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A Widow's Hope
Vannetta Chapman
His scars are visible.Hers are hidden…An Indiana Amish Brides matchAfter tragedy claimed her husband's life and her son's ability to walk, Hannah King doesn't want a new man. She has her family, a home and mounting debts. Scarred Amish bachelor Jacob Schrock offers Hannah the job she desperately needs. But while Hannah helps Jacob resolve his accounting issues, can she and her little boy also heal his wounded heart?


His scars are visible.
Hers are hidden...
An Indiana Amish Brides match
After tragedy claimed her husband’s life and her son’s ability to walk, Hannah King doesn’t want a new man. She has her family, a home and mounting debts. Scarred Amish bachelor Jacob Schrock offers Hannah the job she desperately needs. But while Hannah helps Jacob resolve his accounting issues, can she and her little boy also heal his wounded heart?
VANNETTA CHAPMAN has published over one hundred articles in Christian family magazines, receiving over two dozen awards from Romance Writers of America chapter groups. She discovered her love for the Amish while researching her grandfather’s birthplace of Albion, Pennsylvania. Her first novel, A Simple Amish Christmas, quickly became a bestseller. Chapman lives in the Texas Hill Country with her husband.
Also By Vannetta Chapman (#u11cbee26-a654-5945-b19d-a38c9d8cd17e)
Love Inspired
Indiana Amish Brides
A Widow’s Hope
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
A Widow’s Hope
Vannetta Chapman


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08551-9
A WIDOW’S HOPE
© 2018 Vannetta Chapman
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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“I need to apologize, Jacob...”
Hannah glanced up at Jacob, and then away. “I was rude to you yesterday, and I’m very sorry. I know better than to speak harshly, let alone to someone who is being kind to us.”
“It’s my fault. I stuck my nose where it didn’t belong.”
Now she laughed outright. “Perhaps you did, but it was probably something I needed to hear.”
“Apology accepted.”
“Danki.”
“Gem gschene.” The age-old words felt curiously intimate, shared there on the bench with the sun slanting through golden trees.
“It’s a fine line,” Hannah said. “Giving him the extra attention and care his condition requires, but not being overly protective. I’m afraid I’m still learning.”
“You’re doing a wunderbar job.”
Which caused her to smile again, and then suddenly the tension that had been between them was gone.
He realized that what Hannah was offering with her apology was a precious thing—her friendship.
For now, he needed to be satisfied with that.
And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God.
—Romans 8:28
The Lord hath heard my supplication; the Lord will receive my prayer.
—Psalms 6:9
Dear Reader (#u11cbee26-a654-5945-b19d-a38c9d8cd17e),
Sometimes life’s burdens can seem terribly heavy, and yet we have the assurance that all things work together for the good of those that love God. He has wonderful things planned for us—the very best things—and He loves us more than we can begin to imagine.
Hannah is a young mother who had envisioned a very different future for herself—she would have a houseful of children, relish the steady and faithful love of her husband, and live a plain and simple life. But even Amish lives are touched by tragedy. When she returns home, she is reminded of the comfort of family, and she also remeets Jacob. God knows Hannah’s hurts, and He is planning a future for her all along.
Jacob has endured his own tragedies, and yet to some degree he has come to terms with his solitary existence. But he doesn’t see himself as God sees him—as a beautiful creation. He doesn’t believe anyone would want to spend their life with him. Then one day he shows up to build a playhouse and finds his future waiting for him.
I hope you enjoyed reading A Widow’s Hope. I would love to hear from you. Feel free to email me at vannettachapman@gmail.com.
Together may we “always give thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ” (Ephesians 5:20).
Blessings,
Vannetta
This book is dedicated to JoAnn King, who has recently become an avid reader. JoAnn, you’re a constant source of encouragement and joy. Thank you for your friendship.
Acknowledgments (#u11cbee26-a654-5945-b19d-a38c9d8cd17e)
I would like to thank Melissa Endlich for inviting me to join the wonderful group of authors at Harlequin/Love Inspired. I’d also like to thank my fellow LI authors who have willingly answered questions, explained procedures and offered guidance. Thank you to Steve Laube for overseeing my career.
And a big thanks of gratitude to my husband, Bob, for getting up at first-bark and taking care of pets, laundry, grocery shopping, cooking and the countless other things that I neglect because I’m squirreled away in my office.
And finally, “Giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ” (Ephesians 5:20).
Contents
Cover (#uc0ca8574-17c4-5e42-8d10-d6b6ba793362)
Back Cover Text (#u859fcb50-4c1a-54d6-b8ab-7cfb438d6a5c)
About the Author (#u3a62eecc-bb85-5a90-ac70-a94b8b5fd75d)
Booklist (#u1fc02b34-b3ff-54a3-9a68-ebbb66f239f6)
Title Page (#u84b9dece-14b6-5a47-b5ef-667d009cd0b3)
Copyright (#u88a4c3ff-70a6-5de8-9c86-1eab54623986)
Introduction (#uf63b9dcb-380f-54cf-80e1-fc73c621115f)
Bible Verse (#u48dc41b0-1db3-569a-aade-cf0bb1925f0f)
Dear Reader (#uf1e8a77b-2c96-595e-9fec-083c417c9472)
Dedication (#ua946f204-0e70-5e3b-b39d-e80b5bd1aa29)
Acknowledgments (#uc05ef2bb-ae49-59b7-b802-a79a4dae3196)
Chapter One (#u80e9a055-1399-55aa-9c1b-f27108dbb838)
Chapter Two (#u3e7d79d7-2c6e-5f83-ac3e-8ae5aa795cfb)
Chapter Three (#u7e6efae0-4694-5498-b64e-4c63ef84001a)
Chapter Four (#ufdba52d5-5e0a-568b-8543-52be3e496f3b)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u11cbee26-a654-5945-b19d-a38c9d8cd17e)
Monday mornings were never easy. Though Hannah King heard her four-year-old son calling, she longed to bury her head under the covers and let her mother take care of him. She’d had a dream about David. It had been so real—David kissing her on their wedding day, David standing beside her as she cradled their newborn son, David moving about the room quietly as he prepared for work.
But he wasn’t in the room with her, and he never would be again. A late-summer breeze stirred the window shade. In the distance she could hear the clip-clop of horses on the two-lane, a rooster’s crow, the low of a cow. Summer would be over soon. Here in northern Indiana, where she’d grown up, September was met with a full schedule of fall festivals and pumpkin trails and harvest celebrations. She dreaded it all—had no desire to walk through the bright leaves, or decorate with pumpkins or bake apple pies. Fall had been David’s favorite time of year. Matthew was born in September. The accident? It had occurred the last week of August. That terrible anniversary was one week away.
This year, the thought of autumn overwhelmed her. Her entire life left her feeling tired and unable to cope. She was happy to be home with her parents, but she hadn’t realized the extent of their financial troubles until she’d already moved in. Their church in Wisconsin had used money from the benevolence fund to pay for Matthew’s surgeries, but her parents had paid for all of his rehab from their savings. Now they were operating month-to-month, and the stress was beginning to show. She needed to find a job, to help them with the bills, but how could she work when her primary responsibility was to care for Matthew?
She should at least make an attempt to find employment, but she wanted and needed to be home with her son. If she were honest with herself, she dreaded the thought of interacting with other people on a daily basis. She hadn’t enough energy for that.
Hannah pushed off the bedcovers, slipped her feet into a pair of worn house shoes and hurried to the room next door as her mother stepped into the hall.
“I can take care of him if you like.”
“Nein. I’m awake.”
She should have said more, should have thanked her mother, but the memory of David was too heavy on her heart, her emotions too raw. So instead she quickly glanced away and opened the door to Matthew’s room.
Though her son was four years old, soon to be five, he still slept in a bed with rails along the side. This was mainly to keep him from falling out.
The thinnest sliver of morning light shone through the gap between the window and the shade, fell across the room and landed on little Matthew. He was lying on his back, his legs splayed out in front of him. Matthew smiled and raised his arms to her, but instead of picking him up, Hannah lowered the wooden rail that her dat had fastened to the bed and sat beside him. Matthew struggled to a sitting position and pulled himself into her lap. For a four-year-old, his arms were incredibly strong, probably to make up for the fact that his legs were useless.
