by Linda Byler
He returned to find her standing by the table as if her one hand was nailed down on top. Her face was pale in the dreary afternoon light.
He pulled out a chair and sat down. As wide as the table. “All right, now. How was that mood my fault?” he asked.
“You’re so dumb.”
“Oh really. If I’m so dumb, you’re sure you want me to go on with this addition?”
Not friendly. Not one word was meant to appease her, to make her feel better. She whirled away from the table, stomped down the hallway and was halfway to her bedroom, when she heard his footsteps like cast-iron pans thumping after her. Grasped firmly by his oversized hands, she was effectively stopped, then turned back toward the table, and not very gently.
“Just go on home,” she breathed.
“Not until you tell me how this is my fault and why I am evidently extremely dense.”
“Let me go!”
His hands fell away and immediately she felt their absence.
Her face was an open map of misery. He appeared calm, curious, settling slowly into his chair while Hannah collapsed into hers, her hands shaking.
Finally, she spoke. “All right, you asked, and I’ll tell you how it is. If you drove to New Holland in broad daylight without caring at all if other Amish people saw us, it’s obvious you have no interest in … in being my friend. Young widowers do not go sporting about town with widows their own age. You know that.”
She could see he was amazed. Delighted, even. A broad grin creased his golden eyes, crow’s-feet like combs on each side of his face, his smile spreading as he absorbed her words.
“So, you’re upset that I’m not interested in you?”
“No. I mean, yes. Well, no. I just don’t want people to talk. You know …”
“Well, I don’t care what people say. Not now, not ever. I haven’t in the past and I have no intention of beginning that bad habit. I live my life in the sight of God, trying to do what’s right, and that’s it.
“Am I interested in you? Should I be?” he finished. His eyebrows raised and his eyes were on her face.
He really should do something with that hair, Hannah was thinking. She kept her eyes somewhere along the top of his head, then let her eyelids fall, turning her gaze to her knees, which was the safest place with that look in his eyes.
He laughed outright. Reaching out, he touched her hand, then took it in his own. Her hands were not small, for a woman, but his engulfed hers like a baseball glove.
“Hannah, look at me.”
When she did, the dark watching of her eyes melded with the amber search of his, creating a nameless space filled with light. She felt a complete knowing of his intentions, the goodness and depth of this man, the harmonious chord with the earth and its creatures, and God, above all. He would never need to mention his faith, or his love. It was all the same, forever.
After that, there were no words. The tug on her hand became an embrace as Hannah found herself held against that wide, deep chest, his arms holding her delicately as if he was cradling a small child.
He sighed. She felt his chest move, felt his breath on her hair. “Hannah, I am interested in you. You intrigue me. I want to know what makes you happy and sad and angry. But you know as well as I do that we both hold pain and fear. And you, it would seem, have a problem with telling the truth.”
CHAPTER 21
THE LIGHT IN THE HOUSE SHONE OUT THROUGH THE RAIN. DAVE’S horse waited patiently in the shed. His ears flicked when two hands pulled on the window in the main house, lowering it against the falling rain. When nothing happened after that, he dozed off, to be awakened by two mice racing along the top pine board, squeaking, then tumbling off behind a few cardboard boxes.
Hannah and Dave sat at the kitchen table. Dave listened to her speak about North Dakota from her cache of memories. He watched her face, felt her sorrow, her joy, her helpless rage, every disaster and every disappointment that had seeped into her soul, creating who she had become. The only thing that bothered him was her senseless determination, the power she wielded by her own anger and selfishness, her family as compliant as bread dough.
As was his way, he told her this. A long silence followed. Then, “But I hated the thought of returning to Lancaster County.”
“I know. And you were young. It’s just that you and I getting together could be a full-on disaster! No one bosses me around. Lena was so mild, so meek in her spirit. And you …”
Suddenly, he asked why she’d married Jerry when her family returned to Pennsylvania. “His money,” she answered. “The homestead couldn’t go on without funds to start over after the drought.”
“You didn’t love him?”
Hannah turned her face away and shrugged her shoulders.
“That wasn’t fair to him. Hannah, you use other folks for your own advantage.”
“He wanted me. He agreed to everything. And he won me over, in the end.”
“You loved him then?”
“I guess. I don’t know. How can a person tell if they love someone?”
Dave was flummoxed, completely at a loss. Red flags of warning waved in the air, so real he could almost feel the breeze. He changed the subject, realizing that he needed time.
Together, they made a pot of chili with red kidney beans, ground beef, green peppers, and yellow onion. He added a can of corn, said he didn’t like chili without it. She made a face, but he told her to try it. She’d probably never had it that way before.
He used a tablespoon to eat his chili. Hannah became worried that she may have underestimated the amount in the pot. He emptied all the soda crackers and ate a large bowl of applesauce. Taking out a pound of Lebanon bologna, he ate slice after slice on bread with mustard. Then he asked if she had pie or cake.
They washed and dried the dishes, side by side, talking about his interest in the construction world, how he got his start, and his plans for the future. She could see his incredible energy, his passion for his craft as she tried to understand his lack of interest in farming.
