Sisters of the Quilt Trilogy

by Cindy Woodsmall

Martin grabbed the salt shaker and shook the granules over the roast. “Faye has issues. Big ones.”

  Hannah smoothed the cloth napkin across her lap. “Why doesn’t someone do something?”

  He set the shaker on the table. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Isn’t there a group of church leaders who could put limits on her?”

  Zabeth reached across the table for Hannah’s arm. “No, child. The only people who could be informed are the police, and family members don’t call the police because someone gets drunk or uses drugs occasionally. It’s just not done.”

  Hannah took a long drink of water, wondering if there wasn’t some middle ground between the Amish church authorities, who sought too much control, and Englischer families and friends, who had no control.

  “But I don’t understand what would make someone willing to live like she is rather than fighting back.”

  Martin studied her. “I don’t know that the kind of clear-cut answer you’re wanting exists. Faye has been trouble for as long as I can remember. When I was twelve, our parents separated, and she got even worse. One day Mom and Faye had a huge argument. I don’t know what it was about, but Faye stormed out. After a few hours, Mom went to look for her. It was raining, and the roads were bad.”

  Zabeth shook her head as if Hannah had wandered into forbidden territory. “Their mother died in a car accident.”

  Hannah took another drink of water, concerned she’d asked too many questions and determined not to make that mistake again. Martin shared the tragedy, telling just enough facts for it to make sense, but something about his tone said there was a lot more to the story.

  He lifted the biscuits toward Hannah, offering her one. When she declined, he took one and set the bowl down. Cutting the bread in half, he asked, “So how long are you visiting?”

  Zabeth smiled. “She’s going to live here.”

  “Really?” He buttered his biscuit. “There’s no car out front, and someone else was driving when you left GymberJump this morning. Are you old enough to drive?”

  Zabeth nodded. “She turned eighteen in March.”

  Martin’s green eyes fixed on Hannah, and he smirked. “Then next on the list is a car and driving lessons, right?”

  That’s what Dr. Lehman had said too, but Hannah shook her head. “I’m not interested, and from what Gideon told me, I can’t afford the insurance, let alone lessons or a car.”

  Martin propped his elbows on the table. “We’ll work something out. Every girl needs a way to help me out.” He chuckled. “I mean, needs a way to get around.”

  Zabeth pushed her plate away. “Yeah, having you here with me, buying groceries and getting me to doctors’ appointments, has already made Martin’s life easier.”

  He nodded. “The moment she said you were here and would be helping her for a while, I was able to get to some out-of-town jobs that needed my attention months ago.”

  Zabeth laid her napkin next to her plate. “Did you get caught up on the Malcolm Crest job?”

  “Pretty close. Stayed a night there last week trying to get everything straight and back on track.”

  Hannah enjoyed how comfortable Zabeth was with Martin, how much they seemed to know about each other’s lives. “If anyone cares, I’d really rather hire a driver as needed.”

  Martin pushed back in his chair. “It’s settled, Hannah. You’re learning to drive.”

  “But …”

  Zabeth grabbed her cane, which was never far from her, and used it to stand. “I’m going to lie down. You two work this out, but I will say, Hannah, that I think it’d be a mistake not to learn to drive with all you have coming up.”

  Hannah sighed. “I see how it is with you two.”

  Zabeth stopped behind Hannah, bent down, and gave her a hug. Hannah gently squeezed her arm. Silence between her and Martin prevailed until Zabeth’s bedroom door closed.

  Martin tossed the homemade cloth napkin onto his plate. “Zebby needs you. And my life is a ton easier since you arrived, but you’ll never be all she needs unless you can drive.”

  “But cars are so expensive.”

  Martin smiled. “I’ll find you a good used one.”

  “Can I get a loan for it?”

  He shook his head. “That won’t be needed.”

  She stood and started clearing the table. “Yes it is. I’ll not take a handout.”

  He rose, grabbed his plate, and followed her into the kitchen. “Keep your backbone intact for Faye, but work with me, okay?”