“Gudemariye, Mamm.” The Pennsylvania Dutch rolled off his tongue, thick with sleep.
“Good morning to you, Matthew.”
He reached up and touched her face, patted her cheek, then snuggled in closer.
She gave him a few minutes. Long ago, she’d learned that Matthew needed time to wake up, to adjust to the world. When he was ready, he said, “Potty?”
“Sure thing, Matt.”
But before she could pick him up, her father was standing in the doorway. No doubt he’d been awake for hours, and he carried into the room the familiar smells of the barn—hay, horses and even a little manure. It was an earthy smell that Hannah never tired of.
“I thought I heard young Matthew awake.”
“Daddi!” Matthew squirmed out of her lap and launched himself at her father, who caught him with a smile and carried him into the bathroom across the hall. She could hear them there, laughing and talking about the upcoming day.
Hannah slipped back into her room, changed into a plain gray dress, black apron and white kapp. Once dressed, she hurried to the kitchen. If she’d thought she could help her mother make breakfast, she was sadly mistaken.
Steam rose from the platter of fresh biscuits on the table. Another dish held crisp bacon, and her mother was scooping scrambled eggs into a large bowl. Hannah fetched the butter and jam, set them in the middle of the table and then gladly accepted the mug of coffee her mother pushed into her hands.
“Did you sleep well?”
Hannah shrugged, not wanting to talk about it. Then she remembered her bishop’s admonition to speak of her feelings more, to resist the urge to let them bottle up inside. Easy enough for him to say. His spouse was still alive and his children did not struggle with a disability. It was an uncharitable thought and added to her guilt.
She sipped the coffee and said, “I fall asleep easily enough, but then I wake after a few hours and can’t seem to go back to sleep, no matter how tired I am.”
“Normal enough for a woman in mourning.”
“It’s been nearly a year.”
“Grieving takes a different amount of time for different people, Hannah.”
“I suppose.”
Her mother sat down beside her, reached for her hands.
“Did you have the dream again?”
“Ya.” Hannah blinked away hot tears. She would not cry before breakfast. She would not. “How did you know?”
Instead of answering, her mother planted a kiss on her forehead, making her feel six instead of twenty-six. Then she popped up and walked back across the kitchen, checking that she hadn’t forgotten anything they might need for breakfast. Holding up the coffeepot, she asked Hannah’s father and son, “Coffee for both of you?”
“Mammi. I drink milk.”
Matthew’s laughter lightened the mood. Her father’s steadiness calmed her nerves. Her mother’s presence was always a balm to her soul.
The first week she was home, her dad had insisted on learning how to care for Matthew, how to help him into his wheelchair. Now Hannah turned to see her father and son, her father standing in the doorway to the kitchen, his hands on the back of Matthew’s wheelchair. Both looked quite pleased with themselves and ready to tackle whatever the day might bring.
* * *
Jacob Schrock didn’t need to hire a driver for the day’s job. Though the Beiler home was technically in a different church district, in reality they were only a few miles apart. That’s the way things were in Goshen, Indiana. There were so many Amish that his own district had recently divided again because they had too many families to fit into one home or barn for church.
Theirs was a good, healthy community. A growing community.
Which was one of the reasons that Jacob had plenty of work.
The night before, he’d loaded the tools he would need into the cargo box fastened on the back of his buggy. The lumber would be delivered to the job site before lunch.
Bo stood stamping his foot and tossing his head as if to ask what was taking so long. Jacob hitched the black gelding to the buggy, glanced back at his house and workshop and then set off down the road. As he directed the horse down Goshen’s busy two-lane road, his mind raked back over the letter he’d received from the IRS. How was he going to deal with the upcoming audit and complete the jobs he had contracted at the same time? The accountant he’d contacted had named a quite high hourly rate. The man had also said he’d need a thousand-dollar retainer in order to start the job. Jacob had given serious thought to hiring the accounting firm in spite of their high fees, but in truth he didn’t make enough money to afford that.
Jacob had asked around his church, but no one who was qualified had been interested in accounting work. The one young girl who had expressed an interest had quit the first day, and who could blame her? Jacob’s idea of filing consisted of giant plastic bins where he tossed receipts.
Jacob loved working for himself, by himself. He’d rather not have anyone in his small office. The bulk of his income came from residential jobs and a few small business contracts, but his heart and soul were invested in building playhouses for children with disabilities. He needed to juggle both, and now, on top of that, he needed to prepare for the audit.
Twenty minutes later he pulled into the Beilers’ drive. It wasn’t a home he’d ever been to before; that much he was sure of.
Jacob parked the buggy, patted Bo and assured him, “Back in a minute to put you in the field. Be patient.” Bo was a fine buggy horse, if a little spirited. Jacob had purchased him six months before. The horse was strong and good-tempered. Unfortunately he was not patient. He’d been known to chew his lead rope, eat anything in sight and paw holes into the ground. He did not handle boredom well.
Grabbing his tool belt and folder with design plans, Jacob hesitated before heading to the front door. This was always the hardest part for him—initially meeting someone. His left hand automatically went to his face, traced the web of scar tissue that stretched from his temple to his chin. He wasn’t a prideful man, but neither did he wish to scare anyone.
There was nothing he could do about his appearance, though, so he pulled in a deep breath, said a final word to the horse and hurried to the front door. He knocked, waited and then stood there staring when a young, beautiful woman opened the door. She stood about five and a half feet tall. Chestnut-colored hair peeked out from her kapp. It matched her warm brown eyes and the sprinkling of freckles on her cheeks.
There was something familiar about her. He nearly smacked himself on the forehead. Of course she looked familiar, though it had been years since he’d seen her.
“Hannah? Hannah Beiler?”
“Hannah King.” She quickly scanned him head to toe. Her gaze darted to the left side of his face and then refocused on his eyes. She frowned and said, “I’m Hannah King.”
“But...isn’t this the Beiler home?”
“Ya. Wait. Aren’t you Jacob? Jacob Schrock?”
He nearly laughed at the expression of puzzlement on her face.
“The same, and I’m looking for the Beiler place.”
“Ya, this is my parents’ home, but why are you here?”
“To work.” He stared down at the work order as if he could make sense of seeing the first girl he’d ever kissed standing on the doorstep of the place he was supposed to be working.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“Neither do I. Who are you looking for?”
“Alton Beiler.”
“But that’s my father. Why—”
At that point Mr. Beiler joined them, telling Hannah he would take care of their visitor and shaking Jacob’s hand. Surely he noticed the scar on Jacob’s face, but he didn’t dwell on it. “You’re at the right house, Jacob. Please, come inside.”
“Why would he come inside?” Hannah had crossed her arms and was frowning at him now.
He’d never have guessed when he put on his suspenders that morning that he would be seeing Hannah Beiler before the sun was properly up. The same Hannah Beiler he had once kissed behind the playground and several years later asked out for a buggy ride and dinner. It had been a disastrous date for sure, but still he remembered it with fondness. The question was, what was she doing here?
But then he peered more closely at Alton. Yes, it was Hannah’s father for sure and certain. Older, grayer and with wrinkles lining his face, but still her father.
“I haven’t seen you in years,” Jacob said to Alton.
“Do we know each other?”
“Barely.” Jacob chuckled, though Hannah continued to glare at him. “Hannah and I went on a date many years ago.”
“It was hardly a date,” Hannah chimed in.
“I took you in my buggy.”
“Which hadn’t been properly cleaned, and your horse was lame.”
“I should have checked the horse more carefully.”
“We never even made it to dinner.”
“I’m surprised you remember.”
“And I had to walk home.”
“I offered to walk with you.”
Hannah rolled her eyes, shook her head and headed back into the house.
“She hasn’t changed much,” Jacob said in a lower voice.
“Oh, but she has.” Alton opened the door wider so that Jacob would come in. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you.”
“It has been ten years.”
They passed through a living room that appeared to be sparsely but comfortably furnished. Jacob could smell bacon and biscuits. His stomach grumbled and he instantly regretted that he hadn’t taken the time to eat a proper breakfast.
“So your dating Hannah must have been when we were at the other place, on the east side of the district.”
“Indeed.”
“Obviously we’ve moved since then.” Alton stopped before entering the kitchen, seemed about to say something and then rubbed at the back of his neck and ushered Jacob into the room.
