A Dream for Hannah (22 page)

Sam walked to the sewing room. His mom had the ironing board open and a stack of ironed clothes on one side. On the other side was a basketful of clothes still needing to be ironed.

“Hannah wrote to me,” he said.

“Hannah Miller?” she asked and raised her eyebrows.

“Yes,” he said with a pleased look on his face. She might as well share in his triumph.

“How did that happen?” she asked.

“I wrote to her first,” he said and shrugged as if that were all the explanation necessary.

“It is just the one letter, though?” his mom said, asking the obvious.

“No,” he said and let the pleasure show even more, “we are writing.”

“Really?” she asked. The implications of writing were unspoken but clear. “Are you sure you’re up to a girl like that?”

“By God’s help,” he said, “and Dad is giving me the farm someday.”

“Well, yes,” she agreed, “but I’m kind of surprised at this.”

“I was hoping for it,” he said, and with that, Sam firmly squared his shoulders. “I want to be a good man for her.”

“Aren’t you moving a little fast?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “She’s
writing
to me.”

Nineteen

On Sunday morning, Hannah sat with Betty and the other women for the church services. This was simply a whim of hers for this one Sunday. It would hardly be considered proper for a girl her age to always sit with the married women. If she were an old maid, perhaps, but that time was not anywhere near.

For now, however, Hannah enjoyed the company of the older women. It took some of the awkwardness out of having to sit with girls much younger than she. The real reason, though, was that it removed her farther from the boys on the second row. Not that they were a threat, but she felt like she stuck out on the bench with the regular local girls.

Even sitting here with the women, she felt the eyes of one of the boys on her. Hannah had named him
Mr. Scarred Logger.
His real name was Ben Stoll. He came from a good family, she supposed. It was just that she felt no interest in him at all. That he had an interest in her was a foregone conclusion, given that his options were not that many.

No, this boy wasn’t a problem…yet. But from the way he looked at her, he would soon get up enough nerve to ask if he could drive her home. The impression was so strong that she made a note to tell Betty her answer was “no” before he even asked. That would be if he approached either Steve or Betty to serve as an intermediary. But then he might just ask her instead of going through either of them.

Well, she would simply have to deal with it. She was already writing to someone. That would serve as a good enough excuse and prevent too many hurt feelings. Sam wasn’t really that much of an attraction. In fact, why not drop the word around before any boy even asked? Maybe Betty could discretely make mention of this and pass it along the lines.

It was a good plan, and she would run it by Betty this afternoon.

At least she didn’t have to deal with that fellow who had reminded her of Peter. Of course, he didn’t
really
look like Peter. It must have been her imagination.

Since Sunday school was being held today instead of a main church service, the ministers were not upstairs in conference. Bishop Nisley stood up right after the singing ended and read a Scripture. After that he dismissed them for classes.

Hannah followed the youth as they moved upstairs to the open foyer area that served as their temporary classroom. All of the bedrooms had been designated for use by classes for the younger children.

Bishop Nisley was the youth teacher. This suited Hannah, especially because she was the only new girl. Although some bishops didn’t make her feel all that comfortable, Bishop Nisley did.

The whole church, except the children’s classes, followed the same text, and today the selection was the tenth chapter of Proverbs. It was read in High German, not in their common language of Pennsylvania Dutch. The first verse caught Hannah’s attention. “A wise son maketh a glad father: but a foolish son is the heaviness of his mother.”

Bishop Nisley went on to explain that this verse applied not just to sons but to daughters as well. Obedience to one’s parents was a staple requirement of the Christian life. One should always honor one’s mother and father.

Hannah drank it all in and resolved to apply this to her life. She would do what her mother wished. Betty would help her, and she would get it done. Wisdom was what she wanted very badly, and here was a chance to get it. Even if it might very well apply to Sam—as much as she wished it didn’t.

Just before the class was dismissed, Bishop Nisley announced that a youth gathering was planned at his place for the next Saturday.

“We don’t have many youth,” he explained, “and only one hymn singing a month, though we have Hannah with us for the summer and Jake Byler every other Sunday. Since next Sunday is the planned hymn singing, we can have an extended youth weekend.”

The locals smiled and nodded their heads. Hannah was sure she would appear quite pale if anyone had looked at her. Wasn’t Jake the name of the boy she didn’t want to see again? She was sure that was what Steve had said. So he would come every other week? That was not good news.

After Bishop Nisley dismissed the class, everyone gathered again. The whole group then went over the text one more time. Here in a mixed congregation, only the men spoke.

No lunch was served after such a Sunday-school Sunday, and the buzz of conversation filled the room while people got ready to leave. Betty tapped Hannah on the shoulder, and they gathered their shawls and bonnets in the front entryway.
Mr. Logger
stuck his head in from the main part of the house. Hannah gasped, but Betty just grinned and offered no help other than to dash back into the house after a tight squeeze past
Mr. Logger.

