Hannah's Choice

by Jan Drexler

  4

  Hannah gave the rag rug a final shake, watching the breeze take the dust away over the meadow. Turning to the next rug, she saw Adam talking with Mamm near the smokehouse. When he saw her, he gave a wave with one hand. A rooster squawked and struggled as it hung upside down in his other hand.

  Giving the last rug a quick shake, she folded it onto the pile with the others. Mamm was frowning as she watched Adam walk toward Hannah. What had he done to make her so unhappy? Hannah put the rugs on the chair just inside the door, ready to replace after the floor dried from the mopping she gave it earlier, and then stepped back to the edge of the porch just as Adam reached the bottom step.

  “Good morning.” His easy grin made her stomach flutter.

  She smiled back at him, in spite of the awareness of Mamm’s watchful frown. “What are you doing with that poor rooster?”

  Adam lifted the bird up and looked him in the eye. The rooster fell silent, then squawked and tried to reach Adam with his open beak. His wings beat so hard that feathers flew. “It’s a present from my ma to yours.”

  “He’s certainly welcome. The barnyard hasn’t been the same since we lost Rory.”

  “Come with me to the chicken yard and help get him settled in.”

  “Ja, sure.” Hannah glanced toward the smokehouse, but Mamm was no longer in sight. She stepped off the porch to join him as they walked across to the fenced yard. The gate was open to let the chickens feed for the day, and the curious hens gathered around Adam as he approached with the rooster.

  “I’ll get a crate from the barn to put him in while we fix a pen for him.” She pushed one aggressive hen out of the way with her foot.

  Adam lifted the rooster out of reach of the chickens. “That’s a good idea. If we let him loose now, these hens are likely to peck him to death.”

  With the rooster safely enclosed, Adam went to work fencing off a corner of the chicken yard. Hannah watched as he set a post in the ground, and then lined up scrap boards to make a secure fence. His hands, strong and sure, made the task look easy.

  “He’ll only need to be in there for a couple weeks, ja?”

  “That’s right.” Adam paused to straighten his back before tackling another board. “He’s used to being around other hens, so it shouldn’t take him long to want to be around yours. They just need to accept him.”

  Hannah glanced at the crate where the rooster sat huddled on the ground as the chickens surrounded him. They cackled and pecked at the wooden box, ready to drive the intruder away.

  “Right now they look like they could eat him.”

  Adam laughed. “And by the time you put them together, they’ll be glad to take him for their husband. He won’t be a stranger any longer.”

  He went back to his hammering. Did he mean more than chickens? From the look on her face, Mamm would be glad to send Adam on his way. Perhaps that was why he kept coming around. He hoped Mamm and Daed would get used to him and accept him as part of the family.

  “I wanted to ask you something.” Adam hammered the last slat into place. He turned to Hannah, glancing at the house and barn before stepping close to her.

  Hannah backed away until she was pressed against the fence.

  “There’s a camp meeting next week . . .”

  “In the autumn? I thought you only went to those in the summer.”

  “Joseph Mast is holding one in his barn. The preacher is coming this way on his circuit and wants to hold the meeting.” He took her hand in his. “Would you go with me? My life hasn’t been the same since I attended the meetings last summer, and I want you to hear what the preacher says.”

  Hannah looked away from him. “What do your parents say about you going to these meetings?”

  “They don’t go with me, but they don’t forbid me from attending. Pa says it’s a better way for me to spend time than some other things I could be doing.”

  Hannah looked at his hand grasping hers. She had heard of the fiery preachers who stirred their audience into a frenzy of emotion, holding hundreds of listeners spellbound. Adam claimed it had changed his life, but was it of God, as he assured her?

  “I don’t think Daed would let me go.”

  Adam sighed, letting go of her hand. “I didn’t think he would, but you could still ask him.”

  “It isn’t just Daed . . . I’m not sure I want to go.”

  Hannah looked up to see Adam staring at her. “You don’t want to? Why not? It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I want you to see it.”