“Claire, maybe you remember Jacob Schrock. Apparently he took our Hannah on a buggy ride once.”
Jacob heard them, but his attention was on the young boy sitting at the table. He was young—probably not school-age yet. Brown hair flopped into his eyes and he had the same smattering of freckles as his mother. He sat in a regular kitchen chair, which was slightly higher than the wheelchair parked behind him. No doubt moving back and forth was cumbersome. If he had a small ramp, the chair could be rolled up and locked into place. He should talk to Alton about that. It would be easy enough to create from scrap lumber.
Hannah was helping the child with his breakfast, or perhaps she was merely avoiding Jacob’s gaze.
The boy, though, had no problem with staring. He cocked his head to the side, as if trying to puzzle through what he saw of Jacob. Then a smile won out over any questions, and he said, “Gudemariye.”
“And to you,” Jacob replied.
Hannah’s mother, Claire, motioned him toward a seat. “Of course I remember you, Jacob. Though you’ve grown since then.”
“Ya, I was a bit of a skinny lad.” This was the awkward part. He never knew if he should share the cause of his scars or wait for someone to ask. With the child in the room, perhaps it would be better to wait.
Hannah continued to ignore him, but now the boy was watching him closely, curiously.
“You’re taller too, if I remember right. You were definitely not as tall as Alton when you were a youngie. Now you’re a good six feet, I’d guess.”
“Six feet and two inches. My mamm used to say I had growth spurts up until I turned twenty.” Jacob accepted a mug of coffee and sat down across the table from the boy.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I’m Jacob. What’s your name?”
“Matthew. This is Mamm, and that’s Mammi and Daddi. We’re a family now.” Matthew grinned as if he’d said the most clever thing.
Hannah met Jacob’s gaze and blushed, but this time she didn’t look away.
“It’s really nice to meet you, Matthew. I’m going to be working here for a few days.”
“Working on what?”
Jacob glanced at Alton, who nodded once. “I’m going to build you a playhouse.”
* * *
Hannah heard the conversation going on around her, but she felt as if she’d fallen into the creek and her ears were clogged with water. She heard it all from a distance. Then Matthew smiled that smile that changed the shape of his eyes. It caused his cheeks to dimple. It was a simple thing that never failed to reach all the way into her heart.
And suddenly Hannah’s hearing worked just fine.
“A playhouse? For me?”
“For sure and certain.”
“How come?”
Jacob shrugged and waited for Alton to answer the child.
“Some nice people want you to have one.”
“Oh. Cool.”
“Dat, we can’t...”
“We most certainly can, Hannah. The charity foundation contacted me last week to make sure it was all right, and I said yes. I think it would be a fine thing for Matthew to have.”
“Will I be able to move around in a playhouse? Like, with my wheelchair?”
“You most certainly will,” Jacob assured him.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m positive.”
“Because it don’t always fit good. Not in cars or on merry-go-rounds. Sometimes not even in buggies and we have to tie it on the back.”
“Your chair will fit in your playhouse. I can promise you that.”
Matthew laughed and stabbed his biscuit with his fork, dipped it in a puddle of syrup he’d poured on his plate and stuffed the gooey mess into his mouth.
Hannah’s head was spinning. Surely it was a good and gracious thing that someone had commissioned a playhouse for Matthew, but would it be safe for him to play in one? What if he fell out of his chair? What if he rolled out of the playhouse?
How could her father agree to such a thing?
And why was it being built by Jacob Schrock? She hadn’t thought about him in years, certainly hadn’t expected to see him again. Why today of all days, when her heart was sore from dreaming of David? Why this morning?
“Can I help?” Matthew asked.
“Oh, no.” Hannah abandoned her future worries and focused on the problems at hand. “You’ll leave that to Jacob.”
“But, Mamm...”
“We can’t risk your getting hurt.”
“I’ll be super careful...”
“And you’d only be in Jacob’s way.”
Matthew stabbed another piece of biscuit and swirled it into the syrup, but he didn’t plop it in his mouth. Instead he stared at the food, worried his bottom lip and hunched up his shoulders. Her son’s bullheadedness had been quite useful during his initial recovery. When the doctors had said he probably couldn’t do a thing, Matthew had buckled down, concentrated and found a way. There were days, though, when she wondered why Gotte had given her such a strong-willed child.
Jacob had drunk half his coffee and accepted a plate of eggs and bacon, which he’d consumed rather quickly. Now he sat rubbing his hand up and down his jaw, his clean-shaven jaw. The right side—the unscarred side. Was the injury the reason he’d never married? Was he embarrassed about the scar? Did women avoid him? Not that it was her business, and she’d certainly never ask.
“I just wanted to help,” Matthew muttered.
“Now that you mention it, I could use an apprentice.”
“I could be a ’rentice.” Matthew nodded his head so hard his hair flopped forward into his eyes, reminding Hannah that she would need to cut it again soon.
“It’s hard work,” Jacob cautioned.
“I can work hard.”
“You sure?”
“Tell him, Mamm. Tell him how hard I work at the center.”
“You’d have to hand me nails, tools, that sort of thing.”
“I can do that!” Matthew was rocking in his chair now, and Hannah was wise enough to know the battle was lost.
“Only if your mamm agrees, of course.”
She skewered him with a look. Certainly he knew that he’d backed her into an impossible corner. Instead of arguing, she smiled sweetly and said, “If your daddi thinks it’s okay.”
Hannah’s father readily agreed and then Jacob was pulling out sheets of drawings that showed a playhouse in the shape of a train, with extra-wide doors—doors wide enough for Matthew’s chair, room to pivot the chair, room to play. How could she not want such a thing for her child? The penciled playhouse looked like the stuff of fairy tales.
When she glanced up at Jacob, he smiled and said in a low voice, “We’ll be extra careful.”
“I should hope so.”
And then she stood and began to clear off the dishes. The last thing she needed to do was stand around staring into Jacob Schrock’s deep blue eyes. A better use of her time would be to go to town and pick up the Monday paper so she could study the Help Wanted ads. It looked like that wasn’t going to happen. There was no way she was leaving Matthew outside, working as an apprentice to a man who had no children of his own. She’d come home to find he’d nailed his thumb to a piece of wood, or cut himself sawing a piece of lumber, or fallen and cracked something open. Secondary infections were no laughing matter for a child who was a paraplegic.
She’d be spending the morning watching Matthew watch Jacob. As soon as he left for the day, she’d head to town because one way or another, she needed to find a job.
Chapter Two (#u11cbee26-a654-5945-b19d-a38c9d8cd17e)
Hannah pushed aside her unsettled feelings and worked her way through the morning. She managed to complete the washing and hang it up on the line, and she helped her mother to put lunch on the table, all the while keeping a close eye on what was happening in the backyard.
When it was time for lunch, Matthew came in proclaiming he was an “official ’rentice now,” and Jacob followed behind him with a sheepish look on his face.
Her father joined them for the noon meal. Earlier, he had stayed around long enough to confirm where the playhouse would be built and then he’d headed off to the fields. It worried her sometimes, her father being fifty-two and still working behind a team of horses, but her mother only scoffed at that. “What is he supposed to do? Sit in a rocking chair? Your father is as healthy as the bull in the north pasture, and if it’s Gotte’s wille, he’ll stay that way for many more years.”
The meal had passed pleasantly enough, though Hannah didn’t like how enamored Matthew was with Jacob Schrock. They laughed and described their morning’s work and talked of trains as if they’d been on one.
“There’s a place in town called Tender Jim’s.” Jacob reached for another helping of potato salad. “Have you heard of it, Matthew?”
Matthew stuffed a potato chip into his mouth and shook his head.
“Down on Danbury Drive. Isn’t it?” Her father sat back, holding his glass of tea with one hand and pulling on his beard with the other. “Nice Englisch fellow.”
“And what were you doing in Tender Jim’s?” Claire asked.
“Curious, mostly. I’d taken Dolly to the farrier and had to wait a bit longer than I thought I would. Wandered down and talked to the fellow.”
“Did he have trains?” Matthew asked.
“Oh, ya. Certainly, he did. Small ones and large ones.”
“As large as my playhouse?”
“Nein. They were toys.”
“Perhaps we could go by and see them sometime,” Jacob said.
