A Time to Heal Read online

Was that relief on her face? Hannah told herself she was being fanciful. "It's nothing bad. It's just that he hasn't told anyone—"

  "So you wonder if he'd want you to say anything to him or anyone else."

  "Yes."

  "Chris is a proud man." Phoebe paused and smiled slightly."Most men are." She sat again at the table. "He's strong but he's carrying a lot of pain in him."

  "You think he's injured more than he wants to show? Should he be helping with the harvest?"

  "I'm talking about pain in here," Phoebe said, pointing to her temple. "I'm talking about here," she said, gesturing at her heart.

  She sighed and stood. "And speaking of pain. I think I'll take these old bones back to bed and give them a rest. My knees have been a little arthritic lately."

  "Maybe we should think about moving you to the downstairs bedroom."

  Phoebe gave her a look.

  Hannah threw up her hands. "Never mind! Forget I suggested it! Me? Did I say something?"

  "Say goodnight, Hannah."

  "'Goodnight, Hannah.'"

  Laughing and shaking her head, Phoebe started for the stairs. "See you in the morning."

  Hannah put the cream in the refrigerator, made certain the propane stove had been turned off, and extinguished the kerosene lamp.

  Just as she was about to turn away, she saw that Chris was no longer sitting in the chair but was pacing back and forth, back and forth, on the porch next door.

  Was no one sleeping tonight?

  Her gaze traveled upstairs, to the window that was Matthew and Jenny's room, and saw that it was dark. So, too, were the rooms where the kinner slept.

  Chris's movement on the back porch drew her gaze again.There was something agitated about his form. She wondered if he were in pain or distressed for some reason. It was none of her business, but she worried about him. What if he was having one of his spells, his PSDT—no, that wasn't it. His PDST . . . whatever. The stress thing he had.

  She gathered her robe more closely around her and slipped out the back door.

  It felt a little like his days in the barracks to be lying in a bed, reading by the light of a battery-powered lantern, but Chris had to admit the glow was a pleasant one at the end of the day.

  Reaching for the book Hannah had checked out for him at the library, he opened it to the place he'd marked with the due date slip. He fingered the slip and found himself remembering how he hadn't been able to check out the book himself. The librarian hadn't been able to give him his own card because he wasn't a local resident.

  Not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, he supposed.But while he had a physical address back in Kansas, it hadn't felt like home. And here, in Paradise, a place that increasingly felt like home, well, he didn't have roots here. He was staying in a part of someone else's home, their dawdi haus, a place that was designed to shelter family when they could no longer take care of themselves.

  He remembered the counseling session he had to endure before he left the hospital. It was a rough transition for some veterans to move back into civilian life, the counselor had said.Sometimes they found it hard to reconnect with family, deal with the reality of the lasting effects of an injury, or find a job.

  The counselor said about a quarter of the people sleeping on the streets in America had once worn a military uniform— and they weren't all from the Vietnam era. Many of those in attendance at the counseling session had been sobered by that fact, but only for a few minutes. It couldn't—wouldn't—happen to them.

  Technically, Chris supposed, he could be labeled as not having a home right now. The librarian had implied that, and he didn't fault her for that.

  But it had made him think.

  He read a page of his book and the due date slip fell from his fingers and landed on the quilt covering him. Without taking his eyes from the page he was reading, he felt around on the quilt for the slip. His fingers traced the pattern of the sunburst on the quilt and he took his eyes from the page and studied it.He wondered how much time Hannah had spent on the quilt and whether she had sewn it alone or with the quilting circle ladies he'd seen visit her.

  There was such closeness here. It wasn't just that so many people were related to each other—there were large families here and they stayed in the same area. They didn't spread out all over the country the way those he knew did—he hadn't even met some of his cousins. Families had church together in their homes, helped each other harvest crops, raised barns, and funded medical care and prayed during times of illness and death.

