Sisters of the Quilt Trilogy (2 page)

About the Author

Book One

To the one man I never wanted to live my life without,
my staunchest supporter, my closest friend: my husband
.
With you, life is more than I ever thought possible. Thank you
.

To my two oldest sons, who believed in me
.
You sacrificed your personal time to help with the needs of the household
and took great care of your younger brother so I could write. Thank you
.
You also have my gratitude for keeping my computers and Internet in good
running order in spite of my best attempts at sabotage
.

To my youngest son, the radiant energy to each day
.
You never doubted I could do this
.
When I needed humor in this story, your imagination came to the rescue
.
May you one day write the stories of your heart
.

To my new daughter-in-law, who has helped in hundreds of various ways.
I’m so thankful you’re now a permanent part of our lives
.

And above all, to God,
whose patience, love, and forgiveness make
every relationship in my life possible
.
May I hear and respond to You and no other
.

In loving memory of my mother,
whose inner character always strengthens me
and continues to make its mark on her descendants
.

And to all daughters who navigate this ever-changing world,
trying to find who they really are as a child of the King
.

H
annah Lapp covered the basket of freshly gathered eggs with her hand, glanced behind her, and bolted down the dirt road. Early morning light filtered through the broad leaves of the great oaks as she ran toward her hopes … and her fears.

A mixed fragrance of light fog, soil, garden vegetables, and jasmine drifted through the air. Hannah adored nature’s varying scents. When she topped the knoll and was far enough away that her father couldn’t spot her, she turned, taking in the view behind her. Her family’s gray stone farmhouse was perched amid rolling acreage. Seventeen years ago she’d been born in that house.

She closed her eyes, breaking the visual connection to home. Her Amish heritage was hundreds of years old, but her heart yearned to be as modern as personal computers and the Internet. Freedom beckoned to her, but so did her relatives.

Some days the desire to break from her family’s confinements sneaked up on her. There was a life out there—one that had elbowroom—and it called to her. She took another long look at her homestead before traipsing onward. Paul would be at the end of her one-mile jaunt. Joy quickened her pace. Her journey passed rapidly as she listened to birds singing their morning songs and counted fence posts.

As she topped the hill, a baritone voice sang an unfamiliar tune. The melody was coming from the barn. She headed for the cattle gate at the back of the pastureland that was lined by the dirt road. Beyond the barn sat Paul’s grandmother’s house, and past that was the paved road used by the English in their cars.

Paul used the cars of the English. Hannah’s lips curved into a smile. More accurately, he drove a rattletrap of an old truck. Even though his order of Mennonites was very conservative, much more so than many of the Mennonite groups, they didn’t hesitate to use electricity and vehicles. Still, his sect believed in cape dresses and prayer
Kapps
for the women. Surely there was nothing wrong with her caring for Paul since the Amish didn’t consider anyone from his order as being an
Englischer
or fancy.

As Hannah opened the cattle gate, Paul appeared in the double-wide doorway to the barn. His head was hatless, a condition frowned upon by her bishop, revealing hair the color of ripe hay glistening under the sun. His blue eyes showed up in Hannah’s dreams regularly.

He came toward her, carrying a pitchfork, a frown creasing his brow. “Hannah Lapp, what are you doing, stealing away at this time of day? The whole of Perry County will hear thunder roar when your father finds out.” He stopped, jammed the pitchfork into the ground, and stared at her.

The seriousness in his features made Hannah’s heart pound in her chest. She wondered if she’d overstepped her boundaries. “It’s your last day here for the summer.” She held up the basket of eggs. “I thought you and your grandmother might like a special breakfast.”

He wiped his brow, his stern gaze never leaving her face. “Gram’s awful mean this morning.”

“Worse than yesterday?”

