A Time to Heal Read online

  "Hannah?"

  "Ya?" She looked up at Jane, one of her students.

  "Where did you go?"

  "Go?"

  "It was like you were on a different planet."

  "Sorry."

  Jane laughed and shook her head. "I've never seen you like that. What were you thinking about?"

  Hannah felt color flooding into her cheeks. "Nothing special."

  She glanced over at the woman sitting next to her who was stitching a quilt block. "Beautiful work, Betsy. That's coming along so quickly."

  "I'm really enjoying this even more than I thought I would," the woman confessed. "It's really relaxing. I feel like I'm . . . I don't know, it'll probably sound silly, but like I'm connecting with my roots somehow. I remember how my mother and my grandmother used to quilt."

  She knotted her thread, used scissors to clip the thread, then picked up a spool. "It's like I'm following in a family tradition."

  Hannah smiled, "Quilts are more than something to keep you warm. They give women a way to express themselves creatively.I like the way that you're using pieces of your children's outgrown clothing to make this quilt. It already has memories built in it that way, don't you think?"

  "Such a nice way to think about it," Betsy said. "This robin's egg blue material? Susie's party dress when she was five. This yellow came from scraps left from Marie's piano recital dress when she was ten. I think the quilt will look nice hanging in the family room."

  She threaded her needle and knotted the ends of the thread.Looking down at her thimble, she laughed.

  "What's so funny?" one of the other women sitting in a circle asked her. Others looked up.

  "I was just remembering when I first came here and I didn't know which finger I was supposed to put my thimble on. So I put it on my thumb and then I couldn't get it off. Talk about embarrassing."

  Hannah smiled. "Life helps keep us humble sometimes, doesn't it?"

  "It's so interesting the way the Amish think about things," Lucy said. "I would never have thought about it that way."

  Rising, Hannah walked around and looked at each quilt the women were working on. "We each have our own way of expressing ourselves. I just think that life gives us things, situations—people—to make us see how much we have to learn . . . how much we need to remember to stay humble and realize we are just like children. We don't know everything."

  As she said it, she knew she was speaking to herself. She didn't know why God hadn't revealed the man He'd set aside for her yet. She didn't know what her purpose was here on earth. And she didn't know why she found herself thinking about Chris Matlock when she'd met him just days ago.

  Hannah remembered how he had noticed the quilt she gave him that first night. He'd said he thought he might get one to take home when he left. Maybe she should make him one, she thought, as a way of thanking him for helping Matthew.

  Oh, she knew Matthew would be paying him to help harvest, but still, Chris had come here for a vacation, not to work after spending so much time recuperating in the hospital.Chris's willingness to help Matthew out deserved a thank you, some kind of showing of gratitude, didn't it?

  The Amish sewed two different types of quilts—the almost stark, vividly colored ones for their own homes, like the one Chris had admired, and the ones they created to sell to others.Those quilts were made from solid materials left over from clothing sewn for family—the blues, purples, greens, and burgundies of dresses for women and the black material used for capes, aprons, and men's clothing. Since nothing was wasted, the leftover material became quilts, kitchen aprons, craft projects for outside sale, and many other things.

  Quilters cut bigger pieces for an Amish home quilt and used more creative designs. Often, Hannah and her fellow quilters favored patterns with some kind of subtle, often spiritual, meaning. Intricate stitching might form images of flowers and other things, but no patterned fabrics found their way into quilts for Amish homes. In simple houses where little of the fancy decoration of an Englisch home existed, the quilts made the homes brighter.

  However, the quilts for purchase were more what the Englisch world expected in design—smaller pieces and a traditional design they were more familiar with, and more suited to the decorating needs of their homes.

  Both types of quilts hung on display in the shop. Hannah thought about what type of quilt she would sew. Chris seemed to be enjoying his time here and acted appreciative and respectful of this way of life. He'd said this place reminded him of his childhood home. Apparently life there had been one of hard work and simple things too.

