Sisters of the Quilt

by Cindy Woodsmall

  She glanced back at the stranger. Although most of his face was hidden behind his sunglasses, beard, and hat, she saw him smirk as he reached for her. Run, Hannah! Run! her mind screamed, but she couldn’t move.

  The man grabbed her by the thick apron straps that crisscrossed her back. He lifted her body slightly, dragged her to his car, spun her around to face him, and tossed her across the seat like a rag doll. Grabbing her by the pinafore, he shoved her farther into the car. The back of her head hit the door on the other side. Her vision blurred.

  The man climbed on top of her. Hannah pushed against his face and body, but he didn’t budge. She flailed at him, but he didn’t flinch. He repositioned his body, jerking at her skirts.

  What was happening?

  Tears streamed down Hannah’s cheeks. Shadows swirled from within, as if she were being buried under layers of suffocating soil. Fear and anger joined forces within her, altering, shifting who she was, how she thought about life.

  When she no longer felt like Hannah Lapp, his weight lifted, and he pulled her out of the car. He dragged her several feet in front of the vehicle, then flung her to the road like a filthy rag.

  Only vaguely aware of her surroundings, she heard his car engine roar. Confusion lifted. She knew he intended to run over her. Crawling on her hands and knees, she moved out from in front of his car. Her dress tangled around her knees, and she couldn’t move any farther. She pulled herself upright. Gravel spewed from the tires. As he passed her, he flung the car door open, hitting her with it. She flew forward and landed hard on the ground as his car sped off.

  Gasping for air, she spotted the shiny silver pail lying near the ditch. On her hands and knees, she grabbed the bucket and tried to gather its spilled contents. Her body screamed out in pain with every movement, but Daed would be furious if she wasted the produce. She swiped at her tears, desperate to find all the berries. Clawing at the road, sifting through dirt and pebbles, she searched for the fruit, dropping each berry into the bucket. Dragging her apron across her eyes, she cleared the tears away. She looked in the pail. It contained mostly gravel and clods of earth with a few bruised and torn berries.

  After staggering to her feet, she turned in one direction and then the other. Confused, she stood in the middle of the familiar road. Which way was home? She had to get home.

  Her Mamm would know what to do.

  The scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the evening air, guiding her in the right direction.

  Afraid the man might return, Hannah hurried along the road toward home, faltering with every step. When her house came into sight, a bit of relief nipped at the corners of her panicked soul. She stumbled across a patch of grass, dropping the bucket of ravaged blueberries.

  As she ran across the dirt driveway, the heel of her shoe caught on the ripped hem of her long brown skirt. She went sprawling across dirt and gravel, scraping more flesh off her palms and forearms. Getting to her feet, she reached to adjust her Kapp and realized it was missing. Bands of hair had fallen loose from the regulated bun.

  Forbidden.

  A painful shudder ran through her. She placed her bleeding palms over her skirts, bent over, and threw up. Shaking so hard it frightened her, she wiped her mouth with her apron. The scorching sun and miserable August heat made staying on her feet even harder.

  Surely her mother would make sense of this nightmare. Hannah’s eyes searched from one end of the property to the other, covering the yard, barns, and garden. She finally spotted her, carrying an armful of sweet corn.

  Mamm’s smile faded when she caught sight of Hannah. The husked corn fell to the ground, rolling in every direction. She gathered her long skirts and ran to her daughter. The odd sight of Mamm letting go of everything and running added to Hannah’s nausea.

  Mamm wrapped a consoling arm around her.

  “Oh, Mamm, there was this horrible man.” The words stammered from her lips in Pennsylvania Dutch. “He … he pulled me into his car.”

  She stepped back, resisting her daughter’s embrace. Pulling Hannah’s chin level with her own, she gazed into her face. Her mother’s eyes, which had always embodied gentleness and control, grew strange and unfamiliar. The color drained from her face, like apple cider spilling out of an upturned Mason jar. Mamm shrieked at the top of her lungs.

  Horror ripped through Hannah. Confusion once again churned inside her soul. She had never heard her mother scream before. Ever.

