Finding Hope

by Janice Kay Johnson - His Best Friend's Baby

  He watched the woman drive up his lane so slowly, he could have walked as fast. Certainly, his buggy horse would leave her behind. At least she wouldn’t make Zeb envious when she sped away.

  Once she parked, he decided to be polite and go out to meet her. She might be Englisch, but she was also a church member’s daughter, living with him and his family.

  She saw him as she got out of the car, and walked across the lawn toward him. He was pleased that she wore a skirt with a short-sleeve blouse that didn’t reveal much more than an Amishwoman would when she rolled up her sleeves—except for the slender calves and ankles showing beneath the knee-length hem of the skirt. She was tall, although still well below his height of about six feet. Slim, too. And, ja, as pretty as he remembered.

  She’d brushed her hair, a shiny light brown streaked with blond, smoothly back from her face and secured it in a bundle at the nape of her neck. She offered a tentative smile, her beautiful eyes hopeful.

  “We meet again.”

  “Ja.” He hesitated. “Why don’t we sit on the porch?”

  “That sounds good. The breeze feels wonderful. I guess you can tell I’ve been getting too much sun helping Lilian in her garden.” She touched her nose, which would be peeling any day. “I’m not used to being outside so much.”

  “Do you come from someplace that’s cooler?”

  “No, I’ve been living in Lexington, Kentucky, the past two—almost three—years. But I work indoors.”

  He leaned against the porch railing. At his gesture, she sat on the porch swing, her knees together, her hands folded on her lap, composed so carefully she must be nervous. She’d apparently left her handbag and keys in the car, but a pocket in the khaki skirt showed the outline of her phone.

  She saw the direction of his gaze and said, “I wouldn’t keep this with me, but . . . I don’t know if Samuel has told you that my grandfather has congestive heart failure. He had enough of an incident this morning, the paramedics came out, but decided he didn’t have to be hospitalized. I don’t want to be out of touch if my grandmother needs me.”

  Gideon nodded his understanding, reassured by her concern for these grandparents she hadn’t even known that long.

  “You saw my kinder. Zeb is eight years old, Rebekah six. Both are in school right now. Their mother died three years ago. Zeb remembers her, but I doubt Rebekah has many memories of her mamm.”

  “And you don’t have photos of her.”

  It wasn’t a question, so she must know they refused to be photographed. He couldn’t decide if her soft voice was making a judgment, or simply expressing sympathy.

  “No.”

  “I understand how your daughter must feel. I didn’t remember my father.”

  He cocked his head. “You were five, weren’t you?”

  “Days past my birthday, I’m told. But . . . my mother discouraged me from remembering.” She looked away from him, as if hoping to hide what she felt. “I ended up confused, not knowing what was a real memory and what I’d made up.”

  He should ask the questions he’d planned, not talk about her past, but he couldn’t help himself. “Why would she do such a thing?”

  “I . . . don’t know. She has stories about why she had to escape, but I find it hard to believe her now that I’m getting to know my daad.”

  Interested in how naturally she’d said that, even as she was otherwise speaking English, Gideon said, “My daughter speaks only a little English. Our kinder don’t learn until they start school, and this was her first year.”

  “So I understand. But Zeb speaks more?”

  “Ja, some.” He wasn’t sure, because they didn’t use it at home. How would she communicate with his kinder? This suddenly seemed like an even worse idea than he’d thought.

  “I’m trying to learn to speak Deitsh,” she said hastily, as if she’d been able to tell what he was thinking. “Mose especially has been helping me.” A smile played with her mouth. “I think he was scared of me at first, so now he enjoys being the teacher. He can scold me when I don’t remember part of the lesson.”

  Gideon chuckled. “Mose seems like a fine boy.”

  “Ja.” Continuing in Deitsh, this Hannah Mast said, very slowly, groping her way, “My sisters and brothers have all been good to me.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Sehr gut.”

  She gave him a saucy grin. “Do I get a gold star?”

