Finding Hope

by Janice Kay Johnson - His Best Friend's Baby

  “It was a while before I quit stabbing myself,” Julia warned.

  “At least we don’t have to constantly sew buttons back on our dresses,” Miriam contributed. She blew a raspberry against the baby’s plump belly. “Isn’t that right, Nathan?”

  He chortled happily.

  Miriam continued to stitch seams with enviable speed while Julia and Hannah cooked an enormous batch of beef stew that would also have dumplings, adding her own special touches. Hannah worried a little that one of the main ingredients for the stew was stout beer, but Julia didn’t comment, and cooking took care of the alcoholic content, right? Julia followed along with utmost seriousness, tasting before and after the addition of spices, nodding her understanding.

  Starting with a buttermilk base, they did taste tests so that Julia could decide whether she liked rosemary or thyme better in the dumplings. Hannah explained why she recommended freshly cracked black pepper rather than the kind of pepper that came in a can, and why serious cooks looked askance at salted butter.

  “Salt is a preservative, you know. It can disguise butter that’s going bad. Plus, if you’re using a recipe that calls for unsalted—”

  Julia wrinkled her nose. “Do you ever use recipes?”

  “Well . . . not often.” Hannah grinned. “But if you do, be aware that you can end up with too much salt in whatever you’re baking.”

  “I use unsalted butter when I bake cookies,” Miriam said from behind them.

  “Which might be one reason yours are better than anyone else’s,” Julia remarked.

  When the two women eventually departed, each carried casserole dishes with ample servings for their families that evening, and the kitchen smelled fantastic. Hannah decided to take the pants home tonight and keep working on them—although she definitely needed to acquire some new calluses, she decided. Thank goodness Miriam had thought to bring along a thimble. Now that she knew how to deconstruct and construct, she felt confident she could make shirts, too.

  Miriam had told her that her mother owned an old treadle Singer sewing machine, which evidently worked splendidly and would make a huge difference to a woman who had to keep a large family clothed. Hannah hadn’t seen Lilian sewing yet.

  To Hannah’s satisfaction, Gideon and both kids ate the stew with great enthusiasm.

  The next morning, she arrived early enough to make Zeb try on the new pants so that she could hem them to the right length. Surprisingly, Gideon lingered, watching with amusement in those very dark eyes.

  Hannah pinned them up, frowning to see how much fabric was left. “I won’t cut off all this extra. If I make the hem generous, I can let the pants down when he grows some more.” Or whoever took her place could.

  That deep voice above her commented, “My mamm used to do that, but usually by the time I needed extra length, the pants had been mended so many times, she said they were good only for the ragbag.”

  “You, too, Daad?” Zeb exclaimed.

  Hannah swiveled on her heels and looked up at the big man towering above them.

  “Ja. Boys will be boys.” Gideon turned a smile on his daughter. “But girls can be just as hard on their clothes.”

  Hannah had noticed that Rebekah’s dresses and aprons always had grass stains and often rips, as well. She was an active girl, which Hannah liked to see.

  “Run, run, run,” her father said, his hand gentle on her head. “Never slows down. Now, put your kapp on and get ready for school.”

  The two raced each other upstairs, bodies bumping against the wall, Rebekah indignantly calling out her brother for cheating.

  Gideon sighed, and Hannah laughed.

  Eyes smiling, he said, “Denke for making those. He’s in sore need.”

  “I’ll sew a couple more pairs, then try a shirt. Rebekah would probably like a new dress, too, but her need is less obvious.”

  “Ja.” His smile was long gone. “There is so much I can’t do for them.”

  “All parents need help,” she said gently. “I’m having fun learning new things, and getting to know other women.”

  “Julia Bowman, you said.”

  “Miriam Miller came yesterday, too. I think she picked up the fabric at the store in town, because she works there. Both of them are quilters.”

  “Ja, so I’m told.”

  “Although Miriam said she just gave her notice because of her pregnancy. She’s something like six months along.”

