Katie's Way (37 page)

 

HANNAH'S JOY

 

BOOK SIX

by Marta Perry

 

Coming in May 2012 from Berkley Books

A
man in Army fatigues stepped off a bus just down the street at the Pleasant Valley bus stop. Hannah Conroy clutched the stroller handle at an onslaught of dizziness, fighting the irrational surge of joy that turned in an instant to ashes.

It wasn't Travis. It was an unknown young soldier, moving into the welcoming arms of his family—mother holding him, fighting back tears; father standing stiffly as if to deny his emotions; a girl of about ten waving a WELCOME sign.

Not Travis. Travis had lain beneath a marker in Arlington National Cemetery for well over a year. He wasn't here on a warm September day in Pleasant Valley.

Two women in Plain dress stopped next to Hannah on the sidewalk, their faces blurred by the tears she wouldn't let fall. One reached out a tentative hand.

“Are you all right? You are Hannah, ain't so? Paula Schatz's niece?”

She nodded. She couldn't cry. Jamie would be frightened if he saw his mother in tears. But he was almost asleep in the stroller, one chubby hand still grasping his toy dog.

“I'm fine.” Hannah almost managed a smile. “Thank you.”

“You're going into the bakery, ja? Let us help you get the stroller inside.”

The woman motioned to the other—a girl in her early teens, Hannah saw now—who pulled the door open, setting the bell jangling. Together they maneuvered the stroller inside Aunt Paula's bakery.

“Thank you,” she said again. The grief and pain ebbed, leaving her as lost as a leaf in the wind.

“It's nothing.” The woman patted her arm with a featherlight touch, the girl nodded, and they were gone.

Aunt Paula, as round and comforting as one of her own dumplings, glanced up from the customer she was serving, her eyes clouding when she saw Hannah's face. By the time Hannah reached the kitchen door, Aunt Paula was there, wiping her hands on the white apron she wore over her traditional Old Order Mennonite dress, its tiny print faded from many washings.

“Hannah? Was ist letz?” Aunt Paula spoke English most of the time, but in moments of stress she was apt to slip into Pennsylvania Dutch. “What's wrong? I saw Leah Glick and her daughter helping you.”

“Nothing.” Hannah bent, the action hiding her face for a moment, and lifted Jamie from the stroller. He was relaxed and drowsy, a precious, heavy armload now at twenty months. “I'm fine.”

She didn't want Aunt Paula worrying about her. It was enough that her aunt had made a home here for her and Jamie.

But Hannah couldn't stop herself from glancing at the window. The family, faces animated with love, moved toward a car.

Aunt Paula followed her gaze. “Ach, I see.” Her voice was soft. “I know. After your uncle passed, I'd see a man with wavy hair like his, or his way of walking, and my heart would stop, as if it reacted faster than my brain did.”

“It's been almost a year and a half.” Hannah cradled Jamie close, and he snuggled his face into her shoulder, his soft breath against her neck. “I'm better. But sometimes—”

“Ja. Sometimes.” Aunt Paula patted her. “I know.”

The bell jingled on the bakery door, and Aunt Paula turned to greet the man in Amish garb. Hannah had nearly forgotten, in all the years since she'd lived here as a child, the peculiar mix of Amish, horse-and-buggy Mennonite, black-bumper Mennonite, and Englisch that made Pleasant Valley so unique.

William Brand was Amish, and he worked with his cousin Caleb in the cabinetry shop down the street. Hannah had learned that much from him, but it had taken persistence. William stuttered, and like many stutterers, he took refuge in silence much of the time.

Banishing thoughts of the past, Hannah moved to the counter, smiling. William was silent enough already. She didn't want him to think she was avoiding speaking to him.

“Good morning.”

He ducked his head in a nod. Tall for an Amish man, and broad-shouldered, he wore the traditional Amish black broad-fall trousers with a blue shirt and suspenders, the usual straw hat on his head. In his midtwenties, William was probably a year or two younger than she was, but his fresh color and the shyness in his blue eyes made him seem even younger. Next to him, she felt ancient.

And what did he make of her, with her denim skirt, pink lipstick, and curling ponytail? Did he find it odd that Paula Schatz had such a modern niece?

“H-H-Hannah,” he managed, as if determined to say her name.

Then he looked at her son, and his face softened. He held out a work-roughened hand, and Jamie latched onto it, saying something that might have been an attempt at William's name.

“S-sleepy time, Jamie?”

Jamie shook his head vigorously, but the movement was interrupted by a huge yawn that showed every one of his baby teeth, and they both laughed.

Funny, how William's stutter seemed to ease when he spoke to Jamie. Once, a lifetime ago, Hannah had planned to become a speech therapist, and her interest stirred at the observation.

“He just doesn't want to admit he's tired. I thought he was going to fall asleep in the stroller,” she said, reminding herself to speak naturally to William. Talking with a stutterer required more patience than many people had.

“H-h-he's a-afraid he'll m-m-miss something.”

“That's for sure.” She tickled Jamie's belly, loving the way he chuckled, eyes crinkling.

Aunt Paula returned to the counter, carrying two coffees in foam cups and a white bag. “There you are, William, your usual coffee, just the way you and Caleb like it. And a couple of crullers to tide you over to lunch.”

“D-d-denke.”

He handed her the money. With another smile for Jamie, he went quickly out, perhaps relieved not to have to engage in any further conversation. His straw hat shielded his face from Hannah's view as he passed the window.

She stood watching his tall figure....

 

LEAH'S CHOICE

RACHEL'S GARDEN

ANNA'S RETURN

SARAH'S GIFT