by Amy Lillard
What a dumb thing to say. She turned on her heel and hurried from the shed.
The sound of the saw started up again almost immediately. Her unscheduled visit was just a blip, a small inconvenience to an otherwise perfect day. She had tried and her father had moved on. It was as simple as that.
“Hannah, wait!”
She stopped as Jim approached. He jogged after her as if afraid she would run. Hadn’t she done enough of that in her life?
“Give him some time.” Jim came to a stop next to her.
Hannah could only nod. But there wasn’t enough time in the world to heal some wounds.
They stood in silence for a moment, the wind ruffling her hair. It was a strange sensation. She had never stood here, on this land, with her hair down. Only with it pulled tightly into a bob at the nape of her neck. She shivered despite the rising heat of the day.
“What was it like?” Jim quietly asked.
Hannah gave a small shrug. “I sent letters.”
“What was it really like?”
Hannah looked around at the place she had called home for eighteen years. Laundry line strung between two T poles, muscadine and scuppernong vines climbing across a similar setup. Red dust, green fields, blue sky.
“Fast,” she finally answered. It was the best word she could think of to describe her life these days. “Fast, loud, and busy.”
Jim glanced toward the house, where their mother was putting more wood into the water heater connected to the wringer washer.
She knew what he was thinking. Life on an Amish farm never stopped, never slowed down, there was always something to do—but this was different. Englisch busy was so different from Amish busy, but to someone who had never experienced both, there was no way for her to explain it.
“Jim!”
He whirled around as David called from the doorway. “Dat said come on.”
“Go,” Hannah said, giving him an understanding smile. Their father was a hard man.
“We’ll talk later,” he said, before spinning around and heading back into the work shed.
It was a conversation she anticipated and dreaded all at the same time.
* * *
The last thing he wanted was company, but he had it. Brandon assessed the guy about fifty yards in front of him. He didn’t look like a man. At least from what he could see. He didn’t have a beard or anything. If Brandon had to guess, he would say the guy wasn’t much older than he was, if any.
He walked with a loose stride, as if he hadn’t anything better to do in the world. Of course, he probably didn’t, considering where they were. In one hand he held a fishing pole braced on his shoulder and in the other a small silver bucket. It didn’t look big enough for hardly anything, and Brandon supposed it probably contained bait.
The boy walked and whistled a tune that Brandon had never heard before. Who ran around whistling these days, anyway?
Brandon followed behind, not bothering to try to catch up. He really didn’t want any company, but then again he didn’t want to be alone either. He just wanted . . . something else. Things to go back to the way they were. To go back to Nashville. To have his father back.
They might not have gotten along very well, but he missed his dad. He did his best to pretend like he didn’t, like it didn’t matter to him in the least. But it did. It was the shows about father-son relationships on television that had given him hope that one day, when his dad was older and he himself had a family of his own, they would sit back and laugh about the disagreements they’d had as he was growing up. His dad would clap him on the shoulder and smile and tell him how proud he was of the man he had become. Now none of that could happen. His dad was gone, taking any hope of a better, future relationship with him.
The boy started down a small hill. Gouges marked the land, small valleys in the red dirt. Not big enough for anything other than stepping in and twisting one’s ankle. He had learned in science that erosion caused such trails and wondered why they didn’t plant trees or something to keep it from happening.
There were a few trees around, and what looked like a thornbush. He wondered if it made some sort of berries. But even with the trees around, it didn’t seem to be enough to hold the earth in place.
The boy in front of him stopped and started to turn. Brandon dashed behind one of those trees and held his breath as he waited to be found out.
The boy turned slowly as if in some slow-motion video. Brandon held as still as possible. The guy allowed his gaze to sweep over the landscape and Brandon could only hope that the tree hid him well enough from view. It must have, for the guy turned back around, started whistling, and walking once again.
He’d have to be more careful if he didn’t want to be found out. And he didn’t.
At the bottom of the incline was a rusty pond. Brandon figured that orange water came as a result of all the orange dirt around. But it still looked strange. He’d never seen anything like that in Tennessee. Of course, he didn’t have an awful lot of opportunities to go fishing in Tennessee. His dad had never been the outdoorsy type, but Brandon liked the idea of a father-son fishing trip, like that TV show where the father and son walked down the road with their fishing poles.
There he went being stupid again. Even if his dad was alive, Brandon would never have that with him. Not until they were old and he had a family of his own. Now that wasn’t ever happening. Just like that his thoughts chased themselves around in a circle.
He crouched down behind a small bush and watched as the guy he had been following set his bucket down and started to bait his hook. He was really going to fish in that water? Apparently so. He acted as if he were about to cast his line into the water, but instead he turned in Brandon’s general direction.
“Did you come to fish or just watch me?”
Brandon’s heart gave an anxious pound in his chest. He’d been made. Or had he? He could pretend not to hear—or would the guy storm after him? Brandon didn’t know. He thought someone had said that Amish were peaceful people, but he didn’t know where he had heard that or even who had said it to him. Better not take that chance.
