Anathema (29 page)

“Oh right, that makes sense.” The crib quilt looked a little like the one that had covered the bodies of her family. Same design but pink instead of black. Maybe Matt hadn’t noticed. It didn’t matter anyway. This must be a design her grandmother had taught her mother.

“Could I see the pictures? Maybe there are some of my mother.”

“There aren’t,” he said in a clipped voice. “And the master bedroom is here.”

Hannah followed him to the last large room. Austere with nothing on the walls and only plain wooden shades on the windows, it could have been a room in her parents’ home. The quilt on the bed made the room, though. Breathtaking. One of her grandmother’s masterpieces. The intricate Mariner’s Compass radiated in all directions in vivid colors. Another quilt, a pure white one with hummingbird stitches, was on a rack at the foot of the bed. It was equally gorgeous.

“I’ve never seen this one,” she said. “It looks like my mother’s work.”

“She wasn’t the only one to make hummingbird stitches,” Irene said from the doorway. She dumped a basket of towels on the bed, then disappeared through the door.

What was Irene’s problem? Hannah’s gaze caught on one last photo by the bed. A smaller one of the same pose with Irene and Hannah’s father. “I think she never got over my dad,” she said. “Maybe that’s why she never married.”

“Makes sense.” He took her arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

They went to the door just as Irene came back to the room.

“Come back and see me sometime,” Irene said in a voice that suggested the opposite. Matt left the Tumbling Blocks Quilt with Irene before they left.

Back outside, Hannah glanced at Matt. “She dated my dad. I’m shocked he was interested.”

“Why?”

“I always thought my parents had eyes only for each other.”

“Maybe they did once they met.”

“Maybe.” Something didn’t sit right with her, and she couldn’t figure it out. Was it jealousy that had broken up Irene ’s friendship with Hannah’s mother? That could explain why her mother had always grown quiet when Irene ’s name was mentioned. Shame at stealing away a man Irene loved, maybe? But why would Irene have bought Abe’s mother’s quilts?

Hannah couldn’t think of a thing to say on the drive back to the farm. The rain continued to come down in buckets. They slowed to pass a buggy, but she didn’t know the occupants, not even the half-drowned children peering out the back. Her gaze lingered on them, taking in their features, searching for auburn hair.

“You okay?” Matt asked.

“Sure. Just—just disappointed. I’d hoped to find out more today about the girl.” Her voice hoarsened on the last word. She ’d never even held her, never kissed her downy head. Never said goodbye. “I wonder if there ’s a grave back in Wabash.”

“For your daughter?”

“Yes, could you check?”

“Sure, I’ll make a call.” He cleared his throat. “Do you really think she is your daughter? Deep down?”

“I don’t know. I’ve tried not to get my hopes up, but I guess they rose anyway. She looks so much like me. If you could see pictures of me . . .” Being here had made her realize how much she missed her childhood, the community, the simple way of life.

“I bet you were a beautiful little girl with such bright hair.”

What if she went back to the Amish life? The thought hovered in her mind. The thought of being welcomed home made her eyes burn. For ten long years she’d moved like a tumbleweed blown from one town to the next, never staying very long, never believing she belonged. Always trying to stay one step ahead of Reece, yet knowing he would find her someday. She longed for the love of her community, the constancy of their love and commitment, their calm certainty about life.

“Your wheels are turning. What are you thinking about?” Matt asked.

“Going home.” He’d think she was crazy. Most of the world didn’t understand the peace of their faith, didn’t understand how putting the focus on God and others made life so much better, so much more meaningful.

“Back to Milwaukee?”

“No, home. My place with my family. Go back to my roots, my faith.”

“I can see the draw. Your cousin’s family is wonderful. So much love and commitment. It’s compelling. But I couldn’t give up my computer, TV, my car.”

“The car would be hard,” Hannah admitted.

“I don’t get it anyway. They pay people to drive them, so it’s not like they think cars are evil.”

“Cars can be a status symbol, and we believe in the common good and not putting one person above the other. And look at our modern world, how people run around with no time to sit and eat meals together as a family. Cars have been largely responsible for the splintering of the family. If an Amish man hires a car, it’s for a specific reason—often for a trip for his family or something equally important.”

