A Hope for Hannah (Hannah's Heart 2)

by Jerry S. Eicher

  “And how about you, Hannah?” Dr. Lisa asked when she was done with Jake’s instructions. “Are you doing okay?”

  “I think so,” she replied, not really sure if she was or not.

  “That’s a good girl. Take care of yourself.” Then she was gone.

  Hannah stayed in the buggy while Jake went into the hardware store, looking quite capable with his new crutches.

  When a good twenty minutes passed and Jake failed to come out, Hannah was almost ready to tie up the horse and go see what was keeping him. Surely Mr. Howard hadn’t persuaded him to do any work today.

  Just then the hardware door opened, and she saw first the crutches and then Jake move out of the building. He swung smoothly across the parking lot and used his good foot to hop onto the buggy step. Hannah handed him the reins, and they were off.

  On the edge of town she glanced over at Jake who had said nothing since he got in the buggy.

  “Does the ankle hurt?” she asked.

  “Mr. Howard let me go,” he said simply.

  “What?” A feeling of alarm surged through her.

  Jake just nodded, his eyes on the road.

  “Why?” she demanded. “I thought you were doing so well.”

  “Too well, I guess,” Jake said grimly. “His nephew is taking over the furniture making.”

  “How can he do that?”

  “There’s no reason why he can’t. I worked for him.”

  “But it was you who made the furniture.”

  “Mr. Howard says anyone can make furniture.” Jake’s face was glum. “I don’t believe that, but that’s just what he said. He said I can’t possibly keep up with the demand while I’m hobbling around like this. He figures his nephew can work faster than I can—and probably cheaper—although he didn’t say that.”

  “But he gave you a bonus for being so good.”

  “Maybe he was already planning on this and was trying to make it easier.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.” Jake shook the reins as if to emphasize some point. What point, Hannah wasn’t sure.

  When they got home, Jake hopped through the doorway while Hannah took the horse to the barn and tried to think of something for lunch, her mind still in a spin. Jake was in the kitchen when she came in, his crutches under his arm.

  “What are you doing?” she asked him.

  “Maybe I can do something in the kitchen,” he said, and his voice nearly broke.

  She took him by the arm into the living room and made him sit on the couch.

  “We’ll make it somehow,” she said, putting her arm on his shoulder.

  “I suppose so,” he said, his eyes dull.

  “You’ll think of something,” she said, desperately wondering what that could be.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Jake’s kiss on her cheek. “You’re too good for me,” he said, his voice catching again.

  “No,” she said, blushing and allowing herself to be pulled into Jake’s embrace.

  They held each other for a long moment and looked out the cabin window at the snow. The barn stood out in sharp relief against the blue sky.

  The snow didn’t melt all week because the temperature rarely rose above freezing, and then on Saturday another storm moved in. Thankfully, the snowplow came up their road sometime after midnight, which allowed them to attend church. Jake didn’t have to preach, for which Hannah was glad. All week, his troubled face had conveyed the stress they both felt. She couldn’t imagine what kind of sermon he would preach had it been his turn.

  To pass his time, Jake read most of the daylight hours away and said little about what they would do about their future. What could he say? It might take till spring to find more work—if even by then. At least for now, their mortgage was paid up, and they had a little food stored. They could eke out an existence for a while, she supposed. But tomato soup was sure going to become boring, that was for sure.

  Hannah soon found out she was wrong about Jake’s lack of a plan. He started to exercise his ankle the following week, testing it carefully before he placed weight on it. That was his plan number one—getting better.

  Three days later, he limped out to the barn. When he stayed out there for a good hour, Hannah thought she had better check on him. She found him measuring the back side of the lean-to, which was attached to the barn, and scratching figures with paper and pencil.

  “I’m turning this into a shop,” he announced when she walked in. That was apparently plan number two.

  “But money? It takes money to start up something like this,” she reminded him.

