Finding Hope

by Janice Kay Johnson - His Best Friend's Baby

  “Is Esther riding with us today?” Zeb asked, nose wrinkled.

  “Ja, and I don’t like that face you’re making,” Gideon said mildly. Esther Schwartz, his next-door neighbor, was not the most likable member of their church district. There’d been a time when she repelled Gideon’s every offer of help, but she seemed to have softened since last summer, when two work frolics were organized to paint her house and barn, and reroof her house. A widow, Esther had lost not only her husband, but her only kind. That could sour anyone.

  Although Gideon doubted that Samuel Mast had been anything but good-hearted and stoic after his wife ran away with his daughter.

  As it happened, after they’d picked up Esther and reached the road, Samuel’s buggy passed. He had—and needed—a large one, a family sedan, to seat his growing family. Gideon couldn’t get a good look inside at the back seats, but didn’t see Hannah.

  Samuel nodded at him, and the two girls waved at his kinder. Rebekah, of course, waved back, while Zeb pretended not to see them. Gideon hid a grin.

  The bishop and his wife were hosting today’s service for the first time since Gideon and his kinder had moved to Missouri. He’d initially joined a different church district, but the farm he’d chosen to buy was in the middle of Bishop Troyer’s district. Unless Gideon had wanted to drive the kinder a distance and then have to pick them up, too, five days a week, it had made sense for them to attend the school right down the road. Inevitably, they’d made friends among neighboring kinder. He was glad now to have made the change to worship with these neighbors who had quickly become his friends, too.

  Once he reined Fergus in line alongside the fence paralleling the long farm lane at Amos’s home, only one buggy separating his from Samuel’s, he let Zeb and Rebekah run ahead to find their friends. Esther accepted his help to descend, then set off with a covered dish.

  As Gideon spoke to the boy who was one of several who would watch over the horses, another large buggy drawn by a handsome, high-stepping black gelding came to a stop beside his.

  Because of Hannah, he’d been thinking about Luke Bowman and his formerly Englisch wife, Julia, this week, so he greeted them and waited while Luke, a tall man about Gideon’s age, lifted his small, blond daughter down and steadied Julia as she descended, holding their baby son.

  Not quite six months old, Nathan Bowman was as large for his age as Zeb had been, and had his daad’s blue eyes and his mamm’s dark auburn hair.

  It was impossible not to grin back at him. Gideon said hello to Abby, too. Five now, she would be starting school with his kinder come fall.

  When he asked her about it, she said, “I wish I could start now! ’Cept Leah is my best friend, and she has to wait to start school for a whole year!”

  Amused at her vehemence, he said, “You’ll make many more friends.”

  “I already have lots,” she assured him.

  This girl had been so shy she’d barely speak when Gideon first got to know the Bowman family, but that had changed.

  Laughing, Julia set off toward the house with the kinder while Luke replaced his horse’s bridle with a halter so that he could graze.

  When he was satisfied, the two men fell into step together.

  “I hear Samuel’s daughter works for you now.”

  Luke must have guessed why Gideon had waited for him.

  “Ja, although she may not stay more than a month or two. I don’t think she knows.” He sighed. “She is a very fine cook. We’ll miss her when she goes back to her job.”

  Luke’s keen blue eyes met his. “You don’t think there’s any chance she’ll stay?”

  “You know how few Englischers convert.”

  Luke’s gaze lifted to his wife and kinder ahead. His mouth curved. “Ja, but sometimes they do.”

  “Hannah might like to talk to Julia.” This, Gideon admitted if only to himself, was why he’d hoped to have a chance to talk casually with Luke. “Right now, she goes back and forth between her Englisch family and her Amish family. It must be confusing.”

  “Pulled both ways.” Luke sounded thoughtful. He would have felt that pull, having left the faith and gone out among the auslanders for over a decade, from what Gideon had heard, before returning to his faith. “I’ll suggest it to Julia,” Luke said. “Is Hannah here today? We just passed Samuel’s buggy.”