Hannah jumped up as if she’d been stung by a bee. “Matthew has a full week planned with his physical therapy appointments and all, but danki for the offer.”
This was exactly why she didn’t want a man like Jacob around—or any man for that matter. They’d raise her son’s hopes, promise him things they wouldn’t deliver and then disappear one day when they realized that Matthew was never going to walk, never going to be normal.
She pretended to be occupied with putting things up in the refrigerator as Jacob, her father and Matthew went out to look at the “job site.” Her job was to protect Matthew—from strangers who would pretend to be friends, and from upheaval in his life. Which reminded her that she still hadn’t been to town to purchase a newspaper.
She needed to stop worrying, which was easier said than done. Jacob would be finished with the playhouse in a day or two and then Matthew wouldn’t see him anymore. Didn’t Jacob mention that he was part of a different church district? She hadn’t been home long enough to sort the districts out, but she did know there were a lot of Amish in the area. It would explain why she hadn’t seen him at church.
Hannah and her mother cleared away the lunch dishes and put together a casserole for dinner and then her mother sat at the table. Hannah continued to peer out the window. What were they doing out there? How could Matthew possibly be helping? Why would Jacob want him to?
“Come sit down a minute, Hannah.”
“But—”
“Come on, now. You’ve been on your feet all morning.”
Hannah peeked out the window one last time, then walked to the table and sank into one of the chairs. Mamm was putting the finishing touches on a baby quilt for a new mother in their congregation.
Hannah had to force her eyes away from the pastel fabric and the Sunbonnet Sue and Overall Sam pattern. Her mother had given her a similar quilt when Matthew was born. When Hannah had first wrapped her son in that quilt, she’d trusted that only good things would happen in their future. She’d hoped that one day she would wrap her daughter in the same quilt. Now such beliefs didn’t come so easily.
“I know you wanted today’s paper, but last week’s is still next to your father’s chair in the sitting room.”
“How did you know I wanted a paper?”
“Matthew told me you mentioned it.”
Had she told Matthew?
Abandoning any attempt to figure out how her mother knew things, Hannah fetched a highlighter from a kitchen drawer and the newspaper from the sitting room, folded it open to the Help Wanted section and sat down with a sigh.
“I wish you wouldn’t worry about that.”
“But we need the money.”
“Gotte will provide, Hannah.”
“Maybe He’s providing through one of these ads.”
The next twenty minutes passed in silence as Hannah’s mood plummeted even lower. The part-time positions paid too little and the full-time positions would require her to be away from home from sunup to sundown, if she could even get one of the positions, which was doubtful since she had no experience. She could always be a waitress at one of the Amish restaurants, but those positions were usually filled by younger girls—girls who hadn’t yet married, who had no children.
“He’s nice. Don’t you think?”
“Who?”
“You know who.”
“I don’t know who.”
“We sound like the owl in the barn.”
Hannah smiled at her mother and slapped the newspaper shut. “Okay. I probably know who.”
“I guess you were surprised to see him at the door.”
“Indeed I was.” Hannah should have kept her mouth shut, but she couldn’t resist asking, “Do you know what happened to him? To his face?”
“A fire, no doubt.” Her mother rocked the needle back and forth, tracing the outline of a Sunbonnet Sue. “We’ve had several homes destroyed over the years, and always there are injuries. Once or twice the fire was a result of carelessness. I think there was even one caused by lightning.”
“A shame,” Hannah whispered.
“That he had to endure such pain—yes. I’ll agree with that. It doesn’t change who he is, though, or his value as a person.”
“I never said—”
“You, more than anyone else, should realize that.”
“Of course I do.”
“You wouldn’t want anyone looking at Matthew and seeing a child with a disability. That’s not who he is. That’s just evidence of something he’s endured.”
“There’s no need to lecture me, Mamm.”
“Of course there isn’t.” She rotated the quilt and continued outlining the appliqué. “I can see that Jacob is self-conscious about his scars, though. I hate to think that anyone has been unkind to him.”
“His scars don’t seem to be affecting Matthew’s opinion. He looks at Jacob as if he had raised a barn single-handedly.”
“Gotte has a funny way of putting people in our life right when we need them.”
“I’m not sure this was Gotte’s work.”
“I know you don’t mean that. I raised you to have more faith, Hannah. The last year has been hard, ya, I know, but never doubt that Gotte is still guiding your life.”
Instead of arguing, Hannah opted to pursue a lighter subject. “So Gotte sent Jacob to build my son a playhouse?”
“Maybe.”
She nearly laughed. Her mother’s optimism grated on her nerves at times, but Hannah appreciated and loved her more than she could ever say. Mamm had been her port in the storm. Or perhaps Gotte had been, and Mamm had simply nudged her in the correct direction.
“You have to admit he’s easy on the eyes.”
“Is that how you older women describe a handsome man?”
“So you think he’s gut-looking?”
“That’s not what I said, Mamm.”
Claire tied off her thread, popped it through the back of the quilt and then rethreaded her needle. “Tell me about this first date you two had, because I can hardly remember it.”
“Small wonder. I was only sixteen.”
“Ya? Already out of school, then.”
“I was. In fact, I was working at the deli counter in town.”
“I remember that job. You always brought home the leftover sandwiches.”
“Jacob and I attended the same school, in the old district when we lived on Jackspur Lane. He’s two years older than me.”
“I’m surprised I don’t remember your stepping out with him.”
“Our house was quite busy then.” Hannah was the youngest of three girls. She’d always expected her life to follow their fairy-tale existence. “Beth had just announced her plans to marry Carl, and Sharon was working with the midwife.”
“I do remember that summer. I thought things would get easier when you three were out of school, but suddenly I had trouble keeping up with everyone.”
“The date with Jacob, it was only my second or third, and I was still expecting something like I read in the romance books.”
Her mother tsked.
“They were Christian romance, Mamm.”
“I’m guessing your date with Jacob didn’t match with what you’d been reading.”
“Hardly. First of all, he showed up with mud splattered all over the buggy, and the inside of it was filled with pieces of hay and fast-food wrappers and even a pair of dirty socks.”
“Didn’t he have older brothers?”
“He had one.”
“So I guess they shared the buggy.”
Hannah shrugged. “We’d barely made it a quarter mile down the road when we both noticed his horse was limping.”
“Oh my.”
“It was no big thing. He jumped out of the buggy and began to clean out her hooves with a pick.”
“While you waited.”
“At first. Then I decided to help, which he told me in no short fashion not to do.”
“There are times when it’s hard for a man, especially a young man, to accept a woman’s help.”
“I waited about ten minutes and finally said I was heading home.”
“Changed your mind before you were even out of sight of the house.”
“Maybe. What I knew for sure was that I didn’t want to stand on the side of the road while Jacob Schrock took care of his horse—something he should have done before picking me up.”
“Could have been his brother’s doing.”
“I suppose.”
“I hope you didn’t judge him harshly because of a dirty buggy and a lame horse.”
“Actually, I don’t think I judged him at all. I simply realized that I didn’t want to spend the evening with him.”
“Well, he seems to have turned into a fine young man.”
Hannah refolded the newspaper and pointed her highlighter at her mother. “Tell me you are not matchmaking.”
“Why would I do such a thing?”
“Exactly.”
“Though I did help both of your sisters find their husbands.”
“I need a job, Mamm. I don’t need a husband. I have a son, I have a family and I have a home. I’m fine without Jacob Schrock or any other man.” Before her mother could see how rattled she was, Hannah jumped up, stepped over to the window and stared out at Jacob and Matthew.
“At least you parted friends...or so it seems.”
Hannah suddenly remembered Jacob kissing her behind the swing set at school. It had been her first kiss, and a bit of a mess. He’d leaned in, a bee had buzzed past her and she’d darted to the right at the last minute. The result was a kiss on the left side of her kapp. She’d been mortified, though Jacob had laughed good-naturedly, then reached for her hand and walked her back into the school building. It was three years later when he’d asked her out on the buggy ride.
Remembering the kiss, Hannah felt the heat crawl up her neck. Before her mother could interrogate her further, she busied herself pulling two glasses from the cabinet and said, “Perhaps I should take both of the workers something to drink.”
She filled the glasses with lemonade, snagged half a dozen of her mother’s oatmeal cookies, put it all on a tray and carried it outside.
