A Time to Heal Page 7

  She'd had a borrowed family who had given her someone— four someones—to love. However, it made her realize how much she wanted a family—a family of her own, not just a borrowed one.

  And now that she no longer had them to focus on, she found it even harder not to yearn for her own family.

  With a sigh, she got up and turned the gas oven on to preheat.She'd make something special, maybe her breakfast casserole, to send everyone off to schul and to work. She reached for the pan she used, then hesitated and glanced at the door to the dawdi haus. The pan she held in her hand wouldn't be large enough to hold a casserole for another man-sized appetite in the house. Best to use two smaller pans so they wouldn't be too heavy to lift or take too long to bake. The men who were helping Matthew with the harvest would be here soon.

  She'd thought Chris would be gone by now and wondered what it would be like to have him here. He was a type of man she'd never known, one who drew her to want to understand him and yet one she knew she should hold at arm's length because he never could be part of her world.

  Chris shot straight up in bed, covered in a cold sweat, panting as if he'd run a race. Groggy because he felt ripped from a deep, unsatisfying sleep.

  Someone knocked on the door that separated the dawdi haus from the main one. He pulled on his jeans and dragged a t-shirt over his head as he padded barefoot to the door. Had he overslept on the first morning he'd said he'd work for Matthew?

  When he opened the door, he stared into Hannah's concerned face. "Yeah?"

  "Are you all right?" His heart sank. She'd obviously heard him having the nightmare. Feeling embarrassed, he frowned, assured her he felt fine, and shut the door as quickly as possible.

  He walked back to the bed and threw himself down on it.After a while, he turned over. His glance went to his backpack and the gifts he'd bought yesterday that were piled on the wooden dresser. He looked at the doll's blank face and remembered another childish image.

  The memory of a child's wide, tear-filled eyes flashed into his mind, painfully reminding him that he'd condemned the boy's father to be shut behind gray prison walls for years. He could still hear the child crying, hear the voice of the boy's mother accusing him of betrayal, cursing him for what he'd done.

  It was no less than he'd done to himself then, and since.

  Rising, he went to shower and dress for the day. One foot in front of the other, he told himself. That's how he got through most days. He'd come here just wanting to talk to Jenny about how she coped with what she'd gone through, and he hadn't been able to do so yet. That's what he got for coming without letting her know first. But he'd felt so compelled to come here, he wondered if there was some bigger reason for him to be here. He'd just been here for two days but it felt right somehow to be here. It didn't make sense but even logical types like his military instructors had told the soldiers to trust their instincts, to listen to their intuition. So he'd stay for a while longer, until he could talk to Jenny. Until he could figure things out.

  He'd always enjoyed working on the farm. He found the sheer physical labor, the ability to work outdoors and think— really think—without the constant interruption of others, satisfied him. He'd found peace working the land. Here, harvesting what Matthew had planted and nurtured, he hoped to find peace again. Maybe he'd even find a way to forgive himself here among people who were known to demonstrate it so readily toward others.

  He showered, shaved, got dressed, and then started for the back door. He hesitated, but then went out and closed it behind him. Perhaps he could have used the other entrance, the one that led directly into the kitchen. After all, Hannah had knocked at the door so that sort of implied he could use it.

  But then he told himself that he wasn't related to the family and it seemed like an invasion of privacy. He didn't want to do anything to upset Matthew now that he seemed to be trusting him more.

  So he walked around the home and knocked at the front door like a guest—well, actually, now he was an employee. But still, he wasn't part of the family.

  He winced as he thought about his interaction with Hannah a little while ago. What man likes to have a woman know he isn't strong? He should be able to control how he sleeps—he shouldn't have nightmares.

  Everything had been out of his control for too long.

  When Chris walked into the kitchen, accompanied by Annie who chattered a mile a minute, Hannah handed him a mug of coffee before turning back to the stove.

  "Annie, tell Joshua and Mary breakfast is ready."

  She scampered up the stairs.