  She decided it would be a quilt like those she designed and quilted for Matthew and Jenny and Phoebe and her friends.She thought about what pattern she wanted to use—should it be a diamond quilt based on an old Amish hymn? Quietly, she hummed the words: This is the light of the heights/This is my Jesus Christ,/The rock, on whom I stand/Who is the diamond.

  A Cross Within a Cross Quilt . . . or the Friendship Quilt.The Rules of a Godly Life said that, "Finally, be friendly to all and a burden to no one. Live holy before God . . . your forgiveness willing, your promises true, your speech wise, and share gladly the bounties you receive."

  Or, perhaps the Sunshine and Shadow design. The Amish A Devoted Christian's Prayer Book contained the prayer, "We pray, O Holy Father, that we might leave behind the night of sin and guilt and ever walk in the shining light of Thy wondrous grace, and cast off the works of darkness, put on the armor of light, and walk honestly as in the day."

  That's it, she thought. He seemed to be so caught up in some inner struggle, to be carrying some sort of burden. Yet when he stayed in the present, like when he laughed over her letting him buy a tourist souvenir like the Amish doll made in China, his face lit up, his eyes sparkled, and he looked so happy and fun-loving. This was the quilt design she wanted for Chris.

  This quilt was more pieced than the traditional ones used in Amish homes. Maybe that's why she judged it as a good choice for him—a sort of cross between her world and his.But she'd have to work quickly to have it done before he left.Perhaps she should ask her quilting circle to help her.

  A student brought over her quilt block, complaining that she didn't like her stitching. Together, they pulled out the offending section of thread and Hannah showed her how to make it more even . . . all the while she reassured the woman that she should relax and enjoy herself. Perfection wasn't the goal, after all.

  7

  Hannah stood at the kitchen sink washing dishes as she looked out the window at the men working in the field.

  Well, if she were honest, she watched one man—Chris.

  Her eyes found him easily in the midst of the men in the field since he wore Englisch clothes. Although it was obvious that he didn't have the experience with this kind of farming that the other men did, she'd seen him working hard, taking a break only when the other men did.

  Matthew had spoken of what being injured, being exposed to so much horror in war zones had done to Jenny. Hannah watched Chris stretch and bend to work again and wondered about the scars on his back, what had caused them. How he'd felt when he'd been hurt. If he suffered any long-term effects from his injuries as Jenny had.

  He was a handsome man, this Englischer who seemed to come at just the right time when Matthew needed him. Helping Matthew had cut short his vacation, but he'd said he was taking some time for himself and he hadn't seemed in any hurry to leave.

  And Paradise wasn't going anywhere. It had been here for a long time and would be here long after them. Some of the tourists said it seemed like a place out of time, like Brigadoon.Hannah didn't know what that meant. She'd never heard of the town.

  She loved it here. Though she knew some of her friends had felt the need for a rumschpringe, she hadn't wanted a full-blown rumschpringe. She'd done some of the things they had—gone to a movie in town, experimented with Englisch clothes and makeup, but she felt as happy and content here as her brother did.

  The only thing that ever ga
ve her pause was a vague discontent with not having married yet or having kinner of her own.It had surfaced again this autumn at her nephew's birthday celebration at schul, a recent night when she was invited to supper at Matthew and Jenny's house, and at the thought of the weddings planned for after the harvest.

  Determined to shove the troublesome thought aside, she wrung out the dishcloth with more force than necessary and vigorously swept it around the sink.

  "Ach, that's quite a polish you're putting on the sink," Phoebe observed at her side.

  Hannah stopped and stared at the sink. It was spotless. She rinsed the cloth, wrung it out again, and hung it to dry. "You know what they say about idle hands."

  "Yours haven't been idle since you got out of the crib."

  Laughing, Hannah turned and watched Phoebe set a basket of vegetables on the table. "Shall I make squash casserole tonight?" she asked, gesturing at the vegetables.

