A Time to Heal

5



Hannah wondered if she should suggest they return home, but after a few minutes, it seemed his mood lifted.

"The farms look so prosperous here."

"Most of them do well. But land has become expensive here, so some Amish families have moved to other states."

She pulled the buggy over and they watched men working in the field. Hannah slanted him a look, wondering if she should ask him again if he intended on returning to his childhood home.

"And what about you?"

"What about me?"

She rolled her eyes. "Getting you to talk about yourself is like pulling teeth."

"I always thought that was a weird expression."

Hannah muttered under her breath.

Chris laughed and tried to stretch his legs. "Not much leg room in these things, is there? Anyway, no, I don't like talking about myself."

"Sorry, I'm just trying to be social."

"Are other Amish like you?"

"You mean other Amish people or other Amish women?"

"Women."

She held up her chin. "I just have a natural curiosity.Besides, we do love a good conversation. We love to visit with our friends and family."

"Since there's no television or computers."

"Because we don't want there to be," she told him with a touch of curtness, then realized she sounded prim and fussy.

He glanced at her. "Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. I know I sounded defensive."

She paused and then looked at him. "I've seen television a few times, in a store in town or at an Englisch friend's home.I found some of the programs to be . . . interesting. I can see why our church leaders are worried about it coming into our homes. It was hard to walk away."

They traveled for a few more miles, both of them silent.

"Listen, I'm hungry," Chris said. "How about you?"

"Yes. I can fix us something back at the house."

Chris shook his head. "No." He glanced around. "Everyone's done enough—especially you. I'm sure you had a lot to do this morning, but you gave it up to take me sightseeing."

"Geyan schona," she said simply.

When he raised his eyebrows in question, she raised her shoulders and let them fall. "So willingly done. There are many places to get something to eat. It's one of the reasons people come here—to eat the food that the Amish make. That and to buy some craft item like a quilt—"

"Or a doll from China," Chris finished for her. He shot her a grin to show he could laugh about it himself.

"But really, there's no need to go to a restaurant. I could—"

"No, I don't want to put you to any trouble."

"It's no trouble to prepare a meal for a guest. We're known for our hospitality."

"I insist," he said firmly. "It's my treat."

Hannah had noticed that, like her brother, Chris liked good food and a lot of it. Soon, she pulled the buggy up to a restaurant that advertised Amish cooking and efficiently hitched Daisy to a post. While the restaurant didn't appear as large as some they'd passed, she knew of no better food locally.

"More Amish eat here than tourists," she told him.

"I'm game. I figure any place where the locals eat has good food or it would be out of business in no time."

They walked up to the door and Chris opened it before she could.

A feast of delicious scents greeted Chris as they entered the restaurant.

He'd always been a good eater—after all, most guys were and he worked hard—but eating MREs on the battlefield wasn't his idea of a gourmet meal. And the hospital food tasted like cardboard.Not that the hospital cafeteria could be blamed. The pain of his surgeries had taken the edge off of his appetite.

Now, he found his mouth watering as he smelled the rich aromas and glimpsed the food being served at nearby tables.His appetite increased.

When the hostess led them back to an empty table, Chris quickly pulled out a chair and seated Hannah. It wasn't just a gesture of courtesy. Combat had taught him never to sit with his back to other people or to the entrance of a building.

The counselor at the veteran's hospital called it a common reaction for soldiers returning from war. Then in what Chris supposed was the counselor's attempt to lighten the session, he had joked that a friend of his who taught high school in a small town used the same caution when dining out. The teacher claimed he always felt just a little paranoid that some of his alternative education kids—the ones who had behavior problems—would sneak up behind him.

A woman in Plain clothing walked over to take their orders.Chris had spied an open-faced roast beef sandwich, with a huge mound of mashed potatoes and gravy atop it, carried by a waitress on a tray. He'd debated about ordering it or the pile of crispy fried chicken that he saw served to a teen at the next table. He spent several minutes deliberating on his choices and decided on the roast beef. That and a big hunk of pie and the trip would be worth it.

