Hannah's Choice

by Jan Drexler

  Christian forced his thoughts out of the gray fog. Liesbet hadn’t died. God had spared them that grief at least, although Annalise still looked concerned every time Liesbet coughed. She had been sickly for years afterward, but this summer she seemed to be stronger.

  Christian turned his thoughts toward supper, the evening, and his children, and started toward the house. A furtive figure came from the woods on the other side of the clearing. He peered into the dusky evening. Liesbet? Her apron was twisted and her kapp was off. She pulled at her apron to straighten it as she hurried toward the house. Movement at the edge of the woods caught his eye. The figure stepped into the clearing—just one step—but Christian had seen enough. The tilted cap and cocky posture gave him away. It was one of those teamsters, watching his Liesbetli as if he had a claim on her.

  A flash of heat surged through Christian and he saw himself rushing across the yard to confront the scoundrel. He would pound his fist into those leering eyes over and over . . .

  Christian flexed his hands, relaxing his fists. He whooshed out a heavy breath. The man at the edge of the clearing disappeared into the trees, gone, but the temptation toward destruction remained. He shook his head, trying to clear it. Years of discipline, study, preaching . . . and yet, at the first opportunity, the desire for violence reared its head.

  He must think. He must handle this problem with a cool head and a tender heart. His Liesbetli! He could pray she didn’t know this man was watching her . . . but the way her clothes were mussed . . . her missing kapp . . .

  Pushing down the rage once more, Christian continued toward the house. Whatever he said, however he reacted, he couldn’t do anything that would risk sending Liesbet into this fellow’s arms.

  From the shelter of the porch, Liesbet looked through the window. Wonderful-gut. Only Mamm and Hannah were in the kitchen. She wasn’t late for supper.

  She pulled her kapp from the waistband of her skirt and held it up in the light. George had pulled it off her head and thrown it on the ground as soon as he had seen her, and it had stayed there until she finally convinced him she had to get home. It had been stepped on, kicked, and sat on, and the poor thing looked terrible. Could she even salvage it? Ne, it was too torn and dirty. She’d just have to tell Mamm she lost it again.

  Stuffing the kapp back in her waistband, Liesbet straightened her apron and dusted off her skirts. That George! She glanced back toward the edge of the trees, but he had gone. The memory of his kisses hadn’t, though. She felt her cheeks, her palms cool against the heated skin. His kisses were like a summer rain—starting gentle and ending like a thunderstorm. She had managed to keep his hands under control, although toward the end she hadn’t wanted to. What would it be like to let him kiss her as much as he liked? What if someday she let him . . . She shook her head. Ne, she would never let him go that far.

  But once they were married, wouldn’t it be fun?

  She ran her fingers through her hair, pulling out the biggest leaves, and then twisted it into a bun as well as she could. Her hairpins were gone, but she could use some of Hannah’s. She would just have to get upstairs before she was asked to help with supper.

  As she slipped through the back door, Mamm never looked up from the pot she was stirring. Hannah raised her eyebrows.

  “Liesbet!” Mamm said. “I wondered where you were. I need you to find Margareta and then both of you come and help with supper.” She turned to the dry sink as Liesbet edged toward the stairs. “Hannah was out until a few minutes ago, and you disappeared right after dinner . . .”

  Mamm’s voice faded as Liesbet ran up the steps. That was easy, although Hannah would make sure their mother noticed her missing kapp. Mamm would take her side, though. She always did.

  She found Hannah’s extra kapp and the hairpins and quickly twisted her hair up. Now to find Margli and go down to the kitchen, and no one would even think she had been with her beau all afternoon.

  By the time supper was on the table and the family gathered around, Liesbet breathed with relief. She had fooled Mamm, but Hannah wasn’t going to let it go. She’d probably scold her once they got to bed, talking in hard whispers so she wouldn’t wake Margli.

  Daed was the one who made her squirm. He kept glancing her way with hard eyes, like he had seen her with George.

