A Baby for Hannah (7 page)

Mr. Brunson laughed. “I think I’d rather finish the story here over homemade ice cream and cherry pie. It seems fitting.”

“Whatever you wish,” Jake said, taking another bite.

“It’s too bad Hannah isn’t the minister,” Mr. Brunson said. “I think she’d let me marry the woman on the basis of my story alone.”

“You have always been a charmer,” Jake said. “But I’m listening.”

“I’m not trying to convince you,” Mr. Brunson said. “This story is for Hannah’s benefit, and for the sake of a wonderful woman named Mary Keim. I mean, how many women can sweep an old man like me off my feet?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good thing,” Jake said.

“Don’t listen to him,” Hannah said. “That’s the preacher in him talking. He’s a romantic at heart.”

Mr. Brunson sighed. “I’m afraid it will take more than a romantic heart to solve this one. Anyway, I started thinking about Mary after I found out she was a widow. You know how it goes. I told myself, ‘No, it isn’t possible.’ That we lived in two different worlds, that it would never work, that she would tell me no on the spot if she even thought I was romantically interested in her. After a week or so, I stopped by again and spoke with her for as long as it was comfortable. I asked her about her canned goods she had set out that day. I ended up buying a jar of peaches, since I do like peaches.

“The following week we ran into each other in the grocery store in Libby. We exchanged the usual greetings, chatted for a few minutes, and moved on. My interest was growing greater even as I saw more and more the impossibility of it all. I went back the next day to her stand, hoping to catch her alone. When there were two cars parked along the road, I waved and kept going. An hour later I tried again, and there was no one there. I was as nervous as a youngster, Jake. I haven’t had a woman shake me up like this since I met Bernice when we were both in our teens.

“Anyway, Mary said she was all out of eggs, that she had just sold the last carton and was about ready to close up the stand for the day. I said that was fine and some other things which I can’t remember. Nothing that I shouldn’t have said, just fumbling around. I know she saw through me, Jake. I don’t have any question about that. She could have gotten all cold and embarrassed, like women do when they want to send a
not interested message.
Instead, she smiled the sweetest smile and engaged me in small talk until I gathered myself up enough to leave. So there you have it, and I have no idea what to do from here.”

“That’s a beautiful story,” Hannah said.

“Perhaps,” Mr. Brunson said. “But that only makes it worse. Am I to elope with her?”

“You’re too old for that,” Hannah said.

Mr. Brunson laughed, “You can say that again.”

“And it’s not honorable,” Jake said. “At least I hope you won’t consider that option. I don’t think that would be the right approach at all.”

“Is that as a minister or your personal opinion?” Mr. Brunson asked.

“Both,” Jake said, finishing his ice cream.

“So where does that leave me?”

Seven

Hannah stood on the porch, her arm around Jake’s waist, watching the taillights of Mr. Brunson’s truck bounce up the gravel driveway toward his house. The soft chirp of night creatures in the garden could be heard in the background.

“You gave him
gut
advice on a very hard question,” Hannah commented.

“You think so?” Jake muttered. “I don’t know sometimes. I’m just a young man, and this has all been so sudden. This thing of people coming to us for advice.”

“Us? He came to ask
your
advice, Jake.”

Jake pulled Hannah close to him, “Perhaps, but he also wanted yours. And you did really well.”

“Thanks,” she whispered, snuggling up to him. “It’s chilly out here.”

“Yes, it is. I think we’d better get back inside,” he said, opening the front door for her.

Hannah stepped over the threshold and waited while Jake latched the heavy wooden door behind them.

“Do you think he’ll take your advice?” she asked, sitting down on the couch.

“I don’t know,” he said. “What do you think?”

“I don’t think he will. He might want to forget about her, and even try by not stopping in at the egg stand again, but I don’t think it will work. I think he really loves her.”

“But he’s
English.
Not that he can’t fall in love with Mary because he’s
English,
but they are both older, and how would they ever adjust to each other? I mean, we’re Amish, and marriage was a big adjustment for us. How will it be for him? And if Mary went
English,
that would be even worse.”

“You’d have to excommunicate her, wouldn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t,” Jake said. “You know that.”

“But you’d have to agree to it, wouldn’t you?”

“
Jah
,” Jake said, sitting down beside her and stroking her hand. “Are you going to hold that against me? You seemed really taken in with his story.”

“I know you can’t help it, but it’s still awful. How can something so beautiful as love between two people cause such terrible trouble? And not just any people, but two older people. Surely there’s got to be some way in which they can be together, Jake. It just doesn’t seem right.”

“The world is what it is. I don’t mean to sound harsh, but it’s true. We can’t just have things happen because we want them that way.”

“I know,” Hannah said. “Look at the trouble my dreaming got me into those many years ago.”

“With ‘old Sam.’” Jake chuckled slightly. “You did almost mess up—and big time. Don’t you wish you were a farmer’s wife now instead of a preacher’s wife worrying about all these things? Think of how much simpler life would be.”

“Don’t even suggest such a thing, Jake! I wouldn’t trade you for any farmer, not even if he were the best farmer in the world.”

“You do know how to warm a man’s heart,” he said, tracing her face with his fingers.

“And I wouldn’t trade having your child for a farmer’s life either,” she said, kissing his cheek.

“There are still the dishes to do,” Jake whispered, in her ear. “Why don’t I help you?”

Hannah laughed, “Well, that’s not very romantic…but it’s true. There are lots of dirty dishes tonight.”

“You made way too big a supper,” Jake said, taking her by the hand and helping her stand. “Next time we have visitors, a little less would be just fine.”

“Oh no! I forgot to give Mr. Brunson his cherry pie to take along home. It completely slipped my mind.”