  “Zeb!” Mamm’s high-pitched voice rang throughout the farm. “Zeb!” She elongated the word, sending it once again across the peaceful grounds.

  Her father sprinted from the garden, dropping the hoe from his hand.

  Chills ran up and down Hannah’s body. The familiar sight of her father in his black trousers, brown shirt, suspenders, and straw hat looked real enough. Then why did she feel so detached from her body? Her siblings seemed to float from the corners of the property to see what was going on.

  Her father waved a hand at them without slowing his pace. “Tend to your chores.” They slid out of sight.

  Daed didn’t slow until his hand was under his wife’s forearm, supporting her. “Was iss letz?” he asked, using the only language they spoke among themselves. Hannah was relieved they had their own language. If that horrid man was lurking in the woods, he wouldn’t know what was being said. Her father looked at her fallen hair and torn clothing.

  “My Hannah.” Mamm’s ruddy hand pointed a shaky finger in her daughter’s face. “She’s been attacked!” A moan escaped her lips.

  Nausea churned in the pit of Hannah’s stomach at the guttural sound. Suddenly she wished she hadn’t told. Her mother clung to her father, screaming in agony as if God Himself had pronounced a curse upon the Lapp family. Mamm released her grip, doubled over in pain, and collapsed. Daed clutched her, keeping her from falling to the ground. He lifted her and carried her in his arms.

  He looked at both of the females with equal concern and confusion in his gray blue eyes. “Are you in need of a doctor?”

  Hannah stared at the limp body in her father’s arms. That couldn’t really be her mother. This woman seemed too tired to walk, and yet she continued to tug at her father’s shirt, mumbling nonsense about Hannah’s future.

  “I’m speaking to you, child.” Daed’s tone remained even. His calmness seemed out of place.

  He shifted the woman in his arms while keeping his focus on Hannah. “Luke and Levi are gone for the evening. Do ya need your sister to go to Mrs. Waddell’s for help?” His words came out slow and purposeful.

  Hannah looked toward the road. That man might be out there, creeping around. If everything happening was real and her sister did go for help … “No. I … I don’t need a doctor.” She stared at her palms, wondering how she’d ever heal from such gashes. Lowering her hands, she focused on her father.

  The taut lines in his face showed more stress than his voice. “Can you get some water for you and your mother?”

  Hannah nodded and then watched her father stride toward the wooden bench that sat a stone’s throw behind their home, under the broad, heavily leafed limbs of the beech tree.

  Disoriented and dreamlike, Hannah moved to the pump and wrapped a corner of her apron over her right hand so she could cushion the cuts from the pump handle. She took the tin cup from the wooden bucket. Lifting and lowering the pump handle soon produced a trickle of water. When the cup was filled, she trudged up the slope to her mother, who was being held upright on the seat by her father. He was patting her hand and telling her to trust God. Hannah thrust the cup toward her parents. Her father took the drink and held it to Mamm’s lips, insisting she swallow.

  Hannah turned away and gazed at the scenes playing out across the yard as if she were watching life in slow motion. Her fifteen-year-old sister, Sarah, appeared to be purposely distracting their younger siblings by taking them to the pond. Lifting Rebecca onto her hip, Sarah carried the three-year-old across the road. Samuel ran ahead and grabbed a fishing pole
that was propped against a tree. Twelve-year-old Esther opened the gate and waited for the brood to enter the pasture before fastening the lock.

  Hannah turned her focus back to her parents. Her father was still holding the cup of water to Mamm’s lips. Hannah waited, feeling nearly invisible, wishing she truly were.

  Daed talked in soft tones, assuring his wife everything was fine. When her mother stopped mumbling gibberish, his attention moved to Hannah. “Have you caused more trouble than you should have, child?”

  “I … I …” The pain in her chest grew. It was an unfamiliar, sickening feeling. Unlike the times when she’d skinned her knee as a child or baked a bad batch of bread, this pain was being intensified by the very people who had comforted her through the other bad things.

  The frustration on his face eased, and the gentleness she knew so well softened his features. “Tell me of this thing that’s happened.”

  She tried to comply but found embarrassment so thick that it made speaking impossible.