  He nodded. “Yes, I know. But maybe only a little if I’m willing to start small. I can borrow a few tools from John and Steve until I sell some pieces.”

  “You’re not serious?”

  When he turned, she knew by the set of his jaw that he was.

  In the days ahead, Jake constructed a makeshift workshop by nailing backboard to a few simple stud walls with tools borrowed from Steve. He then installed a wood stove to heat the small shop. Jake’s only investments were in the wood and parts he needed.

  Hannah started to take his lunch to him in the shop room, as Jake called it. His breakfast and supper, he ate in the house.

  A few days into the construction, Mr. Brunson stopped by for a visit. Hannah directed him out to the shop room and then went back to the laundry. She watched, though, as the two men spoke. Mr. Brunson must have asked Jake something because she saw him shake his head.

  A few days later, Mr. Brunson visited again. What he and Jake talked about was unknown to Hannah, although she thought she saw Jake shake his head a little less vigorously this time.

  When yet another hard blizzard blew in, Betty said this was the hardest winter she had been through. Toward the end of January, another blizzard arrived, this time from Canada. All this and the Christmas snow hadn’t even begun to melt.

  Even on the coldest days, Jake worked like a man on a mission, mostly by hand because he had no power tools. He told Hannah if Jesus could work with hand tools, he could too. But when the blisters appeared, Hannah told him to quit—they could live on tomato soup and potatoes until spring.

  When he refused to let up, Hannah drove Mosey down to Betty’s to ask for salve. Betty started to ask questions immediately, and Hannah spilled the whole story through her tears.

  “There’s nothing you can do,” Betty said, “except help him.”

  “But he works from dawn to dusk.” Hannah said, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

  “A man must work,” Betty said. “That’s his nature. What’s he making?”

  “I haven’t seen it,” Hannah admitted.

  “Then go look,” Betty said, her arm around her shoulder. “Just remember you have a good man. Don’t ever forget that.”

  When she got home, Hannah took the salve and bandages out to Jake. He quit willingly enough, so she could wrap his hands.

  “It’s really nothing,” he said with a grin. “You shouldn’t make such a fuss.”

  “I’m not making a fuss,” she said. And then she remembered Betty’s advice. “Will you tell me what you’re making?” She glanced around but saw only pieces of wood and small logs on the floor.

  Jake hesitated, then grinned, and pulled a small rocker from behind his work table, still unvarnished but done.

  “My third try,” Jake said. “This one is good enough. Can I varnish it indoors?”

  Hannah didn’t have to think twice. She just nodded. The rocker was beautiful, and it was obvious how hard he had labored over it.

  Jake carried the rocker inside and carefully set it on sheets of paper from the The Budget Hannah had placed on the floor. Later, when he came in for supper, he explained how she could varnish it the next day. In the morning, she applied the first coat right after breakfast.

  During the next several weeks, they worked out a system for finishing the pieces, including a large log desk, which took both Mr. Brun
son and Hannah’s help to move into the house. After Hannah had given it three coats of varnish, it fairly glowed in the light of the gas lantern.

  “Good job,” Jake said approvingly.

  “Now to sell it,” Hannah replied.

  “I know. We’ll think of something.”

  Forty

  One Sunday morning Hannah sat in silent amazement watching Jake preach. How does he do it? She knew that last night he was worried about his message. He had even tossed and turned in his sleep, but all that was gone now.

  Jake was quoting what sounded like Scripture. He said the words slowly and reverently. When he had memorized them, Hannah had no idea. His eyes swept over the congregation, his chin was firm, and his beard had already grown down to the second button on his shirt.

  Hannah didn’t quite know what to do with the deep and various emotions she felt. Sorrow still lingered around the edges, but in the center something was growing. It was a feeling she didn’t quite know how to describe—a swelling of admiration and awe for this man.