By the time he worked through most of the sandwich, though, he realized he felt pleasantly full. When he glanced at a nearby table, the teen who looked like a football player had set down a piece of fried chicken and taken a break from eating.

"How can people eat like this—Plain people, I mean—and not have a weight problem?"

"Hard work," Hannah said simply.

He noticed that she hadn't chosen a salad and picked at it the way some women did. Yet the modest dress she wore didn't hide extra weight. It had been obvious when he'd lifted her up to the loft that day that she didn't weigh much.

Hannah had been suspicious that he'd come here to steal her sister-in-law, Jenny, but the more time he spent with her, the more attractive Hannah seemed to him.

If only she would stop trying to draw him out. He'd grown used to keeping his own counsel for years. After all, talking wasn't encouraged on the battlefield, and it was difficult to establish any kind of relationship in a hospital where patients came and went quickly.

Well, many of them did. Those who were forced to stay long-term sometimes found it difficult to hang out together.It became hard to keep their spirits up and not sound like Pollyanna—harder still not to drag others down into depression when it covered him like a black cloud.

The place between his shoulders itched. Chris had felt it before on the battlefield but never in civilian life. Never in a restaurant. Had it happened because he'd been thinking about his counselor's teacher friend who didn't want to turn his back on his students?

Glancing around, Chris saw that several tourists stared in their direction. No, not in their direction, he corrected himself.They watched Hannah as though she were an exhibit in a zoo.

"It's all right," she said quietly.

He dragged his glance back to her. "What?"

"We're used to being stared at. Don't let it concern you."

"But it's not right that—"

"People are people," she told him and shrugged. "They're curious about the way we live. And you know, sometimes I'm curious about them. Besides, they're being respectful and not taking pictures."

She smiled as the waitress came to take her empty plates."So, Fannie Mae, how is your mother doing?"

The two women chatted about their families while Chris resumed eating his meal.

But the itch wouldn't go away.

A surreptitious glance showed people sitting at tables around them, eating and talking with their friends and family.One man, who looked to be in his fifties or sixties, sat alone at a table eating and not looking up. Everything seemed very benign.

Chris told himself that what they called "situational awareness" might be in overdrive for some reason. Out on the battlefield you had to pay attention to your intuition, to play your hunches. Some of his buddies at the hospital told him the feeling of being watched became hard to shake stateside, maybe because at a hospital the staff watched you for symptoms— physical and mental.

But he was here on vacation. He needed to relax and enjoy himself.

Gradually, he became aware that Hannah and her friend had stopped talking and were watching him. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"Fannie Mae's mother made her famous peanut butter pie.Would you like a slice?"

"Can't. Peanut allergy. I saw some peach pie go past that looked really good. I'll take a piece of that."

"Warm, with ice cream?" Fannie Mae asked him.

He grinned. "Now you're talking."

The waitress left and Hannah frowned. "Maybe I shouldn't have ordered that pie."

"Too full?"

She shook her head. "I wouldn't want it to cause you a problem."

It took him a few moments to get her meaning. "We'll only have a problem if you kiss me."

Color flamed in her cheeks. "I assure you I won't be doing that."

Chris tried to school his features but failed miserably. He laughed, and her eyes shot daggers at him.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist," he said.

He stared at her mouth and his grin faded. Silence stretched between them, a charged moment in time where the people around them, the noise they created, faded.

"Here you go," announced Fannie Mae, as she placed their pie before them. "One peanut butter and one peach with ice cream."

"So what will you do after today?" she asked him. "How long will you stay in the area?"

"I'm not sure yet."

The pie tasted amazing: the fruit sweet and luscious, the ice cream rich and flavored with vanilla. He could die happy after eating his dessert.

A chill ran across his skin.

"You okay?"