He nodded.
“Ya.”
A hint of a smile touched his lips. He often teased her about the word she used so much, threatening to tell everyone at the university about that word and the girl who used it. He knew her Pennsylvania Dutch pronunciation of the word as “jah” was correct, but that didn’t stop him from ribbing her about it. As the slight smile turned into a broad grin, it erased all seriousness from his face.

Hannah clutched an egg, reared back, and mimicked throwing it at him.

A deep chuckle rumbled through the air. “Can’t hit anything if you don’t release it … or in your case, even if you do.”

His laughter warmed Hannah’s insides. She placed the egg back in the basket, huffed mockingly, and turned to cross the lawn toward the house.

This would be Paul’s fourth year to return to college. Once again he’d be leaving her throughout fall, winter, and spring—with letters being their sole communication. Even that limited connection had to come through his grandmother’s mailbox. Hannah’s father would end their friendship with no apologies if he ever learned of it.

Paul covered the space between them, lifted the basket from her hands, and smiled down at her. “So, won’t your family be missing you this morning? Or should I expect your father’s horse and buggy to come charging into my grandmother’s drive at any moment?”

“My
Daed
would not cause a spectacle like that.” Hannah licked her lips, thirsty after hurrying the mile to get there. “I arranged with my sister to do my chores this morning.”

“Then who will do her chores?”

“Sarah’s off this morning ’cause it’s her afternoon to sell produce at Miller’s Roadside Stand. I paid her to do my chores. So it all works out,
ya
?”

“You paid her. Was that necessary?”

Hannah shrugged. “I’m not her favorite person. But let’s not talk about that. She was willing to work out a deal, and here I am.”

Paul opened the screen door to his grandmother’s back porch. “I just hope Sarah doesn’t say anything to your father.”

“There’s nothing for her to say. As far as she knows, Gram told me to be here to work.” Hannah paused, grasping one side of the basket Paul held. “Besides, even
Daed
tries to remember it’s my
rumschpringe
.”

He released the basket to her. “But extra freedoms don’t hold a lot of meaning for your father, do they?”

She refused the disrespectful sigh that begged to be let loose. Her father could be exasperating at times. “The traditional rules keep him a bit subdued. It wouldn’t do to have the bishop discover he’s not following our traditions.”

Hannah opened the door to the house, but Paul placed his arm across the doorframe in front of her, stopping her in her tracks.

He bent close. Hannah kept her focus straight ahead.

“Look at me, Hannah.” The soft rumble of his words against her ear made a tingle run through her. The aroma that she’d come to recognize as easily as the man himself filled her. His scent had come to make her think of integrity, and it made her long to draw closer to him.

Several seconds passed before she managed to lift her gaze to meet his. His lips were pressed together in a smile, but his blue eyes held a look she didn’t understand.

“I’ve been aching to talk to you before I return to college. There are some things I just can’t write in a letter. If you hadn’t come today, I was planning to knock on your door this afternoon.” A light sigh escaped his lips. “But the problems that would have caused would have prevented us from getting to speak.”

“Paul!” a shaky voice screeched out. The slow thump of a cane against the wooden floor announced that his grandmother was only a few steps from seeing them.

Hannah took a step backward, thinking she’d die of embarrassment if anyone saw her this close to Paul.

He straightened, putting even more distance between them. “Promise me we’ll get time alone today. I need to talk with you before I leave.”

Hannah stared into his eyes, promising him anything. “I give you my word,” she breathed.

He lowered his hand from the doorframe. “Gram, Hannah’s here.”

From the berry patch, Paul heard the familiar chime of the sitting room’s clock. It rang out five times, but Paul needed no reminder of the hour. He was more than ready to see Hannah for a second time today and before he left for the fall semester.

He dumped the handful of blueberries into the half-full galvanized bucket. He straightened the kinks out of his back and studied the horizon for a glimpse of Hannah. The moment they had washed the last breakfast dish, Hannah had scurried home, hoping no one had missed her. So they hadn’t managed to find a moment for private conversation. He turned his attention back to the almost-bare bushes, glad he’d bought two pints of blueberries from Lee McNabb’s Farmers’ Market yesterday.

