.”

  “I guess we’ll find out,” Mr. Brunson said, seeming to collect himself.

  “I’ll surely pray that it all works out for the best,” Jake said.

  Jake’s words—and his gentle manner with Mr. Brunson—amazed Hannah. It was a side of Jake she had never noticed.

  “Well, they say that confession is good for the soul,” Mr. Brunson said, his tone a bit lighter. “And I do believe just telling someone has helped a bit. You’re the only folks I’ve ever told about this. It just seemed the right thing to do. I thank you for listening…and for praying. That would be mighty good of you.”