  "Good morning," he said.

  Surprised, Hannah turned. "Good morning. I didn't think you wanted to talk after the way you were earlier."

  He took a seat at the table and stared into his coffee."Sorry."

  Resting her hand on her hip, she regarded him. "I figured you're not an early bird."

  "You don't get a choice about what kind of bird you are in the military," he told her. He stirred sugar into his coffee.

  He didn't meet her eyes. He hadn't been that way yesterday.Frowning, she went to the refrigerator for milk for the kinner and set it on the table. Then understanding dawned.

  "You're embarrassed," she said with surprise.

  He looked up briefly, then away.

  "I used to have nightmares," Joshua said as he came into the room.

  She watched Chris turn toward him.

  "Yeah?"

  Joshua nodded. "After my mamm died."

  "You never told me," Hannah said.

  Shrugging, Joshua avoided her eyes much as Chris had done. "Abe called me a sissy when he found out."

  "Oh, liebschen, that's not so." Hannah wrapped her arms around Joshua and her eyes met Chris's over his blond head."It's not sissy to have nightmares."

  Joshua fidgeted in her arms and she bit back a smile as she realized that he probably felt too old for her to be hugging him.He'd been doing that lately. Like people said, kinner grew up too quickly.

  "No, Joshua," Chris said in a low voice. "It's not sissy." He looked at Hannah. "I'm not embarrassed. I just don't like to talk about personal stuff."

  "Then you shouldn't," Hannah said slowly. She could tell by the way Chris's eyes widened that he was surprised by her words.

  Footsteps pounded down the stairs and the girls came into the room. Matthew walked in just then too.

  "Perfect timing," Hannah said, walking to open the oven. "I think the breakfast casserole is ready."

  "Ready to start work?" Matthew asked him.

  Chris got up but Matthew waved a hand at him and laughed."I didn't mean this minute. Breakfast first."

  He washed his hands at the sink, wiped them on a towel, and sat down. "Mmm, smells good."

  "Food," Hannah said, setting the casserole down in the center of the table and turning to smile at Chris. "It's Matthew's favorite."

  Chris grinned. "That's what my mother always said about me." He glanced at Joshua. "I know I ate a lot, but I was a growing boy."

  "I grew two inches this year," Joshua told him.

  Hannah served the casseroles of bacon, eggs, cheese, and potatoes, and after grace, everyone dug in. It was good, solid food on a cool autumn morning, one that would fuel the men for chores and the scholars for their studies. She ate a good portion, too, for the housework she'd be doing. There were always housekeeping chores in a home, and it did a body good to have work to keep hands busy.

  After chores and dinner, she'd be teaching a quilting class, something she loved and did occasionally when they needed her at Stitches in Time, a shop run by a friend of hers in town. They sold the quilts she made and offered courses to locals and tourists who wanted to learn the craft.

  The day would be busy and long, but she liked days like that the best, especially lately. She'd have less time to think the way she had this past month. Good. She didn't like the way she had been thinking. When, and if, God wanted her to have a mann of her own, a family of her own, He'd make it happen.God's will, in
God's time.

  Not Hannah's, she reminded herself sternly.

  Horsepower.

  In Chris's world, it meant the engine under the hood of a car or a tractor.

  When it was used on the farm in this community, it meant the team of really large horses Matthew led out of the barn.

  What had he gotten himself into?

  This was farming the way it had been done back in his great-grandfather's time, he told himself as he helped Matthew hitch the horses up and lead them into the field.

  A half-dozen Amish men approached, dressed in broadcloth pants, jackets, and black felt hats. Matthew introduced him to Daniel, John, and David.

  Although the day started out cool, just as the sun came up, Chris's shirt quickly soaked with sweat. It burned his chest where the hot coffee burned him two days ago. He had wanted an excuse to stay and he'd gotten it.

  As he stood in the field of corn watching the green stalks with their golden tassels wave in the wind, Chris felt a sense of peace wash over him. He'd missed it so much.