“He had things on his mind other than cherry pie tonight. I think Mr. Brunson will be okay.”

“I’ll take it up tomorrow. I need the walk anyway. He needs his cherry pie,” Hannah insisted. “If nothing else—to comfort his broken heart.”

“You’re something else,” Jake said, shaking his head. “Come, we have dishes to do.”

Hannah followed him to the kitchen, her fingers still wrapped around his. She let go, and lifted the lid on the firebox, slipping in two more pieces of wood.

“We’ll need more hot water,” she said. “It should be warm by the time we finish the first batch of dishes.”

“You have every dish dirty in your kitchen,” Jake said, looking around.

“Almost.” Hannah smiled. “But it was a good supper. You have to admit that.”

Jake smiled, pouring water from the kettle into the sink and adding a dash of soap. He began washing the plates he could reach. While Jake washed, rinsed, and placed them on the drainer, Hannah cleared the table and scraped the dishes before stacking them for Jake to wash. The soft hiss of the gas lantern above their heads filled the kitchen as they worked.

“I have something to confess,” Hannah said softly.

“I don’t know if I can take any more confessions tonight. I was just trying to get my brain back together after learning that Mr. Brunson is in love with one of our women. I still can’t believe it.”

“That’s what I’m worried about. Do you think it will end up as awful as my dreaming used to?”

“You didn’t marry Sam, so that turned out okay.”

“I don’t mean that,” she said. “I meant Peter.”

“Is that your confession? If it is, you already told me about Peter. How you snuck out of the window with him that night against your parents’ wishes. How he wanted to kiss you in the car. How you didn’t let him but made him bring you back home. How he had an accident that night and lost his life. Is that what you mean?”

“You’re not angry with me, are you, Jake?”

“No,” Jake said, washing the dishes slowly. “I never was angry with you about Peter.”

“Are you sure?” she said, touching his arm.

Jake stopped his task and turned toward her. “There really was nothing to forgive, Hannah. I wasn’t there, and we all do things that mess up our lives. That’s what God’s grace is about.”

“But what I did was bad. Would you have married me if you knew you would be a preacher someday? I mean, I don’t really make good preacher’s wife material with that kind of background.”

“I would have married you even if I had already been a preacher. That has nothing to do with it.”

“Are you sure, Jake?”

He turned and kissed her on the cheek, his beard damp with water sprinkles. She grabbed his towel, rubbing her face.

“Do you believe me now?” he asked. She nodded slowly.

“
Gut
.”

“So can I tell you something else then? And you won’t get mad?”

He glanced quickly at her. “Something more about Peter? Was it more than an ordinary kiss?”

“Jake,” she said, “I never would have done something like that. I’ve never known anyone but you.”

“Then how come one little kiss would make a boy so mad that he crashes his car?”

“I wondered that too,” she whispered. “I even wondered if maybe it was because he thought he might love me. That maybe under all that bravado he had real feelings for me, and it cut his heart deeply when I turned him down. I mean, Peter didn’t have to take me back home when I asked him to. Lots of boys in
rumspringa
don’t. And what could I have said in my own defense? I did sneak out of the window to be with him. No one would have believed me. Not even Mom and Dad would have.”

“That’s what you wanted to tell me?”

“There’s more. Something I’ve never told anyone. Not even Mom and Dad.” She paused. Jake was quiet and then nodded her on, his beard moving slightly in the pulsating light of the lantern, his eyes on the water in the sink.

“The night after the accident, I went down to the crash site, Jake. I snuck out of the window, climbing down the same way we had gone the night before. I walked down there in the darkness, using a flashlight so I could find my way. I hid in the ditch every time a car came along, scared to death someone would see me and report back to Mom and Dad. I never could have explained it to them, what I was doing. They would have thought me mad, and perhaps I was mad, Jake.”

“You went down by yourself? But you should have taken someone with you.”

“I know I should have, but I didn’t. And besides, who would I take?”

Jake rinsed a plate, lifting it carefully into place on the drainer, moving with deliberate motions.

“It was awful, Jake. The night was dark, and I found the spot where the grass was all burned away—and the bark halfway up a tree. It still smelled of gasoline, and tires, and horrible things I couldn’t even imagine. I shone my little flashlight around and found a piece of cloth they must have missed when they cleaned up. It was from the seat where I had been sitting only hours before. I looked at that cloth and thought how it could have been me in the car with him. Peter didn’t deserve to die, and I didn’t deserve to live. But I think he was sorry before he died, Jake. He
had to
have been. It was just too horrible to die there alone without the angels to carry him to heaven. The tree was all burned black, and the ground was all black too. I’ll never forget it, Jake.”

A tear formed and Jake reached up to brush it away from her cheek.

“Do you think he was sorry, Jake. Before he died?”

“I don’t know,” Jake said. “No one can know. Only God.”

“The minister at the funeral said it was possible.”

“It
is
possible,” Jake said as he nodded. “God would give Peter the time to repent if he wanted to.”

“I think he must have repented, Jake, because I think Peter wanted what was right.”

“It would be better if we didn’t live like Peter though,” Jake said. “Repenting so you can live right is better than repenting so you can die right. I want to teach my children that lesson.”

“I’m sure you will,” she said. “You will be a wonderful father.”

“What did you do with the piece of cloth? You didn’t keep it did you?”

She shook her head, “I buried it underneath the tree using a big stick I found. I got my hands all dirty, but it felt better. Anything that has to do with that awful night had best be buried in the ground.”

“I think so too,” he said. “And now you had better bury your memories by giving them to God.”

“I want to—I really do. But first I had to tell you. You are my husband.”