Hannah smiled slightly. “She's pretty careful who she loans books to.”
He nodded. “I'm thinking of getting my own card.”
“I—don't understand.”
“I'm sticking around. You didn't think I could go anywhere you're not, do you?” he asked quietly
She saw something in his eyes she hadn't seen before.
“I—don't know. You haven't said anything.”
“What could I say?” he asked. “I kept telling myself I couldn't feel the way I do for you, that it wouldn't work. I did it even up until maybe a few minutes ago.”
“Then—what changed?”
She held her breath, waiting for his answer.
“Then you came speeding up, demanding to know where I was going. Refusing to let me go.”
He grinned and leaned closer, careful of her arm, and then he kissed her.
“I love you, you impossible woman. And I'm hoping you love me. I think you do.”
“Impossible?”
He kissed her again. “Yeah. Impossible. I don't think you'll be the easiest wife, but I'm willing to give this a try.”
“Wife?”
“Yeah, wife. I talked to Phoebe. She told me to go speak to the bishop.”
He tilted his head and studied her when she just stared at him. “I do believe I've rendered you speechless. Never thought I'd see the day.”
“It's likely you won't again,” she said, reaching out to touch his cheek.
“I gather that I have months of instruction in the Amish faith, so we can't get married until next year. But I figure that'll just give us a chance to get to know each other better.”
She nodded, wondering at the strange turn of events. Who would have thought such a thing would happen, that a man like him would come into her life, that she'd come to care for him so much that she'd walk in front of him to protect him? That he'd stand beside her on a dusty road and talk about marrying her.
“Why don't you let me drive us back home?”
He helped her climb into the buggy, and she handed him the reins when he sat beside her.
He leaned over, and she leaned away from him.
“I just want another kiss.”
She glanced around. “Not here!”
“Yeah, here.” He grinned at her and started to reach for her then stopped. “I'm afraid of hurting you.”
“You'll only hurt me if you don't hold me,” she whispered, leaning closer. “I'm so glad you came here.”
“I'm not entirely sure I know why I came here,” he said slowly, caressing her cheek. “I thought it was because I wanted to talk to Jenny about Malcolm and how I felt like my life would never be the same. We didn't know each other long, but I felt like we really connected at the hospital—” he hesitated— “as friends,” he said firmly.
“Go on.”
“I knew she'd had to make a lot of adjustments to life after she came home from overseas. We wrote each other a few times, and she seemed so happy here. Then one day, I was sitting in the hospital, watching TV, and this show came on about the area and I just felt compelled to come here.”
He looked out at the farmland surrounding them. “I felt something settle inside me the moment I got to Paradise. And even though things were anything but peaceful when I met you, well, I couldn't help being attracted to you.”
“We have this expression,” she said, smiling at him. “People kept saying it to me: 'There's a man God set aside for you.' But I got to doubting that when time passed.”
A car approached from behind them and slowed beside the buggy. It was the police officer again. She glanced inside the buggy, grinned when she saw how closely they were sitting— Chris's arms around Hannah—and then she sped off.
Hannah watched the car until it went around the bend in the road.
“I want to talk to you about not pressing charges against Kraft,” Chris said.
She stiffened. “I'm not changing my mind.”
“I'm not asking you to. I want you to help me understand. I talked to Matthew and I'm trying to understand.”
“I'll try,” she told him. “Just not today. All right?”
“No. Not today.”
“Let's go home and tell everyone our news.”
Chris spoke to Daisy and she made a U-turn in the road.
“Very impressive,” Hannah told him.
He shot her a grin. “
Ya,”
he said. “You'd think I had grown up Amish, wouldn't you? Say, do you need a driver's license for these things?”
Her laughter floated in the air as they made their way home.