  Matthew came to stand beside him. "This is my favorite time of the year—when we harvest." He looked at Chris's boots. "Not sure how those'll hold up. Tomorrow maybe you can go into town and get some better ones. I'll advance you the money."

  "I'm okay for money."

  Nodding, Matthew looked up at the sky, then out at the field again. "Weather's holding. Thanks be to God."

  He turned back to Chris. "You just let me know what you're able to do. I don't want you hurting yourself by overdoing."

  Chris straightened. "I'll be fine."

  Two hours later, every muscle in his body screamed in protest.Hard physical labor hadn't been part of his life for a long time, and farming this way . . . well, he had a new respect for Matthew who appeared to have superhuman energy and stamina. He'd never fully appreciated until now the modern farm machinery they used on the family farm.

  The process was different, and Chris didn't know just how much he'd be helping. Farming could be dangerous work and while he didn't have to worry about a tractor turning over on him and the like, he had to keep his wits about him or he'd end up under a big plow horse instead.

  But it was hard not to daydream and remember what it was like back home when they harvested the corn—he, his brothers, and his father. At the end of the day what could be better than gathering around a big kettle set over a blazing fire boiling shucked ears, slathering them with real butter, and eating them with hamburgers or barbecue until they were stuffed?

  Hannah came out with coffee and hot chocolate and saucersized cookies.

  Chris watched her serving the other men and found himself feeling jealous of the amount of attention they got. He reminded himself he'd known her only a short time and would be on his way soon. Besides, what woman would want him with the baggage he carried?

  But there was no doubt he was attracted to her and he couldn't stop the unfamiliar emotions welling up in him.

  "Don't forget Phoebe will be serving dinner," she reminded her brother.

  Matthew took off his hat and wiped his face with a bandanna."Ach, that's right. It's your day to teach . . . and enjoy the Amish grapevine."

  She elbowed him. "Stop that! Like you men don't love to talk about the goings-on in the community. The difference is that men walk around talking on their cell phones like they're doing business but you're gossiping." Chris heard one of the men snort as they turned away and began walking back to their work.

  "More kaffi?"

  He nodded and held out his cup. "You and Mathew remind me of the way my older sister and I used to get along." When her eyes widened and she stared at him, surprised, he muttered, "What?"

  "I think that's the most you've said about yourself since I met you."

  He set his cup on the tray she held. "People talk too much about themselves."

  "Not you," she said. "Not you."

  She turned and walked away. Tearing his eyes from her retreating form, he saw that Matthew was watching him.

  Chris couldn't blame him. He wouldn't be surprised if it took a while for the man to get over how things had looked in the barn that first day.

  He was surprised when Matthew came over and laid his hand on his shoulder an hour later. "Can you go see if Phoebe has dinner ready?"

  "Sure."

  Chris was halfway across the field when he suddenly had a thought: was this just Matthew's attempt to go easy on him his first day? He wanted to protest that he was doing just fine, thank you. Too late now. He'd gotten halfway there, and if this was indeed Matthew's way to keep him from overdoing his first day, well, he'd fix that tomorrow.

  He knocked at the front door and heard Phoebe call for him to come on in. When he walked into the kitchen, she moved a big platter of sandwiches from the counter to the table.

  "Matthew wanted me to ask if dinner's ready."

  "We always—" she stopped. "Schur," she said quickly. "I'll have you ring the bell in a moment."

  "That soup smells good."

  "My vegetable beef. I'm about to put it on the table."

  She wrapped a potholder around the metal handle.

  "Wait! Let me help you with that. It's too heavy for you."

  "Young man, I've been lifting heavy pots like this for many years," she told him with a trace of tartness.

  "Well, I'm here right now and my grandma would be very upset with me if I didn't help. Just let me wash my hands."

  He glanced back as he left the room. "Don't you go picking that up while I'm gone."

  She smiled. "I won't."

  When he returned, he saw that she'd listened to him and hadn't moved the pot.