  “Among us, the men pretend they don’t notice until the boppli is born,” he said gravely, but with that fleeting smile reappearing in his eyes.

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know that. Daad talks about Lilian’s—” Hannah flushed.

  “That is because she is his wife. None of the rest of us who are men have seen that she’s expecting another boppli.”

  “Some things are just obvious,” she mumbled.

  To her surprise, Gideon laughed out loud. He hadn’t done that much around her this past week.

  Warmth blossomed in Hannah’s chest and probably on her cheeks.

  Apparently, he realized he’d lowered his guard, because his expression regained its usual reserved aspect. “Ach, I must get to work. I’ll be planting that back field today.”

  The glow died a quick death at his immediate retreat, but she kept her voice steady. “Isn’t Daad coming today?”

  “No, it will be tomorrow. Some fellow I don’t know had a horse throw a shoe and has a split in the hoof wall that needs tending.”

  “Oh. Well. When he does come, do you mind if I watch him work for a few minutes? I haven’t had a chance yet.”

  Gideon’s face softened. “Watch for as long as you’d like. Hard worker, you are. You can take time to slow down.”

  “Denke.” She smiled.

  His eyes narrowed, and a flicker of some emotion shifted his expression and eased the set line of his mouth. Was he looking at her lips?

  The thud of footsteps on the stairs erased whatever he’d betrayed. The next moment, he nodded and went out the back.

  For some reason, Hannah felt a little shaky.

  And—oh no!—she hadn’t even started putting together school lunches.

  * * *

  * * *

  After dinner that evening, Hannah followed her father out to the front porch, where he liked to sit as dusk softened the outlines of the barn, fences, and trees. The air felt pleasantly cool. She thought of this as his quiet time, so she said a little timidly, “Do you mind if I talk to you about something?”

  “You can talk to me anytime,” he said. “Sit.”

  She perched on the top step instead of joining him on the porch swing. “I’d like to attend the next church service with you.”

  “Glad everyone will be to welcome you.” There was no doubting he meant that. “The hymns, you won’t understand, but I think your Deitsh is good enough, you will be able to follow the sermons.”

  “I think so, too.” She knew the hymns came from a very old book called the Ausbund and were in an archaic form of German. Taking a deep breath, she tackled another subject. “I’ve already been here for weeks.”

  He straightened abruptly. “You’re not thinking we don’t want you?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “No. Lilian and the kinder have been really good to me. They let me feel I belong.” That wasn’t a hundred percent true; their routines were so set, she was often more of a stumbling block than a seamless part of whatever task the females of the family were trying to accomplish. But they were trying to include her, she was learning from them, and she had faith they truly wanted her here. Still, she took a deep breath before she said, “Julia Bowman and I have gotten to be friends. And . . . I keep thinking about what my life would have been like if Mom hadn’t taken me away. So . . . maybe this is silly, but . . . what if I tried living plain while I’m with you? At le
ast . . . well, I have to keep my phone, because of Grandma and Granddad, and maybe the car for when I see them.” She came to a stop. “I guess if the only change I make is what I’m wearing, I’d just be pretending, wouldn’t I?”

  “You would do that?” He looked both stunned and pleased. “Dress like our women do?”

  She nodded. “I even have a dress to start with. Julia Bowman lent it to me, so I’d fit in for the service.”

  “I can teach you to drive a buggy,” he offered. “For going to your job. I can take you to Gideon’s place until you feel confident enough to drive yourself.”

  That was part of what she’d been suggesting, wasn’t it? Because it was true, the clothing was a small piece of the commitment the Amish made. Giving up cars was a bigger one. And computers, for personal use. Makeup. Jewelry. She touched the small gold post earring in her right ear.

  Did she really mean to go down this road?

  Yes.

  She bit her lip. “Denke, Daad. I’d like that.”

  “Lilian is too busy to do much sewing, but either she or her mamm would help you make dresses, I’m sure.”