  Of course, to show her emotion in church was completely out of the question; she simply beheld in her heart the wonder of what Jake had become. That they now faced the next mortgage payment on their cabin seemed insignificant at the moment. Though fear and uncertainty would surely return, for now it seemed enough to know that Jake was hers and would be with her no matter what happened.

  Jake concluded his sermon and then asked for testimonies. After four men had spoken, Jake closed the service. He did that also, Hannah thought, almost without effort. Afterward she saw Bishop Nisley speak with Jake, and from Jake’s expression, she was sure it had nothing to do with his sermon.

  “He wanted to know how we’re doing,” Jake said on the way home, “because I have no job.”

  She waited and then turned to look at him. “And?”

  “I told him I was building furniture on my own with Steve’s tools.”

  “And?” Hannah asked again.

  “He said he was glad to hear that, and if I needed help to let him know.”

  “Did you tell him you haven’t sold anything?”

  “No,” Jake said. “It’s not the time yet. We have to try first. Maybe in town on Monday?”

  “Where?”

  “Maybe Mac’s Market?”

  Hannah envisioned them standing inside some corner of the market, embarrassed and trying to sell log furniture to people who simply rushed on by. She had a hard time imagining it.

  “It’s not really a good time, I guess,” Jake said, pulling on the reins to turn Mosey onto their road. “People spent their money at Christmas. Still, we have to try.”

  Hannah shuddered. “I suppose so,” she managed.

  “I’ll do it,” Jake said, picking up on her reaction. “I’m not expecting you to.”

  “But you need to be making more furniture. You can’t do that and sell at the same time.”

  “I know that, but there’s no sense in making more if we can’t sell it.”

  The words hung in the air, an awful finality about them. Hannah remembered the hours Jake had labored and the cold he had endured while working in the barn. Was this then to be the end? The risk, was it all for nothing?

  Behind them came the sound of an automobile, and Jake pulled over to let it pass. The dark blue jeep drove around them slowly. Hannah caught a good look at the driver, a young man in his late twenties or so. He seemed to be unsure of himself and kept to a slow pace even after he had passed their buggy.

  “Not someone we know,” Jake commented.

  “Maybe someone to see Mr. Brunson?”

  “I’ve never seen him have any visitors.”

  The thought went through Hannah’s mind like fire. “It’s his son!” she said, grabbing Jake’s arm.

  “Surely not,” Jake said.

  “Wouldn’t that be something?” Hannah breathed in deeply. “What if it is?” She could see it as clear as day—the man getting out of his car, Mr. Brunson coming to his door, and the astonished look on his face. But what would the reaction be? Was the son angry? Would he confront his father? Or would there be tears and embraces? Oh, surely the latter, she hoped.

  “You are dreaming again,” Jake said with a smile.

  “It’s still a sweet dream,” she said. “I hope it comes true.”

  “He’s probably just a hunter who has lost his way or maybe scouting for next season.”

  “I like my version better,” Hannah said as Jake turned Mosey into their driveway.

  “Mr. Brunson hasn’t even talked about his family lately.”

  “Why doesn’t he just go visit and get it over with, no matter if it’s rejection. At least then he’d know.”

  “I guess he can’t handle it if it is a rejection. I suppose he’d rather not know at all than risk the anger of a loved one.”

  “But it’s his son,” Hannah said firmly, stepping out of the buggy. She waited on the porch while Jake took Mosey to the barn, and then walked into the cabin with him.

  “I think I should make something extra for supper—something special,” she said.

  “What for? Are Betty and Steve coming over?”

  “No, I’m thinking Mr. Brunson might bring his son down. I’d like them to stay for supper.”

  Jake raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment.

  “I might even make a cherry pie.”

  “On a Sunday?”

  “It’s a special occasion.”

  Jake laughed. “I guess we’ll just have cherry pie, then. That will make it a special occasion in any event.”

  “They will come,” Hannah said. “I know they will.”