  She set the dishes next to the sink. “You pay for Zabeth’s drivers?”

  “Or drive her myself, yes.”

  “Then find me a used car with a small monthly payment. You can apply whatever would be the normal monthly cost of Zabeth’s drivers toward the payment, and I’ll pay the rest.”

  He laughed. “Then I’ll end up paying the full car payment, plus all insurance and gas, and you’ll get money to boot.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded.

  “Does she know that?”

  He shook his head and held a finger to his lips. “Shh. There’s a lot about finances that Zabeth doesn’t know. And she shouldn’t have to. I cover certain expenses, and my dad takes care of other stuff.”

  “Faye doesn’t know that, does she?”

  “She and my dad haven’t spoken in thirteen years. And I refuse to tell either of them what’s going on in the other one’s life.”

  Hannah studied the man in front of her. If she’d had to deal with Faye for thirteen years, she’d have been out of sorts at GymberJump too. “I forgive you for this morning.”

  He laughed. “I had to earn it, eh?”

  “Saying you’re sorry and meaning it are two different things. I wasn’t going to ease your conscience if you didn’t deserve it.”

  “Well, phone girl, you’ll be a good protector for Zebby where Faye’s concerned. I can’t tell you how glad I am that the cavalry arrived.” He held out his hand.

  “The what?”

  “Cavalry. Ah, between your being a girl and being raised Amish, I guess that wasn’t the best word choice. It’s a military term for soldiers who often arrived just in the nick of time and fought mounted on horses.”

  “Oh, well, thanks. I guess.” She shook his hand, but she knew it was Zabeth who had rescued her. Her aunt had caused her to find a life worth living and was urging her toward the freedom to live it.

  Rays of late-afternoon sun streamed through the broken clouds as Paul drove into Gram’s driveway Friday evening. It had been his ritual since he graduated to come to Gram’s every weekend, mostly in hopes of hearing something about Hannah from Luke, Mary, or Matthew.

  He parked the truck and got out, then headed for the house. This was the summer he and Hannah had dreamed of. Graduation was finally behind him. He would be living with Gram full-time if Hannah were here. Instead, he was entering graduate school next fall and spending thirty-two hours a week as a caseworker in Harrisburg. He no longer lived in the on-campus apartment but rented a one-bedroom place halfway between Harrisburg and Owl’s Perch. It made more sense to keep moving forward in life than to spend every moment in Owl’s Perch, hoping to hear something about Hannah. Becoming a counselor was heading in a different direction, but the goal was the same—to help others. Rather than spending his life rescuing children from bad situations, he hoped to reach out through counseling before things in a family got that far off track. With all he and Hannah had been through, this new step would fit well into the next phase of their life.

  The snows were long gone, and the fields were lush with greenery. The grass grew faster than he could control. It’d take him from sunup to sundown to cut Gram’s ample yards tomorrow. A rectangular patch of odd-looking weeds caught his peripheral vision, and he stopped before walking to the edge of it.

  Hannah’s garden.

  It was hers more than his, even though they’d worked it together. She loved it: smelling the soil, working the land, produ
cing a bumper crop from tiny seeds. He always figured it was symbolic of the hope she carried for life, and he loved that about her.

  He reached down and pulled up a clump of weeds by the roots. Then another. And another.

  A need to plant seeds and watch the fruit of them grow to a harvest nudged him. Hope, from the size of a seed to full harvest—that’s what he needed. Dusting off his hands, he headed for the house. After telling Gram he was home and that he’d be in the garden if she needed him, he went to the barn to get the rototiller.

  He filled it with gas and cranked it, and his whole body vibrated with the machine as he directed it toward the garden. While walking slowly down the rectangular patch of earth, tilling the soil, Paul wondered if his gift to A-Yom Muilae had arrived and if the little girl liked what he and Dorcas had picked out for her.

  When someone called his name above the roar of the machine, he stopped. An Amish woman about his mother’s age stood at the edge of the garden. He turned off the rototiller and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

  “Hi.” He stepped forward.