She must have seen him shudder. "Yeah, I just got a brain freeze from the ice cream."

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Several more of her friends stopped to say hello and be introduced to Chris. He sensed their curiosity, but when they left the restaurant the itch between his shoulder blades stayed. Shrugging, he finished his pie and enjoyed his coffee.

Fannie Mae stopped back to refill their coffee cups and leave the check. To Chris's consternation, Hannah tried to reach for it. He snatched it first.

"This is my treat."

"But you're our guest. Matthew gave me the money."

"Give it back to him. It was nice of you all to put me up last night. Too bad he had to work today or he could have joined us."

"He'll be busy harvesting for the next couple of weeks."

"I missed it—working the farm—overseas," he admitted and saw her look at him in surprise. He guessed he deserved it after he hadn't wanted to talk much about himself.

They walked toward the cashier to pay the bill, and as they did, Chris swept the interior and noted the dwindling number of occupants. Just tourists. He wasn't a soldier any more, and he needed to remember that.

No one watched him. He'd left that worry behind him.

Phoebe looked up and laid aside the quilt she'd been stitching as Hannah walked into the house.

"Pretty," Hannah said, admiring the baby quilt.

"So how was your day?"

"Interesting," Hannah said after a moment. "Chris isn't like any man I've ever met. Plain or Englisch."

She sat down on the sofa and picked up her own quilting project.

"He has old eyes," Phoebe said. "Jenny had them when she first came to live here after she'd been hurt overseas."

"Old eyes?"

Phoebe nodded. "He's seen too much for someone so young."

"But he said he joined the military. No one made him go."She paused and thought about that.

"But I wonder if he knew what he was getting into. Can anyone? I don't know much about being a soldier but from what Jenny's shared with me, it's no wonder she came home with eyes that looked like they'd looked on too much suffering."

"But the Englisch spend so much time watching television, surfing the Internet, even using cell phones to stay up on things, not just talking. They seem to know everything about everything. You don't think he knew what the job of a soldier might involve?"

Phoebe shrugged. "I don't know. But it doesn't seem as though he's at peace with himself."

"Broody. That's what I called him today. Oh, not to his face," she rushed to say when Phoebe raised her eyebrows. "It's near impossible to get him to talk about himself. I sort of told him that."

"That's our Hannah. Never one to beat around the bush."

"Why waste time?" she asked lightly.

Phoebe's lips quirked. "If you say so."

"Oh, I know that's probably one reason why men haven't courted me." Hannah lifted her chin. "But I can't pretend to be something I'm not."

"Of course not." Phoebe lifted her needle and began stitching again.

"I'll probably become en alt maedel."

The needle fell from Phoebe's fingers. "That's the first time I've heard you talk like that. You will not be an old maid."

Hannah got up and paced around the room.

"Tell me what's troubling you, child."

Stopping, Hannah turned to face Phoebe. How she wished she could call back her words. This kind, wise woman who had invited her to stay in her home, to make it her home after Matthew and Jenny had married, shouldn't be privy to such blurted out admissions. Phoebe looked so frail and old these days. She'd insisted nothing was wrong when Hannah had questioned her several times but Hannah wondered.

"I'm sorry. You don't need to listen to me being so childish.I'm not a teenager anymore."

"Talk to me, Hannah."

Phoebe's voice sounded surprisingly firm. She patted the cushion next to her on the sofa.

"This is the first autumn I've felt like this," she confessed.Hannah dropped down on the sofa next to the older woman."I guess I thought I'd be married by now and taking care of my own family."

"But you refused to have anything to do with the young men who were interested in you while you cared for Matthew's kinner and took care of his house."

"Don't make it sound like a sacrifice," she said, remembering how Matthew had said something similar back then. "I loved every minute of helping him. I love those kinner like they're my own."

She sighed. "But this time, this season with all the weddings . . . I don't know why, but this year it's affected me."