  “You can always tell your father what’s going on. How else can I guide the household?” His slow, patient manner reminded her of the closeness they had shared—before she changed from being his little girl to a nearly grown woman.

  Hannah swallowed hard and willed herself to obey. She managed to release pieces of information between her sobbing and stammering. Tears filled her father’s eyes and burned a trail down his weathered face. He pulled his arm from her mother, making sure she was steady enough not to keel over.

  He eased to his feet and placed his hands on her shoulders. “ ’Tis not right, Hannah,” he whispered. “What happened to you hould happen to no one.” Her father enfolded her in his arms. She could smell the familiar mixture of garden soil and hard work. But his embrace didn’t carry the same warmth it had yesterday. Oddly, his touch, which had always held pleasant fellowship, disgusted her.

  “The unmentionable has happened to you.”

  She pushed free of his embrace. “I don’t understand.”

  The horrid noise of her father fighting to keep control of his emotions filled the air. “You were forced to do the unmentionable,” he whispered hoarsely. “You were … raped. And that is illegal, even among the English.”

  She covered her face with her apron and wailed. Unable to keep herself upright any longer, she sank to her knees on the cool grass and rested her forehead against the earth.

  Within moments, her mother’s arms enfolded her. She nuzzled her chin against Hannah’s shoulder, rocking back and forth. The two cried bitterly.

  Guilt bore down on Hannah, blame so heavy that no amount of tears would ever wash it away. But she couldn’t pinpoint why she felt in the wrong. As Hannah gained some control and sat up, anger burned even more than the guilt. “It’s not right, Mamm. It’s not right.”

  Her mother’s swollen eyelids closed slowly as she nodded. “I know.”

  “Then let’s do something about it.” The words hurled out, vengeful and desperate.

  A pair of strong hands wrapped around her upper arms and raised her to her feet. She found herself staring into her father’s eyes.

  “You’re upset. You can’t really mean that.” He released her.

  Hannah staggered backward.

  His eyes misted. “You know we must let God take vengeance, not man.”

  The throbbing in her temples matched the ache in her abdomen and the rending of her heart. “If we don’t tell someone … maybe the police …”—she searched for words amid the confusion that screamed inside her head—“he could do this again to someone else, no?”

  The shoulders of the stout man she’d always trusted slumped. “Ruth, please try to talk some sense into her.”

  Rising from the ground, Mamm took hold of her husband’s arm to support her shaking body. “We live a simple life, Hannah, as God commanded.” The quaking of her voice made her words hard to understand. “You know our ways do not allow us to defend ourselves. Besides, without phones or cars, we would have no way to get help if we provoked this man. What would we do if he … brought trouble? It is best to leave things in the Lord’s hands.”

  “But—”

  “Look around you, daughter.” Her father made a sweep with his hand in the air. Hannah viewed the rolling landscape, cattle, outbuildings, and her house. At the pond across the road, her brother and sisters sat on the pier, dangling their bare feet in the water. “Peace reigns here. You cannot destroy that just because you want vengeance. I understand how you feel. I do. But we must leave this alone and move forward.”

  “Daed, please—”

  “I’m sorry you don’t understand, Hannah, but I must do what is best for the family and the community.” He patted Mamm’s arm. “Ruth, you must calm yourself. Your daughter is upset, and rightly so, but we will take good care of her. She is safe, and we’ll put this behind us. Now take her inside and prepare a bath for her. Then she can go to bed for the evening. Sarah will tend to the young children for tonight.” When he folded his arms across his chest, Hannah knew the conversation was over.

  Hannah sat on the stool in the bathroom, struggling not to cry as Mamm connected a hose to fill the large tin tub. The hose ran from the window behind the kitchen sink—the only source of heated water—along the side of the house and through the bathroom window. Trying to block out the vision of what had taken place less than an hour before, Hannah watched her mother pour vinegar and Epsom salts under the running water.

  “You’ll be fine,” Mamm cooed with a shaky voice. “Fervent prayers and a few days of time will get this behind you, ya?”

  Unable to share her feelings, Hannah nodded.