  All through the meal Jacob kept asking questions about Indiana, and Liesbet stopped listening. She had no interest in Indiana.

  She cut her potato into bites. When she and George were married, she would cut his potato up before she served it to him. And they would always have salt to season it, pepper too, perhaps. George’s job would pay him so well she would be able to buy pepper at the market in the city every week—

  “Liesbet? Where were you this afternoon?”

  She jumped at Daed’s voice, sharp in the sudden silence. Jacob shoveled food into his mouth, while Hannah watched her. The little ones kept their eyes on their plates.

  “I . . . I was out in the woods.” She took another bite of potato, buying time to come up with a believable story. “I thought I knew where there were some late blackberries, but I got lost and never did find them.”

  Daed watched her and she met his gaze. The best way to tell a story was to pretend it was true.

  “You were alone?”

  “Ja, Daed, of course. Hannah wasn’t here, so I had to go alone.”

  She caught Hannah’s frown. Her sister didn’t like the attention going to her. She had probably been with that old stuck-in-the-dirt farmer, Adam.

  Liesbet gave Daed a smile and took another bite of her potato. He kept watching her, as if he didn’t believe her. But as long as he hadn’t seen George, he couldn’t know anything.

  8

  Hannah’s stomach churned and she pushed her plate away. Ever since Liesbet had come home with her kapp missing and hair mussed, Hannah bit back words every time she looked at her sister.

  How could she think Mamm and Daed wouldn’t notice what was going on? Liesbet made all of her decisions as if she thought no one would be affected by them except herself. But it was her wayward behavior that would convince Daed to move the family west, if anything did.

  Once supper was over, Daed moved to the side of his chair for the kneeling prayer and the family followed him. Hannah helped William settle next to her and folded his hands together. Daed’s prayer was unusually long tonight, praying for each of them as he normally did, but also praying for God’s leading in the decision of whether to move west or not.

  He wouldn’t consider that. He couldn’t. Hannah said a silent prayer of her own.

  Margli and the boys went to bed as soon as dishes were washed, while Mamm went into the weaving room. The moon wouldn’t be bright enough for her to work at her loom tonight, but Hannah had often seen her spinning long into the night, a single candle the only light she needed.

  As soon as Daed and Jacob headed to their beds, Hannah grabbed Liesbet before she could follow. “I need to talk to you.”

  Liesbet pulled her arm out of Hannah’s grasp. “You don’t need to say anything. I can see everything you’re thinking in your oh-so-holy face.”

  “Girls?” Mamm’s voice came from the weaving room. “Do you need something?”

  “Ne, Mamm.” Hannah grabbed Liesbet’s arm again and pulled her to the door. “We’re just going to the privy before bed.”

  “I will not—”

  “You will.” Hannah hissed the words as quietly as she could. She didn’t want Mamm to hear what she had to say.

  She kept a hold on Liesbet’s arm until they were next to the orchard fence. The sheep were white shadows under the apple trees. One bleated at them as Liesbet wrenched her arm out of Hannah’s grasp.

  “All right. What do you want to say?”

  “You were with George this afternoon, weren’t you?”

  Liesbet crossed her arms over her stomach and shivered. “Does that have anything to do with you?”

  “You know it does. It would kill Mam
m and Daed if they thought you had taken up with an outsider. You have to stop seeing him. Forget about him.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “He’s not good for you, Liesbet. He isn’t the kind of man—”

  Liesbet turned on her. “What do you know about the kind of man he is? If you knew the kind of life he’s had, you wouldn’t be so quick to judge him.”

  “It doesn’t matter what kind of life he’s had. What matters is that he isn’t one of us. He’s not the man you should be encouraging.”

  “And Adam is?”

  “Leave Adam out of this. We’re talking about you and George.”

  “All right then.” Liesbet shifted her chin up and turned away from Hannah. “George loves me, and he needs me. Nothing you say will make any difference.”