  "Thanks for listening to me."

  She regarded him with a slight smile. "It seemed a shame to have you losing a chance to use those good manners you learned from your grandmother."

  Chris took the potholder she gave him and together they lifted the handle and carefully carried the pot to the table where she'd put a trivet.

  "Do you want to ring the dinner bell?" When he nodded, Phoebe smiled. "Kumm."

  He followed her to the porch, grasped the metal bar, and began banging it against the inside of the triangular shape, producing that unique sound he remembered from his days on his farm.

  Then he saw that the men were already halfway to the house. Chris turned and looked at Phoebe.

  "Something tells me that Matthew didn't need to send me to ask if dinner was ready."

  She patted his cheek and smiled at him, her eyes wise but shrewd. "No. We eat at the same time each day during harvest.I'm sure Matthew just didn't want you to overdo since he knew you'd been in the hospital recently."

  "I'm fine now."

  "You need a break. Come sit and keep me company while the men wash up."

  He sank into a chair and watched her check something in the oven. It smelled of apples and cinnamon and sugar. He hoped she'd made it for dinner, not supper.

  "My grandma used to lift me up to ring the bell on the farm," he told Phoebe. "When I got too big for her to lift, then I stood on a stool. But I had the most fun when she lifted me up, I think."

  "That's a nice memory."

  "I miss her. She died while I was serving overseas."

  "I'm sorry," she said.

  She patted his shoulder, touching him more by her gesture than her words.

  "You know," she said, "I was a little concerned when I heard that one of Matthew's part-time workers couldn't help him.Then I remembered Matthew 9:35: 'Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field.' "

  She sat and folded her hands as she looked steadily at him."God sent you at the right time."

  Chris shifted uncomfortably. "It's just a coincidence that I came here and Matthew needed someone."

  "Oh, so you believe in coincidences?"

  Surprised, Chris nodded. "Doesn't everyone?"

  "A friend of mine once said that she didn't believe in coincidence, that it was God working in her life, not
a coincidence every time something unexpected worked out."

  She tilted her head and studied him. "You know, you remind me of Jenny when she first came home."

  "Jenny?"

  Phoebe nodded. "She had old eyes. She'd seen so much.You seem troubled. I think you've seen too much, too, Chris. I hope you find the healing and peace Jenny has found here."

  The front door opened and boots clomped inside.

  She stood and greeted the men as they streamed into the kitchen and took their seats. They bent their heads to say a prayer over the meal and when Chris lifted his head, his eyes met Phoebe's. She'd given him a lot to think about.

  Food made the rounds of the table. There was little conversation.The men were too hungry, time too precious. Before long, they were thanking Phoebe for the meal and heading back out the door.

  Chris followed them. He wasn't sure how much he'd contributed that morning or how much longer he'd last, but the rest and the food had helped. He looked forward to being out under the vast blue bowl of a sky, harvesting the crops.

  Hannah usually loved her time teaching quilting to the local Englisch and tourists who wanted to learn more about the craft.

  But even though the small class appeared excited and eager, she found her attention wandering back home, back to the conversation she'd had with Chris that morning. She knew she'd been feeling a vague sense of . . . well, she didn't know the word for it because she usually felt in tune with her life, her work, her community.

  But it became harder each year when autumn came and people started pairing off like they were invited to sail on Noah's Ark. Weddings were always planned for after harvest.Some days, there would be two, even three weddings.

  She wasn't a romantic—she was quite practical, in fact.But just like the other day, at the kinner's schul, she found her thoughts returning to those niggling little uneasy areas that hovered like a gray cloud this time of year. She wasn't happy about her thoughts; she did her best to believe in God's will.

  But sometimes it was just a little hard to be a single woman here. It wasn't that she was expected to marry young. Many Plain women waited to marry until they were in their middle twenties. She liked helping family and friends, but she wanted to be more than the young woman who had family obligations of her own. She wanted to nurture her own children and be held in the arms of a man who loved her—