They parted late at night, each feeling the amiability between them, as well as the danger, the lack of trust. Did it make sense to try again after the flaws in their past? They circled, wary, their spirits eyeing one another, then moving back, yet drawn to each other by an invisible cord.
Hannah watched the mailbox for Harold’s package almost as much as she watched Dave and his men as they erected the addition. It was amazing to watch the plate being bolted to the concrete that had been poured into the cement blocks. From there on it was like children building a house with Tinkertoys, except this was life-sized. Hammers swung, driving nails as if they were merely straight pins.
The roof was being put on the day her wholesale catalogs arrived. She left the package in the mailbox, not wanting Dave to see it. She wasn’t talking to him, had avoided him all week. Allowing him to sit in her house and eat with her with all his oversized familiarity was going at breakneck speed down a steep, slippery slope. It would not happen again.
It was nice to feel her heart speed up as she remembered the feel of those massive arms being so careful of her. But there was always the memory of Jerry and her blatant mistreatment of him. Above all there was the humiliating truth that she didn’t know what love was, or if she had ever been in love, or fallen in love—however you wanted to say it.
Very likely, if she were to marry Dave, it would be the same story. So it was safer, much safer, to stay away. He’d never asked her for a date, just sat in her house as big as a furnace and made himself at home. The amount of food he ate was alarming!
She thought of the size of her garden and the canning she would have to do. At least a hundred quarts of applesauce; perhaps a hundred and fifty. Would he eat an entire quart of canned peaches in one sitting?
Hannah snorted.
She worked on ordering supplies for her store with the help of her mother, who knew what type of fabrics the housewives would buy. Her grandfather kindly offered to finance some
of her purchases, but Hannah waved him away. She was an independent woman, capable of managing her own affairs.
Ben and Elam worked on the shed in the back, converting it to a small horse barn, complete with a hydrant and underground water pipes from the new addition. They donated their old courting buggy, without a top, an open-seated, rattily old thing that suited Hannah just fine.
John Esh came to see what the addition was for, the nosy old thing. But then, she figured word would have to get around if she wanted any business, so she’d better train her thoughts along a more hospitable line. People like John Esh irked her so badly. Swaggering up to the carpenters with half the manure from his cow stable stuck to his cracked leather shoes, at least a week’s growth of stubble on his cheeks. She was certain that the bulge on one side of his face wasn’t a toothache. She’d been around too many tobacco-chomping ranchers to miss that wad of brown, juice-producing plug.
“Well, Davey!” he had boomed that day, his voice bringing her to the window immediately. It was as if he was announcing a hurricane!
Dave stopped his work and came over to him, pushing his hat to the back of his head, a huge grin on his face.
Hannah stepped back from the window. He liked this man. Well, good for him. Dave knocked on the back door and told her John had a horse for sale, a brown standard bred he’d sell for a hundred dollars.
Hannah drew down her eyebrows and said nothing for a while. Then, “Not without seeing him.”
Smiling, Dave said, “I’ll ask him to bring the horse over. He lives a few miles from here.” Hannah nodded. When there was no returning smile, Dave went back to John, wondering why Hannah still intrigued him with that terrible attitude of hers.
Hannah’s words were clipped, almost nonexistent as she negotiated the sale of the horse, a small, brown gelding with a white star on his forehead and one white foot.
John Esh began by touting the merits of his wonderful horse, smiling too much with that lopsided, swollen cheek. She told him the horse looked like a camel and surely needed to be wormed.
“Aw, come on. Now you’re just driving a hard bargain, lady.” His grin widened, eyes sparkling.
“I won’t pay a hundred dollars. He’s not worth it.”
Taken aback, John Esh’s smile puckered like a released rubber band, his mouth becoming pinched as a pained expression crossed his face. He made the usual mistake most folks made when they came in contact with her cold glare.
He smiled, wheedled, bowed, scraped, did anything to get back into her good graces, which had never been present to begin with. “I’ll throw a harness in for a hundred.”
“No doubt it won’t be worth it, the way your shoes look.”
John looked down at his offending shoes with beginnings of a fiery blush creeping up his neck.
In the end, she got her way. A horse, a harness that was perfectly serviceable, all for the frugal cost of one hundred dollars. She also got the boiling disapproval of Dave King, coupled with a vow to make restitution to that poor man, John Esh. She was planning on being the proprietor of a store? Well, he was having a talk with her.
Which he did, arriving unexpectedly on Saturday morning, his day off. He caught her off guard, downstairs cleaning the basement, wearing an old dichly over her uncombed hair that had not been washed for the better part of a week.
Dust swirled around her as she plied the coarse straw broom. A horrendous pounding on the side door propelled her up the steps, her heart racing, certain there was some emergency or calamity in the neighborhood.
Dave King.
She stopped and glared. “What?”
“Don’t you ever use a normal good morning or hello?” he asked, his eyes not friendly, the brim of his straw hat serving to enhance his hostility. Almost, she shivered.
“Depends on who it is.”
“So, I don’t merit a greeting? Obviously, that poor John Esh didn’t either.” He pushed past her, threw his hat on a peg, went up the steps like a steaming locomotive and put the kettle on. Hannah followed, completely at a loss for words.