  Gideon had to laugh. “If I had one.”

  Sobering, she said, “Will you tell me more about the job?”

  “I need someone to watch over Rebekah and Zeb after school from Tuesday through Friday and all day on Saturday. I’m also asking for at least some housework and laundry if you have time. Cooking is the other big job. I’m fine with breakfast, but when I have to prepare other meals, either we eat really late or I cut my work short.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a farmer. That means I’m usually nearby, but often out in the fields with my horses, plowing, fertilizing, harvesting, maintaining fences and buildings, feeding animals, pruning trees or vines, mending equipment, or sharpening blades. I work long days. In the past two years, I’ve had four different young women work here to take care of the house and my kinder, but none have lasted long.”

  Hannah studied him, her high, smooth brow crinkled. “Is there a problem causing them to leave?”

  “I don’t think so.” Her asking seemed reasonable. “Sarah—she was first, was already planning for her wedding, so I knew we wouldn’t have her for long. Eva left when her mamm became ill and needed more help at home. Naomi also left to marry. Two weeks ago, Rebecca took a job at a café in town for more money.” If he were Rebecca’s daad, he’d be worried about her increasing interest in auslanders, and he thanked God that he wasn’t responsible for her.

  “Oh. Well, I assume Daad told you that I might not stay for more than two or three months.”

  “He said that you’re staying because of your grandparents.”

  “Yes, and . . . well, I want to get to know my daad and Lilian and my sisters and brothers. My Amish grossmammi, too.” Emotions welled in her richly colored eyes. “Before, I didn’t have any family. Sometimes I don’t know what I’m supposed to do or say, but . . . I want to learn. I don’t want to give any of it up. I’ve waited my whole life to find them.”

  A tug in his chest, Gideon felt sad for everything she’d missed. He understood, since with this move to Missouri, he and the kinder had said goodbye to the rest of their family, from an aenti who’d cared for Rebekah and Zeb after Leah died to the brother Gideon had been closest with. His mamm and Leah’s, too. He still thought he’d made the right choice, but it was hard. Letters were not the same, and visits would be rare, especially since many members of his family had opposed the move. He had yet to find time to take the kinder back to New York, and only one of his sisters had come here for a two-week stay.

  He wouldn’t tell anyone else how relieved he was that the distance made much contact difficult.

  “Even a month or two would be a help,” he said to Hannah. “That would give me time to find someone for the summer.” At her nod, he continued, “What did you do for work before you came to Tompkin’s Mill?”

  “I’m a chef.” She told him about her training and her recent job at a restaurant in a city in Kentucky.

  He didn’t want to insult her, but had to be sure she understood what he needed. “We don’t expect our meals to be fancy. I work hard, and eat heartily.”

  “I’ve seen that with my daad. Lilian and I have been trading recipes. I love to cook. I enjoy playing with recipes until they’re as good as they can be, but I’m happy to cook the kind of food you’re used to. And I love to bake.” She raised her eyebrows. “I assume Rebekah is learning to help?”

  “Some, but not the way she would be if her mamm was here.” He’d been disappo
inted when he would come in for a cup of coffee and see her sitting at the table coloring or just kicking her heels while Naomi and then Rebecca worked on dinner. “The young women taking care of the household wanted to get each job done, not make it slower by teaching a girl as young as my daughter.”

  Hannah frowned. “That’s wrong. Helping her discover what she can contribute should be a joy, not a trial.”

  Surprised and pleased, Gideon knew right then that he would at least give her a chance. He wondered if her cooking would be better than Rebecca King’s. It couldn’t fail to be better than his.

  Her face brightened. “Do you have a garden? I’ve spent a lot of time with Lilian in hers.”

  “A small one. I don’t have time for more than what I already do. We keep plenty of the crops I grow to sell. Corn, raspberries, sweet potatoes, and watermelon. We do have fruit trees, too.”

  “I see.” She looked past him, her lips curving. “Your kinder are coming.”

