by Jan Drexler
Then Liesbet appeared, making her way past the barn, coming from the direction of the path to the clearing. She looked safe enough. Hannah hurried up the stairs and into their bed. The last thing she wanted tonight was an argument with Liesbet.
Josef sought out Hannah after the noon dinner of cold meat and bread and found her sitting on the bench near the back door. The same bench where he had helped her clean the wool fleece the first day he met her.
“The weather is fine today, ja?” He sat near her, and then scooted a bit closer. She smiled at him, and then looked out toward the barn and the woods beyond.
“Ja, it is fine.”
“A good day for a walk.” He scooted a little closer on the bench. “Perhaps you would like to show me your farm. Take me to some of your favorite places.”
“Why would you be interested in our farm when you’ll be leaving soon?”
Josef rubbed his chin. The way she spoke, she still wasn’t planning to go west with them.
He stood and reached for her hand. “When I was a boy at home, my mutti taught me to love all things of nature and this world, but to hold them lightly.” He pulled Hannah’s hand into the crook of his elbow and started walking toward the barn.
“Why did she do that?” Hannah’s hand tightened on his arm, pulling herself close to him as they walked.
“Mein vater died when I was young. He was a soldier in a battle. We never knew who was fighting or why, we only knew he never came home. Someone brought us word that he had been killed.” He followed Hannah’s slight nudge and turned to go down a path that led past the barn. “Mutti knew that someday, the soldiers would come for me too. She prepared me early to leave home, teaching me not to hold too closely to things, but to grasp the knowledge of God with both hands and hold on tight.” He grasped at the air in front of him, balling his hands into two fists, just as Mutti had shown him when he was a little boy. He could see her earnest face in his mind as he did so, and his throat grew tight.
“How old were you when you left?”
“I was fourteen years. The king of the state where we lived was gathering soldiers to fight against another king—the wars are endless—so Mutti found passage for me on a ship to America. The week before I left for the ship, I walked the land I had grown up on. I visited the woods, the streams, the fields. I even said goodbye to our beastly cow who always kicked over the milk bucket.”
“How could you bear to leave? Not just the farm, but your family?”
The path led into the trees and Hannah released his arm, leading the way to a quiet clearing. “My sister was married the year before. Her husband was wealthy. A landowner. Mutti went to live with them, and I know she is well cared for.”
“Do you ever hear from her?”
“Ja, we have exchanged letters. She is doing well and enjoying her life as the grossmutti. My sister, she has four kinder already.”
Hannah went across the clearing to another path. She led the way to the creek bank where a fallen tree hung over the water. “You wanted to see my favorite places.” She stepped onto the tree trunk and walked along its length until she was out over the water. She sat down where a branch forked from the trunk. Josef followed her and sat, his legs dangling over the water.
“This is my very special spot. I come here often to think and to pray.”
Josef swung his feet, watching the water beneath them. In the shallows by the creek bank, a thin layer of ice spanned the distance between rocks, but in the center of the creek, brown water flowed slowly to the west. The place was secluded, the quiet broken only by the sound of the water and an occasional bird call.
“I can see why you like it.” He watched a fish in the lee of a rock, moving just enough so it wouldn’t be carried away downstream.
“You’re the first person I’ve ever brought here. No one knows about this place.”
“Even Adam Metzler?” He looked at her, and she met his gaze. Her face, framed by her kapp, was lovely. She smiled at him, and then turned back to the flowing water beneath her.
“Even Adam Metzler.”
Her words brought a warm glow. Josef watched her profile as she dangled her feet above the flowing water, tossing bits of twigs and bark into the water.
“Do you ever feel like those twigs, flowing west toward the future?”
She turned to him. “Ne, Josef. Never. My future isn’t in the west, it’s here.”
“But your family is going west. You can’t stay here while they go . . . while I go.”
“No matter how Daed and my brother talk, I don’t think they’ll make that trip in the end. Our lives are here. Our futures are here. Why would we want to leave?” She stood on the tree trunk and he scrambled to his feet.
“You are wrong, Hannah. Your vater is set on leaving this farm. All the arrangements have been made.” He jumped to the ground and reached back to help Hannah.
“The arrangements can be changed. The farm hasn’t been sold yet, or any of the animals.”
Hannah started to walk along the creek, but Josef grabbed her hand. “What about me, Hannah? What about us?”
He pulled her closer to him and reached up to caress her cheek. She blushed and looked away.
“You . . . you could stay here. You could buy land here, along the Conestoga. You don’t have to go to that unsettled frontier.”
He pulled her chin around so that she looked into his eyes. “I’m going west, and I want you to go with me.” Her lips were a pale pink bow. He pulled her closer. “I want you to be my wife, Hannah Yoder. I want us to have a family together, to make our own home. In Indiana, we’ll have opportunities we would never have here.” He leaned in and kissed those soft lips. “Say yes. Say you’ll come with me.”
“You don’t understand.” Her eyes filled. “You don’t know what you’re asking me to do.”
“I’m asking you to trust me. To believe that I know what is best for you and our future.”
She turned away from him, hiding her face from him. “I don’t know you well enough. I don’t know if I can trust you.”