  She stood in silence. His best guess was that he was looking at Hannah’s mother and that she thought he knew nothing of gardens to begin planting the first part of June. She cleared her throat. “I’m Ruth Lapp.”

  “Paul Waddell.” He held out his hand, and she barely shook it. He glanced toward Luke’s harness shop and saw a horse and buggy parked there—probably hers.

  “I … I was hoping to have a word with you—now, if you will.”

  “Sure.” A smile crept to the corners of his mouth. Her reserved but polite succinctness reminded him of Hannah. He motioned toward the porch. “Care to have a seat?”

  She shook her head. “I’m needed at home. I got two things on my mind, and I’ll tell ya up front, one is sort of a way to haggle for what I want.”

  Well, this woman seemed to have little in common with her husband. She was calm and forthright.

  “You have my full attention.” Paul used his hand to block out the sun’s rays that were coming from behind Mrs. Lapp.

  Her gaze moved over the garden. “Sarah told me a few weeks back that she talked to you the first week Hannah was gone and that you helped her a lot. I want you to know I appreciate that. She has a tougher time with life than any of my other children. I never knew a body to get so nervous.”

  “How is she?”

  Pain seemed to flicker in her eyes. “She keeps … searching for things, making her behavior every bit as hard to explain as it was the first week Hannah went away.”

  Paul figured Sarah needed more help than the few minutes he’d had with her. “I’d be glad to talk with her again, do whatever I could to help her. Because I’m taking courses about these areas, I know of some good professionals who could help her—”

  Mrs. Lapp held up her hand, causing him to stop in midsentence. “Our community wouldn’t take too kindly to that idea. Besides, Sarah’s always been flighty. It’s just her way.” She reached into the bib of her apron. “I wanted to show you something.” She pulled out an envelope. “Hannah wrote to us a few weeks back. I’ve been debating whether to share it with you or not, then Sarah told me about your talk with her.”

  The two months of sleepless nights spent pacing the floors, praying for Hannah, all seemed worth this one moment. Maybe this letter would lead him to her. Maybe she was coming home. Maybe …

  Paul took the envelope and noticed it contained no return address, but the postmark indicated Columbus, Ohio. That was about six hours away.

  He turned the envelope over and read the words on the outside.

  But the words were disappointing.

  I gave this note to the husband of a friend to mail while he was on a business trip.

  So Hannah hadn’t mailed it from where she was living. He wasn’t surprised, not even deeply disappointed. He had come to peace with God on this issue. Hannah needed time. He opened the unsealed envelope and pulled out the letter.

  Greetings,

  Please tell all who are interested that I’m doing well. I have a job, and my employer is very kind. He has patiently trained me, and I hope I’m learning fast enough that he’s pleased with me. Life here is interesting. I seem to be sandwiched between the Plain life and the Englischers’ life. Day to day is strange among the English, but in many ways they are much like the Amish, some easygoing, others uptight. I cannot say more, for I haven’t been here long enough to know what I think about many, many things. I am truly doing well and hope you are the same.

  Hannah

  It struck him how formal this was compared to the note he’d received from her with “Dearest Paul” written as a greeting and the epiphany she’d shared with him. Unlike the paper in his hand, she’d revealed parts of her true self to him, and that gave him hope. Still, her words made it clear she needed more time away before she knew what she thought about many things. He refolded the letter, grateful for every word.

  “Thank you for sharing this with me, Mrs. Lapp.” He slid the note into the envelope.

  She pushed a clod of dirt with the toe of her shoe. “I figured it was only right to share it. But to be honest, I’m hoping to use it to get what I want.”

  A little amused at her boldness, he held the letter out to her. “If it’s your leverage, you shouldn’t have let me read it first.”

  She searched his face before they shared a small laugh. “I guess I won’t make a good businessperson anytime soon.”

  “Mrs. Lapp, I haven’t heard from Hannah other than a letter she left for me with Matthew and one she mailed within a few hours of leaving Owl’s Perch. The second letter was much like this one, no return address. Its postmark said it was mailed from Pittsburgh.”

