A Hope for Hannah (37 page)

Even on the coldest days, Jake worked like a man on a mission, mostly by hand because he had no power tools. He told Hannah if Jesus could work with hand tools, he could too. But when the blisters appeared, Hannah told him to quit—they could live on tomato soup and potatoes until spring.

When he refused to let up, Hannah drove Mosey down to Betty’s to ask for salve. Betty started to ask questions immediately, and Hannah spilled the whole story through her tears.

“There’s nothing you can do,” Betty said, “except help him.”

“But he works from dawn to dusk.” Hannah said, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

“A man must work,” Betty said. “That’s his nature. What’s he making?”

“I haven’t seen it,” Hannah admitted.

“Then go look,” Betty said, her arm around her shoulder. “Just remember you have a good man. Don’t ever forget that.”

When she got home, Hannah took the salve and bandages out to Jake. He quit willingly enough, so she could wrap his hands.

“It’s really nothing,” he said with a grin. “You shouldn’t make such a fuss.”

“I’m not making a fuss,” she said. And then she remembered Betty’s advice. “Will you tell me what you’re making?” She glanced around but saw only pieces of wood and small logs on the floor.

Jake hesitated, then grinned, and pulled a small rocker from behind his work table, still unvarnished but done.

“My third try,” Jake said. “This one is good enough. Can I varnish it indoors?”

Hannah didn’t have to think twice. She just nodded. The rocker was beautiful, and it was obvious how hard he had labored over it.

Jake carried the rocker inside and carefully set it on sheets of paper from the
The Budget
Hannah had placed on the floor. Later, when he came in for supper, he explained how she could varnish it the next day. In the morning, she applied the first coat right after breakfast.

During the next several weeks, they worked out a system for finishing the pieces, including a large log desk, which took both Mr. Brunson and Hannah’s help to move into the house. After Hannah had given it three coats of varnish, it fairly glowed in the light of the gas lantern.

“Good job,” Jake said approvingly.

“Now to sell it,” Hannah replied.

“I know. We’ll think of something.”

Forty

One Sunday morning Hannah sat in silent amazement watching Jake preach.
How does he do it?
She knew that last night he was worried about his message. He had even tossed and turned in his sleep, but all that was gone now.

Jake was quoting what sounded like Scripture. He said the words slowly and reverently. When he had memorized them, Hannah had no idea. His eyes swept over the congregation, his chin was firm, and his beard had already grown down to the second button on his shirt.

Hannah didn’t quite know what to do with the deep and various emotions she felt. Sorrow still lingered around the edges, but in the center something was growing. It was a feeling she didn’t quite know how to describe—a swelling of admiration and awe for this man.

Of course, to show her emotion in church was completely out of the question; she simply beheld in her heart the wonder of what Jake had become. That they now faced the next mortgage payment on their cabin seemed insignificant at the moment. Though fear and uncertainty would surely return, for now it seemed enough to know that Jake was hers and would be with her no matter what happened.

Jake concluded his sermon and then asked for testimonies. After four men had spoken, Jake closed the service. He did that also, Hannah thought, almost without effort. Afterward she saw Bishop Nisley speak with Jake, and from Jake’s expression, she was sure it had nothing to do with his sermon.

“He wanted to know how we’re doing,” Jake said on the way home, “because I have no job.”

She waited and then turned to look at him. “And?”

“I told him I was building furniture on my own with Steve’s tools.”

“And?” Hannah asked again.

“He said he was glad to hear that, and if I needed help to let him know.”

“Did you tell him you haven’t sold anything?”

“No,” Jake said. “It’s not the time yet. We have to try first. Maybe in town on Monday?”

“Where?”

“Maybe Mac’s Market?”

Hannah envisioned them standing inside some corner of the market, embarrassed and trying to sell log furniture to people who simply rushed on by. She had a hard time imagining it.

“It’s not really a good time, I guess,” Jake said, pulling on the reins to turn Mosey onto their road. “People spent their money at Christmas. Still, we have to try.”

Hannah shuddered. “I suppose so,” she managed.

“I’ll do it,” Jake said, picking up on her reaction. “I’m not expecting you to.”

“But you need to be making more furniture. You can’t do that and sell at the same time.”

“I know that, but there’s no sense in making more if we can’t sell it.”

The words hung in the air, an awful finality about them. Hannah remembered the hours Jake had labored and the cold he had endured while working in the barn. Was this then to be the end? The risk, was it all for nothing?

Behind them came the sound of an automobile, and Jake pulled over to let it pass. The dark blue jeep drove around them slowly. Hannah caught a good look at the driver, a young man in his late twenties or so. He seemed to be unsure of himself and kept to a slow pace even after he had passed their buggy.