He stepped out from behind the bush and gave the guy his most insolent sneer. “What up?” He tried to play it cool. That was the best thing to do with people he didn’t know. Always remain cool.
The guy frowned. “What . . . Up . . . ?” He glanced at the sky as if somehow the answers were there in that endless expanse of blue, then he turned back to Brandon. “I don’t know. Is that a joke?”
Brandon jerked his chin back a bit farther, striking a pose he’d seen the cool kids at school do. All the action did was make him have to squint in order to see the guy better. “No, man, it’s not a joke. What up?”
The guy nodded sagely. “Oh, I get it. I guess a lot of things. The sky is up. The clouds are out today. Maybe a few birds.”
Brandon shook his head. “No, it means like how are things going.” Geez, how backward were these people?
“Then why didn’t you just ask that?”
“All the cool people say it,” he reported.
“I see.” The guy didn’t look like he saw anything. But he gave another nod and tossed his line into the water. He added some length, then used two big rocks to prop it up so he didn’t have to hold it.
“I’m Joshua.” He held out a hand to Brandon, even though they were still several feet apart. Brandon hesitated.
“Hannah is your mother, right?”
Brandon nodded, but still couldn’t make his feet walk toward him. The boy dropped his hand back to his side.
“Jim is my dat.” He said dad funny, like it ended with a T instead of a D. But Brandon kinda liked it. It was interesting.
“So, that makes us what? Cousins?”
“Jah,” Joshua said. “Cousins.”
He had a couple of cousins on his dad’s side, but they lived up North, just outside of Chicago. His family went to visit a couple of times, but they weren’t close. It wasn’t like he kicked
with them or anything. But he had never known he had cousins on his mother’s side. He was almost fifteen years old, and yet he never met his cousin who lived less than three hours away.
“Why aren’t you in school?”
Joshua laughed. “I don’t go to school any longer.”
Brandon eased out from the line of trees where he’d hidden and inched closer toward his cousin. “You don’t go to school anymore?” The closer he got, the younger he suspected Joshua really was. At first, he had thought his cousin was eighteen, but now he figured he was sixteen at best. And if he was really sixteen, why wasn’t he in school? “Why not?”
“I don’t have to go anymore. Once we turn fourteen we don’t go to school.”
Brandon couldn’t help it. His eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. “Are you kidding me?” He asked the question, but his cousin looked serious enough.
“No. Not kidding at all.”
“Who’s ‘we’?” He came to a stop just a couple of feet from Joshua. He looked just like his dad. Just in a smaller form. Not quite as tall, not quite as broad, and definitely not with the serious expression Jim wore all the time.
Joshua shrugged, the loose movement pulling on one strap of his suspenders. Why anybody wanted to wear suspenders was beyond Brandon, but it seemed they all had a thing for them. And blue shirts. And black pants. “All Amish.”
This time Brandon managed to hold his expression in his standard “who cares?” form. “All Amish?” Now he knew Joshua was kidding him. There was no way all Amish stopped going to school at fourteen. Wouldn’t the government do something about that?
“Jah. At least all Amish here. I’ve heard tell that other places have to go until their eighth-grade year. We go to our fourteenth birthday.”
Brandon shifted his weight, still concentrating hard on keeping his expression impassive. “And then you quit?” Maybe if Brandon stood there long enough, Joshua would turn loose of the lie and tell Brandon why he was really out of school today.
“Then we’re done, jah.”
“And what do you do after that?”
Joshua looked toward his fishing pole, checking to see if he had a bite, Brandon was sure, then turned to face him. “Then we learn a trade from our fathers.”
“I don’t see your dad around here anywhere.” Now he had him.
But Joshua just laughed again. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
“It’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Joshua gave a quick nod. “I suppose to you Englisch it would seem sort of strange. Why aren’t you in school?”
Brandon shoved his hands into his pockets and looked out over the rusty-colored pond. “My mom’s got me in some special program. I’m supposed to do things on the Internet, but I don’t think I’m getting Internet out here.” He stopped. “Do you know what I’m talking about?”
Joshua rolled his eyes. “Of course I know what the Internet is. We’re Amish,” he said. “Not backward hillbillies.”
Chapter Five
“Tillie, you won’t believe what I did.” Gracie turned from the cabinet, hands propped on her slim hips.
Hannah sat at the table preparing the persimmons for cooking. Peel, hull, chop. They were canning pie filling today and jam tomorrow. At her sister’s calculated words, she set down the knife.
“What was that?”
Gracie appeared not to notice Tillie’s stiff words. “I forgot to get another canning pot from Katie Esh.”
Katie was their closest neighbor, an elderly woman who had been one of the original settlers in Pontotoc.
“You could go over there and get it now,” Tillie said.
Gracie shook her head, an exaggerated motion that sent Hannah’s curiosity skyrocketing. What were these two up to? “Oh, no. She’s gone to Tennessee for the day.”
“Jah?”
“Jah. She went up there to visit her kin.”
“Mary Ann Hostetler said she was going to be canning today too,” Tillie added.
“I guess we could go over to Aaron’s and see if we can borrow his.”
Bingo. Hannah dried her hands on the paper towel and sat back in her seat.
