“The Double Nine Patch Quilt is one of the most traditional quilts, which is fitting when you remember that the traditions handed down through generations are supremely important to the Amish.”
—HANNAH SCHWARTZ,
IN The Amish Faith Through Their Quilts
Hannah’s cell phone rang after Angie had gone to sleep. She answered it and whispered, “Hang on,” before tiptoeing out into the hall. She slipped into the bathroom and shut the door. “Hello,” she said. She’d been half-asleep and hadn’t checked the caller ID.
“Hi, hon,” Reece said. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
Hannah cleared her throat. “It’s after midnight, Reece. Of course you woke me.”
“I was thinking about you. Come meet me at the road. We could go for a cup of coffee.”
“No. Leave me alone. Our marriage is over.”
“Don’t say that, hon. I don’t want anything . . . bad to happen to you. We have to get back together.”
Hannah licked her dry lips. “Are you threatening me, Reece?”
“Of course not. It’s just that bad things might happen if I’m not around to protect you.”
“Bad things happen when I’m with you. No one has hit me in five years.”
His voice vibrated with anger. “I told you, that’s in the past. I won’t touch you. I’ve changed. I’ve converted.”
“You’re driving,” she pointed out.
“It’s just temporary. The bishop told me to sell everything. Until I get it sold, I’m driving it.”
Hannah barely refrained from rolling her eyes. “What’s Demut mean?”
“Humility,” he said promptly.
Score one for him. “How does that work out in life?” Could he be telling the truth? Some of the districts weren’t as restrictive as others.
“Accepting God’s will. And God doesn’t want us to be apart, Hannah.”
“God doesn’t want you to beat me either. Or to kill our daughter. You pushed me down the steps, Reece.”
“You’re wrong, hon. I was trying to catch you. I would never hurt you.”
“You broke my nose, my arm. Why would I believe you now?” Was she remembering that night all wrong? But even if she was, he’d been liberal with his fists at other times. The loss of the baby was the final, tragic straw.
“I’m warning you, Hannah. You’d better come back home. Where it’s safe.”
Hannah shut off her phone without replying to his insistent demand. The hidden threat in his words made goose bumps break out on her skin. She rubbed the raised flesh on her arm. He wasn’t going to intimidate her.
MATT DIDN’T WANT to be here. It had been late when he arrived, but even his fatigue didn’t help him fall asleep. The lack of outside lighting deepened the shadows in the room. This was a bad idea. He tossed on the sofa. At least the hiss of the gaslights had been silenced. He’d had no idea a lamp like that was so loud.
Now the house echoed with silence. If there were a TV in the place, he’d turn it on and spend an hour of mindlessness. He forced himself to close his eyes and then began to drift. He dreamed of Analise. She was smiling as she ran through a field of flowers. He wanted to warn her not to smell them, but he couldn’t speak.
He came awake at the sound of a creak as loud as a shotgun in the dark. Matt thrashed out of the tangle of sheets and leaped to his feet. He listened for the sound to come again. There it was. He rubbed his eyes, and for a second, he thought he might still be dreaming. Then the sound came a third time.
It was the creak of the door in the kitchen. He hadn’t heard anyone come down from upstairs. An intruder was in the house. He moved noiselessly across the room. There was no moon tonight, so not even moonlight illuminated the kitchen as he peered through the doorway. He thought he saw a dark figure pass in front of him.
He leaped forward, and his hand touched fabric. There was someone here. He wrestled with the figure, neither of them saying a word, until they were both on the kitchen floor. He pinned the intruder to the linoleum.
Only then did he realize he wasn’t grappling with a man but rather with the softness of a woman. Grabbing her wrists, he pinned them to the floor above her head.
“Get. Off. Me.” Hannah’s voice vibrated with anger. “Are you crazy?”
He let go as if the heat of her wrists seared his skin. Scrambling back, he helped her to her feet. “What are you doing prowling around in the dark?”
“I didn’t have a flashlight, and I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d have some milk.”
He reached over and fumbled to turn on the gaslight. The soft hiss came with the glow. “You could have turned on the light.”
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
She stood in her bare feet. The peach cotton nightgown she wore covered her from her neck to her ankles, but with her hair hanging down her back and her eyes smudged with sleep, he’d never seen a more beautiful sight. He didn’t like the way he was noticing things about her—like the way her hair glowed in the light and the way her mouth was shaped. For a second he let himself imagine kissing those full lips.
What was he thinking? He was smarter than to let physical attraction blind him. Besides, she’d never filed for divorce. Anger with himself made his voice gruff. “Oh yeah, I’m sleeping now.”
She turned her head away, but not before he caught the glimmer of tears. What a jerk he was. He touched her arm. “What’s wrong?”
She pulled away, then brushed past him to open the gas refrigerator. “Want some?”
“Sure.”
Taking out a jug of milk, she shook it, then poured two glassfuls. She handed one to him before sitting at the table.
“Why’d you shake it?”
“It’s not processed. It’s the real thing, so you have to mix the cream back into the milk.”
He slid out a chair beside her and took a cautious sip of the milk, finding it creamy and good. Good to focus on something other than watching her bring the rim of the glass to her mouth. She set the glass on the table and licked the cream from her lips. He watched in fascination. “So what’s wrong?”
Her sigh was soft. “Everything is so confusing. I don’t know what to do, where to go for help. Reece called me a few minutes ago. He swears he’s joined an Amish district.”
“It’s true. Blake went up to Shipshewana to investigate. He talked to the bishop. He’s been attending there for a month.”
She rocked back in her chair, and her shoulders hunched as though she were protecting herself from a blow. “I can’t believe it.”
“What did he want?”
“What he always wants. For me to come back to him.”
“Are you going to do it?” He’d seen it so often over the years—the abused woman going back to her abuser. He hoped Hannah had more courage than that. Reece would end up killing her, given the chance.
Her head came up. “I’m not going back. I’m done with abuse.”
Her voice rang with conviction, and Matt actually believed she meant it. He sensed that a backbone of iron ran through Hannah. Sometimes trials did that—hardened a person enough that they could face new adversity. She was tenacious, he’d say that much for her. She was still here looking for her daughter.
“Good for you,” he said softly. He could drown in those golden brown eyes. Leaning forward, he propped his chin on his hand. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” He was close enough to catch a whiff of her fragrance, a light citrus of some kind, maybe shampoo.
Was it his imagination, or did she move closer by an inch or two? Even as he plucked her hand from the table, he wondered what he was doing. This wasn’t professional, but her vulnerability drew him anyway. When was the last time he even went out with a woman? A year? Two? And he was attracted to so much more than her appearance. She was as tenacious as Ajax after a scent. Her soft eyes only masked a will and determination he couldn’t help but admire.