  Her mother stirred the water with her hand. “It’s not in your father’s ways to use a doctor, but if you need one after a few days of rest, he’ll take you.”

  Hannah tried to stop herself from shaking. Her father had said she was safe. But she didn’t feel safe.

  Laying the hose in the galvanized tub, her mother’s hands still trembled. She dried them on her apron. “I’ll grind some lobelia seeds for your pain.”

  Hannah gasped for air. “Yes, I’m sure that will help.” A sharp pain stabbed her throat. Had she not just lied? She shook her head, burying the guilt.

  Mamm squirted some liquid soap under the hose. “I’ll fetch your gown and a towel.” She left the room.

  Hannah sat on a stool beside the tub and stared at the bubbles as the horror of the attack played out in her mind. The suds burst and disappeared, much like the innocent life she’d known before today.

  Her heart ached to talk to Paul. He was good at explaining things to her, at making life take on joy and hope. But what would he think of her now? Unable to imagine sharing such a horridly embarrassing thing with him, she pushed aside thoughts of getting comfort from him. Instead she tried to visualize him pleased with her—as he’d been when she had agreed to marry him. It was a vain effort, for every time she tried to see Paul smiling, all she saw was that man dragging her into his car.

  “Hannah.” Her father’s deep voice rumbled through the washroom.

  Unsure of which images flashing in front of her were real, she blinked. “Yes?” she whispered.

  “Take this.” He held out a small piece of brown paper folded in half with a powdery substance in the crease. Her mother thrust a mug in front of her. But Hannah’s arms remained limp by her side, refusing to respond.

  Mamm lowered the cup. “I told you she didn’t hear me when I was talking to her. I tried for three or four minutes to get her to hear me. Look at her, Zeb. What are we going to do?”

  Her father held the folded paper filled with crushed lobelia seeds between his thumb and forefinger. “Open your mouth, child.” Hannah obeyed. Her father dumped the medicine on her tongue. Her mother held the cup to Hannah’s lips. Hannah swallowed, her throat burning at the invasion.

  “She’ll be fine.” Daed placed his hands firmly on Hannah’s shoulders. “Won’t you?”

  Wondering if her father reall
y believed that, she nodded.

  Mamm broke into fresh tears and ran from the room. Daed stared after her. “Go ahead and take your bath.” Without another glance in her direction, he pulled the door closed behind him.

  Forcing her body to do as her father had told her, Hannah rose from the stool and locked the door. Her arms and legs felt heavy, as if each were carrying a bucket of feed. She pulled off her filthy, torn clothing. After she slid into the tub of warm water, she buried her face in a towel and sobbed quietly.

  A tap on the door interrupted her weeping.

  “Hannah?” Mamm called through the door. “Are you okay?”

  Hannah lowered the thick towel from her face. She kept her eyes shut tight, afraid if she opened them, she might discover she was in that car again. “Ya.” Her voice sounded feeble in her ears.

  “You’ve been in there for two hours.” Her voice sounded scratchy. “The water must be cold.”

  Hannah had only been in the bath for a few minutes. She forced her eyes open. The room was dark. How could that be?

  She stood and wrapped her aching, dripping body in a towel. Climbing out of the tub, she realized how cool the water had become. She dried off, then grabbed the matches from the shelf to light the kerosene lamp. Her hands were still trembling as she lit a match and placed the flame against the wick. As the blaze lit the room, odd shapes took form. Everything looked unfamiliar. She’d helped do laundry in this room every winter since she was three, but the wooden shelves, pegs, and basket for dirty clothes appeared foreign.

  Hannah slid into her nightgown and wrapped a shawl over her shoulders. Paul must be at his parents’ place by now. Maybe Daed would let her go to Mrs. Waddell’s and call him, just this once. She wouldn’t tell Paul what had happened, but she was desperate to hear his voice. He’d tell her of his love and the wonderful future they would have together.

  But if she asked permission to call him, her father would know of their friendship. If he learned of the relationship this way, it would be much harder for Paul to earn Daed’s approval later on. And then the monster—that awful, nasty man—would have ruined everything.