  “He needs you? What about your family?”

  Liesbet turned to her again, her eyes icy cold in the starlight. “George is my family. He’s the one I’ve chosen, and you aren’t going to change my mind.”

  She ran into the house. Hannah started to follow, but why? There was nothing she could say that would change Liesbet’s mind. She didn’t seem to care about anyone except herself.

  What drew her to George? Hannah couldn’t think of anything about the man that was appealing.

  Adam, on the other hand, was very appealing. If only he were Amish . . .

  Christian shifted in bed, waiting to hear both Hannah’s and Liesbet’s footsteps going up to bed. When the door slammed and steps pounded up to the second floor, he relaxed. At least Liesbet was inside, safe. Hannah should be following her soon.

  He had never thought raising girls would be so taxing.

  Hannah was usually obedient and respectful, but this friendship with the Mennonite boy was a problem. She would stop seeing him if he asked her to. On the other hand, she was a grown woman, baptized into the faith. She was ready to set up housekeeping and start her own family. He couldn’t believe she would allow Adam to entice her away, but there was still that friendship between them. It was too close, too entrenched.

  He sighed, turning over again. Liesbet, however . . . Annalise had spoiled her, and he had allowed it. If he tried to put restrictions on her now, it would be like trying to snub a stubborn horse. She would pull back, fight against the restraints, exhausting both herself and him. And in the end, the conflict would only serve to drive her further from the faith.

  Brother Eli had said that sometimes the daed had to make the hard decisions.

  Ja, well, this decision was the hardest he would ever make.

  The bedroom was dark, but he didn’t need light to know every plank on the wall, every knothole in the ceiling, the view from the window, or which floorboard creaked when he put his weight on it. He had grown up in this house, just like his father had, and just like he had always thought his sons would. His grandfather had hewn the timbers that supported the ceiling. His father had cleared the pasture for the sheepfold. Their bodies, along with uncles, cousins, aunts, and—he swallowed hard—his own children filled the family cemetery.

  Moving away from this farm and the creek would be like ripping his heart in two. But if God called, he must follow.

  He heard the creak of the door opening. Hannah was in for the night. Both daughters safe for the moment. He could hardly hear her footsteps as she went up the stairs to her bed.

  He would like to discuss this with Annalise. There was a time when they had planned everything together, working as partners the way it should be. So much they lost when the little ones died. He sometimes feared their marriage might die too.

  Christian rose from the bed, the ropes creaking in protest as he shifted his weight to the edge and then stood. He waited, but his movements hadn’t awakened William. He pulled his trousers on and went out to the kitchen in stocking feet. He could hear the whisper of the wheel in the weaving room where Annalise sat, spinning thread for the winter weaving.

  Light from a single candle filled the room, bright after the dark bedroom. Annalise sat profiled against the window, the candle throwing her shadow against the dark glass. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. She was still as beautiful as the day they had met. Beautiful in her plain clothes, her gentle ways, even in her grief that never seemed to end.

  “Annalise.”

  She jumped at the sound of his voice.

  “It’s me. I want to talk to you.”

  “Ja, come in, then.” He could hear the smile in her voice.

  The wheel kept spinning as he took a seat on the weaving bench. Candlelight glimmered on the edge of the polished wheel and Annalise’s face wavered and moved as the spokes spun between them.

  “What we talked about this afternoon, about going west . . . Have you given it more thought?”

  “Ja. It’s all I’ve been thinking of, especially tonight. When I spin, my thoughts take off on their own, and tonight they’ve taken me across the mountains to the west.”

  “I haven’t heard you talk like that in a long time.”

  “How?”

  “Thoughtful. Poetic. Peaceful.” Christian hated to break this mood, but he had to know. “And what did your thoughts tell you when they took you over those mountains?”

  The wheel slowed, and then stopped. Annalise’s face appeared, whole and still on the other side of the spokes. “I think we should go, Christian.”

  His heart clenched, and then eased. “What has changed your mind?”