  Julia and Miriam would, too.

  A peaceful silence fell. Hannah wrapped her arms around her knees and pondered the changes she would need to make.

  She hadn’t touched her laptop since she came to stay with her daad and his family, so she wouldn’t miss that much. She could read newspapers instead of following news online, and catch up on e-mails later. It wasn’t as if she got that many.

  Makeup—well, she rarely bothered anyway. In fact, she wasn’t much for fancying herself up, as the Amish put it. Certainly, the holes in her ears wouldn’t grow closed during the couple of months she was likely to be here.

  If I leave.

  Hannah ignored that thought.

  Julia Bowman had chosen to stay. To make a life-altering commitment, to be baptized, to marry an Amishman.

  Hannah’s mother had made that commitment, too, then broken it. If her faith in God had ever been real, she’d rejected it.

  Anyway, just because it could be done didn’t mean Hannah had anything like that in mind. All she hoped to do was experience this way of life more authentically.

  The life that could have been hers.

  That could be hers, however unlikely that seemed, a renegade voice whispered.

  Despite the peace of the moment, worries crept into her mind. She couldn’t forget that her mother had run away for a reason, depriving them both of family. Mom was inconstant, selfish, Hannah already knew that. Helen had confirmed she’d always been that way. But wasn’t it possible that something else lay behind her determination, given that Jodi had gone to such extraordinary lengths to keep them from being found?

  One of these days, Hannah knew, she’d have to move past her anger enough to listen to what Mom had to say.

  But especially now that she knew her mother had lied to her all her life, she wanted to find her own answers.

  The longer she stayed in Tompkin’s Mill, the likelier she was to learn any ugly secrets that might be hidden behind the forgiving, peaceful, faith-oriented facade that the Amish, the Leit, showed the world.

  Even thinking that, though, had her picturing the small scene that morning, so typical of the family interactions she saw every day. The amusement on Gideon’s face, his big hand resting so gently on Zeb’s head, his smile for his daughter to be sure she didn’t feel less important after his “boys will be boys” comment. The trust they so openly felt for their daad.

  Would that be the case if such dreadful secrets existed? Hannah’s sisters and brothers, too, were invariably cheerful and eager to follow in their parents’ footsteps.

  However bewildered she was by her mother’s choices, Hannah knew that learning to drive a horse and buggy was unlikely to pull back the curtain and expose whatever ugliness Jodi claimed she’d fled.

  But Hannah had to admit she was just a little bit excited about that part. She’d gone through a horse-crazy phase when she was seven or eight. Since she never once came in touching distance of a pony or horse, she’d moved on in her interests—probably, come to think of it, to cooking. But now, she’d petted several horses, even fed them carrots—and, finally, she’d be the one holding the reins.

  * * *

  * * *

  Hannah had long since gone back in the house after watching her daad shoe Fergus, Gideon’s buggy horse. Samuel waited while Gideon led the gelding to the nearby gate and turned him loose in the pasture, then went to get one of his draft horses.

  The draft horses weren’t shod unless it became necessary to correct a problem. Gideon had no reason to take them out on a paved road. Usually, he cleaned and trimmed their hooves himself, but when Samuel was here, Gideon liked to have him check to be sure he hadn’t missed anything.

  Greta was last. Like the rest of the team, she was a Belgian, enormous and powerful, with a red-brown coat and pale mane and tail. He had been thinking lately that he might like to have her bred. The kinder would enjoy seeing a foal grow up, and she was a fine horse.

  He didn’t say anything about that, though.

  “Looks good,” Samuel said, after lifting each hoof in turn and slapping her on her powerful rump.

  Gideon took a carrot from a bucket and fed it to her in chunks. She chewed with such enthusiasm, orange flecks and spittle went flying. He chuckled and wiped his hands on a rag.

  “Is Hannah working well for you?” Samuel asked unexpectedly.

  Gideon raised his eyebrows, but said, “Ja, certain sure. I’ve never seen a harder worker, and Zeb and Rebekah like her.”