How dare he? She hadn’t even invited him in. She certainly had not offered him a cup of tea, or whatever he had in mind with that teakettle. And he was angry! About John Esh.
She sat down. Then she remembered the dust in the cellar and got up and closed the door. She stood hesitantly, like a truant scholar, unsure what the teacher was going to say.
“Sit down.”
She sat.
“You know, Hannah, if you are going to be operating a store, this simply is not going to work.”
“What?”
“You don’t like people. If you treat one customer the way you treated John Esh, word will get around and you won’t have one person coming to buy your fabric. I don’t care how nice it is or how low it’s priced. You were rude, ill-mannered, ignorant, and downright mean. It’s uncalled for.”
Hannah leaped to her feet. “Out! Get out! It is none of your business how I choose to treat people.”
Coolly, he looked at her in the brilliant morning sunlight that slanted in through the kitchen window, the snarls in her uncombed hair, the crooked dichly, the dust that had collected at the edge of each flaring nostril, turning them black. He took in her heaving chest and her steaming anger.
“Yes. It is. I’m working for you. I’m building your store. You are going to be out of business before you even begin. Take my advice, Hannah. Otherwise, your store is a lost cause.”
“Get out of my kitchen!”
“No. The water isn’t boiling and I’d like a cup of tea.”
Emotions crashed and collided in Hannah’s mind. She knew he was right. He also made her so mad that she wanted to punch him. Physically pound him with her fists. Helplessness fought with her anger and spilled over to quench his attraction. The sheer muscular size of the man, his arms and shoulders, his eyes and oh, just everything. She couldn’t go marching out of his sight the way she’d done that once because that would mean he’d come after her and …
What she did do was slide back down into her chair. Thrusting her legs under the table, she crossed her arms while leaning against the chair back, adjusting her famous glare, her lips pulled in and pinched tightly together.
He got down two cups and found the tin canister of tea. Hannah had always been able to control those around her. Her inability to dominate Dave, to conquer him, tilted her whole world toward the steep slope of confusion. Even now, she scrambled to understand her thoughts.
What if she tried his way of dealing with people? Wouldn’t it be a sort of protection? If the store failed, it wouldn’t be her fault—it would be his, for convincing her to behave differently. It would be a kind of barrier against failure and disappointment. Of course, it would all be fake. She’d have to pretend to like people, which she really didn’t—especially men.
Dave poured the tea and brought it to the table. He asked if there was pie. “It’s nine o’clock. My break time.”
“It’s your day off. And I don’t take a break.”
He chose to ignore the winds off her iceberg. Going into the pantry, he lifted tops off containers until he found half of an apple pie. Yodeling with appreciation, he brought it to the table, going to the cupboard to find plates, a knife, and forks.
“Got any cheese? Apple pie is twice as good with cheese.”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know if you have cheese? Or you don’t know if you like it with apple pie?
“Oh, shut up!”
He laughed. She liked the sound of his laugh. Like gravel rolling over stones. “You don’t like me, either. Well, we’ll just have to work on that.”
He ate the entire remains of that pie plus the slice he’d set out for her, which she refused to touch. He ate almost a pound of Swiss cheese, and drank his tea in three gulps.
It was scary, his capacity for food!
He pushed the dishes away and crossed his arms on the table. She wished he wouldn’t do that, the way his mu
scles bulged and all those blue veins ran up over his hands like trails.
“So,” Dave asked. “Why do you dislike people like John Esh? The poor man. It was worse than seeing a cat play with a mouse, torturing it before the kill.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Hannah shot back.
“It sure was.”
Hannah had no reply.
“It’s un-Christian. The Lord tells us to love our neighbors as ourselves and you sure don’t hate yourself.”
“There you go, getting all preachy.”
“You need to be preached to. You need to go to church and learn the ways of a Christian. Your attitude toward others is worldly. You’re all about yourself, just like the world.”
“You know, you aren’t really being a good Christian yourself, sitting here numbering my faults like some sort of self-righteous Pharisee.”
“You think?” He laughed again, the sound she had to admit she loved. “I guess you’re right, Hannah. I’m just concerned about your business is all. Plus …” His voice became very deep, cross-grained with feeling. “I would love to spend the rest of my life with you. I’m not one to cover anything up for pride’s sake. I say what I think and feel. You are so terribly attractive, but I’m afraid of your … well, Hannah, you’re just not a nice person.”
“Thanks!”
“I’m trying to figure out why.”
Hannah took a deep breath. She avoided his eyes and shook her head. Then, “You try being shamed and humiliated, cast out of all you know at the tender age of twelve. Riding in an old spring wagon with a tarp thrown over its ribs, with two old worm-ridden horses, a schputt!
“People either made fun of us or pitied us. I had a ghost-like mother who floated above the wagon, never really present. A father who was crazy in the head. We were hungry, Dave. Hungry!”
For a long moment, he said nothing. The clock on the shelf ticked loudly. A drip from the faucet echoed through the silence.
Then he said, “Boo-hoo.”
Thinking she hadn’t heard right, she said, “What?!”
“I said, boo-hoo.”