“Not someone we know,” Jake commented.

“Maybe someone to see Mr. Brunson?”

“I’ve never seen him have any visitors.”

The thought went through Hannah’s mind like fire. “It’s his son!” she said, grabbing Jake’s arm.

“Surely not,” Jake said.

“Wouldn’t that be something?” Hannah breathed in deeply. “What if it is?” She could see it as clear as day—the man getting out of his car, Mr. Brunson coming to his door, and the astonished look on his face. But what would the reaction be? Was the son angry? Would he confront his father? Or would there be tears and embraces? Oh, surely the latter, she hoped.

“You are dreaming again,” Jake said with a smile.

“It’s still a sweet dream,” she said. “I hope it comes true.”

“He’s probably just a hunter who has lost his way or maybe scouting for next season.”

“I like my version better,” Hannah said as Jake turned Mosey into their driveway.

“Mr. Brunson hasn’t even talked about his family lately.”

“Why doesn’t he just go visit and get it over with, no matter if it’s rejection. At least then he’d know.”

“I guess he can’t handle it if it is a rejection. I suppose he’d rather not know at all than risk the anger of a loved one.”

“But it’s his son,” Hannah said firmly, stepping out of the buggy. She waited on the porch while Jake took Mosey to the barn, and then walked into the cabin with him.

“I think I should make something extra for supper—something special,” she said.

“What for? Are Betty and Steve coming over?”

“No, I’m thinking Mr. Brunson might bring his son down. I’d like them to stay for supper.”

Jake raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment.

“I might even make a cherry pie.”

“On a Sunday?”

“It’s a special occasion.”

Jake laughed. “I guess we’ll just have cherry pie, then. That will make it a special occasion in any event.”

“They will come,” Hannah said. “I know they will.”

When the afternoon was drawing to a close, they were both sitting on the couch, lost in their own thoughts. Hannah was still thinking of Mr. Brunson. Jake was considering how he could sell his furniture the next day.

As Hannah gave up her idea of a cherry pie, the evening began to look long and dreary. Eventually she suggested they go somewhere—perhaps a visit to Betty or the young folks’ hymn sing that evening. But before Jake could answer, they heard the sound of Mr. Brunson’s pickup in the driveway. When they looked out the window, they saw the young man from the jeep sitting in the passenger seat.

“It’s Mr. Brunson,” Jake said.

“And look who’s with him,” Hannah said smugly, wishing now she had baked that cherry pie.

Jake opened the cabin door and waited. Hannah couldn’t resist and stood behind him, looking over his shoulder. Mr. Brunson came up the walk with the young man close behind.

When Mr. Brunson got closer and looked up at her, she knew her dream would be coming true. There were tears in his eyes.

“My son, Eldon,” he said. “This is Jake and Hannah Byler. I just had to stop in and let you know.”

Mr. Brunson’s eyes shone brighter than Jake or Hannah had ever seen before.

“I’m glad to meet you,” Eldon said, stepping forward and extending his hand. “Dad said you two look after him real good.”

“No,” Jake said, “it’s more like he looks after us.”

“Just don’t let him shoot any more bears,” Eldon said with a laugh. “One was all we needed.”

“So you did notice?” Jake asked.

Eldon glanced at Mr. Brunson. “Dad said he told you. We did notice—it was the first clue we had since Dad left. I’ve been looking hard. After all, I lost two members of my family—my mother and my sister—and I couldn’t stand to lose my dad too.”

“I guess I just let my grief get the best of me,” Mr. Brunson said, making no attempt to hide his tears.

“I would have told him all that,” Eldon said. “It wasn’t his fault. No one ever said it was. He just disappeared on us. I never blamed him.”

“What will you do now?” Jake asked. “Will you move back East?”

“I don’t think so,” Mr. Brunson said, “at least not just now. I like it here too much. I’ll visit—often, I guess. Eldon drives back to Missoula tonight and flies out in the morning.”

“Well, won’t you come in?” Jake asked, as if he suddenly remembered Hannah’s prediction. “Hannah was going to make a cherry pie. When we saw the jeep pass us on the way home from church, she was sure the driver was your son.”

“We really do have to be on our way, Dad,” Eldon said, glancing at his watch. “Maybe on some other visit?”

“Of course,” Hannah said. “Let us know when you’re coming again. We’ll plan a real nice dinner.”

The men shook hands with Jake again and turned to leave. Then Mr. Brunson turned back and said, “Oh, one more thing. I know it’s kind of sudden. I’d like to send a piece of your furniture along with Eldon. I’m sure he can find someone who will want to buy handcrafted Amish furniture.”