After setting it down on the picnic table under the tall maple tree, she turned to watch Jacob and Matthew. In spite of her resolution to maintain a safe distance from Jacob Schrock, her heart tripped a beat at the sight of him.
Which made no sense, because Jacob Schrock was not her type.
He was eight inches taller than she was, whereas David had been her height exactly.
He was blond. David had been dark haired.
His eyes were blue, and David’s had been a lovely brown.
Nothing about the man standing near her son appealed to her, least of all the suggestion that he knew what was good for Matthew.
She couldn’t help noticing, though...
The sleeves of his blue shirt were rolled up past the elbow, revealing his muscular, tanned arms.
Sweat gleamed on his forehead and caused his blond hair to curl slightly.
As she watched, he handed one end of a tape measure to Matthew, stepped off what was apparently the length of the project and pushed a stake into the ground.
When he was done, Jacob glanced up, noticed her waiting and smiled. Now, why did his smile cause her heart to race even faster? Perhaps she needed to see a doctor. Maybe the depression that had pressed down on her like a dark cloud for so long had finally taken its toll on her heart. Or maybe she was experiencing a normal reaction to a nice-looking man doing a kind deed.
Of course, he was getting paid for it.
But he didn’t have to allow Matthew to tag along.
He certainly didn’t have to smile at her every time she was near.
Jacob stored the tape measure they were using in a tool belt and said something to Matthew. When her son twisted in his wheelchair to look at her, she had to press her fingers to her lips. Yes, he still sat in his chair, but he looked like a completely different boy. He had rolled up his sleeves, sweat had plastered his hair to his head and a smear of dirt marked his cheek. When he caught her watching, he beamed at her as if it were Christmas Day.
In short, he looked like a normal child having a great time building a playhouse.
* * *
Jacob glanced back at Hannah in time to catch her staring at Matthew, the fingers of her right hand pressed against her lips. Jacob considered himself open to beauty. Maybe because of his own disfigurement, he found contentment in noticing Gotte’s handiwork elsewhere.
He’d often stood and watched the sunset, thinking that Gotte had done a wonderful thing by providing them such splendor. He’d helped his brother when it was time for birthing in the spring: goats, horses, cows, and once when a terrible storm came through and they couldn’t get to the hospital—a son. Jacob didn’t mind that such things brought him to tears, that he often had to pause and catch his breath, that he was sensitive to the joys of this world.
But when he looked up and saw Hannah, an unfamiliar emotion brushed against the inside of his heart. It couldn’t be attraction, as he’d never asked a woman out on a date because of how she looked—not before the fire and not since. He hadn’t asked a woman out in years, and he wouldn’t be starting today. As for her personality, well, if he were to be honest with himself, she was pushy, obviously overprotective of her son and taciturn to the point of being rude.
She was beautiful, though, and more than that, her obvious love for her son was moving. Her vulnerability in that moment reached deep into his soul and affected him in a way he didn’t realize he could be touched.
So he stooped down and said to Matthew, “Best take a break. Your mamm has brought us a snack.”
He walked beside the boy as they made their way toward the picnic table.
“Mamm, I’m helping.” Matthew reached for a cookie, broke it in half and stuffed the larger piece into his mouth.
“It appears you worked up an appetite.”
Matthew nodded, and Jacob said, “We both did.”
Hannah motioned for him to help himself. He popped a whole cookie into his mouth and said, “Wow,” before he’d finished chewing. Which caused Matthew to dissolve in a fit of laughter.
“What-id I-ooh?” Jacob asked, exaggerating each syllable.
“You have to chew first,” Matthew explained. “And swallow!”
Jacob did as instructed, took a big sip of the lemonade and then said, “Danki, Hannah. Hit the spot.”
“Looks as if actual construction on this playhouse is slow getting started.”
“Measure twice, cut once,” Matthew explained.
“We’ve managed to mark off the dimensions and unload my tools.”
“You brought all that lumber in your buggy?”
“Nein. The store in town delivered it. I guess you didn’t hear the truck.”
“I guess I didn’t.”
“It was this big,” Matthew said, holding his arms out wide.
“The playhouse will go up quickly,” Jacob assured her. “I’ll begin the base of the structure today. The walls will go up tomorrow, and the roof and final details the third day.”
“Kind of amazing that a child’s toy takes so long to build.” Hannah held up a hand and shook her head at the same time. “I did not mean that the way it sounded. It’s only that when you consider we can build a barn in one day, it seems funny that a playhouse takes three.”
“Sure, ya. But this isn’t a barn, and, as you can see, young Matthew and I are the only workers.”
“I’m going to help,” Matthew exclaimed, reaching for another cookie.
Hannah’s son was rambling on now, explaining that he could mark the wood before Jacob made the cut and hand him nails as he hammered.
“Wait a minute, Matt. We have therapy tomorrow.”
“But—”
“Nein. Do not argue with me.”
“Ya, but this is kind of therapy.”
“What time is Matthew’s appointment?” Jacob asked, recognizing the escalating disagreement for what it was. Hadn’t he argued in the same way when he was a young lad? Maybe not over physical therapy appointments, but there was always something to pull him away from what he’d wanted to do—fishing, searching for frogs, climbing trees.
“Matthew is scheduled for therapy three afternoons a week—Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday.”
“That’s perfect, because I need help tomorrow morning.”
Matthew and Hannah both swiveled to look at him.
“In the afternoon, I’ll be doing other stuff that an apprentice isn’t allowed to do. But the morning?” Jacob rubbed his hand up and down his jawline as if he needed to carefully consider what he was about to say. Finally he grinned and said, “Mornings will be perfect.”
“Yes!” Matthew raised a hand for Jacob to high-five. “I gotta go inside and tell Mammi.”
Without another word, he reversed the direction of his chair and wheeled toward the house.
“That was kind of you,” Hannah said.
“Actually, he is a big help to me.”
Instead of arguing, she again pressed her fingers to her lips. Was it so she could keep her emotions inside? Stop her words? Protect her feelings?
“It’s only a little thing, Hannah. I’m happy to do it. It’s plain to see that Matthew is a special young man.”
She picked up the plate of cookies and stared down at it. “He never eats more than one cookie. In fact, he often passes on snacks and desserts. Today he ate two and drank a full glass of lemonade.”
“Is that a problem?”
He thought she wouldn’t answer. She glanced at him and then her gaze darted out over the area where construction had not yet begun. “The doctors said that the steroids might suppress his appetite, but that it was best to encourage him to eat more.”
“And what purpose do the steroids serve?”
“They’re supposed to decrease swelling around the spinal cord.” She placed the plate on the tray and transferred the empty lemonade glasses to it, as well. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bore you with the details.”
“Do I look bored?”
She sat on the picnic bench then, staring back toward the house, seemingly lost in her worries over Matthew. “The last thing we needed is him losing weight. Then there are the other complications...”
“Such as?”
“Children with spinal cord injuries often struggle with pneumonia and other breathing disorders. Secondary infections are always a worry—it’s why I was afraid for him to help you. If he were to get a cut or take a nasty fall, it could spiral into something worse.”
“It must be a lot for you to monitor.”
“Matthew needs all his strength, even when it comes in the form of oatmeal cookies.”
“I’d like to ask what happened, but I know from personal experience that sometimes you feel like sharing and sometimes you don’t.”
Hannah jerked her head up. She seemed to study his scars for a moment and then she nodded once. “It’s true. Sometimes I want to talk about it, need to talk about it, but then other times...”
“I’m listening, if today is one of those days you want to talk.”
She pulled in a deep breath and blew it out. “There’s not really that much to tell. David and I bought a farm in Wisconsin, after we were married. Life was difficult but gut. Matthew came along—a healthy baby boy. My husband was out harvesting, and Matthew was riding up on the bench seat with him. This was a year ago...one year next week.”
“What happened?”
“There was a snake coiled in the grass. The work horse nearly stepped on it. He reared up, throwing both David and Matthew. David was killed instantly when the harvester rolled over him. I suppose because he was smaller, Matthew was thrown farther. Otherwise he would have been killed, as well.”
“Instead he was injured.”
“He suffered a complete spinal cord break.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Jacob allowed silence to fill the hurting places between them. Finally he asked, “Surgeries?”