  Gideon turned. “Ja, a neighbor and I take turns walking our kinder to school and home at the end of the day. The road isn’t that busy, but the Englisch drive too fast sometimes.” He was immediately embarrassed because he’d forgotten she was Englisch.

  Except she laughed and said, “Not me.”

  He suppressed a grin. “I have noticed.”

  Her eyes shied from his as if he’d startled her, but he didn’t know why that would be so. He thought she might be blushing.

  “I’m bold about some things—trying different spices in a recipe—but timid in other ways,” she said hastily. “My mother didn’t have a car, and I didn’t learn to drive until I was almost twenty. And then I was in a city, and it was scary. Everyone rushing around. I still don’t enjoy it.” She shook herself.

  Zeb and Rebekah spotted the two of them on the porch and broke into a run. Winning the race, as he always did, Zeb thudded up the porch steps and came to an abrupt stop, gaping at the Englisch woman. Rebekah followed, but went straight to Gideon, clutching his hand.

  Hannah smiled and rose to her feet. “Was bist du heit?”

  How are you?

  Zeb responded with a burst of speech.

  Hannah almost immediately had to shake her head and say apologetically, “I only speak a little Deitsh. I’m just learning.”

  “I can teach you,” he said eagerly.

  This smile was more polite. “We’ll have to see if your daadi decides to hire me first.”

  Zeb looked at Gideon with eyes as dark as his daad’s. “Will you?”

  “We’ll see.” He bent to kiss the top of his daughter’s head and then ruffled his son’s hair. “Now you go on in, and let us talk.”

  “But I can—!”

  Gideon raised his eyebrows. Zeb sighed and trudged into the house. At least he held the door until his sister slipped in with him instead of letting it close in her face.

  Amusement danced in Hannah’s eyes. “Well, he’s not timid, is he?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “Not anymore. After their mamm died, he quit talking much. Rebekah, too. Before, she had so much to say, for her age, but after, I’d see her watching me, her eyes so worried . . .” Gideon shook his head. “Now she, too, is a blabbermaul.” Seeing Hannah’s expression, he said, “You don’t know that word yet?”

  “No, but I can guess. A chatterbox, like my sister Adah?”

  “I don’t know that word, but I think we’re saying the same thing.” They looked at each other for a minute.

  “I would like to hire you, at least for both of us to try it out. I need you to work full-time.” He needed more than that, of course; he needed a wife. “I can feed the kinder breakfast, but I start the day early. I hope you can come early enough to make lunch for Zeb and Rebekah to take to school—or prepare lunches the day before—and walk with them on the days that are my turn, then do some laundry or housework, make dinner. Once you’ve caught up on the housework, you could cut your hours if you don’t want to work full-time. For dinner, you can stay to eat with us, or leave to eat with your daad’s family, whichever you’d like.” He told her what he could afford to pay.

  “You come in for lunch, surely,” she said in apparent surprise.

  “Ja, but . . .” He hadn’t thought about that, the two of them alone. Because of his unease with Rebecca King, he’d gladly had her not start work until after lunchtime except for Saturdays, even though the house had suffered.

  “Once you let me know what you’d like, I can make lunches, too.”

  He saw that it hadn’t occurred to her to be uncomfortable because the two of them might sometimes be alone. Because she was Englisch, of course.

  He could discuss this with the bishop.

  She gave a decisive nod. “That schedule sounds fine, as long as I can change it if necessary. And that you understand I might have to rush to town if my grandfather suffers a crisis. I’d need to know where to find you, or who I could leave the kinder with if that happens and they’re home but you’re not.”

  “We can plan for that,” he agreed. “Almost any of my neighbors would take them, or Lilian would. Her girls go to school with Zeb and Rebecca.”

  She grinned suddenly. “But he’s a boy.”

  “I think he objects to them being girls.” They exchanged smiles that felt more than friendly. As if, for that moment, they’d been of one mind.

  Gruffly, he asked, “When could you start?”

  “Tomorrow?”