The End
aenti—
aunt
allrecht—
all right
bauch—
stomach
boppli—
baby or babies
bruder—
brother
daedi—
Daddy
danki—
thanks
dawdi haus—
addition to the house for grandparents
eldre—
parents
en alt maedel—
old maid
Englisch or Englischer—
a non-Amish person
Es dutt mir leed—
I am sorry
fraa—
wife
gem gschehne—
You are welcome
geyan schona—
so willingly done
gwilde—
quilt
grossdochder—
granddaughter
guder mariye—
good morning
gut—
good
gut nacht—
good night
gut-n-owed—
good evening
haus—
house
hungerich—
hungry
kaffi—
coffee
kapp—
prayer covering or cap worn by girls and women
kich—
kitchen
kichli—
cookies
kind, kinner—
child, children
lieb—
love
liebschen—
dearest or dear one
mamm—
mother
mann—
husband
nee—
no
Ordnung—
The rules of the Amish, both written and unwritten.Certain behavior has been expected within the Amish community for many, many years. These rules vary from community to community, but the most common are to not have electricity in the home, to not own or drive an automobile, and to dress a certain way.
Pennsylvania Deitsch—
Pennsylvania German
redd-up—
clean up
rumschpringe—
time period when teenagers are allowed to experience the
Englisch
world while deciding if they should join the church.
schul—
school
schur—
sure
schwei—
sister-in-law
schweschder—
sister
sohn—
son
verdraue—
trust
wilkumm—
welcome
wunderbaar—
wonderful
ya—
yes
Caution: Please don't read before completing the book, as the questions contain spoilers!
I
t was official.
She wasn't a saint.
But Jenny had never claimed to be a saint. None of her Amish brethren did, either.
She knew she should be grateful for her family, and she was. Her husband's
kinner
were as much hers as they were his, especially young Annie who had been so young when her mother died that she didn't remember her and thought of Jenny as her
mamm.
But for the past three months, since Hannah had announced that she and Chris were having a baby, Jenny felt the unaccustomed, and very unwelcome, emotion of envy. They'd only been married a year. She and Matthew had been married for three.
It wasn't fair.
Almost immediately, she felt ashamed. But she couldn't seem to help it. She wanted a baby of her own. A
boppli.
She loved that word. It sounded so sweet. So happy and bouncy.So cherished.
Instead, so many months had passed and still she didn't become pregnant. She wouldn't be carrying a baby close to her heart. She wouldn't share the miracle of creating life with Matthew and watching it come into the world.
Sometimes she wondered if she was showing God she didn't appreciate all He had brought into her life. After all, He'd brought her back here to have a second chance with the man she'd never forgotten. She'd gone through such a valley of despair when she'd been seriously injured during her work as a news reporter covering children in war-torn countries.
Yet Matthew had seen past that, cherished her, and shared the most precious children in the world with her.
God had even found a way for her to continue to write about the children affected by war, who she'd grown to care so much for, right here on a farm in the heart of peace, love, and simplicity.
She and Matthew had talked about how she felt when she didn't become pregnant. He'd been kind and understanding, and he had tried to comfort her—the perfect husband.
He wasn't unhappy that they hadn't had children together yet. He reminded her that before they were married, he'd told her he didn't care if her injuries prevented her from having their child. He had three to share with her, he'd said, and if they were meant to have a child together, God would send one. It was a matter of God's will, he told her. And he seemed content.
But she wasn't. Even if she tried not to think about it, every month she found that she hadn't become pregnant.
And this was the way she rewarded Him. With a lack of gratitude, with mental whining. With tears when she found that another month had come and gone and a tiny glimmer of life hadn't begun to form in her.
Sighing, Jenny threw down her pen and got up from the big table that dominated the kitchen. She was tired of working, and she couldn't seem to stay focused on her writing. Best to just get busy doing something else. Idleness wasn't encouraged here.
Not that she'd ever been an idle person. But everyone contributed here, from small children with chores appropriate to their age and ability to older family members doing what they could after they moved into a
dawdi haus.
She glanced at the clock. Half an hour before the
kinner
got home. Time to do something constructive. If she couldn't write, then she should at least get supper started or
redd-up
the place a little.
Funny how she'd gotten to where she thought in Pennsylvania
Dietsch,
she thought. If anyone had ever told her that one day she would return to her grandmother's house here in Paradise, marry her girlhood crush, and become Amish, she would never have believed them.
But she had, and here her dreams were coming true— dreams of having a husband, having children who loved her, and having a writing career as well.
Her life was nearly perfect.
