“That’s too bad,” the man said. “Maybe we’ll check back in a few hours—maybe after lunch.”
“That would be fine,” Betty said. “I’m so sorry.”
As the car pulled out, Hannah asked, “Why don’t you buy more horses?”
“That’s what I was saying all last summer, but I just couldn’t take care of the riding stable with two more horses and the housework too—not with the children, I can’t. Kendra is of some help but not enough yet.”
“Well, I’m here now,” Hannah told her, “for all of the summer at least.”
“Let’s see how the rest of the day goes first,” Betty said, nodding. “Then I’ll talk about it with Steve tonight.”
The rest of the day went as it had started, without sufficient horses to meet the need. Hannah caught on to the routine quickly. By late afternoon, Betty let her take care of the last riders of the day—the couple with the two small children who needed babysitting while the parents were out riding. With delight Hannah entertained the children in the barn by teaching them to play the simple Amish games she had learned as a child. When the parents returned in an hour, the eyes of the children shone, as did those of their parents.
“This has been a perfect ending to the day,” the man told Hannah. “We are so grateful to you for babysitting the children.” They paid Hannah the requested fee as well as a generous tip for the time she had spent with the children. She held the money tightly against her side and waved as they drove off.
When Hannah showed her aunt the extra money, Betty said, “You did real well for the first day, and they paid you for babysitting too.”
“It was a lot more fun than cleaning houses,” Hannah said.
After supper Betty talked with Steve in the living room. They put their heads together under the light of the gas lantern, Steve with a notepad where he scratched figures every few minutes. Thirty minutes later they had apparently made up their minds.
Steve followed Betty out to the kitchen and announced to Hannah, “Good news. We’re going to buy two more horses. Even if they aren’t busy all the time, it will still pay off.”
“When?” Hannah asked, glad that her presence was already helping out.
“Saturday,” he said. “That’s the first chance I have. I shouldn’t take off from my regular job for this. That would be expensive.”
When Saturday arrived, Steve set out early with his horse and cart for Troy to make some phone calls. He returned before lunch to report success. By two o’clock that afternoon, a horse trailer had pulled into the driveway with two horses.
“These are perfect riding horses,” the driver assured Steve. “I picked them out myself this morning. They are gentle and safe for anyone.”
“What are the names?” Steve asked.
“This is Mandy,” the driver said, stroking the neck of the smaller mare. Turning to the other horse, he said, “And this gelding is Prince.”
Prince jerked his head at the sound of his name as if he knew he was being talked about. Hannah approached him cautiously and reached out to stroke his neck. He lowered his head as if to oblige her. She gently touched him, her eyes searching his.
He neighed, a soft, friendly sound.
“I think he likes you,” the driver said.
Hannah felt as if her heart was too full and could say nothing for a long moment. Prince was like her pony, Honey, only bigger and stronger. Even Prince’s face had the same contour and gentle lines.
“Looks like love at first sight,” Steve said with a wink.
Hannah stroked Prince’s mane. She knew with what she had already seen of him that this was a special horse.
“His name fits him,” she finally managed to say.
“That it does,” agreed Steve.
“Well, take care,” the driver said. “It looks like everything is in order. You shouldn’t have any trouble with these horses, Mr. Mast.”
“Thanks for bringing them,” Steve said as the driver got in his truck and pulled out of the driveway.
That same afternoon Jake Byler arrived at the home of Bishop Nisley. After a few inquiries, it had been an easy matter to find the bishop’s residence. The Amish were enough of a novelty in the area that the locals seemed to know where they were located.
After the preliminary introductions, Jake had been invited to stay for supper, after which the bishop took Jake into the living room for further conversation. Jake had already guessed that Nisley was just a young bishop, in age as well as experience. This pleased him, and he expected easier treatment from a younger bishop who might not be as well versed in the rules of the church.
“So you are from Iowa?” Bishop Nisley asked.
Jake smiled inwardly. He realized that a strange Amish boy, even in full Amish dress, does not walk into an Amish community without questions. It was important that he answer those questions satisfactorily. If he had arrived on the Greyhound, straight from home, that would be one thing, but he had walked in.
Jake nodded. “Kalona.”
“Is that an old church community?”
“Quite old,” Jake allowed. “I was born there.”
“Your grandfather’s name was Simon Byler—Bishop Simon?”
Jake nodded.
“I’ve heard of him. He was made bishop in his late twenties, wasn’t he?”
Jake nodded again, surprised at Nisley’s knowledge of Amish history. Perhaps he had misjudged the man slightly.
“He was living until a few years ago, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, he died in the fall of the year,” Jake replied. “Now five years ago, I think.”
With his lineage apparently established to Nisley’s satisfaction, the bishop moved on. “How long have you been in the area?”
“A few weeks.”
“This is the first that you have tried to contact us?”
“Yes.” Jake decided not to explain further. It might be best to let the bishop probe where he wished.
“Why not?” The bishop didn’t hesitate to ask the obvious question.