“Ya—two. The first was for the initial diagnosis, to evaluate and stabilize the fractured backbone. The second was a follow-up to the first.”
“And you had to handle it all alone.”
“Of course I didn’t.” Now her chin came up and when she glanced at him, Jacob saw the old stubbornness in her eyes. “My church helped me, my sister came to stay awhile and then...then my parents suggested I move home.”
“Family is gut.”
“Ya, it is, except that our being here is a drain on them.”
Jacob was unsure how to answer that. He didn’t know Claire or Alton Beiler well, but he was certain they didn’t consider Hannah and Matthew to be a drain. It was plain from the way they interacted that they wanted their daughter and grandson at home with them.
“I’m happy to have Matthew working with me, Hannah, but only if it’s okay with you. I promise to be very careful around him.”
She didn’t answer. Instead she nodded once, gathered up the tray and followed her son into the house.
Leaving Jacob standing in the afternoon sunshine, wondering what else he could do to lighten the burden she carried, wondering why it suddenly seemed so important for him to do so.
He needed to stay focused on his business, on making enough money to pay an accountant before the audit was due, on the other playhouses he would build after this. But instead, as he went back to work, he found himself thinking of a young boy with dirt smeared across his nose and a beautiful mother who was determined to keep others at arm’s length.
Chapter Three (#u11cbee26-a654-5945-b19d-a38c9d8cd17e)
Hannah was grateful that she was busy the next morning. Maybe it would take her mind off of finding a job, which was becoming all she thought about. She’d spent an hour before breakfast going over the Help Wanted ads once again, but nothing new had appeared. There wasn’t a single listing that she felt qualified to do, and she doubted seriously that anything new had been listed in the last few days. So instead of obsessing over what she couldn’t change, she focused on helping her mother.
Tuesday was baking day. They mixed bread, kneaded dough, baked cookies and prepared two cakes. The kitchen was hot and steamy by the time they were finished. Her mother sank into a chair and said, “You’re a big help, Hannah. I wouldn’t want to do all of this alone.”
Of course, she wouldn’t need so much if they weren’t there.
And Hannah knew that her mother rarely baked alone. Most weeks her niece Naomi came over to help. Still, the compliment lightened her heart as she called to Matthew. She’d helped him change into clean clothes after lunch, and he had promised not to get dirty. Now he was sitting in his chair, watching out the window as Jacob raised the walls of his playhouse.
“Looks like a real train, huh?” her mother asked.
Hannah cocked her head left and then right. “Can’t say as it does.”
“To me it’s plain as day.”
“Which is all that matters.” She reached out and mussed her son’s hair. “We should get going so we won’t be late.”
They made it to the PT center in downtown Goshen twenty minutes before their appointment. For the next two hours, Hannah sat in the waiting room and crocheted, or attempted to. Her mind kept wandering and she’d find that she’d dropped a stitch and then she would have to pull out the row and start over. After an hour, she’d made very little progress on the blue shawl, so she decided to put it away and flip through some of the magazines.
The center served both Amish and Englisch, so the magazine selection was varied. There were copies of the Budget, but there were also copies of National Geographic, Home & Garden and even People magazine.
She reached for Home & Garden.
On the cover was a picture of a sprawling country home, with flowers blooming along the brick pavement that bordered the front of the house. Orange, yellow and maroon mums filled containers on the porch. Pink begonias hung from planters on either side of the door.
“It would be nice if life were like those pictures.” Sally Lapp sat down beside her with a harrumph and a sigh. Sally was plump, gray and kind.
“How’s Leroy?”
“Gut. I suppose. Ornery, if I were to be honest.”
Sally reached into her bag and pulled out a giant ball of purple yarn and two knitting needles. She’d shared the previous week that she was expecting her forty-second grandchild, and they were all sure it would be a girl. If by some strange twist of fate it was a boy, she’d save the blanket for an auction and knit another in an appropriate shade of green or blue.
“Is Leroy able to get around any better?” Hannah asked.
“Old coot tried to move from the living room to the bedroom by himself, without his walker. I was outside harvesting some of the garden vegetables when he fell.” She glanced over her cheater glasses at Hannah, but never slowed in her knitting. “Fell, bruised his hip and scared a year of life off of me.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Not your fault, child. How’s young Matthew?”
“Gut.” Hannah flipped through the magazine, too quickly to actually see anything on the pages.
“There’s more you’re not saying, which is fine. Some things we need to keep private, but take it from me—it’s best to share when something is bothering you. Share with someone you can trust not to shout it to the nearest Budget scribe.”
Hannah considered that for a moment. Maybe it would help to share her worries, especially with someone outside the family, and she could trust Sally to keep anything she said confidential.
“The Sunshine Foundation purchased supplies for a playhouse for Matthew—a special one, you know. It will have handicap rails and all.”
“What a wunderbaar thing.”
“And the National Spinal Cord Injury Association hired someone to build it.”
“Even better. I know your father is very busy with his crops.”
“Jacob Schrock showed up yesterday—to build the playhouse, which is in the shape of a train. I’m afraid that Matthew is fairly smitten with him.”
Sally glanced at her once, but she didn’t offer an opinion. She continued knitting, as if she were waiting for Hannah to say more. But Hannah didn’t know what else to say. She didn’t know why it bothered her so much that Matthew liked Jacob.
“I suppose I’m worried is all. I know Jacob will be done in a few days and then...most likely...Matthew won’t see him anymore. I’ve tried to explain this, but Matthew doesn’t listen. He prattles on about how he’s Jacob’s apprentice.”
“It’s natural for young boys Matthew’s age to look up to their elders—your father, your brothers-in-law, the men in church.”
“Ya. I know it is. But those are all people who are a constant presence in his life.”
“Soon he will be in school,” Sally continued. “I’m sure you realize that some teachers stay a long time, but others only last a year.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Some people are in our lives permanently. Others? Gotte brings them to us for a short time.”
Instead of answering, Hannah sighed.
Sally turned the baby blanket and began a row of purl stitches. They flowed seamlessly together with the knit stitches. The result was a pattern that looked as if it had been produced in an Englisch factory.
“Jacob Schrock, he’s a gut man.”
“Is he in your district?”
“He was, but we had to split recently. So many families. So many grandkinner.”
“I went to school with him, but that was years ago.”
“Before his accident, then.”
“Ya.” Hannah pulled the shawl she was supposed to be working on back out of her bag, but she didn’t bother with hunting for the crochet needle.
“Terrible thing. Both of his parents were killed. The fire chief said the blaze was caused by a lightning strike. Jacob was out in the buggy when it happened. I heard that he saw the blaze from the road, ran into the burning house, and pulled out his mamm and his dat, but it was too late.”
Hannah’s hand went to her left cheek. “That’s how he got the scars?”
“For sure and certain. He was in the hospital for a long time. The doctors wanted to do more surgeries...graft skin onto his face. They said that he would look as gut as new.”
“So why didn’t they?”
Sally shrugged. “He would still be a man who had lost his parents in a fire, who had endured unfathomable pain. Removing the scars from his face wouldn’t have removed the scars from his heart.”
“Yes, but—”
“Jacob decided not to have the additional surgeries. Our bishop would have allowed it, but Jacob said no. He said the money that had been donated should go to someone else.”
“Kind of him.”
“Ya, he is a kind man. He was also very depressed for...” Sally stared across the room, as if she were trying to count the years, to tally them into something that made sense. “For two, maybe three years. Rarely came to church. Kind of hid inside his house.”
“What changed?” Hannah asked. “When did he start making playhouses?”
“I suppose the playhouse building started a few years ago. As to what changed, you’d have to ask Jacob.”
“He seems happy enough now.”
“Trouble finds us all from time to time. Now Jacob is dealing with this tax audit.”
“Tax audit?”
“They’re not saying he did anything wrong, mind you. Only that he’ll have to produce ledgers and receipts.”
“Can he?”
Sally grimaced as she again turned the blanket and began a new row of knit stitches. “My granddaughter tried to work for him. She lasted less than a day. Said that he’d apparently been paying his taxes based on some system he kept scribbled on random sheets of paper. Said she couldn’t make any sense of it at all.”
“Oh my.”
“And the receipts? Thrown into bins with the year taped on the outside. A giant mess according to Abigail. Said she’d rather keep waitressing than deal with that. Fortunately, she was able to get her old job back.”