He took her hand again and started down the creek path, tucking her fingers into his elbow. “All I need is a chance.”
She laced her fingers together, holding his arm. She walked silently beside him as he waited, pacing off the moments. Finally she squeezed his elbow. “Ja, I will give you a chance.”
23
The Yoders’ turn to have Sabbath meeting at their house was the next week, and Annalise welcomed the extra work. She was certain she was expecting, and it was all that occupied her mind. The last three times her heart had been filled with dread at the thought of bringing another child into the family, but not this time. This time she welcomed the new blessing. Even on a busy day like today, Annalise found herself lingering at her chores, her mind on the coming baby.
“Mamm, where do you want me to put these beans?” Liesbet struggled to carry the wooden bucket up from the cellar.
“Here, let me help with that.” Annalise reached for the bucket and set it on the table.
Liesbet sank to the bench, exhausted, while Annalise closed the trap door.
“Help me sort them. We need all of them for tomorrow’s dinner.” Annalise poured the beans into her kneading trough and began to pick through them. She glanced at Liesbet. The girl’s face was pale.
“Are you feeling all right, Liesbet?”
Liesbet started. “Ja, I’m fine. I’m just a little tired from carrying the bucket up the ladder.”
“You haven’t been eating very much lately. You need to keep your strength up.”
Christian always said she spoiled Liesbet, but the girl had been more frail and tired more easily, ever since the diphtheria. It wasn’t just that she took a long time to recover, but it was as if the illness had left her with lingering damage to her lungs or heart.
Liesbet stirred at the dry beans with her finger, pulling out a black one.
“I might be coming down with something.” She sorted ou
t a few more discolored beans from the bowl. “I’ve been so tired, and my stomach doesn’t feel good.”
“We’ll make some ginger tea after we put the beans to soak. That should help you feel better.” Annalise smiled as she sorted. Ginger tea would help her too.
After the beans were sorted, Hannah joined them at the table for a cup of tea. The little ones were playing in the attic, their voices drifting down the stairs.
“Do you think many will come all this way for meeting tomorrow?” Hannah stirred a bit of molasses into her cup.
Annalise sipped her tea. The thought of adding sweetener to it made her stomach even more queasy. “I don’t know. The weather seems to be holding, but if it turns rainy, I’m sure some will stay home.”
“Living at the edge of the district, the way we do, makes it hard for the older folks to come.”
“I don’t see why we don’t just build a meetinghouse somewhere in the middle.” Liesbet ran her finger along a seam in the tabletop. “That would make it easier for everyone, wouldn’t it?”
“Don’t let your daed hear you talking like that.” Annalise put her cup down. “You know that isn’t our way.”
Liesbet shrugged. “Just because it isn’t our way doesn’t mean it’s a bad idea. The Mennonites never have to travel as far as we do for meetings.” She yawned. “I’m going upstairs to lie down for a while.” She pushed up from the table. “Don’t wake me for dinner . . . I’m not really hungry.”
As Liesbet left, Annalise turned to Hannah. “Has Liesbet been sleeping well at night?”
Hannah didn’t meet her eyes. “Why do you ask?”
“This is the second day in a row that she’s taken a nap in the morning, and she doesn’t have much of an appetite.”
“She’s gotten up to use the outhouse, but other than that, I think she’s sleeping all right. She is probably just fighting a cold or something.”
“Ja. That must be it.” Annalise sipped her tea. Something was certainly bothering Liesbet.
“How much more do we need to do to be ready for the meeting tomorrow?”
“We’ll start the beans soaking for the soup, and then these downstairs rooms need to be cleaned. Your daed is cleaning the barn, and Jacob is working on the henhouse. This afternoon we’ll have the little ones pick up sticks in the barn yard and along the drive. . . .”
“It’s an awful lot of work, isn’t it?”
“Ja, but it’s only twice a year, and the whole house is so clean when we’re done.” She took a sip of tea, but Hannah only turned her cup around in her hands.
“What’s wrong, Hannah?”
“This will be our last time to have the meeting here. By our next turn, you’ll be in Indiana.”
Annalise stopped, her cup partway to her lips. “What do you mean, ‘you’ll be in Indiana’? You’re coming with us.”
Hannah shifted in her seat. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“If you stayed here, what would you do?”
“Adam has asked me to marry him. He’s buying the Hertzlers’ farm, and . . .” Hannah’s words stopped. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I thought Josef was courting you?”
“Ja, but Adam is so determined. I can’t decide between them.”
“Isn’t it easy? Adam is Mennonite. You know an unequal marriage will never work.”
“He wants me to leave the Amish. To become Mennonite.”
Annalise ignored the churning in her stomach. “You wouldn’t consider that, would you?”
Hannah didn’t answer right away. She looked out the window toward the creek, and then sighed. “I don’t know, Mamm. If he would become Amish . . . but he won’t even talk about it.” She sipped at her tea. “But I think the only reason why I can’t decide is that if I married him, I would be able to stay here. I don’t want to leave our farm, and the Conestoga. I don’t want to move west. But I don’t want to become Mennonite, either. I guess I don’t know what I want.”