Nearly.
Sighing, she got up from the table.
Nearly
was a lot better than what much of the world has. She knew that better than anyone after her job as a TV news reporter.
Every time her own family gathered around this big wooden kitchen table and she saw how healthy and happy they were, how they had so much abundance of food and love and security, she made sure she thanked God.
Spring was coming. The cold of the winter had passed and she'd seen little green buds on the trees around the house that morning when she said good-bye to her family as they rushed off to work and
schul.
That was probably why her thoughts had turned to new life.
She was only in her early thirties and had years to have a baby, her doctor told her. Women could have them safely into their late forties, he'd told her.
But though she tried not to worry about internal injuries she'd suffered from the car bomb, there was still that little niggle of doubt in the back of her mind each month she didn't get pregnant.
Determined to push those thoughts aside, to remember to be grateful for what she had, she put away her writing things and changed to “
mamm
mode” as she called it.
Supper went into the oven—Matthew's favorite ham and scalloped potatoes. She'd endured a lot of teasing the first time she'd made it. Microwaved food had been her specialty before she became an Amish
fraa.
Now she cooked from scratch with recipes her grandmother handed down to her.
She turned from the oven when she heard a commotion at the door. The Bontrager children were sweet as can be, but when they came in the door after
schul,
they sounded like a herd of buffalo.
They swarmed into the kitchen and engulfed her in hugs.They charmed her into giving them the cookies she'd baked earlier that day along with big glasses of milk.
“Three? They're small,” said Annie, giving Jenny her most charming smile.
“Two,” she said. “They're big.”
Seven-year-old Annie normally talked so much no one else had a chance to talk for a few minutes at the end of the
schul
day, but with her mouth stuffed with cookies, Joshua and Mary were able to talk.
“I helped Leah with John and Jacob today. They're still having trouble with math. It was fun.”
“Maybe you'll be a teacher one day.”
Mary smiled. “Maybe.”
Jenny looked at Joshua. “And what did you do today?”
“I got a 100 on my science test.”
“Very good. All your studying paid off.” She knew to be careful with praise.
Hochmut—
pride—wasn't encouraged here.
Joshua didn't do as well at school as the girls. Annie had decided she wanted to be a writer like Jenny and Mary enjoyed teaching the younger children, so they both worked hard at lessons.Joshua liked working with animals and with his
daedi
in the fields and didn't think schoolwork was all that important.
The snack finished, the children got up, put their plates and glasses in the sink, and set about doing their chores. Mary began mixing up a bowl of cornbread, and Joshua went to help his
daedi
in the barn.
Jenny glanced out the window as she washed up and set the plates and glasses in the drying rack. She hadn't seen Phoebe all day. Usually she came over in the afternoon to have a cup of tea and a visit.
Wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, she turned to Annie who stood on tiptoe to get dishes out to set the table.
“Would you go over and see if Phoebe would like to have supper with us?”
“Ya!”
“And don't charm her into giving you more cookies.”
Annie's face fell. “Not even one?”
Jenny's lips twitched as she tried to keep a straight face.“Not even one. We'll be eating soon.”
“Okay.” She dragged her feet out of the room and left the house. But when Jenny turned and looked out the kitchen window, she saw her race across the field that separated the two houses.
A few minutes later, Annie slammed the front door and rushed into the kitchen.
“Whoa, a little quiet—” Jenny started to say and then she saw Annie's face.
“
Mamm,
I can't wake Phoebe up.”
A chill ran down Jenny's spine. “She's taking a nap?”
“On the kitchen floor! I think she's sick! I think she's sick!”
Jenny reached over and turned the oven off, then called to Mary.
“Come help me see what's wrong with Phoebe. Annie, you go get your
daedi.
He's out in the barn.”
Jenny lifted her skirts and ran across the field with Mary in tow, praying that nothing was seriously wrong with her grandmother.She had looked a little tired when she visited the day before but insisted she was fine when Jenny asked her.
But then again, Phoebe always acted like she wouldn't let the passing years slow her down.
“Phoebe! Phoebe!” she called as she ran into the house.
Just as Annie had said, Phoebe lay on the floor in the kitchen.