  Gideon felt as if she’d lifted a weight from his shoulders. “That would be good. Denke.”

  They agreed on a time. She said, “Please tell me if I do something you don’t like,” nodded, and went down the porch steps.

  A minute later, she’d managed to turn around in front of the barn and drove slowly down the lane.

  * * *

  * * *

  Hannah had a bad case of nerves the next morning when she parked in a spot she hoped would be out of the way and started for the house. Had this been a terrible idea? She could have easily found a part-time job in town, instead of committing herself to trying to take the place of these two children’s mother, and her not speaking their language well at all. She’d lain awake worrying last night. For heaven’s sake, she wasn’t even sure how they did laundry when they didn’t have electricity—that was a job Lilian must have done on a day when Hannah wasn’t there. What if she couldn’t find ingredients or implements she needed to cook?

  Those were problems she could take to Lilian, she reassured herself. But what if she and that poor little girl were completely unable to communicate?

  Worse, what if she blushed every time Gideon looked at her with the darkest eyes she’d ever seen? She knew perfectly well she had at least once during the interview, when a contagious grin crinkled the skin beside his eyes and transformed a sometimes stern face into a heart-stoppingly handsome one. She could only be grateful he didn’t notice how she’d been affected, or surely he wouldn’t have hired her.

  There he was already, coming out the back door to meet her. He was about six feet tall, not huge, but muscular with broad shoulders, and imposing. He was a rarity among the Amish she’d seen so far, with his hair and beard a very dark brown, almost black, and then those eyes. She liked his lightning smiles, but he was otherwise hard to read. Deeply reserved, she’d thought first, but believed she’d seen bleakness in his eyes and the set of his mouth.

  And, ach—she consciously borrowed from Lilian—why was she fussing about how he looked? She worked for him, that’s all.

  “Gute mariye,” she called, pleased to have the right Deitsh words at hand. Very appropriate, since this was a beautiful, sunny morning.

  “Gute mariye to you, too,” he returned, some of the lines on his forehead easing. “Glad I am to see you so early.”

  She couldn’t lie and say she was an early riser; given her career, she was m
ore often up late and then slept late. But she could adjust. “I hoped you could show me where to find things. Unless Zeb and Rebekah can do that?”

  “No, I’ll start, at least.”

  He led her to the garden patch, which was indeed disappointingly modest, although neatly tended. Some rows were made up of green shoots, but the peas were coming along, and she spotted a head of cabbage ready to be used. Greens, too; Lilian usually served a salad of some kind along with meals. Plus a nice patch of strawberries and substantial clumps of rhubarb.

  Hannah opened her mouth to ask if he’d mind if she enlarged the garden, but then shut it. She’d better find out first how busy she was with the children—the kinder, she corrected herself—and the cooking and housework. Both would certainly be more labor intensive than running a vacuum around her apartment or tossing dirty clothes in the washer—or using a blender. Also . . . what if she created a larger garden, then left? Would Gideon feel constrained to keep it up?

  He gestured toward a grassy bank with a metal door inset. “The storm shelter.”

  “Have you had to use it?” she asked apprehensively.

  “Not yet. I pray we don’t need to, but am glad it’s there.”

  She was on board with that sentiment.

  At the chicken coop, he grabbed a basket and collected eggs, showing her how to do it without getting pecked. “Zeb usually does this, but just in case you have to. He also cleans the coop. He likes to forget, so you should remind him after school.”

  She nodded, eyeing the chickens, red with speckled feathers. Having an awful thought, she asked, “Do you . . . eat your own chickens?”

  Chapter Six

  Hannah felt dumb. Doppick. This was a farm. Of course they raised chickens not only for the eggs, but to eat.

  “Ja, certain sure,” Gideon said matter-of-factly. “Not the good layers, but I can show you which—”

  Feeling foolish or not, she shook her head vigorously and took a step back, even if she risked irritating her new employer. “I’ve never killed anything but bugs. I don’t want to.”