  Lives were stitched together here, like the fabric pieces on the quilt. Family was bigger, community-sized. Paradise had been in existence for generations and generations. Maybe the phrase "It takes a village to raise a child" had originated because of places like this.

  He'd had the same closeness with his men. A band of brothers was what he'd had in the military; it wasn't just the title of a PBS television series. They shared good times and bad—talked about births, deaths, and loves back home; loaned each other money; drunk the occasional beer together; and covered each other's backs. Well, until the end, they'd covered each other's backs. At the end, Chris felt they'd deserted him.

  Troubled by the direction his thoughts had taken, he closed the book he'd started reading and reached for the Bible he kept beside his bed.

  He was tempted to read Job again. When he'd first read through it he'd felt a kinship to the poor man. But then he'd felt he had to move on, that he had to see he couldn't go around feeling like he was walking around with a big cloud over his head.

  He still had his moments—but hopefully they were getting fewer. What had the chaplain advised? Let go and let God? It was a snappy phrase, he said, and he admitted that he often said he would let go and let God. However, the chaplain's wife had told him he'd then try to take back a small part of it and tell God he could handle it—to no good result!

  On a whim, Chris let the Bible fall open and give him direction.It was something he'd seen his late buddy Vince do with this same Bible. The pages parted and he saw Psalms 28:7: "The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and I am helped."

  With a deep sigh, he closed the book and placed it with the other one on the nightstand. He clicked off the batteryoperated lantern, turned on his side, and lay in the dark watching moonlight filter in through the window.

  His hand stroked the quilt again, and he thought about Hannah and then felt himself dosing off . . .

  Her cheek was like the petals of a rose. He couldn't stop stroking it. Her eyes were dark, dreamy, half-closed with pleasure from his hand touching hers as she stood with the moonlight behind her.

  Standing close to her, he inhaled her clean scent, part of it the mild soap Phoebe made for the family, part of it the light scent of lavender.

  Her hair was down, a rich, dark mass that waved and flowed down over her shoulders. His hands stroked it and it felt like silk.

  "Chris?"

  "Hmm?" He'd never thought he'd get this close to her, be able to touch her.

  "Chris! Are you all right?"

  "More than all right," he said, smiling, and he bent to kiss her.

  Her lips were so soft, so warm, moving against his in a way that took his breath away.

  Then she was pulling away from him, taking the sweetness, the hope, the promise—

  Her voice became sharper, not at all dreamy and romantic the way it was. "Chris! Are you all right?"

  He blinked and found that she was standing there in front of him, looking concerned.

  "What—what happened?" He realized he'd just awoken from a very delicious dream.

  "You were pacing around. I saw you from the kitchen window.Then you were standing here, looking odd, your hands moving like—like—" she stopped. "I got worried that you were having one of those stress episodes so I ran over. Then you were—you were—"

  His face burned. "Kissing you," he said hoarsely. He watched her pull her robe closer, push her hair behind her back.


  "Were you sleepwalking?"

  Chris glanced around him. He didn't remember coming outside but he must have. "I guess so. It happened a couple of times when I was in the hospital."

  She reached out to touch his arm. "Are you okay now?"

  He shook his head. "I wish you hadn't woken me up," he said softly and he reached out to stroke a lock of her hair that the wind caressed in a way he wanted to do. "Some things you only get to do in your dreams."

  He could tell he'd shocked her and he withdrew his hand and straightened. "Go home."

  "But—"

  "Go home before I show you how I'd like to touch you."

  Her mouth fell open at his words and then she spun around and ran from him, her steps soundless on the ground between the houses. He waited until she disappeared into Phoebe's house.

  He let himself back into the house, threw himself down on the bed, and prayed he'd dream that dream again.

  12

  Chris heard the soft footsteps sneaking up on him as he sat on the porch of the dawdi haus reading his Bible.

  Pretending to yawn and then turn the page of his book, he cast a surreptitious glance around, pretty certain he knew who was sneaking up on him. Yes, it was just as he thought.