“If you say so. But I’m not giving up my SUV.” Matt’s grin was cheeky.

“I’m probably not either. I’m just thinking out loud. Sometimes I wish I could go to sleep and wake up to find all that’s happened was only a dream.”

“Don’t we all? Life isn’t like that. Good and bad are part of the human existence.”

“You sound very philosophical.”

Matt’s grin widened. “I actually think about life now and then.”

Hannah’s cell phone rang. She grabbed her purse and looked at the caller ID and winced. Maggie Baker was her editor. The last thing she needed right now was more pressure, and she didn’t want to hear what Maggie might have to say. Whatever it was, it would likely entail more work. She called occasionally with a suggestion to include a certain chapter or to find out about this or that technique. Hannah didn’t want to deal with it, so she shut off her phone.

Asia came flying out the door when they pulled up to the house. She was on her cell phone and mouthed, “Maggie,” at her. It had done no good not to answer the phone. Hannah knew she would hate whatever Maggie was saying. Why had she ever agreed to hire a publicist? She thought of Asia as a close friend, but at times like this, she wished she answered to no one but herself.

“What’s wrong?” Matt asked.

“It’s my editor.”

“Is that bad?”

“I’m not sure.” Hannah got out of the car.

Asia hung up and shot her a panicked look. “Um, she wants your deadline moved and the book turned in two weeks from today.”

“Two weeks! I hope you told her it was impossible.” Hannah saw the stubborn set of her friend’s mouth. “You
did
tell her, right, Asia?”

Asia opened her mouth, then shut it again. She shook her head. “I couldn’t say no. It was too big.”

“Oh, Asia, don’t tell me you agreed. There is no way. None.” Hannah stopped by the farmhouse and banged her forehead on the siding three times. “Just shoot me now.”

“Don’t stress, Hannah—it will be worth it. She ’s got a major promotion planned, but the book has to be done in time to launch it for the event.”

“I have to finish the quilt for pictures!”

“Well, yeah, but you can work on it in the evenings. It won’t take as long as you think.”

“No, it will take longer than you think. I’ve made enough quilts to know it always takes more time than you anticipate. I’ve got at least one hundred hours of work left on it.”

“If you work three hours every night, that’s, uh, that’s . . .”

“A month. Thirty days. And we’ve got two weeks.” Hannah rarely lost her temper, especially with people she loved, but she felt she was in a pressure cooker about to blow its top.

“You can maybe work every morning and evening?” Asia’s tentative voice lost steam as she finally got what Hannah was saying.

Staring at her friend’s pleading face, Hannah’s ire faded. “I’ll try, Asia. But we might not make it. What’s the big hurry anyway?”

“There’s a big quilt show coming up in New York in six months. Maggie got the producer of
Good Morning America
to agree to have us on the show talking about the book. But we ’ve got to have it releasing that week.”

Hannah was shaking her head before Asia finished talking. “I’m not going on TV again. This morning was too hard. You can handle that, my friend.”

“They’ll want you to talk about the quilts. You’re the expert, not me.”

“I’m not doing it. I’m sick of publicity.”

“Oh, we’ll worry about it when the time comes. Right now we’ve got to get the quilt and the book done.”

“Irene says we can have a photographer come over and take pictures of her quilts too. I saw them—they’re gorgeous.”

“Wonderful! Thanks for asking her.”

Hannah nodded. Maybe it was just as well. Filling her time would keep her from obsessing over the little girl. She couldn’t help sneaking one last glimpse of the child’s face in the photo in her hand. Her child. She was beginning to believe it. She tucked the picture back into her bag.

She looked around for Matt and saw him pushing Naomi and Sharon on the swing under a cloudy sky, though the rain had stopped for now. Watching him with the children, she knew his daughter was a lucky little girl. His entire attention was focused on the kids.

Up near the house, she saw a buggy in the drive. Luca and Sarah must have company. She hoped it was no one she knew. All she wanted to do was rush to her room and have a good cry. Now she’d have to paste on a smile, at least for a few minutes. She stopped in the yard and turned toward the barn. Maybe she could hide out there for a little while.