  But Phoebe had walked over to look out the window over the sink. She turned back to Hannah and raised her brows.

  "What?"

  "Interesting view," Phoebe remarked as she moved back to the basket of vegetables and began choosing several squash.She took them to the sink, washed them, and then returned to the table with a wooden cutting board and began slicing them.

  Hannah looked out the window. She saw the same thing she had for the past few minutes: Chris stood with the other men as they discussed their next task.

  "Just men working," she said dismissively. "I think I'll take them some refreshments."

  "Sure you don't want me to do that?" Phoebe asked.

  She started to respond and then realized that Phoebe wore a puckish smile. "I can do it," she assured her.

  Then she stopped. Phoebe had gone white and grasped at the edge of the table.

  "Phoebe?"

  The older woman blinked and stared at her. "What?"

  "Are you all right?" Hannah rushed to her side and set the tray of refreshments down.

  "I'm fine, fine." She straightened. "Just got tired there for a minute. I think I'll sit down and chop these."

  "You did too much today, didn't you? I knew it would be too much for you to help Sadie."

  "I'm not letting my body tell me what to do," Phoebe said firmly. "My spirit tells my body what to do, not the other way around. Why, if it had its way, my body would just stay in bed some days. I'm not taking it easy. That's not my way. It's not our way."

  Hannah kissed her cheek. "Sit down before you fall down."

  Phoebe gave her a sharp glance. "Don't you be treating me like I'm old."

  "I wouldn't dream of it. You can do twice what I can in a day. I'm just saying that you should sit down. I'll be sitting down in a few minutes myself."

  Tilting her head to the side to consider that, Phoebe nodded."Then you go take that to the men and I'll fix us some coffee and we'll sit."

  "Sounds good." Hannah picked up the tray.

  "Since you need it."

  Laughing and shaking her head, Hannah walked out of the room.

  He got that prickle at the back of his neck again.

  Chris stopped working for a moment and spun on his heel to look around. Daniel and Isaac paused, too, and stared at him. He looked past them and saw a buggy parked down by the road. A man sat in it, his face hidden from view within its depths.

  A hand touched Chris's shoulder and he jerked and saw that Matthew was standing beside him.

  "What?"

  "Are you okay?"

  Chris cast a glance at the buggy. "Yeah. Sure. Why?"

  Matthew looked in the same direction, then back at Chris."Something bothering you?"

  "Who is that? Why are they watching us?"

  "It's just Josiah," Matthew said, squinting into the sun to see better. "He's probably just curious."

  "Curious about what?"

  "About what we're doing. He doesn't have much to do these days since he can't farm anymore." He bent his head and looked closely at Chris. "Do you need to take a break?"

  "No. I'm fine." He turned back to the task he'd been doing, then remembered his manners. "But thanks."

  A few minutes later, when he looked again, the buggy still sat there. Frowning, Chris forced his attention on his work. It's just some old, busy-body guy, he told himself. Let it go.

  Working with the other men felt a little like being with his Army buddies. No need to do a lot of talking, especially with these men. At first he wasn't sure if it was because he was the outsider or because they'd all worked together for so long. In any case, they found a rhythm, he and these men, and when one needed something, it took just a look or a word or two and another man appeared to lead the wagon they were loading with hay or soybeans or with one of the vegetable fields that had been planted.

  Later, he wondered if he lost it because he'd felt uncomfortable or had been thinking about his military buddies.

  Hannah came out of the house with a tray and started toward them, but the buggy caught her attention. She turned and walked toward it and began talking with its occupant. It didn't look like a friendly conversation because she seemed to stiffen, stand up taller, and she shook her head.

  Then, when she turned, a man's hand shot out and grasped her arm, stopping her from walking away.

  A buzzing began in Chris's ears. He dropped the hay bale in his hands and walked swiftly toward them.