  He waited until the last minute and then jumped up, dropping his book and grabbing her around the waist and swinging her around and around out over the edge of the porch.

  "I'll teach you to sneak up on me!" he growled.

  She squealed as her feet flew into the air and her skirts fluttered."Stop, Chris, stop!" she cried.

  But when he slowed, she shook her head. "No! No! More! More!"

  He felt his heart lift as she giggled. What a delight to hear pure joy, he couldn't help thinking.

  "Annie!"

  Chris recognized Hannah's voice.

  He set Annie on her feet and steadied her when she laughed and lurched, dizzy from being spun around. How could one little girl wrap him so completely around her little finger, he wondered.

  What would it be like to have a child like this? Not just the woman you wanted, but a child? Annie wasn't just a beautiful little girl in looks, with her blond hair, big blue eyes, and a dimpled smile. She had such a sunny disposition and endless curiosity.

  "Annie!"

  "She's back here," he called and saw Hannah round the side of the house and spot them.

  He couldn't take his eyes off her. She wore a dress in a deep blue color, like dusk, and when she saw him her cheeks pinked up in embarrassment and she looked prettier than he'd ever seen her.

  Her hair was tucked so neatly under that demure-looking covering she wore like all the other Amish women. Now he knew what her hair looked like streaming down over her shoulders and her back. He knew what it felt like to touch its softness, to smell the flowery sweetness of it.

  His stomach tightened.

  Deliberately he dragged his attention back to the present.

  "I snuck up on Chris!" Annie told her proudly. "I 'sprised him."

  Hannah smiled at her. "Time to go, liebschen."

  Annie's bottom lip jutted out and she grabbed Chris's hand."I want to stay with Chris."

  "No, we need to go." Hannah's tone was firm.

  "Chris can come with us." She gave him a winsome grin.

  "Annie, maybe Chris has plans."

  He laughed and waved his hand at the books lying on the chaise lounge. "Yeah, I was reading my Bible since I hadn't checked out a church. I figured after I did that, I'd have a heavy date with my library book. And then maybe a nice little snooze on the lounge."

  "I should have thought to invite you. I wasn't sure you'd be interested."

  She was avoiding his eyes. He wondered what to say about last night. What could he say?

  "Ah—where is it?" he managed to ask. "I didn't see an Amish church when we were in town."

  "We don't have a formal building. Church is every other Sunday in someone's home. You'd be very welcome if you'd like to come."

  Chris weighed what she was saying as he looked at her. He didn't want her to ask just out of courtesy.

  "Are you sure it would be okay?"

  "Schur. We have Englisch guests sometimes."

  Annie jumped up and down. "Kumm with us, Chris."

  Chris glanced down at his jeans and T-shirt. "But—"

  "You're fine," Hannah told him. "We're Plain, not Fancy, remember."

  "Give me one minute. I'll put on a better shirt."

  "Hurry, hurry, hurry," Annie sing-songed. "We gotta go."

  "Be right back!" Chris jogged into the house and changed his shirt.

  When he came out, Annie was gone.

  "Hey, where's my date?"

  Hannah smiled. "It'll be Phoebe. Annie went to ride with her family."

  He started walking with her across the field to the other house. "Phoebe, huh?"

  Slanting a glance at him, she smiled. "I think Annie's a little young for dating."

  Chris glanced around to make sure no one was in hearing range. "Phoebe isn't a little too old? You'd be . . ." he trailed off.

  Just right lingered in the air.

  "Yes, well, uh—look!" she said quickly, pointing at the buggy approaching. "Here she comes now."

  Phoebe pulled up.

  "I invited Chris to come with us."

  "I see," the older woman said with a smile. "So nice to have you with us to worship, Chris."

  "Thank you."

  He turned to Hannah. "Ladies first."

  "I'll take the backseat," she told him and her eyes twinkled with mischief. "That way you can sit up front with Phoebe."

