Sisters of the Quilt Trilogy (20 page)

His humor did nothing to settle the terror that ran through Hannah’s body. There were so many levels on which she feared the bishop. She wanted to be all that he and her parents wanted. She really did. It just never seemed to work out that way, no matter how hard she tried. The bishop would call her mind-set sin. Dr. Greenfield would probably call it free will.

She called it utter confusion.

She peered through the hole to the ground floor. The bishop handed Matthew his jacket, then looked up into the loft. Her hands fluttered over her apron, trying to free it of loose hay. She reached for her
Kapp
. It was askew, one side nearly touching her shoulder and her hair pulling free of its restraints.

The bishop’s austere glare bored into Hannah, and guilt hounded her—guilt for every ungodly thought she’d ever had. The bishop rubbed the palms of his hands together, making a noise like sandpaper against wood. “I came to see John Yoder. I take it no one is home but the two of you.”

Matthew glanced up at her, and she knew he was just realizing that himself.

The bishop cleared his throat. “I think it’s time you go home, Matthew. Hannah, I’m sure there are better ways to spend the Lord’s Sabbath than this. Tell Mary’s father I came by to see him and I’ll catch up with him later in the week.”

The two men disappeared from her tiny square view from the hayloft. With a heavy heart she made her way down the ladder.

H
annah stirred the chocolate frosting with all the strength she could muster. An electric mixer would be awfully nice on days like this. Her arms were weary from having washed clothes all morning. She had always known that a lot of jobs fell to Mary as the only daughter among ten children, but she hadn’t realized the full magnitude of her workload. Thankfully, four of Mary’s brothers were married and had homes of their own now. So Becky,
Mammi
Annie, and Hannah had only six males to look after. The responsibilities had been minimal when Mary first returned from the hospital, but as more and more Amish women went back to their homes, both Hannah’s and Becky’s workloads increased.

Hannah placed a layer of cake on a plate and began frosting it with a dinner knife. She had done mounds of laundry today, including a full tub of towels. Of all the items that had to be run through the gas-powered agitator, worked through the hand-cranked dry wringer to squish the soap out, rinsed by hand in a tub of clear water, and worked through the wringer again, towels were the most tiring. They got quite heavy as she dunked them in the rinse water and lifted them in the air, repeating the process over and over until the soap was out. Of course, boys’ and men’s shirts, of which there was no shortage in the Yoder household, were no picnic. They weren’t heavy to rinse, but the wringer broke the buttons easily. At least at this stage of Mary’s recuperation, she was well enough to sew buttons back on.

Hannah positioned the second layer of cake on top of the frosted one and dropped a large dollop of icing on it. As she smoothed it around the top and over the sides, she let her mind wander. A few more weeks had swept by as she’d stayed busy helping Mary regain her strength and the Yoders run their household.

There was one benefit to all the jobs and concentration: it helped time pass as she dreamed of seeing Paul again. Going without letters had been harder than she’d imagined. But with a little less than six weeks until Christmas, she’d almost made it through the arctic wasteland of time. A sense of well-being washed over her. She had set her will, defied her emotions, and carried out her responsibilities.

But Hannah didn’t understand Gram’s ridiculous edict that she and Paul could not write to each other. For the thousandth time, she wondered if there was some other way to pass letters back and forth without her family finding out.

With the aid of her walker, Mary shuffled into the kitchen. A patchwork potholder she had been sewing was scrunched between her palm and the handle of the walker. “I’m afraid the entire wedding season will pass by before I’m strong enough to attend any of them.”

Hannah set the frosting to the side. She pulled a golden brown loaf of bread from the gas stove and set the pan on a baker’s rack to cool. She put another pan of unbaked bread in the oven and closed the door. “Every bride and groom has come to see you before the wedding, no?”

Pinching off a bit of a freshly iced cake, Mary nodded, then popped the chunk of cake into her mouth. “Mmm,
vat’s
awful
goot.
”

“Molmumumpm,” Hannah mocked jovially. “How can I understand that garbled talk? Neither English nor Pennsylvania Dutch. Shame on you.” Hannah cut the cake where Mary had pinched off a piece and set the slice on a plate on the table. “You’ve had plenty of nutrition. It’s time for some much-needed calories.” She grabbed a fork out of a drawer and laid it beside the plate.

Mary eased into the chair. “I came out to help, but, as usual, I sit and take it easy while you work.”