  Pulled both ways. The words reminded Gideon of things he’d rather forget, but couldn’t. Had Leah felt that pull to the Englisch world, or was she only loyal to an Englisch friend? Her death had stolen any chance of an answer from her. Either way, she had died in a head-on collision of two cars because of her determination to hold tight to a bond that fell outside of her family and faith in God, to which she owed her first loyalty.

  Struck anew by his profound sense of loss and the anger he had still not overcome, Gideon took a moment to say, “I don’t think Hannah is here. She’s learning our language really fast, but she doesn’t speak it well enough yet to understand the sermons.”

  “Julia didn’t, either, the first time she visited.”

  Gideon had been aware that several families streamed up the lane behind them, calling greetings and instructions to their kinder. Most women, including Julia, went to the house first to leave their contributions of food. Clumps of men and women visited with friends, and kinder ran around playing impromptu games, their parents hoping they’d wear themselves out enough to be patient during the three-hour service. Luke stopped walking, but didn’t join any groups of friends or family.

  He asked, “Would you mind if Julia came to your place someday?”

  “No, she would be welcome,” Gideon said with a nod, even as he wondered why he was making any effort to help Hannah understand the Amish. That was for her father to do. She was a modern, with her car and her phone, an auslander, and hadn’t given any indication she would consider choosing her Amish roots over the rest of her life.

  Yet she rarely used her phone, and drove the car as timidly as a woman would the first time she held the reins to drive a horse and buggy.

  He decided this was not a good time to think about whether he was trying to help because Hannah was such a good worker and her conversion would please her daad or whether he was being foolish enough to think there might be any chance . . . No. Gideon steeled himself. He liked Hannah Mast—might have more than liked her if she were Amish—but he would never let himself care for a woman tied to the Englisch world.

  “Daadi!” Rebekah raced up and flung herself at him for a hug. “Can I sit with Beth?”

  “Did her mamm say that was okay?”

  “Uh-huh. Can I?”

  “Ja.” Rebekah was getting old enough to start sitting among the women and girls instead of with her daad on the men’s side. She still wasn’t doing that for every service, but for most. When she spun to race away, he called after her, “Wait. Did you take the bread to the house?”

  “Of course, Daadi!”

  “Denke. Go. Be good.”

  She giggled and took off at a run, just as she’d arrived.

  Beside Gideon, Luke laughed. “You need a lead rope for that one.”

  “Or a bridle and reins,” Gideon agreed ruefully.

  Luke’s eyebrows rose. “Have you taken up baking?”

  “Baking?” He felt some heat on his cheeks as he realized what Luke was asking about. “No. Hannah and Rebekah baked several loaves of friendship bread yesterday. Different kinds. We brought one that Rebekah says is lemon poppy seed.”

  “And kept the rest to yourself.” Luke shook his head as if reproaching him.

  “We almost finished a whole loaf this morning.” Mostly him. He restrained himself from patting his belly. Most Sundays, he would be eager for the fellowship meal. Today, he could only hope his appetite recovered in time.

  Once other men joined him and Luke, conversation became general.
>
  Chapter Nine

  Tuesday morning, Hannah lay awake listening for Lilian to come downstairs. The minute she heard the soft footsteps on the stairs, she leaped out of bed and hurriedly dressed.

  What Hannah wanted to do was dash out to her car and drive straight to her new job, but they wouldn’t expect her so early. Gideon hadn’t hired her to cook breakfast along with the other meals. The pancakes last week had been a special treat. She’d look pathetic if she started showing up the minute they climbed out of bed. Apparently, she’d spent the week fantasizing that Gideon, Zeb, and Rebekah were her family, their house her home.

  Well, that was natural, as much time as she was spending with them, and doing it while she was actively trying to see herself in the life she could have had. The one she could almost see if she looked over her shoulder quickly enough.

  Because by now I would have had a family much like theirs, if I’d grown up here.