Annalise reached across the table and took Hannah’s hand in her own. “I think I know what it is. You don’t want to lose your home. All your life your home has been here, with your daed and me. Your home has been this house, this farm, the woods, and the creek. But whether you decide to marry Adam and stay here, or marry Josef and go west with us, your home is going to change. That’s part of growing up.”
“Is it gone forever, then?”
Annalise laughed at the same time as tears filled her eyes. “Ne, liebchen, it isn’t gone forever. Wherever your husband is, that will be your home. Wherever your daed and I are, that will be home too. And we look forward to the home God is preparing for us in heaven. Home is where your heart is. Always remember that.”
After worship was over on Sunday, Hannah and Johanna dished up steaming bowls of bean soup for members of the church. Since the weather had turned blustery and cold overnight, attendance was sparse. None of the elderly members of the church had made the journey to the Yoder farm, and mothers stayed home with babies and young children. As soon as dinner was finished, the ones who had come would start bundling up for the long walk home.
“I have something to tell you.” Johanna handed a bowl of soup to John Yoder as she whispered the words to Hannah.
“Ja?”
“Ja. A secret.”
The men had all taken their bowls of soup. As they ate, Hannah cut another pan of cornbread for the women and children.
“After everyone is served, we can take our dinner up to the attic. We can talk there and no one will disturb us.”
A few minutes later, Hannah took her bowl and bread and led Johanna up the stairs to the third-floor attic. It was chilly up there, and Hannah was glad for the warm bowl of soup.
“What is the secret?” Hannah sat on a large pumpkin and balanced her piece of cornbread on her knee.
Johanna took the pumpkin next to hers, wiggling so much from excitement she almost spilled her soup.
“Jacob came by our place last night.”
Hannah grinned, but hid it behind a bite of cornbread. “That’s no secret. I saw which way he went after supper was over. He just went to talk to your daed about something.”
“That’s not why he came.”
“He didn’t talk to your daed?”
“Well, ja, he did. But he didn’t need to, did he? Don’t you think he came over just to see me?”
“Well, did he?”
“What?”
“See you.”
Johanna sighed. “I was in the house the whole time. He came to the house and knocked, though. He must have known Daed was in the barn. I think coming to the house was just an excuse to talk to me.”
“So what did he say?”
Johanna dipped her head. “Nothing.” She stirred her soup. “Could it be that he’s just shy?”
Hannah sipped a spoonful of broth. “You’re still set on marrying my brother?”
Johanna looked at her, eyes serious. “Ja, for sure I am.”
“Has he said anything to you about it?”
Johanna sighed. “Ne, but I know he likes me.”
“Why?”
Johanna smiled at her. “Just the way he looks at me.”
The way he looks at her? Hannah stirred the hot beans and broth in her bowl, remembering the way Josef looked at her, caressed her arm, lifted her chin to look into his face. His kiss. Could Jacob really be thinking of marriage the way Josef was? And Adam? At least Johanna and Jacob would be a good match, one both their daeds would approve of.
“What does Adam say about you moving west?”
Hannah shifted on her pumpkin. It was a little small for a seat and was becoming uncomfortable. “He doesn’t want me to go.”
“I don’t think he would, especially if he saw the way Josef looks at you.”
How much could she tell Johanna about Adam? She didn’t want the whole community to know about his plans to marry her. “He hasn’t been around here much. He’s been busy.”
“Busy with what?”
Hannah’s fingers grew cold. She couldn’t tell anyone about Adam’s activities. Every time she had seen him lately, he had been either coming from or going to Lancaster. He hadn’t asked for her help again, but she was involved, just the same. She knew what he was doing.
“You know how busy a farmer is in the fall. He and his daed butchered three steers last week, and that was a lot of work.”
Johanna grabbed her arm so suddenly Hannah dropped her bread into her soup. “Do you think he might marry you to keep you from moving away?”
Hannah fished the crumbly cornbread out of her bowl with her spoon.
“Hannah, you’re not answering my question.”
Hannah nodded, taking a bite of soup. Johanna had come very close to the truth with her guesses. “Ja, I think he might ask me, if he thought I’d do it.”
Johanna’s voice rose in a squeal. “Well? Would you marry him?”
“Shhhh.” Hannah cast a glance at the open attic door. “Don’t tell anyone, please? And I don’t know what I’d say.”
“Do you love him?”
Hannah shrugged her shoulders. “He’s Mennonite, an outsider. There’s a lot more to consider than whether I love him or not.”
Johanna chewed on her lower lip like she always did when she was thinking. “He could become Amish . . .”
“Ne, he wouldn’t.”
“How can you be sure?”
Hannah cast about in her mind. She was sure, but she didn’t want to tell Johanna how they had discussed this very thing. “He doesn’t really see how our faiths are different. He thinks differences like meeting in homes the way we do aren’t important, but they are. There’s a reason we don’t have meetinghouses.”
Johanna shrugged. “I never really thought about it.”
“It’s the reason our daeds are moving west. They want us to be free of distractions that would pull us away from our faith.” Hannah paused. Adam was one of those distractions. Every hour she spent with him, he pulled her heart closer to his and further from the Amish faith.