  How could she explain this feeling she had inside when he spoke of the camp meetings? It was as if a hand was restraining her, keeping her from considering the thought of attending.

  “When you went last summer, you were changed.”

  Adam nodded. “Ja, that’s just it. I was changed, and for the better.”

  She looked into his eyes, willing him to understand. “I don’t want to change, Adam. I know I’m following God’s will the way I am right now. I don’t need a preacher to tell me differently.”

  Adam stepped back and rubbed his chin with his hand. “It’s your unyielding Amish faith, isn’t it? It won’t let any other ideas touch you.”

  Hannah bit her lip. “You make it sound like I’m turning a blind eye to anything different, and it isn’t that way. I’m just careful about which new things I let affect me. I don’t know if the things they speak of at these camp meetings are trustworthy or not.”

  Adam looked away from her, into the woods beyond the house. His jaw worked as if he was trying to control his temper. “I don’t want to argue with you about this, Hannah.” His voice was low. Controlled. “I wanted you to know this part of my life.” He turned to her again. “I want you to be part of it. You know how I feel about you.”

  “We’re friends, Adam. As your friend, I would ask you to remain true to your faith and not go seeking this . . . this exciting new religion.”

  “We’re more than just friends, aren’t we?” He looked deep into her eyes, searching for the answer she couldn’t give him. How could she know when friendship turned into something more? He took her hand in his. “And these camp meetings help me to be truer to my faith than I ever have been before. Now I feel like I know the real Jesus and can claim him as my Lord. I was never able to understand that before.”

  Hannah shook her head and he backed away from her. “This isn’t the way I was raised. This isn’t what my ancestors died for.”

  “What did they die for, then? To be Amish, or to be Christian? Your ancestors and mine faced the same persecution, and it was because they needed to worship God in the way they knew was right, not the way the government said they should. They persevered through those terrible times because God called them to follow him. But over the years, we’ve lost their fire and determination. I feel that again at the camp meetings. God has called me to action, to a purpose, and I want you to share that. Please come with me.”

  “Ne, I can’t.” Hannah kept her eyes down. She couldn’t face him now. Would he end their friendship over this?

  He sighed and turned to the crate where the rooster crouched, pressing himself against the ground in an attempt to hide from the mob of hens. “I’ll wait, Hannah. Maybe you’ll change your mind and will go with me the next time the preacher comes around.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that.”

  Adam grinned up at her as he opened the crate and grabbed the unhappy bird. “You never know what God might do to change your mind between now and then.” He dropped the rooster into his temporary pen.

  Christian paused, his hand on the orchard gate. Adam Metzler was visiting again, talking with Hannah near the chicken coop.

  As a ewe butted his leg, he opened the gate to let the flock in to graze on the orchard grass. It was time to let the sheepfold grass recover before winter came, and the sheep relished the windfall apples they found among the trees in their new pasture, but they balked at the gate, none of the ewes wanting to be the first to expl
ore new territory. One of the half-grown lambs pushed past its elders and jumped into the orchard, and that was all it took for the rest of the flock to follow.

  Fastening the gate behind them, Christian looked toward the chicken coop again. What was Adam doing here? He and Hannah had been friends for years, but surely that friendship had cooled, the way it did when children grew older.

  As he watched, Adam grasped Hannah’s hand, but she pulled back. It looked as if he was asking her something, but Hannah wasn’t agreeing. Good for her. She knew how to keep her distance from a Mennonite boy.

  But did she? It was hard to see from this distance, but it didn’t seem as if Adam was disappointed.

  Christian watched until Adam left, heading down the creek path toward his farm. The same creek path Hannah often took when she headed out into the woods to be alone. She didn’t follow, but went back to the house. Was there something more to this than childish friendship?

  With Adam and Hannah both out of sight, Christian headed toward the barn and his next chore, passing the pigpen just as Jacob poured a pail of slop into the pig’s trough. Jacob and Peter had spent a day last week rounding up their two pigs from the woods where they had spent the summer rooting for their food on the forest floor. Now the swine were being fattened up on kitchen slops and windfall apples in preparation for butchering day.