  And Gideon was exactly the kind of man she would have chosen: a hard worker, a perfectionist who still didn’t demand too much from his children. A man with a sense of humor. Trustworthy, and able to weaken her knees with the way his gaze sometimes lingered on her.

  She made a face.

  Uh-huh. One week, remember? Partly, she was here, staying with her father and his family, working for another Amish family, to learn for herself whether there was any basis for her mother’s accusations.

  More likely, she loved her job so far because of the children. The kinder. She’d never had a chance to spend time with children, not since she was one, and even then the frequent moves meant she gave up trying to make friends by the time she was seven or eight. But she was finding she enjoyed both her sisters and brothers—especially shy Emma, blabbermaul Adah, and Mose, a confident, kind teenage boy showing every sign of growing into a man as fine as Samuel—and her new charges, Zeb and Rebekah.

  Yesterday morning, Hannah had wished that she was supposed to work. In only a week, she’d begun to think of the garden behind Gideon’s house as hers, too, and hoped somebody had thought to water the newly planted seeds yesterday or today. Even though this was just a job, she was eager to explore the kitchen cupboards and cellar more thoroughly to find out whether there were enough canning jars for her to start in on the rhubarb in the next couple of weeks, now that she’d canned her first batch with Lilian and knew what to do. The strawberry bed would barely provide enough berries for them to eat fresh at a few meals and bake with the rest. While prices were low, though, she might pick up some flats at the store and freeze them to use later.

  The thought jolted her. For Gideon to use later, she corrected herself. Gideon, and whatever woman he hired to replace her. Or whatever woman he married, as she expected he would do sooner or later.

  She greeted Lilian cheerfully, then smiled at the two girls who appeared right behind her. Both were sleepy eyed and barefoot. Adah had forgotten her kapp, and her blond hair was straggly. But the two girls began helping their mother cook breakfast, neither needing instruction or reminders. Truthfully, Hannah felt as if she was in the way, even as Lilian found small tasks for her to do.

  Maybe this was why she’d rather be in Gideon Lantz’s kitchen. There, she was in charge. The executive chef instead of the new hire lucky to be allowed to chop scallions.

  Once the family had eaten, Lilian flapped her apron at Hannah and said, “Go to work. There’ll be plenty of dirty dishes waiting for you there, uh-huh. No need to do more here.”

  Laughing, Hannah fetched her handbag so she had her driver’s license, car keys, and phone, and went out the door. Indeed, by the time she waved goodbye, the girls and Lilian already had a good start on cleaning the kitchen.

  No, they hadn’t needed her.

  It was silly to feel a little sad at that realization. Of course they didn’t! The whole family welcomed her and were coming to love her, Hannah believed, but still, she was the odd puzzle piece that didn’t belong in this box. If Samuel had raised her, all these years later she wouldn’t be underfoot in her daad’s already crowded house.

  When she parked in her usual spot at the Lantz home, the back door of the house flew open and both kinder ran to meet her.

  “Hannah! I skinned my knee Sunday and put a hole in my pants,” Zeb blurted in English even before he reached her.

  “People said the friendship bread was the best they’d ever had!” Rebekah exclaimed in Deitsh, dodging her brother’s elbow. “They said I’m getting to be a good cook.”

  Hannah was startled to realize she understood almost every word. Any loneliness she’d felt evaporated like steam from a teakettle. She bent to hug Rebekah and said, “I’m glad you thought to take some of the bread with you.” And, to Zeb: “Will I be able to mend your pants?”

  “For working around here, maybe,” he said doubtfully. “It’s a big rip. And Daad says they were getting too short already.”

  She had noticed that Zeb was outgrowing not just his pants but his shirts, too. What about his shoes? Had Gideon thought to poke his toes to find out?

  Was sewing new clothing another task expected of her? She’d never done anything but mend her own garments, stitching up small tears, sewing on buttons, and, occasionally, shortening a hem on a dress or skirt. Lilian would help, she felt sure . . . but what if she asked Judith Miller instead? She helped with her grandchildren, but without kinder at home might have more time to spare than Lilian or Susan Miller did. Hannah remembered seeing a fabric store in town.