  Like. That was an inadequate word for their enthusiasm. Love might come closer, but he hoped it wasn’t quite that, since inevitably Hannah would leave them. Gideon hadn’t entirely decided if he wished he hadn’t hired her, setting his kinder up to be hurt, or whether he should be glad this Englisch woman was setting such a good example and giving them the priceless gift of her affection.

  His thoughts kept churning as he turned Greta out to join her small herd.

  For his own sake, hiring Hannah had been stupid. He shouldn’t have ignored his first instinct.

  Spending time with her was unavoidable. Like his kinder, he admired her willingness to extend herself far beyond what he could reasonably expect of an employee, the good humor she maintained however dirty or exhausting a particular task was, her kindness, generosity, thoughtfulness . . . Ach, he could go on and on. What was most troublesome for him was the awareness of her as a woman that he couldn’t shake, the warmth he felt at her slightest touch, or her smile. All her smiles from the sad and delighted to those that conveyed how proud she was of Zeb or Rebekah. The sweet smiles, the shy ones, the teasing ones.

  He needed to remarry; Gideon knew that. Hoping he would find the right woman in a different settlement had been one reason for his relocating with his kinder. But until now, he hadn’t met anyone with whom he could imagine spending a lifetime.

  How could he be feeling such things for a woman who, despite her birth, wasn’t Amish?

  What he ought to do was let her go . . . but how could he make his kinder understand why he would do that? What would that do to his relationship with Samuel Mast, obviously proud of the daughter God had brought back to him?

  And then there was the sorrow he often saw in Hannah’s eyes, an unguardedness. That made him feel . . . protective, which weakened his ability to hold himself separate. He didn’t want to hurt her.

  He was a little surprised when he came back around the barn to find that, while Samuel had loaded his tools in his buggy and removed the heavy leather apron he wore when working, he seemed to be waiting for Gideon.

  “Has Hannah told you she plans to attend our next worship service?”

  “Ja, she did say so.”

  Samuel tapped his fingers on his thigh. “She
has decided to live plain while she’s with us. I’ll be driving her to work until she becomes comfortable enough to drive herself. You or Zeb might help her unhitch our mare and then harness her at the end of the day.”

  Stunned, Gideon had to corral thoughts that wanted to burst in a dozen directions like a startled covey of quail. “She plans to dress plain?”

  “Ja. She will keep the phone, because of her grandfather. And maybe drive her car into town when she goes to visit her grandparents. We didn’t talk about that.”

  Heart racing, Gideon didn’t dare ask the important question.

  Was Hannah giving thought to converting to the Amish faith and staying in Tompkin’s Mill?

  Chapter Twelve

  Smiling at Hannah, her father slapped the brown mare’s shoulder and stepped back from the buggy. Just as he did so, the horse shook her head vigorously. The frail fiberglass buggy shifted. Hannah’s hands clenched the reins.

  “Ach, you’ll be fine,” her daad said amiably. “Such a short distance, you probably won’t even see a car. And at the end of the day, Clover knows her way home.”

  She didn’t know her way to Gideon’s farm. She’d require steering. But not only did Hannah not say that, she forced a smile. “It’s a good thing one of us knows what we’re doing.”

  Samuel laughed heartily. “Ja, ja. Clover is a calm one. She’ll take care of you.”

  Hannah bobbed her head, loosened the reins, and clicked her tongue. Clover started forward. The buggy swayed and creaked as the wheels began to roll.

  This felt like a replay of the day after she’d received her driver’s license and could set out alone. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been behind the wheel before, but until then she’d always had an instructor ready to shout, “Brake!” if it was necessary. Same with this new skill; Samuel had been a good teacher, but heading out on her own was different.

  The mare walked all the way to the paved country road, where Hannah signaled her to turn left.

  Okay, that’s part of what was different. The car wasn’t her or him; it couldn’t think for itself, freak out without any input from the driver.