“But what about Jacob?”
“He’s still looking for someone.” Sally’s needles stopped suddenly, clicking together as she dropped them in her lap. “Seems I remember you being very gut in math.”
“That was years ago.”
“It’s an ability, though, not something you forget.”
“I wouldn’t—”
“And didn’t you mention last week that you were worried about your parents’ finances?”
“Well, yes, but... I’m looking for a job that pays well, something in town perhaps.”
“Any success?”
“Not yet.”
Sally picked up her needles again, and Hannah hoped the subject was dropped. She could not work for Jacob Schrock. He would be out of her life by the end of the week. The last thing she needed was to be in constant contact with him, working with him on a daily basis. The way he looked at her? Such a mixture of pity and compassion. She didn’t need to face that every day, and how could she leave Matthew?
Always her mind circled back to that final question. How could she leave her son eight, maybe even nine hours a day? Could she expect her mother to pick up the slack? How was Mamm supposed to cope with one more thing on top of all she had to do?
Matthew wheeled through the doorway and into the waiting room, a smiley sticker on the back of his hand, and Hannah began gathering up her things. It was as she turned to go that Sally said, “Think about it, Hannah. It could be that you would be a real blessing to Jacob, and maybe...maybe it would solve your problems in the process.”
* * *
She’d have to ask Jacob about the job.
Only of course, she wouldn’t. It was all none of her business. Soon he’d be done with the playhouse and she wouldn’t see him again, which would suit her just fine. Dolly clip-clopped down the road, more content with the day than Hannah was.
She would be content, if she had a job. If they didn’t have financial problems. If she wasn’t so worried about Matthew.
It would be crazy to consider working for Jacob.
He might be a kind, talented man, but he was also damaged. He’d suffered a terrible loss, which might explain why he pushed his nose into other people’s business. Just the day before, he’d looked at her as if she was crazy when she’d tried to put a sweater on Matthew. True, it was eighty degrees, but Matthew had been known to catch a cold in warmer weather than that.
Nope. Jacob Schrock didn’t belong in her life.
Matthew peeled the sticker off his hand and stuck it on to the buggy.
“Your therapists said you did a gut job today.”
“Uh-huh.”
“They also said you did everything fast, that you seemed to be in a rush to be done.”
“Are we almost home?”
“A few more miles.”
“Faster, please.”
“You want me to hurry this old buggy mare?”
“Daddi’s horse is faster.”
“Indeed.” Her father had ordered a second buggy horse when she’d come home to live. Hannah had protested it wasn’t necessary, but he’d insisted. Come to think of it, maybe he’d insisted because Dolly was getting older and they’d have to replace her soon, which didn’t bear thinking about. Dolly was the first buggy horse that Hannah had learned to drive.
While Matthew stared out the window, he pinched his bottom lip in between his thumb and forefinger, pulling it out like a pout and then letting it go. It was a habit that she saw only when he was anxious about something.
And she didn’t doubt for a minute that the source of his anxiety was right now hammering two-by-fours into the shape of a train.
They were about to pass the parking area for the Pumpkinvine Trail. Hannah pulled on the right rein and called out to Dolly, who docilely turned off the road.
“Why are we stopping?” Matthew frowned out at the trail, a place he usually enjoyed visiting.
“We need to talk.”
Now he stared up at her, eyes wide. “Am I in trouble?”
“No, Matt. Not at all.”
“Then what?”
Instead of answering, she studied him a minute. Already he had such a unique personality—with his own likes, dislikes and ideas. Admittedly, she felt more protective of him than most mothers might feel of a nearly five-year-old child, but she understood that this concern wasn’t only about his disability. It was also about his not having a father, about his missing the presence of a dad in his life.
“You like Jacob a lot. Don’t you?”
“Yes!”
“But you remember that he’s only at our house because some people paid him to be there.”
“Uh-huh.”
“He’s doing a job.”
“And I’m his ’rentice.”
Hannah sighed, closed her eyes, and prayed for patience and wisdom. When she opened her eyes, Matt reached out and patted her hand. “Don’t worry, Mamm. He’s a gut guy. Even Daddi said so.”
“Oh, ya, I’m sure he is.”
“So what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, really. But you do understand that Jacob is only going to be at our house for a few days, right? Then he’ll have another job, building another playhouse for someone else.”
Matt frowned and pulled on his bottom lip. “Another kid like me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Hannah reached out and brushed the hair out of his eyes.
“Uh-huh.”
“What do you mean, okay?”
“It’s okay that Jacob won’t be at our house because he’ll be at somebody else’s house making them happy.”
Since she didn’t have an answer for that, she called out to Dolly, who backed up and then trotted out of the parking area, back onto the two-lane.
She was willing to admit that possibly her son saw things more clearly than she did. Didn’t the Bible tell them they were to become like little children? Hannah wasn’t sure she’d be able to do that—her worries weighed too heavily on her heart, but maybe in this situation she could follow Matt’s lead. At least for a few more days.
And she would double her efforts looking for a job because she most certainly was not going to ask Jacob about what kind of help he needed.
* * *
Jacob had always enjoyed working on playhouses. He liked building things with an eye for small children. Some people might say it was because his own father had built him a similar type of playhouse. But his father had also taught him to play baseball and he had no urge to coach the youngies. His father had taught him how to sow seed and harvest it, but he had no desire to be a farmer.
He was grateful for his father, for both of his parents, and he still missed them terribly. But learning to build wooden playthings for children had been a gift from Gotte, a real blessing at the lowest point in his life. Today he was able to share part of that blessing with young Matthew, and he wanted every piece of it to be as good as he could make it.
So he measured everything twice—the main doorway into the train, the back door which ended on a small porch and the entryways between the cars. Wheelchairs required extra room and Matthew would probably require a larger chair as he grew. Though he was nearly five now, children as old as ten or even twelve often played on the structures that Jacob made. As Matthew grew, no doubt his chair would become a bit bigger. Jacob wanted the playhouse to be as accessible to him as his home.
He sanded the floor smoothly so that the wheels of the chair wouldn’t hang up on an uneven board.
He added a little extra height so that Matthew’s friends who would be standing and walking and running could play along beside him.
And when he heard the clatter of a buggy, he put down his tools and ambled over to meet Hannah and Matthew.
“Hi, Jacob. I can help now.”
“You already helped me this morning. Remember?”
“Ya, but—”
“Actually I’m about to call it a day.”
“Oh.”
“There is one thing I need...won’t take but a minute.”
“Sure! Anything. What is it?”
“I need you to come and do an early inspection.”
“You do?”
“Yup. I need my apprentice’s opinion before I move forward.”
“Cool!”
Hannah had parked the buggy, set the brake and jogged around to help Matthew out.
Jacob stepped forward as if to help, but a frown from Hannah and a short shake of her head convinced him not to try. She was obviously used to doing things on her own. So instead he stood there, feeling like an idiot because a woman weighing roughly the same as a hundred pound sack of feed struggled with simply helping her son out of a buggy.
As he watched, she removed the straps that secured the wheelchair to the back of the buggy, then set it on the ground, opened it, secured something along the back. Finally she opened the buggy’s door wide so that Matthew’s legs wouldn’t bang against anything.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Ready.” He threw his arms around her neck and she stepped back as she took the full weight of him, then settled him into the chair.
How would she do this when he was seven or ten or twelve? How would Hannah handle the logistics of a fully grown disabled son? Was there any possibility that he would ever regain the use of his legs? Jacob had a dozen questions, and he didn’t ask any of them because it wasn’t really his business.
He reached into the buggy, snagged Matt’s straw hat and placed it on his head. The boy gave him a thumbs-up, and adjusted himself in the chair as easily as Jacob straightened his suspenders in the morning.
“Let’s go,” Matthew said.
“Whoa. Hang on a minute. We need to see to your mamm’s horse first.”
“I can take care of Dolly,” Hannah insisted.
“Nonsense.” He stepped closer to Hannah and lowered his voice. “What kind of neighbor would I be if I let you do that?”
“You’re our neighbor now?”
“In a sense.”
“So you want to take care of my horse?”
“Ya. I do.”
“Fine. I’ll just go inside and have a cup of tea.”