  Jacob shook the slop pail, trying to get the last of yesterday’s apple peels out, and his hand got a little too close to one pig’s snout.

  “Hi! Watch it there!” Jacob slapped the half-wild pig’s nose away as the creature nipped at him.

  “He thought he’d have a bite of your arm for breakfast.” Christian held in a chuckle as Jacob glared at him.

  “When are we going to butcher these devils?”

  “I hope next month. I need to talk to Elias and see which day would suit him.” As the only Amish left along Conestoga Creek, he and Elias Hertzler depended on each other to work together.

  “And the Metzlers? I know they have a couple steers to butcher. We could share the meat.”

  Christian watched the hogs shove each other in their eagerness to devour the slop. Butcher with the Metzlers? It would make sense. The three farms lay one next to the other along the south side of the creek, with the Yoders in the middle. They had worked together in past years, but lately . . . Christian scratched his beard. Had he let his family get a little too familiar with the Mennonites? The moment he had witnessed between Adam and Hannah seemed to point that way.

  “Why the Metzlers? I think we’ll have enough to do for one day with our two pigs and the Hertzlers.”

  Jacob shrugged. “We’ve included them before, haven’t we?”

  Christian broke off a long stem of dry grass, winnowing the seeds between his fingers. Ja, he had enjoyed the help of both neighbors in these tasks, but ever since the Amish districts had been redrawn last year, placing the Yoders and Hertzlers at the edge of the Pequea church district, Samuel Metzler seemed to think the two families should join the Mennonite church down the road. Christian balked under the pressure.

  “Ja, we have, but perhaps not this year.”

  “It’s because of the Eshelmanns, isn’t it, and how they left to join the Brethren? You think one of us might marry a Mennonite and pull the family away from the church.”

  Christian rolled his shoulders. Sometimes it felt as if the world was pressing down, pushing him to take his family down the path toward ease and destruction.

  “You don’t think that could happen, Jacob?”

  “Why would it? Even if I thought I might want to marry Hilda Metzler, she could come to the Amish church with us.”

  “It’s human nature to follow the easy path. You may want your wife to become Amish, but it can be a demanding life for those not used to it. She would always be looking back to the church of her youth, with its wide path.”

  Jacob was silent, watching the pigs lick the wooden trough dry. “Is it wrong to want an easier life?”

  Christian’s heart twisted. Ach, that he would hear those words out of his own son’s mouth!

  “God calls us to follow the narrow path, to keep ourselves pure and spotless, separate from the world. Remember Christ himself said, ‘Strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.’ Ours may seem like a difficult way, but it’s the way to life.”

  When Jacob looked at him, Christian was glad to see no sign of hardness in his features. The boy wasn’t being rebellious in his questions, but truly wanted to know.

  “So, are the Eshelmanns and the Metzlers heading to destruction? If a person isn’t a member of the Amish church, does that mean they’re lost forever?”

  “Ne, son. We cannot judge another man’s heart or know God’s plan for another. But we are responsible for ourselves, to live as God calls us.”

  Jacob didn’t answer but turned back to watch the pigs digging and rooting in the dirt of their pen. Was he convinced of the truth?

  Christian went into the barn and his next chore, but the weight on his shoulders threatened to crush him. The church’s call was so clear—they were to separate themselves from the world—but with so many distractions surrounding them, how could he hope to keep his children steady in the faith?

  That afternoon, Hannah and Liesbet stood at the edge of the garden. The first hard frost a few nights ago had killed off the remaining summer vegetables, and somewhere in the tangle of dried vines and plants were the last of the squash and pumpkins.

  “Why didn’t Mamm take care of this job before the frost?” Liesbet dropped her basket to the ground.

  “You may as well ask why we didn’t take care of it earlier.” Hannah set her basket next to Liesbet’s and began pulling dead bean vines from the soft ground.

  Liesbet gave a halfhearted pull on a tomato plant. “I hate cleaning the garden in the autumn.”