  When the afternoon was drawing to a close, they were both sitting on the couch, lost in their own thoughts. Hannah was still thinking of Mr. Brunson. Jake was considering how he could sell his furniture the next day.

  As Hannah gave up her idea of a cherry pie, the evening began to look long and dreary. Eventually she suggested they go somewhere—perhaps a visit to Betty or the young folks’ hymn sing that evening. But before Jake could answer, they heard the sound of Mr. Brunson’s pickup in the driveway. When they looked out the window, they saw the young man from the jeep sitting in the passenger seat.

  “It’s Mr. Brunson,” Jake said.

  “And look who’s with him,” Hannah said smugly, wishing now she had baked that cherry pie.

  Jake opened the cabin door and waited. Hannah couldn’t resist and stood behind him, looking over his shoulder. Mr. Brunson came up the walk with the young man close behind.

  When Mr. Brunson got closer and looked up at her, she knew her dream would be coming true. There were tears in his eyes.

  “My son, Eldon,” he said. “This is Jake and Hannah Byler. I just had to stop in and let you know.”

  Mr. Brunson’s eyes shone brighter than Jake or Hannah had ever seen before.

  “I’m glad to meet you,” Eldon said, stepping forward and extending his hand. “Dad said you two look after him real good.”

  “No,” Jake said, “it’s more like he looks after us.”

  “Just don’t let him shoot any more bears,” Eldon said with a laugh. “One was all we needed.”

  “So you did notice?” Jake asked.

  Eldon glanced at Mr. Brunson. “Dad said he told you. We did notice—it was the first clue we had since Dad left. I’ve been looking hard. After all, I lost two members of my family—my mother and my sister—and I couldn’t stand to lose my dad too.”

  “I guess I just let my grief get the best of me,” Mr. Brunson said, making no attempt to hide his tears.

  “I would have told him all that,” Eldon said. “It wasn’t his fault. No one ever said it was. He just disappeared on us. I never blamed him.”

  “What will you do now?” Jake asked. “Will you move back East?”

  “I don’t think so,” Mr. Brunson said, “at least not just now. I like it here too much. I’ll visit—often, I guess. Eldon drives back to Missoula tonight and flies o
ut in the morning.”

  “Well, won’t you come in?” Jake asked, as if he suddenly remembered Hannah’s prediction. “Hannah was going to make a cherry pie. When we saw the jeep pass us on the way home from church, she was sure the driver was your son.”

  “We really do have to be on our way, Dad,” Eldon said, glancing at his watch. “Maybe on some other visit?”

  “Of course,” Hannah said. “Let us know when you’re coming again. We’ll plan a real nice dinner.”

  The men shook hands with Jake again and turned to leave. Then Mr. Brunson turned back and said, “Oh, one more thing. I know it’s kind of sudden. I’d like to send a piece of your furniture along with Eldon. I’m sure he can find someone who will want to buy handcrafted Amish furniture.”

  Eldon chimed in, “I sure can. Most of the Englishers are charmed by your good work. We pay good money for it too.”

  Mr. Brunson continued, “As a matter of fact, I’ve been giving this some thought, and I think Eldon just showed me the last piece of the puzzle. Jake, perhaps this spring I could help you out with a better place to work—maybe in town. Maybe I can get you set up right so you can produce a lot of this stuff. You do real good work.”

  “That’s awfully nice of you, Mr. Brunson,” Jake said, “but…”

  “It’s not charity, Jake. I’d be investing in you. In a sense you’d be working for me in the same way you worked for your Mr. Howard. Now, do you have a piece Eldon can take with him to the airport?”

  “I have a small rocker that might work,” Jake said, still in a sort of daze over this unexpected attention.

  “Good!” Mr. Brunson said. “Can you get it ready so Eldon can take it with him and ship it from Missoula?” Mr. Brunson paused. “You do like the idea, don’t you?”

  “Like it?” Jake asked, but the relief and joy on his face gave the best answer.