“But that’s so far,” Tillie protested. “It’ll take so long to get over there and back in the buggy. We’ll lose so much time.”
It wouldn’t be long now.
Gracie turned to Hannah. “You could go. In your car.”
And there it was.
“Jah, that won’t take long at all.” Tillie’s smile was so forced it wavered on her lips.
“Is there any particular reason why I need to go to Aaron’s?”
They shook their heads.
“No.”
“Of course not.”
Hannah stood. “Okay then. It’s closer to the Danny Yoders’. Why don’t I just go there?”
“No!” they yelled in unison.
“I mean, what with the persimmons already in, Rebecca is probably using hers today as well,” Gracie explained.
Hannah was positive. They were setting her up. And they wanted her to go to Aaron’s. She wasn’t sure why, but she had her suspicions. “If you’re sure,” she said, palming her keys.
Gracie and Tillie nodded. “We’re positive,” Tillie said, then shot her the trembling smile once more.
Best to get this over with now.
Hannah gave them a quick nod, then headed out the door.
It was a short little drive to Aaron’s house. It was the same one Lizzie had grown up in. Hannah had heard through the grapevine that after Lizzie’s death, her parents moved back to Ethridge, leaving Aaron to farm the land in Pontotoc. As with the rest of Pontotoc, not much had changed.
Her stomach sank as she pulled into the gravel drive. It weighed heavy with memories laced with sadness. What-ifs buzzed around inside her head.
At the sound of her car, Aaron came out of the barn. He wiped his hands on a shop rag and waited for her to turn off the engine and get out.
“Hi.” His greeting was confident and sure, though his eyes reflected so many questions.
“Hi. Uhum . . . Gracie and Tillie sent me over to see if we could borrow your canning pot.”
“Sure. Tomatoes?”
She shook her head. “The persimmons are out of control.”
“Right.” He started toward the porch and into the house. But he stopped before crossing the threshold. “Do you want to come in for a minute?”
“I’ll wait here if that’s okay. They’re expecting me to come right back.”
“Jah.” He ducked into the house, and Hannah released the breath she had been holding.
“Hi,” a tiny voice chirped from behind her.
Hannah spun around. She had been so lost in her own thoughts that she hadn’t heard anyone approach. And she certainly hadn’t expected Aaron’s children to be home. Well, his girls. Yet there they stood, both of them, grinning at her as if they had a pocket full of candy that no one knew about.
“Who are you?” the older of the two girls asked.
“I’m Hannah.” She gave them a reassuring smile. Both had their father’s dark hair and smoky blue eyes, and Hannah wondered if his son took after him as well.
“Abner’s Hannah?” the younger asked. She elbowed her sister. “I bet she’s Abner’s Hannah.”
“That’s right.”
“Don’t poke me,” the older girl said. “I know who she is.” Those pale blue-gray eyes so like her father’s studied her like a scientist studies a specimen in a microscope. “How come you’re dressed Englisch?”
“I moved away.” It was the best answer she could think of on the spot.
“You jump the fence?” the younger one asked.
“Something like that,” Hannah murmured.
“But you’re back now?” the older one asked.
“For a while.”
They nodded, their expressions as solemn as priests’.
Just then Aaron came out of the house. The girls jumped as if they had been
poked with a stick.
“Dat!”
“What are y’all doing home?”
“We came to have lunch with you.” The younger sister smiled, showing the space between her two front teeth. She was so sweet and looked so much like Aaron it nearly brought tears to Hannah’s eyes.
“What have I told you about coming home for lunch?”
“You said not to,” she said. “But—”
“No buts.” Aaron propped the canning pot on his hip and gestured with his other hand. “Get your lunch pails and march right back over to school.”
“But, Dat—” her sister started.
“Now.”
The girls grumbled just a bit, but did as he demanded.
“Bye, Dat.”
“Bye, Abner’s Hannah.”
Hannah smiled at the moniker. “Bye, girls.”
Aaron moved to stand on the other side of the drive, she was certain so that he could make sure they got safely back across the road once again.
After a moment, he turned to Hannah once again. “Sorry it took so long. I couldn’t find the rack.” He handed her the pot.
“I’m impressed that you knew there was a rack.”
He shrugged as if it was no big deal, but a flush of pink stained his cheeks. “Lizzie was always canning something.” His color deepened as if he hadn’t meant to talk about her. At least not to Hannah.
“She was a good wife?” she quietly asked. Why, she wasn’t certain. She wanted to know. She didn’t want to know. She wanted to tell him how sorry she was that she left and never returned. But what good would that do? She had hurt him, she knew, but he had pulled himself up and started again. She couldn’t open those wounds again. Not his. Not her own.
“Jah.” His voice was as soft as hers. “She was a good fraa and a good mudder.”
“And she made you happy?” That would go a long way, to know that he was happy after she left. It broke her heart that he had moved on. But it would have killed her to know that he had stopped living, that he hadn’t been happy.
“Jah.”
She smiled. “I’m glad.”
“What about you?” he asked.
Her. It was the one subject that she didn’t want to talk about. “Oh, you know.”