Phoebe's eyes were warm. "It had to happen, don't you think? You have so much love inside you, so much caring. It's only natural that you want to share that with a man and raise your own family."

Hannah laughed and shook her head. "Jenny and I talked about it once. She said I should make a list of what I wanted in a man. She called it a wish list, like I could just take it to God and ask for what I wanted. I told her that's not our way—that we feel God has someone set aside for us."

"There's nothing wrong with asking God for that man he's set aside for you, nor with telling him what you'd like in your husband. But since He knows what's best for you, He might not have the same timetable as you. And He'll surely send you someone better than you could even imagine. It's His promise to always be more than we expect, don't you think?"

"Yes," Hannah admitted. She shook her head. "He surely hasn't sent the right man yet. I don't believe anyone can say that Isaac is the right man for me."

"Nee. Even Isaac realized that." Phoebe pressed her lips together, and Hannah realized she was trying to stifle a smile.

She laughed. "Oh, Phoebe, he and I—" She paused as giggles overcame her. "We were like oil and water."

Her smile faded as she thought about how different the man she'd spent the day with was from her. And yet . . .

"What?"

"That phrase could describe the way Chris and I got along today. We're such opposites."

Shocked at what she'd just said, she blinked. "Not that I even thought about us being anything like a couple. I just showed him around. He's just here for a visit and will be gone soon."

Hannah jumped to her feet and paced the room again. When she turned, she felt disconcerted by Phoebe's expression.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I don't know who's more surprised by what just came out of your mouth—you or me," Phoebe said finally. "If he's truly so opposite, then why would you even think about him?"

"I'm not!" Hannah grew more agitated.

Phoebe patted the cushion beside her again. "Come, liebchen. Sit before you wear out the floor."

Collapsing on the sofa, Hannah let Phoebe pull her into her arms. It felt so comforting to have her hair stroked, to have someone care for her like this. She'd always been the strong one, looking out for the needs of others.

"So why are you thinking about him?" Phoebe asked after a long moment had passed.

"I'm not sure I can put it into words. There's something about him that draws me."

She raised her head and her eyes searched Phoebe's for understanding. "I sense that he's a man who cares about people.You saw what he did last night to keep Mary from being burned. What you didn't see is how he kept me from falling from the loft ladder earlier that day. He could have fallen himself."

"No, I didn't hear all the details," Phoebe said, her mouth curving into a smile. Hannah felt her cheeks grow warm. She told Phoebe the story but left out the part where her eyes had met Chris's and she'd felt a connection deep in her soul.

Chris bent to scoop up a handful of the earth at his feet.He studied its rich brown color, squeezed it to see how it held moisture, and sniffed at it.

"Taking home a souvenir?"

Turning, he looked at his host, and then he laughed, shook his head, and opened his hand, letting the soil drift to the ground.

"No, we have dirt back home. It's a little different color and smell from this. Yours seems richer."

"Crop rotation."

Matthew walked over to where Chris stood near the fence that separated the front yard from the road. He leaned his forearms on it like Chris and propped his boot on the lower rung of the fence. They studied the nearby field, efficiently harvested and ready for its winter rest.

"Had a lot of arguments with my dad about crop rotation," Chris said after a long moment. "He owned the place so he won the arguments. My brother tells me he only listened the last few years while I served overseas."

"When's the last time you saw the place?"

"I headed there as soon as I got out of the hospital. Saw the family. Hung out with some friends. Then I decided to take a little time for myself and travel."

"Jenny's sorry she couldn't show you around," Matthew said, turning to look at him.

"I should have written or called and asked, not just come and hoped to find she had the time. But I haven't had much control over my life this past year. I just wanted to move when I wanted to move."

He stopped, surprised that he'd said so much.

"What?" Matthew asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You looked like you started to say something, then stopped."

"I was just thinking about something Hannah said."

Matthew winced. "I'm afraid to ask. Hannah speaks her mind."