  In the kitchen, Gideon was swallowing the dregs of his coffee and pushing back in his chair when she entered with his kinder.

  “Gute mariye,” she said.

  He nodded, surveying her with his dark eyes. “And to you.” He turned to his children. “Better get ready for school.”

  Both scuttled upstairs.

  “I hear Zeb skinned his knee,” Hannah offered, to fill the silence.

  The boy’s daad shook his head. “Not for the first time, or the last.”

  “No, I don’t suppose so.” She hesitated. “Do you have a mending basket somewhere?”

  Faint hope showed on his face. “Ja. It’s near the washer. If you have time . . .”

  She had a vague picture of an old hamper full of what she had assumed were rags. “I’ll try.”

  “Denke.” He shoved fingers through his hair, as if ill at ease with her.

  She hated knowing how often he was uneasy in her presence. Because he barely knew her, and because she was an Englischer. An outsider.

  Some of her confidence shriveled.

  “Denke for breakfast Sunday, too,” he added. “And the bread. It was very good.”

  “Is it all gone?”

  Now he looked embarrassed. “Ja, we took a loaf for the fellowship meal Sunday, but we’ve eaten most of the rest.”

  She smiled at him, even if she wondered whether he thought she was demented. He didn’t smile often.

  “That’s what it was for,” she assured him. “Did you have a favorite?”

  “All but the chocolate.”

  She crinkled her nose. “Well, it does tend to be women who like chocolate.”

  Gideon tipped his head, looking interested. “Is that so?”

  “That’s been my experience. Did Zeb like it?”

  “Ja, but he likes anything sweet.”

  She chuckled. “Speaking of . . . I’d better make school lunches.”

  Gideon reached for his straw hat. “And I should get to work instead of standing here talking like a dumkupp.”

  “Oh—did you water the garden?”

  “I sent Zeb to do it yesterday.”

  “Denke.”

  She had the distinct feeling he was relieved to escape out the back door. Feeling hurt . . . that was absurd. He wasn’t a chatty man, and . . . some things were impossible. She needed to be glad for his approval and her weekl
y pay—and to quit having the weird experience of having something like double vision. The real here, and the might-have-been here.

  Anyway, it wasn’t as if she didn’t have plenty to do. And why that made her feel energized, she couldn’t have said.

  Only now that he was gone did it occur to her she’d need a sewing basket with needles and thread, at the very least. If such a thing existed in this house, Rebekah might know where it was.

  But right now, she had to make those lunches.

  * * *

  * * *

  Gideon came in for lunch even filthier than usual. A bath sounded good, but would have to wait for late afternoon or evening.

  Hannah looked startled at the sight of him.

  “I’m plowing today,” he explained. “And not finished.”

  “Oh, while we were walking to school, Zeb said something. I saw you were harnessing all four horses.”

  He nodded and went to wash up, as best he could. Gideon recognized that his sense of anticipation wasn’t only for the fine meal Hannah would have waiting on the table for him, but for her conversation. Used to eating his midday meal in solitude, he now found himself eager for the tentative steps taken to get to know another person.

  Over the weekend, he’d convinced himself he had just been alone too much since the move, that it was good to escape his own thoughts.

  She’d prepared potato soup and fried tomatoes and had sliced roast beef and cheese to make sandwiches with whole-grain bread he could tell had just come out of the oven.

  “Oh, and there’s rhubarb cake,” she told him. “I hope you don’t hate rhubarb, since you have a big patch of it.”

  Once she’d sat down across from him and they were dishing up, Hannah asked if there were any foods he didn’t like.

  Gideon pondered that. As a kind, he hadn’t been given any choice in what foods were put in front of him, so there wasn’t much of anything he wouldn’t eat. Even since then, nobody had ever asked him that question. Not even his wife. In such a short time, Hannah had surprised him often.