  Resigned, not knowing what to do, he watched as she climbed into the back and he got in the front. Phoebe, unaware of the electrical current between Hannah and him, got the buggy moving.

  When they arrived at the home where the service was held, Chris found the church was just as Hannah had said it would be. He was warmly welcomed by the older couple who were the hosts, and the men he'd worked with shook his hand and invited him to sit in their row. Matthew and Joshua joined them a little later, and Chris saw Jenny with Annie and Mary.Annie brightened when she saw him and waved and grinned at him. He waved back.

  At first it felt a little strange to be seated on a bench in a home instead of in a church, but the way that things were set up showed that the home had clearly been built with the intent to accommodate a large number of people. One wall was a sort of partition that folded back so that the benches could be brought in for seating.

  Chris was surprised when the men and women sat on different sides of the room, and he didn't understand when Pennsylvania German was spoken. He was surprised when there was no musical accompaniment to the hymns. But he felt right at home because the lay ministers were so genuine when they spoke about a message they got from the Bible.

  And when one of them began talking about a passage in Matthew, quoting, "Blessed are they who are persecuted for righteousness' sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven," he found himself sitting up straight and listening hard.

  "You didn't tell him, did you?"

  Hannah shrugged. "I don't know what you mean."

  "You do, too," Phoebe whispered. "That poor man has no idea how long our services last."

  "He didn't ask."

  Phoebe made a tsk-tsk-ing sound. "Shame on you," she chided.

  But Hannah could see that Phoebe was trying to hide a smile. Her own lips twitched as she tried to do the same. She'd looked over to where the men sat and listened to the service and seen that for the first hour and a half or so, he seemed absorbed in what the ministers said. Especially when John B.talked about Matthew 5:10. Chris was particularly absorbed in what he was saying.

  When voices were lifted in song, Chris stood and joined in. He had to look at the hymnal but he seemed earnest and interested, acting as if he enjoyed himself, she saw.

  She wondered how he sounded when he sang and wished he wasn't so far away that she couldn't hear. His voice was always low and measu
red when he spoke. He probably had a nice singing voice.

  But as the service went on, she saw him shift a little, and he appeared surprised when he surreptitiously looked at his watch and saw the time.

  When he glanced over at her, raising his eyebrows in question, she had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. Understanding dawned and when she saw the glint in his eyes, the knowing nod and the slight smile, she wondered if she'd hear about this later.

  Phoebe leaned over. "I think you should apologize to him later."

  "He doesn't have to go to another one if he doesn't want to."

  An older woman in front of them turned and frowned at Hannah.

  Hannah whispered, "Er dutt mir leed"—"I'm sorry."

  Looking somewhat mollified, the woman turned back around.

  More time passed. Phoebe got up once to walk outside and relieve the stiffness she'd been experiencing lately. Annie needed a bathroom break so Mary took her.

  When the service was over, the men began turning the benches into tables and the women went to the kitchen to fix the light meal that was served.

  Once, when Hannah was walking around refilling coffee cups, she saw Chris staring at her. There was something dark and intense in his eyes, something she'd never seen when a man looked at her. Something mysterious and yet known, so desired and yet feared.

  She looked away and felt her cheeks warm as she remembered that kiss.

  "You okay?" Jenny whispered as she came to stand next to Hannah.

  "I'm just a little warm. Lots of people in the house."

  But Jenny was looking at Chris. "Oh yeah? It's not just one man who's making you feel that way?"

  "Why is it you can't get off that topic?"

  Jenny patted her shoulder. "Just want to see you as happy as me."

  "Did you ever think—" she broke off.

  "Did I ever think what?"

  She glanced around. "Not here."

  Jenny took her hand and drew her outside, to a corner of the porch where no one could hear. "Did I ever think what?"

  Hannah watched the children running and playing in the yard. Some of the men were filtering out of the house now and congregating in front of the barn, talking business and horses and who knew what.