Hannah grabbed a glass and filled it with milk, then placed it in front of Mary. “You’re doing just as you should.”

Mary took several long gulps of milk before setting the glass on the table. “I’ll make all this up to you someday, Hannah. You’ll see.”

Hannah lifted the kettle of boiling water off the stove and poured the steaming liquid into a cup that held a tea bag and the last of the honey they had from the Esh farm. “What I see is my friend being strong enough to want to do things but too weak to do them just yet, no?”

Mary sighed. “It’s frustrating. I lie in bed dreaming of doing things, and as soon as I stand, all my strength is gone.”

“It will return.”

“But I slept for days after my outing with Luke.”

“I know. When you start getting your strength, it’ll come quick like.” Hannah set the hot drink in front of Mary. “The womenfolk will be here soon with their quilting items in tow. I want all of us to work on your quilt, and they want to come and lift your spirits. But if you get tired during the gathering, you say so, and I’ll cart you off to bed.”

Mary frowned. “I’m to go to bed while everyone else gets to work on the quilt you designed for me?”

Hannah opened the stove, checking the next batch of bread. She closed the oven, then turned to dump the other loaf onto a rack so it could finish cooling without getting soggy. “You’ll do as your body asks.”

Mary took another bite of cake. “You’ve done a wonderful job planning and gathering fabric for our quilt.” She paused, her eyes studying Hannah with a depth of caring that only Mary had for her. “Hannah, I’m not so weak or confused from the medicines that I haven’t noticed how sad you’ve been. I vainly assumed my injuries were the reason. But something much deeper is going on with you. It haunts your sleep and brings tears to your eyes when you think no one sees. If everyone wasn’t so concerned over me and Luke, they’d be sick with worry about you. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

Hannah scraped the last of the frosting out of the bowl and swirled it onto the cake, wondering if Mary was strong enough to hear the full, horrendous story. Although Hannah had to keep her and Paul’s relationship a secret even from her best friend, she had always shared everything else with Mary.

The explanation of her unhappiness would be a painful shock for Mary. On one hand, Hannah wanted to spare Mary the ugly truth; on the other, she ached to talk to her, was desperate to share with someone the burden that ate away at her night and day. With her living here, her parents seemed to have forgotten the whole thing had ever happened.

Hannah gave a smile that had to look fake in spite of her best effort.

Mary’s eyes brimmed with pools of water. “Something awful is wrong, and I’m so sorry. I feel so selfish, beaming about the new apartment and shop.” Using the table as support, Mary stood. Her cool, soft hands pressed against Hannah’s arm.
“Mei liewe, liewe Bobbeli, was iss es?”

Dear, dear baby
. The term of endearment would have caused giggles if the situation weren’t so filled with misery.

Dread swamped Hannah. How could she talk about the attack when Mary knew little to nothing about what Dr. Greenfield called sex? For Hannah, getting the explanation past her lips would be tough enough if Mary already fully understood the concepts.

Hannah placed the spreading knife on a plate. She turned and faced her friend. So much love and compassion shone in Mary’s eyes.

She swallowed.
“Du kannscht net saage …”

Mary shook her head. “I won’t, dear Hannah. You know I’ll not tell a soul.”

Hannah’s knees shook so hard that she plunked into a kitchen chair. Mary sat beside her, holding her hands. Hannah swallowed. “A few weeks before your accident—”

A swift rap at the door startled both of them. Mary engulfed Hannah in a hug. “It’s probably just
Mamm
dropping some sewing stuff off early, and I forgot to unlock the door. I’ll ask her to give us some more time.”

Hannah squeezed Mary gingerly before letting her go. As Mary shuffled to the door using her walker, Hannah rinsed her face at the sink, still debating how much to share with Mary. She could just tell her about Paul and how hard it was being separated from him. Was it safe for her friend’s health to tell her any more than that? Could she handle even that much? It had taken Mary a week of extra rest to recoup from her visit to the harness shop, and Luke hadn’t even allowed her to climb the steps to get a gander at their future home. She was more frail than she knew.

Mary opened the front door, then turned to look at Hannah. The crestfallen expression on her face said it all; they’d lost track of time. The women had arrived for the quilting.

“Are you all right, Mary?” Naomi Esh looked past her, searching for Hannah. Behind Naomi stood Deborah Miller and Grace Hostetler, all of them looking concerned.