He’d had more than enough of treating Hannah as if she were only a friend when he was in love with her. If she were a few years older, he’d have shared how he felt long before now. But even if he told her and she felt the same way, she wasn’t the only one who would have to continue keeping their relationship hidden. If he wanted to keep her out of trouble with her father and even her community, he couldn’t afford to tell anyone about her. He had too many distant relatives in Owl’s Perch who could ruin their future by getting talk started.

Assuming she was interested in a future with him.

As Paul stood at the picnic table, adding the purchased berries to those he’d picked, he saw Hannah topping the hillock of the dirt road. The sight of her caused his pulse to race.

Most of her beautiful chestnut-colored hair was hidden by the prayer
Kapp
. Her brown dress, thick with pleats, came far below her knees and was covered by a full-length black apron. The Amish aimed to be plain in every possible way, from their eighth-grade education to the strict codes of their clothing. A smile tugged at his lips. Hannah had the heart of a lioness and the gentleness of a kitten. Keeping her ordinary was a feat that couldn’t be accomplished by a set of rules—even the laws of the
Ordnung
.

She spotted him and waved. He returned her greeting and set down the bucket. His entire being reacted to her: his heart pounded, his palms sweated, and his thoughts became jumbled. But what kept him returning to Owl’s Perch each summer wasn’t his physical attraction to her. There was something between them that he didn’t understand, but he knew it was hard to come by in a guy-girl relationship. With her as his wife and his degree in social work, there was no telling what the two of them could accomplish. He and Hannah both wanted to make a difference in the lives of others—especially children. What better way than to become a lifelong team, even though Hannah was just now learning how to pray and trust God. Until recently, for her everything had been a matter of adherence to rules.

Paul watched her every move as she opened the back gate and crossed the field. As he unlatched the cattle opening to the front of the pasture, loving words rose in his throat and all but forced their way out of his mouth. But, as always, his lack of confidence and his respect for her more stoic ways kept the words unspoken.

“Hi.” She handed him the cloth-covered bundle she’d been carrying.

He raised the bundle to his face and breathed in the aroma of fresh-baked bread. “Mmm.”

She gave him a challenging grin. “So, who do you think made that bread?”

“You.” He spoke with absolute confidence.

Her hands settled on her hips. “There are four bread makers in my home. How can you tell whether I made it?”

“When you’ve made the dough, the loaf has a hint of blaze within it, as if you put part of your soul in it.”

Hannah laughed. “You talk foolishness, no?”

“I’m serious, Hannah.” He inhaled the scent of the cloth-wrapped loaf again. “If you breathe deeply, you’ll smell the heat.” He held the bread toward her face. “Just like the fire in you, Lion-heart.”

She clicked her tongue, warning him he was edging toward impropriety. He lowered the loaf and gazed into her eyes, not wanting to disrupt the power of the feelings that ran between them. To him, Hannah possessed all the courage, control, and nobility associated with lions. The term fit perfectly, even if its use did embarrass her.

“Wait here.” Paul strode to the back door, grasping the handle to the bucket of blueberries on the way. He marched across the porch and into the kitchen. After setting the pail and the loaf of bread on the table, he hollered, “Gram.”

Finding her in the living room reading her Bible, he stepped to the round mahogany end table next to her. “Hannah’s here. We’re going for a walk.” He took one of the walkie-talkie radios off the table and turned it on. “If you need anything, just push this button.” He pointed to the knob with the musical note on it. “If you buzz us, we’ll come back pronto.” He set the radio on the table and attached the matching one to his belt loop.

His grandmother’s eyes searched his face.

Paul raised an eyebrow. “Please try not to need anything.” He kissed her on the head.

“I’ll give you fifteen minutes, young man. Then I’m pushing that button. Young people don’t require any more time than that.”