  "Let her go!" he called and then he began running. He hadn't been able to stop it last time, but maybe this time he'd get a second chance to make it right. "I said let her go!"

  He saw Hannah glance up and look surprised. "Chris? What's the matter?"

  All he could see was her being restrained by the man, being pulled into the vehicle. She fought with the man, crying out and hitting him. Her clothes ripped as he relentlessly dragged her toward him, tossing her inside. Chris reached her and pulled her away, shoving her behind him so forcefully that she staggered and fell.

  In a haze, he turned to grab the man in the Jeep, but it had turned into a buggy that rolled on down the road.

  "Chris! What are you doing?" Hannah cried.

  He turned, shaking his head, breathing hard, and saw that she lay on the ground, the contents of the tray she'd been carrying scattered on the ground around her.

  "Hannah? Are you okay?" he asked slowly, feeling as though his veins were filled with molasses.

  He bent and reached out a hand to her to help her up and frowned when she flinched. "What's the matter? I'm not going to hurt you. I saved you."

  "Saved me?" She got to her feet on her own and brushed the pieces of grass from her skirt. "Look what you've done!"

  A car approached and pulled into the drive. The passenger door opened and a woman emerged.

  "Hannah? Are you all right?"

  Chris turned and saw Jenny running toward them.

  "He was taking her," he told her. "He was hurting her."

  She stopped and stared at him. "Josiah?" Frowning, Jenny touched Hannah's arm. "Josiah was hurting you?"

  Hannah stared at Chris. "No," she said. "He wasn't hurting me. Jenny, something's wrong with Chris."

  "Chris?"

  He shook his head, trying to clear it, and then his stomach sank. "Sorry," he mumbled and he started for the back of the house, toward the dawdi haus.

  "Jenny—"

  "Let me talk to him."

  He felt Jenny's hand on his arm.

  "Chris, wait a minute!"

  "I'm all right."

  "Talk to me."

  "It was just a spell. I'm fine, I don't need to talk to anyone."

  All he could think about was getting to his room, getting his things, getting out of there. He'd made a fool of himself, scared Hannah, and had everyone staring at him. They all probably thought he was a freak . . . or mentally ill.

  She yanked on his arm with more force than he'd have thought she had in her petite form. He tried to continue but he realized he was half-dragging her and from the corner of his eye he saw Matthew running over.
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  He stopped, but he wouldn't look at her.

  "Chris, I know what you're going through—"

  "No you don't."

  Matthew appeared at his side. "What's wrong?"

  "I need to talk to Chris."

  "But—"

  "Please, I just need a minute."

  "Okay," Matthew said finally. "I'll give you a minute. But I'm staying right here."

  Jenny waited a moment and then she shook Chris's arm."Look at me. Please?"

  He raised his eyes and saw that she looked at him with compassion. "You had a flashback, didn't you?"

  "How'd you know?"

  "Because I've seen them. I've had them."

  Sighing, he ran his hand through his hair. "Haven't had one in months." He glanced over his shoulder. Hannah stared at him and appeared confused. When he looked up at Matthew, he was surprised to see that he was wearing an expression much like his wife's.

  "Post-traumatic stress syndrome?"

  Surprised, Chris nodded. "You've heard of it? Here?"

  Matthew nodded, touched Jenny's shoulder. "Jenny wasn't a soldier like you, but she's had some problems."

  "I scared Hannah."

  "Go talk to her. She'll understand."

  "I don't know how," Chris said. "I don't understand it myself." He took a deep breath.

  "Go talk to her."

  "Later," Chris mumbled. He pulled open the door. "Later."

  As he closed the door behind him, he heard Jenny exclaim, "Men!"

  "Hey!" said Matthew.

  The door shut out their exchange.

  Hannah took a deep breath and then knocked at the door of the dawdi haus.

  When no one answered, she knocked again, louder this time.

  She heard a thud inside the house and then the door opened.

  Chris glared at her, one hand on his hip. "What? Can't a man be left alone?"