Jake took a deep breath. “At first I didn’t know where any Amish churches were, but I promised my parents I would find the nearest one.
Nisley wasn’t satisfied. “We’re not that hard to find. Most everyone in town knows where we are.”
“I know,” Jake said. “I found that out when I started asking. But, you see, I really didn’t want to start asking any sooner.”
Nisley liked that, Jake thought. It probably sounded better to him than excuses. Amish boys weren’t expected to lie.
“Are you a member at Kalona?” he asked.
“Yes,” Jake answered.
“Your bishop will want to know where you are. Was there a good reason for not showing up here sooner?”
Jake felt his face blush, but he wasn’t about to tell the bishop about his reason for leaving. Yet some explanation needed to be given.
“You see,” Jake started, “I told my parents I needed some time away—to visit other places. They know and understand. I’m not trying to get away from the Amish. It just took a little while before I could contact you.”
Jake’s red neck was all the evidence Bishop Nisley needed, and he grinned. Obviously there was some personal issue involved. A wild Amish boy doing things against the church rules usually didn’t feel much shame about it.
Nisley nodded his encouragement. “Well, I’m glad that you have come. Hopefully we’ll see more of you while you’re in the area.”
Jake, greatly relieved, agreed. “I’ll try to come down every other week at least.”
“Where do you work?” Nisley asked.
“On Cabinet Mountain for the Forest Service.”
Nisley gave Jake another long look and then asked, “They have to wear uniforms, don’t they?”
Jake nodded and hung his head. This one, he thought, will do me in for sure.
Instead, to his surprise, Nisley let it go, apparently deciding that was a matter for his home bishop to rule on.
>
Sixteen
The next morning was Sunday and the need to get up early wasn’t as urgent, and so Betty didn’t call Hannah until six thirty. Already wide awake by then, Hannah got up, dressed, and made her way downstairs.
Betty was preparing breakfast at the stove, and so Hannah pitched in to help. Kendra soon appeared and began to set the table.
“So, are you worried about your first Sunday service?” Betty asked.
“A little,” Hannah admitted. “I hardly know anyone but your family.”
“Oh, you’ll get to know the others fast. We’re a small group and real friendly-like. We don’t get visitors from the east that much. In the summers there are more, of course, and we always look forward to all of them.”
“At least there will be a whole van load of other visitors, and so no one will notice me,” Hannah said over the bacon.
“They’ll notice,” Betty allowed. “You are the only young girl—at least from what I saw in the van the other day.”
“I’m not out here for that,” Hannah said with emotion in her voice.
“Never say never,” Betty chirped. “You might see someone you like.”
Kendra grinned from ear to ear, but Hannah said firmly, “I’m not into that right now. No boys for me.”
“Whatever you say,” Betty said, unconvinced. “Just let me know if you need further information on any of the boys after the service.”
Steve entered the kitchen with a morning greeting and, since breakfast appeared ready, quickly called for the morning prayer, and the meal began.
By eight thirty the Masts pulled their buggy into the driveway of the home where the service was to be held. The log siding was the same as what was on Betty and Steve’s place, and Hannah wondered if everyone built with logs in Montana.
There were the usual lines of black hats and white shirts as the men and boys stood in front of the barn. The women headed up the wooden boardwalk that served as the entryway from the lane.
Hannah stepped carefully lest she trip on the rough edges and fall in her Sunday clothing. That would serve to announce her arrival in a way she least wanted. She would then, forever after, be remembered as the girl who had arrived from Indiana and had fallen flat on her face the very first Sunday.
The singing started in the usual manner as the song leader announced the number and then led out with the first bar. Hannah quickly recognized the lines and felt perfectly at home as the sound of their voices rose and fell together. Hannah kept her eyes on the floor, though, and made no attempt to look around. There were boys over on the other side of the room, and she had no desire to look at them. But that resolution lasted only until she began to feel less conspicuous. When a strong bass voice led out in the praise song, that old familiar song that is sung at every Sunday service, she glanced in his direction.
The man was someone she didn’t know, obviously a local. Listening to the resonance of his nice voice somehow made her feel even more at home. She had indeed arrived among her own people.
Hannah knew she also was being watched. From where, she wasn’t certain, and so she slowly searched the room. The bench two rows back from the men’s front line had at least six boys on it—young boys about Isaac’s age and not likely to pay her much attention. The boys on the front bench were even younger.
Further back she saw a rugged boy who looked like a logger. His arms had scars all over them. Beside him sat a younger boy, thin with a pinched face as if he hadn’t seen too much good food in his lifetime. The one to his left looked like the logger’s brother without the scars.
So far, so good, Hannah thought and felt herself relax. If this is all there is to get over in the West, I won’t have to fear reawakening any dreams. A feeling of thankfulness swept over her as her gaze settled on the next two boys. God had made the road easy. Still, she couldn’t identify the soothing bass voice. Whose is it?