“But I thought you might go with us and...” His words slid away as she walked toward the house, waving without turning around.
“Come on, Jacob. Let’s do this.”
Matthew wheeled alongside him as he led the mare into the barn.
“Her name’s Dolly,” Matthew said when they stopped inside the barn.
The horse lowered her head so that she was even with the boy. Matthew sat in front of her and stroked from her forehead to her muzzle.
“Good Dolly,” Matthew said.
Jacob unhitched the buggy, took off the harness and placed it on the peg on the wall, and then led Dolly through the barn to the pasture.
“Now?” Matt asked.
“Now.”
Matt had to move slowly over the parts of uneven ground that led to where the playhouse was being constructed. It was definitely the best place for the structure, as Alton had noted. But the going was a little rough, and it occurred to Jacob that a wooden walk would make things much easier. He had enough lumber scraps at home to do it. An extra day, maybe two, and he could have a nice smooth path from the driveway to the playhouse.
“That is way cool,” Matt exclaimed, sounding exactly like an Englisch boy Jacob had built a playhouse for the week before. Kids were kids, and cool was a pretty standard response to something they liked.
“Let’s show you the inside.”
Jacob let Matthew go first and watched as he maneuvered his way up the small ramp and into the main cabin of the train. The engine room was to his left and the passenger car was to his right. Beyond that was a small back porch. On an actual train, this would be the end of the observation car, and the area would resemble a roofed porch. Now that he thought about it, a roof wasn’t a bad idea. He could add it easily enough.
Matthew made his way to the front of the train. Jacob had created a space where he could pull up his wheelchair and pretend he was in the conductor’s seat. To his right Jacob had fastened a wooden bench and in front of him there were knobs and such for him to pull and pretend to direct the train.
“Wow,” he said.
“We’re not finished yet, buddy. We still need to put on the roof, and...other stuff.”
“Can I help?”
“I’m counting on it. I’ll be here early tomorrow morning.”
They were standing right next to each other, or rather, Jacob was standing next to Matthew. Before Jacob realized what was happening, Matt had pivoted in his seat and thrown his arms around his legs.
“Danki,” the boy said in a low voice.
“Ger gschehne.” Jacob found that his voice was tight, but the words of their ancestors passed between them as easily as water down a riverbed.
Jacob pushed Matthew’s chair the length of the car. They moved slowly, studying every detail, until Hannah’s mamm came outside and rang the dinner bell.
Jacob did not intend to stay and eat, but it seemed that Claire expected it. She’d already set an extra place at the table. It would have been rude to refuse, or so he told himself.
The meal was satisfying and the conversation interesting. He realized that too often he ate alone, that he actually missed the back-and-forth between family members. There was no reason for it either. His brother lived next door, and he had a standing offer to eat with them.
Why had he pulled away?
Had it been so painful to see what he would never have?
There was no such awkwardness with Hannah’s family. Claire spoke of the painted bunting she’d spied on the birdbath. Alton updated them on the crops. Hannah described how well Matthew had done at physical therapy.
As for Matthew, he was practically nodding off in his seat by the time they’d finished eating.
Hannah excused herself, transferred him from the dinner chair to the wheelchair and pushed him down the hall.
“She’s pretty amazing, your daughter.” He hadn’t meant to say the words. They’d slipped from his heart to his lips without consulting his brain.
If Alton and Claire were surprised, they hid it well. Claire stood and began clearing the table. Alton offered to see him out. They’d stepped outside when Jacob shared his ideas for a wooden walk to the playhouse as well as a small platform for the dinner table.
“Must be hard on Hannah, on her back I mean—moving him from one chair to the other so often.”
“And I have to be fast to beat her to it. Your ideas sound gut, but I’m afraid the grant doesn’t cover that, and I don’t have any extra money at the moment.”
Jacob waved away his concerns. “I have leftover lumber. It won’t cost me anything but time.”
“Which is precious for every man.”
“It’s okay. I don’t have to start the next job until Monday.” He didn’t mention the orders he had at his shop. He could put in a few hours each night and stay ahead on that.
“Then I accept, and I thank you.”
“You can tell me it’s none of my business, but Hannah seemed particularly preoccupied tonight. Is something wrong? Something else?”
Alton stuck his thumbs under his suspenders. “Money is a bit tight.”
“How tight?”
“Missed a few payments on the place.”
“What did your banker say about that?”
“Said they could extend me another thirty days, but then they’ll have to start the foreclosure process.”
“I’m sorry, Alton. I had no idea. Have you spoken to your bishop?”
Alton waved that idea away. “My family has received plenty of help from the benevolence fund in the last year. We’ll find a way through this on our own.”
“And Hannah?”
“Hannah is determined to find a job.”
* * *
The entire drive home he thought of Alton’s words, of the family’s financial problems and of the help he needed in order to prepare him for the IRS audit. He could ask Hannah. It wasn’t a completely crazy idea. He remembered that she was good at sums, and it wasn’t as if she needed to understand algebra. It only required someone more organized than he was.
She was stubborn and willful and curt at times, but he wasn’t going to be dating her. He was going to hire her.
Or was he?
It wasn’t until he was home and cleaning up for bed that he realized the error of his thinking. He caught sight of his reflection in the small bathroom mirror and stared for a moment at his scars. His fingers traced the tissue that was puckered and discolored. He’d been so fortunate that his eye wasn’t permanently damaged, and in truth he’d become used to the sight of his charred, disfigured flesh.
Others, though, they often found his face harder to look at. They would turn away, or blush bright red and hurry off. Sometimes children cried when they first saw him.
Had he forgotten about those reactions?
Did he really think that his appearance wouldn’t matter to a woman, to an employee? Hannah had been polite, sure, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t horrified by the sight of his scars.
As for the thought of her working with him, she probably wouldn’t want to spend her days in the company of a disfigured man. Possibly he even reminded her of the accident that had killed her husband. He would be a constant reminder of her misfortune.
He’d been around her for two days, and he was already creating sandcastles in the sky. Probably because he’d felt an instant connection to her and that was okay and proper. As a friend. As a brother. But what about as an employer?
He hadn’t spent much time around women in the last few years. It was simply easier not to. Sure, he knew what he was missing out on, but it wasn’t as if he had a chance with any of the single girls in their district. Even the widows could do better than him. He might have grown comfortable with his disfigurement, but he wouldn’t ask that of a woman.
But he wasn’t thinking about courting. He was thinking about a business arrangement, which was crazy. He’d seen the look of relief pass over her features when he’d promised her he would be done this week. She was already looking forward to having him out of their lives. Why would he offer her a job?
On top of which, she’d had enough tragedy in her life. He wouldn’t be adding to that burden with his own problems. No, she’d be better off working in town, working for an Englisch shop owner. He’d do best to keep his distance. As for the audit, perhaps he could scrape up enough money for the accounting firm. He’d need to do something and do it quick, because the clock was ticking down to his deadline. Not that he remembered it exactly, but it was within the next month. That much he knew for certain.
Four weeks, maybe a little less.
By then, he needed to have found a solution.
Chapter Four (#u11cbee26-a654-5945-b19d-a38c9d8cd17e)
Hannah had scoured the paper on both Wednesday and Thursday looking for a job. What she found was discouraging. The Amish restaurant in town wanted her to work the four-to-nine shift. She wouldn’t be home to share the evening meal or put Matthew to bed. The thought caused her stomach to twist into a knot.
Amish Acres in Nappanee needed someone in the gift shop, and they understood that Amish employees didn’t work on Sundays. They even provided a bus that picked up workers in downtown Goshen for the twenty-minute ride. But she would be required to work on Saturday. In an Amish household, Saturday was a day spent preparing for Sunday—cooking meals, cleaning the house, making sure clothes were cleaned and pressed. She wouldn’t be able to do any of that if she worked at Amish Acres.
And with any of the jobs she considered, the same questions lingered in the back of her mind. Who would take Matthew to his physical therapy appointments during the week? Could she really expect her mother to add one more thing to her already full schedule? Could her mother handle the physical demands of lifting Matthew in and out of the buggy?
She studied the local paper once more Friday morning, in between helping her mother with the meals and taking care of Matthew. After lunch, she again donned a fresh apron and set off to take Matthew to his appointment. She had an interview for a job late that afternoon, and her father had offered to meet them in town.

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