“Hi,” he said after Betty had left.

“Hi,” Hannah said and offered a polite nod.

He stood there, towering over her by nearly a foot, 200 pounds of muscle and scars turned into blushing redness, his hat literally in his hands.

“Do you need a ride to the youth gathering on Saturday night?” he asked.

She had to do what she had to do. So she took a breath, offered her best smile, and said, “Not really. Betty and Steve can take me.”

He cleared his throat. Obviously this tree wouldn’t fall without the direct application of the saw. “I would like to take you.”

“Oh, that’s nice of you,” she said and met his eyes, “but I’m already writing somebody.”

“Ach.” He drew in his breath, gathered his wits about him, and continued. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “You couldn’t have known.”

“Well, then,” he said, nodding in confusion. He put his hat on, reached for the doorknob, and was gone.

The women seated in the living room turned to catch a glimpse of him as he passed the window. “Do you think Ben had any success?” Bishop Nisley’s wife, Elizabeth, asked the others.

“Not from the look on his face,” Barbara Yoder, the wife of one of the younger men, said quickly.

“I could have told you,” Betty spoke up sagely. “Hannah’s already writing to someone, but I didn’t want to say so for her.”

“Oh, she is?” The disappointment was audible in the chorus of voices. “Who is he?”

“I’ve not seen him,” Betty said, enjoying the attention on such an interesting matter. “His name’s Sam Knepp. She received a letter from him this week already.”

“They must be serious, then,” Elizabeth said. “That’s kind of soon.”

“It sounds like it,” Betty said. “Her mother is all for it.”

On the buggy ride home, Betty spoke to Hannah from the front seat, “You did right today in turning down Ben, Hannah.”

“I didn’t want him,” Hannah retorted.

“I know,” Betty said, smiling. “Keep saying ‘no,’ to everyone else. You’re writing, remember?”

“Would you stop talking in riddles?” Steve demanded. “What are you two talking about?”

“Oh, nothing,” Betty said.

Steve raised his eyebrows and slapped the reins. Obviously there was little use digging deeper now. Hannah doubted if Betty would tell him in front of everyone anyway. He would probably inquire later. As likely as not, he’d conclude it was all just women’s talk and forget the matter.

Jake had no way to know about the planned youth gathering when he arrived at Bishop Nisley’s the following Saturday around three. He ambled in, relaxed and ready to be off the mountain for the weekend.

“It’s at six o’clock,” Elizabeth told him, “after supper, of course. We’re having popcorn and cider and, of course, playing volleyball.”

“A youth gathering?” Jake’s eyes were big.

“Jah,”
she said, “John planned it last Sunday.”

“Are there enough youth to make a team?”

“Probably not,” she said, “but some of us married folk will come too. We have to, you know, with how many young people there are.”

“Do you play too?” Jake asked dubiously.

“Now, now,” she said, “don’t be down on us old folks. We grew up playing volleyball.”

“I guess you’re not really too old,” he ventured. “It’s just that the bishop thing makes you think old.”

“Well,” Elizabeth said, “church does weigh John down sometimes, but we haven’t had it too bad. The people around here are real nice. Of course, being a young church helps. People try harder to get along when there’s only a few of us.”

Jake nodded.

“There’s also the Sunday night singing this weekend. Do you think you can stay for that?”

Jake thought about it. This was obviously an important question. If he stayed and joined in, the bishop’s estimation of him would likely go up. Yet, how was he to get back to work by Monday morning?

“I’m not sure,” he finally said. “I need to be back at the cabin for work by five the next morning.”

“Maybe something can be worked out,” Elizabeth suggested. “We rarely have visiting young people for the singings. It would be a real treat.”

Jake still wasn’t sure how he would be able to stay, but this definitely needed to be thought out. “I’ll try,” he said, finally agreeing. “I’ll ask the bishop about transportation. He might have some ideas.”

He could tell by her smile he had said the right thing.

A few minutes later, John appeared and asked if Jake would help him set up the volleyball net.

“Sure,” Jake said and got up to follow John outside. This could also be his opportunity to approach the bishop about the Sunday night matter.

Together they pushed John’s two buggies outside to use as end posts. They spread the net out on the ground to judge the distance and then parked the buggies, one on either side of the loose net. Next they tied the strings around the middle of the buggies. With the net tight, they placed pieces of logs under one side of the buggy wheels to raise the net to the proper height.

John’s single buggy wasn’t much of a problem to lift, but the surrey required both of them to lift each wheel while they pushed the log blocks in place with their feet. Once this had been done, they retightened the strings on the net and pulled the top of the net level with the top of the buggies. The result was Amish to the core—two tilted buggies on wood blocks holding a volleyball net taut.