Hannah stepped forward, placing her hands on Mary’s shoulders. “She’s fine.
Kumm uff rei
,” Hannah added, showing them in. Hannah helped Mary take a few steps backward with the aid of the walker, making room for the women and all their sewing goods to enter the room. Maybe this interruption was for the best. Mary’s sudden inquisitiveness had caught Hannah off guard. Hannah needed time to weigh her words, to decide what Mary could handle.

The women cleared the food off the kitchen table and scrubbed the surface clean before spreading the partially finished “Past and Future” quilt across the table.

Mary remained near the front door, leaning on Hannah. “It’s always about me. I’m so sorry.” Her body shook like a newborn calf.

“Sh,
Liewi
. Sh.” Hannah forced a smile, hoping it looked genuine. “It’s a day we’ve looked forward to, no?”

Mary laid her head on Hannah’s shoulder and wept. Beyond any question, Hannah knew that her friend was not strong or well enough to deal with the truth of what had taken place in her life. Just the idea that Hannah was unhappy had caused Mary to tremble and quake.

More women arrived, including Mary’s mother and grandmother. When they saw Mary weeping in Hannah’s arms, anxiety filled Becky’s eyes.
Mammi
Annie frowned in concern. Hannah nodded to assure both women that Mary would be fine in a few minutes. Becky helped
Mammi
Annie move into the room and get seated.

Sarah bounded through the door next, chattering as only fifteen-year-old girls can, with no regard to the somber mood of the room. Hannah’s sister didn’t even speak to her. Then again, maybe she was giving her and Mary some privacy.

A quick glance outside informed Hannah that her
Mamm
hadn’t come. Sarah had apparently hitched a ride with Edna Smucker, their closest Amish neighbor, who was walking toward the house with a small stack of already-sewn quilt patches.

“Kumm,”
Hannah whispered to Mary. Leaving the walker behind, she led Mary to the best seat at the table, the one near the wood stove, so she wouldn’t need to shift out of the way as people milled about.

Mary wiped at her eyes, her hands still trembling. As she sank into the seat, she clung to Hannah’s hand like a frightened child.

Hannah kissed her on the cheek and whispered, “Don’t let my girlhood silliness upset you. This season of life will change soon enough, no?”

“Ehrlich?”
Mary asked, her hushed voice unheard by the babbling women busily spreading the quilt background over the table.

Hannah drew a deep breath. No, it wasn’t honest, but it was the truth condensed into something Mary could handle. Hannah would move beyond this spell and be happy. All she needed was Paul close by.
“Ya.”
Hannah patted Mary’s shoulder.
“Ya.”

The women talked as they laid small pieces of fabric over the off-white background. Each one seemed keenly aware of Mary’s fretfulness but acted nonchalant and oblivious.

Hannah lifted two pieces of cloth off the table, a deep purple and a gorgeous magenta. She held them in front of Mary. “Impatiens wait to be designed into this quilt by the best among us at sewing flowers.” She lowered the material in front of Mary. It was well known that Mary could outdo any seamstress when it came to designing flowers into quilts. As Mary’s hands went toward the material Hannah held, she withdrew the squares and held them toward Becky.

The whole room, including Mary, broke into laughter. Although Becky Yoder was good at sewing all sorts of items from nature, she had often complained that she couldn’t sew a flower to save her life but her daughter could do it in her sleep.

Mary laughed. “I thought you wanted impatiens, not blobs.”

Becky mockingly wagged her finger in her daughter’s face. “Not one of my children has suffered yet due to my lack of skill.”

Ah, the mantra of every mother alive: for her children not to suffer because of what she lacked. Hannah cleared her throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “That might be taking it a bit far, don’t you think?” She peered at Mary, whose face was brightening by the moment.

Mary nodded. “When Robert lay under that blanket you made for him, he thought one of your flowers was a monster about to smother him in his sleep.”

As laughter filled the room, Hannah returned to the stove to check the loaf of bread she’d forgotten. Becky wasn’t nearly as bad at sewing flowers as she took ribbing for. She loved the teasing, egged it on most times. She often said that she considered a sense of humor about oneself to be nourishing to the soul and to the souls of others as well.

Hannah pulled the bread pan from the oven and, with great theatrics, turned it toward the women. Their hoots and cackles made the room vibrate. Her loaf of bread was burned all around the edges and gave off a horrible aroma. “It seems one of you could have noticed the scent of burned bread before now.”