  Hannah kept working. If she ignored Liesbet’s complaining, perhaps she’d stop sooner.

  “Admit it, Hannah. You hate it too.”

  Hannah moved her basket away from Liesbet, farther into the garden. When she glanced back, she saw that her sister hadn’t done any more than pull up the one tomato stalk.

  “Come on, Liesbet. If you don’t work faster, this will take us all afternoon.”

  “Where do we put the dead plants?”

  “On the pile over there. You know that.”

  Liesbet sat where she was and pulled up another tomato stalk. Hannah turned her back on her and kept pulling handfuls of tangled beans, squash, and cornstalks. When her hands were full, she threw them on the pile at the edge of the garden and then came back for another load. She glanced at Liesbet. She hadn’t moved.

  Hannah pulled the next cornstalk up with one hand, twisting it so that the bean and squash vines came up with it. If Liesbet would do her share of the work, life would be a lot easier. But if Hannah complained to Mamm or Daed, they would both tell her not to worry, like they always did. Ever since the diphtheria, Mamm never made her work. If she ever saw a spoiled child, it was Liesbet.

  The next cornstalk stubbornly held its place, even though Hannah twisted and pulled. She bent down with a stick to loosen the dirt around the roots.

  Of course, Liesbet was still weak. She grew tired quickly, even playing games. Hannah had recovered from the diphtheria quickly, but Liesbet hadn’t. For months she had stayed in Mamm and Daed’s room, too weak to even get out of bed. The cough hadn’t completely disappeared until several years later. Liesbet almost died, Hannah reminded herself, but that didn’t give her an excuse not to try to help with the family chores. Hannah glanced at her sister again. More than once she wondered if Liesbet was actually healthy, but continued pretending to be sickly just to get out of working.

  The cornstalk finally came up. Hannah threw it on top of the pile and moved to the next one.

  “Hannah!”

  She turned to look at Liesbet, standing among the tomato plants.

  “I heard
something under there. Is it a rat?”

  “I don’t know. It might be, but it won’t hurt you. Just make a lot of noise and you’ll scare it away.”

  “But, Hannah, what if it’s a snake?” Liesbet’s voice rose into a shriek.

  Hannah sighed. They would never get this job done if Liesbet let herself be spooked by every noise. But she really was afraid of snakes, and what if it was a copperhead?

  “Hold still, I’ll be right there.” Hannah picked up her stick and made her way to Liesbet’s side, listening for furtive movement under the dried stalks and leaves. “Where did you hear it?”

  Liesbet pointed to a spot a few feet from where she was standing. Hannah poked around with her stick. Liesbet shrieked when there was a movement, and then a cottontail rabbit ran from under the protective cover and toward the barn.

  Laughing, Hannah pointed at it. “See? It’s just a fat rabbit. He’s probably been living off our garden all summer.”

  “I don’t care.” Liesbet was almost in tears. She threw the tomato stalks down on the ground. “I’ve had enough of this. I’m not going to do it anymore.” She turned and ran to the house.

  “Liesbet!” Hannah called, but her sister didn’t turn. “Liesbet! Mamm wanted us to finish this today!”

  The kitchen door slammed and Hannah was left alone with the chores. Again. Mamm wouldn’t send Liesbet back to finish the job. Hannah bent down to pick up the tangled vines Liesbet had dropped and went back to the rows of corn and squash.

  And if today was like other days, Hannah would end up doing Liesbet’s chores in the house as well.

  Little acorn squashes lay hidden among the vines. Hannah put them in her basket, and then went back to pulling cornstalks. She had planted this garden last spring, and here she was pulling it up. The corn, beans, and squash had done well, planted together in rows of hills. Johanna’s family planted them in separate rows, and Johanna said it was easier to harvest them that way, but Hannah liked to have the beans use the cornstalks to climb on instead of having to put up poles for them. Besides, the corn needed less watering with the squash plants covering the ground around their roots and keeping the soil cool and moist all summer long.