“Where are you going?” Asia asked.

“I thought I’d—I’d check on my old horse.” Hannah bolted for the barn. She heard Asia call after her, but she didn’t stop. Shoving the barn door aside, she stepped into the cool darkness of the barn. The familiar scent of hay and horse enveloped her in a warm, safe embrace.

Lucy nickered, and Hannah ran to her. She should have come to see the animal sooner. How amazing that Lucy remembered her. She stroked the old appaloosa’s soft nose. Lucy had to be twenty by now but was still working.

As a child, Hannah had spent many hours in the hayloft with a book and a secret radio. This was her place, her refuge. She eyed the ladder to the haymow, then gave Lucy one last pat and went to stand at the base of the ladder. Looking up, she realized the top wasn’t as high as she remembered. Hannah put her foot on the first rung, then went hand over hand up to the haymow. Stacks of hay bales filled the loft. She balanced across the tops of the bales to the back corner. Once upon a time, she ’d had a little nest back here, a cocoon she’d carved for herself from bales of hay.

It was probably long gone, but she couldn’t help shoving aside a few bales just to see. She wiggled back to where she ’d made the opening to her small space. There it was! Hannah couldn’t believe it. The rough hay tore at her hair and clothes as she dove into the “house” she ’d built over twenty years ago.

The space seemed smaller, but she was an adult now and time changed her perception. The area measured about six by six and five feet high. She crawled in on her hands and knees and peered out the window into the yard.
Datt
had put the window in just for her when she was ten. From this perspective, she could see the whole yard, the house, and the greenhouse area.

Asia wasn’t in the yard anymore. She must have gone inside. Hannah could be alone and enjoy the solitude. Hugging her knees to her chest, she settled back against the hay. A smile tugged at her lips, and the tension eased from her neck and shoulders. She could forget her problems here.

Until she heard someone calling her name. She wanted to clap her hands over her ears and refuse to respond. Then she recognized Matt’s voice. It sounded as if he was in the barn below her. She scrambled from her hidey-hole and moved over the uneven bales of hay to the ladder.

“I’m up here,” she called. When he looked up and their eyes met, an unseen bolt of energy connected them. An invisible umbilical cord tugged her toward him. The last time she’d experienced a connection like that, she’d run away from everything she knew and loved, ending up in a heap at the bottom of the stairs with her baby’s blood seeping out of her.

twenty-one

“The Amish prize objects that are made by hand, well-made items
that will last for generations, just as their faith has lasted through the
decades. That’s why I prize the Log Cabin Quilt so highly.”

—HANNAH SCHWARTZ,

IN
The Amish Faith Through Their Quilts

T
he sun illuminating Hannah’s hair through the windows of the barn made it look like a coil of copper. She had it up again, and if Matt were bold enough, he’d grab the pins and shake it loose just to see it in the sunshine. She ’d probably slap him for his trouble. Just for a moment when their eyes had locked, he could have sworn he saw something in her eyes. Awareness, need, something. It was gone too quickly to name it as more than interest.

She swayed as though she was dizzy. “You okay?” he called up to her.

“I’m fine.” Her hand swiped straw off her cheek. “Stand away from the ladder and I’ll come down. I have a skirt on.”

He should be so lucky as to see her legs. He walked over to lean against the door frame, but he had to resist the temptation to peek. She brushed the hay from her clothes, but the yellow stuff sticking from her hair stayed untouched. She probably had no idea how pretty she looked with the hay in her hair and a flush on her cheeks. He was mightily attracted against his own will and annoyed with himself enough to grit his teeth.

“You can turn around now,” she said.

She looked just as prim and proper as her voice. Except for the fact that the hay in her hair made her look as if she’d just tumbled in the haymow with someone. Before he could stop himself, his fingers were in her hair, and he was plucking out bits of hay. Thick and lustrous, her hair invited him to plunge his fingers in deeper.

He dropped his hands before he could be tempted further. “You in here feeling sorry for yourself?”

“Maybe.” She bit her lip as though she was sorry she ’d said anything.

She swayed again as though she ’d like to lean against him. It was probably wishful thinking on his part. “Anything I can do to help?” he asked.