  “I’m afraid of losing our children. I’ve seen how Adam Metzler’s face lights up when he looks at Hannah, and it’s only a matter of time before Liesbet catches someone’s eye.”

  He nodded. He couldn’t tell her about the man he saw in the woods, not until he was sure there was a threat.

  “And the others,” he said, “how will we find husbands and wives for them when we live so far from other Amish?”

  “I thought to myself, There are the Hertzlers, but if they go west without us . . .”

  “Ja, ja. I agree.”

  Annalise started the wheel spinning again. “I don’t want to leave.”

  “I don’t either, but I think we should.”

  She returned his gaze through the spinning wheel and pulled her lower lip in between her teeth. After more than twenty years of marriage, he knew that was a sign she wasn’t sure about what she was going to say.

  “All right.” She nodded, her confidence returning. “Ja, we’ll go.”

  Christian rose and stepped around the wheel and baskets of fleece. Leaning over, he hugged her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “We’ll leave at the end of the winter. In time to get to Somerset County to meet Brother Yost and Brother Eli.”

  He blew out the candle, and then stood, pulling her up with him. “It’s time to go to bed.”

  She followed him to the door, but then stopped, looking at the spinning wheel and the loom, standing in the starlit room.

  “Don’t worry.” He patted her hand as he pulled it into the crook of his elbow. “I’ll make a wagon big enough to take them with us.”

  Annalise reached up, as shy as a girl, and kissed him on the cheek.

  9

  Hannah hurried through her morning chores. Mamm was busy in the weaving room, and the fine weather held.

  “Liesbet, let’s take the children to the walnut grove this morning.”

  Her sister looked up from sweeping the kitchen floor. “Don’t you think we have enough walnuts? There’s a whole bin full of them in the shed.”

  Liesbet seemed determined to argue with everything Hannah said.

  “We can always use more. Mamm ran out last fall when she was making dye, so I’m sure a few more buckets full will be welcome.”

  Liesbet gave an exaggerated sigh. “Ja, I suppose we can take the children out.” She went back to her sweeping with a sideways look at Hannah. “You never know what we might find in the woods, right? The walnut grove is near the Metzler farm, isn’t it?”

  Hannah decided to ignore h
er. “I’ll get the children ready while you finish the sweeping. We’ll be back in time to fix dinner if we go right away.”

  Margli and William were in the chicken pen.

  “You two know better than to bother the chickens.” Hannah caught the back of William’s shift and pulled him out. Margli followed, her hair full of downy chicken feathers.

  “William wanted to pet the new chicks, but the hen kept pecking at him.”

  William held up a bruised hand for Hannah to inspect.

  “Never mind. We’re going to the woods to find walnuts. Do you know where Peter is?”

  Margli shrugged.

  “Then let’s go find some sacks to put the walnuts in. Maybe Peter is in the barn.”

  By the time Hannah had rounded up all three children and empty sacks for everyone, the morning was half over. Peter led the way down the road to the walnut grove across from the Metzler farm where the children kicked their feet through the thick, crispy leaves to find the round walnuts underneath.

  “William, you help me, ja? Find the nuts.” Hannah swept leaves aside with her foot and pointed out the blackish green balls to her brother. Their hands would be stained from gathering them, but they could use every one they found.

  Peter worked alone, trying to fill his sack before anyone else. Liesbet and Margli drifted off in another direction, but remained within easy calling distance.

  William enjoyed the game, pouncing on each nut he found and throwing it into Hannah’s open sack. As they circled a dense patch of raspberry canes, Hannah had the sudden, prickling feeling of being watched. She glanced around, but saw no one. Even Liesbet and the others were out of sight, although she could still hear their voices and the rustling leaves.

  Standing still, she peered into the open undergrowth in the walnut grove. During the spring and summer, it would be impossible to see any distance through the green shrubs, but this time of year the thin branches were bare and the only barriers were the black trunks of the trees.