As if to answer her thoughts, the singer led out again, his voice full and powerful. It seemed the voice was that of some boy beside the last one she could see. It was then that a wave of horror swept over her. Surely such a sound couldn’t come from the voices of the locals she had seen. There was too much vigor, emotion, and feeling to it. Hardly ever had she heard the praise song sung this way. This singer was the maker of dreams. His voice wrapped around the room, powerful and rich, until the last notes of his lead blended with the voices of the others as they joined him. She felt a chill run through her body. Who is this boy?
A hefty man sat directly in front of the singer, blocking Hannah’s view of him. The man’s shoulders were strong and broad, those of an outdoorsman.
The sound of the next line filled the room again.
Did she want to see? No, she told herself, I do not. Or do I? But it can’t be avoided, and surely, she thought, after I’ve come all this way, God won’t ask me to face a trial beyond my strength.
The hefty, broad-shouldered fellow paused as the little boy next to him thumped him on his knee to tell him something. All in one motion the man bent sideways to listen, and the singer behind him became visible. Only one thought seared Hannah’s mind in that one instant. It’s Peter.
Hannah froze. In her sheer panic, she was unable to even drop her gaze, yet she knew she must control herself. This was church. Everyone could see her, and a strange girl in a strange church especially couldn’t cause a scene.
This couldn’t be Peter. She forced her eyes to look to the floor. Who then was it? Could it be his brother? She must know, and to know she must look again. Hannah raised her eyes slowly. With her heart beating wildly, she found his face again in the sea of boys and men, still visible over the hefty man’s shoulder.
He was in the middle of a new lead, his face intent and focused. She stared for a moment, then slowly turned back to the songbook, and tried to resume her composure. It wasn’t Peter or his brother. Her mind had played tricks on her.
Older by a year at least, he looked more somber. Peter’s face never looked like that. The hair was much the same color, the outline of the face similar, yet the tilt of the head was different, and his jawline was more pronounced. Other differences became evident as she dared sneak another glance at him. He had the same wild good looks, though, and that was enough to unnerve her.
What a dummkopf I am, Hannah told herself. This isn’t Peter. There will never be another Peter. I must remember who I am and what I’ve learned. I must not dream about anyone again. Her eyes firmly fixed on the floor, she didn’t raise them again until the ministers filed down from upstairs and the preaching began.
Jake had the distinct impression that someone watched him while he led out during the praise song. Being asked to lead the song as a visitor was not that unusual, but surely some people would wonder. Whatever the scrutiny, they would assume by his clothing and bearing that he was a member from some Amish church and thus qualified to lead out. Also he had arrived in Bishop Nisley’s buggy, which would help. In any event, Jake decided he wouldn’t worry about it. The request had been made, and he would comply and lead out in the singing. He had done so frequently at his home church.
Eliza had always told Jake that his voice was nice. That was the only thing that bothered him now, but he pushed the memory aside. She was not here, and he was determined that he would not be haunted by his memories of her.
Jake started another line and felt somehow that the watcher was not just a curious local. The intensity of the interest he felt was too much for that. Jake wanted to look around and see who this was. Yet, if he looked around during the middle of the song, it might break his concentration. Instead, he kept his mind on the page in front of him, keeping the rhythm and timing of the song in his head. The last line of the song would come soon enough, and then he could look.
He gave his all to the final lines. With its haunting, stirring cry, the last line of the last stanza pulled at one’s soul. It was as if the agony of a martyr’s impending death and final victory were called out for all to hear.
; As the last note died away and as he settled onto a more comfortable spot on the bench, Jake allowed his eyes to lift and scan the room. He could see no one around who might have caused the sensation of being watched. All eyes seemed focused on the floor. The big broad back and suspenders of one of the locals were directly in front of him. To his left and right were the young girls, but none of them were old enough to have expressed what he felt.
That was when the local man shifted his position again. This time he stood up to take his son outside. The boy cried as if in pain and obviously needed to be taken outside lest his cries disturb the service. As the man stood, Jake saw what might have caused his feeling of being watched. Her hair was black, her skin delicate, her appearance cultured, her face somber, and her eyes were directed to the floor. What struck him the most was that this girl was beautiful but not anything like Eliza.
Jake wished she would look up and then hoped she wouldn’t. This is all wrong, he told himself. He would just end up comparing this girl to Eliza. He wanted none of this, and yet…why was he drawn to her? He had no answer.
Finally, he decided he didn’t want to know and turned his attention to the next song, which had just been announced. Girls would simply not be on his list of things to be concerned with, beautiful or not. There is a summer of work in front of me. Why should I ever trust a girl again? Just because she’s attractive? An ugly one might be better, he thought bitterly and joined in with the song.
“I forgot to tell you we usually leave early,” Betty whispered to Hannah right after the noon meal of peanut butter sandwiches, jam, pickles, and coffee.
“Sure,” Hannah said and followed Betty to the washroom where they found their bonnets and shawls in the pile of women’s wraps.
Hannah held the washroom door for Betty as they went outside and waited at the end of the board sidewalk till Steve pulled up in the surrey.
A Dream for Hannah (Hannah's Heart 1) Page 12