  “Do you think that’s where she is?”

  “No. That’s a hub for Amtrak. I think that’s probably where she changed trains before heading elsewhere.”

  She gave a solemn nod, looking pained beyond what her lack of tears showed. “Thank you. If you hear from her, you’ll let me know, right? You’ll come to the house and …”

  He didn’t mind going to the house, even if he was not welcomed by Hannah’s father. “I’ll let you know. But if she doesn’t want to say where she is, I won’t tell that part.”

  She clenched her lips and drew a deep breath. “I understand. But if she does contact you, please tell her to write to her Mamm and give me an address where I can write to her. I can keep it a secret if she needs me to … just like you and she did.” Her voice broke, and a sob escaped her before she clenched her jaws and gained control.

  “Yes, Mrs. Lapp. I give you my word.”

  She pointed to the rototiller. “I’ll let you get back to your work.”

  Paul held out his hand, needing some way to make physical contact without daring to lay a hand on her shoulder. “I appreciate that you came here and let me read the note. It helps.”

  She shook his hand, and without another word she strode toward Luke’s old harness shop, where her horse and buggy stood waiting. He was glad she’d come to see him, and her note made him more sure than ever that Hannah just needed time away from her family. She had a job and wouldn’t return as soon as Matthew’s money ran out, but she would return. He felt sure of it.

  Gideon got out of the car at the same time Hannah did.

  “You’re staying?” Hannah’s nerves were bad enough without an audience.

  Gideon shut the car door. “Last time I dropped you off at some unfamiliar building, you wound up in an intensive care unit, fighting for your life.”

  That thought did nothing to calm her nerves. She headed for the DMV building. What she wanted to do was stand in the middle of the DMV parking lot and just scream at the sheer frustration of constantly battling to catch up with everyone else her age in this Englischer world.

  Well, that was silly. She’d never stand somewhere and scream. That’d be downright useless—not to mention embarrassing, although her boundaries of what was embarrassing kept expandi
ng.

  Ignoring the rogue thoughts, she entered the building with Gideon right behind her. She had all her papers in order, including a statement from her doctor that she was in good health. Martin had explained that not everyone needed papers from a physician, just those who’d been hospitalized or unconscious in the past six months. He’d wasted no time bringing a driver’s manual by Zabeth’s place for Hannah to study. She had to wonder how many rituals she’d go through before the events of each day stopped molding her into someone unrecognizable.

  Gideon took a seat. Hannah stepped behind the last person in the shortest line, hoping she would leave here with her learner’s permit.

  Sometimes she missed the routine of everyday life among her people. Aside from her garden at Zabeth’s, nothing in her life was similar to before. Right now a day of doing laundry by a wringer washer and rinsing the items by hand sounded like a pleasant escape. It was what came with those tasks that kept her rooted in this constant storm of newness—that and the fact she’d never leave Zabeth.

  When it came to being pushed into the fullness of the Englischers’ life, Martin was the one behind her, shoving. She hadn’t been there when he’d dropped off the driver’s booklet, but that didn’t stop him from making it clear he wanted her learning how to drive—yesterday.

  That’d been nearly two weeks ago, and she’d been at North Lincoln, talking to Rhonda, the office manager, about what had to be done to earn a GED. North Lincoln was an old elementary school, a three-story, redbrick building snuggled in the midst of an older neighborhood—not nearly as intimidating as she’d expected.

  Rhonda was probably twenty years older than Hannah and really nice. By the time Hannah had toured the building and asked way too many questions, she didn’t feel so hesitant about trying to get her GED. It was all a matter of taking one step at a time and studying until she was ready for the next step. There was no set timetable for achieving her goal. Rhonda said whether it took her two years or two months was nobody’s business but Hannah’s—and her instructor’s. There was no way Rhonda could know how much her words meant. For a brief spell in her life, Hannah had stopped feeling like an oddball—until Gideon pulled in front of the DMV building. She drew a deep breath, hoping she wouldn’t have to face Martin tonight and tell him she’d failed her first test in the Englischers’ world.