Chris laughed. "I'll say. She said getting me to talk felt like pulling teeth."

Matthew laughed. "That's Hannah." He paused. "Actually, the same could be said about Jenny. She says she's naturally inquisitive because of her background as a reporter. But I think all women want us men to talk more."

"And listen more."

"Ya."

"And be more sensitive."

Matthew stared at him, aghast. "Englisch women say that?"

"Jenny hasn't?"

"Nee. No."

"Maybe you've been more sensitive than me."

Their eyes met and Chris felt like they took the measure of each other. Then Matthew shocked him by laughing.

"I don't think anyone can accuse me of that," Matthew told him.

He didn't seem like the kind of man Chris had thought he'd be: stern, authoritarian, overbearing.

On the other hand, even though Chris didn't know Jenny all that well, he couldn't have visualized her married to such a man as that. He imagined few Englisch women would want a man to control them, especially a woman like Jenny who had traveled around the world.

Of course, sometimes the kind of men some of the women he knew picked surprised him.

"Chris?"

He realized he'd been lost in his thoughts. "Sorry, just thinking of something."

"How long do you plan to stay?"

"I hadn't thought about it. Maybe a week. I didn't make any firm plans when I set out."

"You have no set time you have to be back home?"

Home. It hadn't felt like home when he went back there. So he'd decided to hit the road so he could think.

"No," he said slowly. "No set time. My brother and my dad seem to have things working well without me. I needed some time to myself. Time that I wasn't stuck in a hospital, I mean."

Then he realized why Matthew might be wondering.Although the man appeared to be friendlier toward him today, maybe the suspicion lingered.

He hesitated for a moment, then decided to plunge in."Look, Hannah seemed to think that I might have come here to steal Jenny from you."

Matthew burst out laughing. "I'm sorry," he said when he had to take a breath. His eyes were actually tearing from laughing so much.

Taking a handkerchief from the back pocket of his broadcloth pants, he wiped his eyes. "I guess she gave you a time today, didn't she?"

"She's not the quiet Amish miss I expected," Chris admitted."That should teach me about stereotypes."

"Well, I can assure you that my sister didn't speak for me. I have no worries that Jenny can be stolen."

He tucked the handkerchief back in his pocket. "If there's no need to go back soon, I wondered if you'd like to help me here for a while. One of my part-time workers just told me he needs surgery."

Surprised at the question, Chris didn't know what to say.

"Why don't we go inside, have some coffee, and talk about it? I don't expect a man to just suddenly change his plans."

"I didn't really have anything as concrete as plans," Chris told him. "I only thought ahead as far as to find a room."

He looked out on one of the harvested fields again. This land pulled him. He couldn't deny it. "I've missed farm work."

"Let's have some coffee then and see if Phoebe brought over one of her pies. She always does when Jenny has to be away."

"Pie." Chris found his feet moving. "Pie sounds good."

He followed Matthew into the house.

"What do you mean, he's staying?" Hannah stared at her brother. "Chris is staying?"

"For a while. To help out while John recovers from his surgery."

He picked up the lid of the frying pan and peered inside."Mmm. Pork chops. But there's no applesauce on top."

Hannah sank into a chair at the kitchen table. "Don't worry.I'll add it when it's time."

"It was nice of you to take him to see the area today. He said he had a good time."

"He did not."

"What? He said he had a good time."

"Really?"

"You sound surprised."

Hannah realized that her brother watched her. She got up and stirred the contents of one of the pots on the stove.

"He doesn't talk much," she said.

"I noticed that. He kind of reminds me of the way Jenny acted when she first came here."

Matthew couldn't have surprised her more.

"Ya?"

Matthew nodded. "They've both been through so much. It's affected them. Maybe it will all their lives."

"But Jenny seems fine now. She hardly has a limp—"

"I still catch a glimpse in her eyes sometimes," Matthew said quietly. "And every so often she has nightmares and she doesn't want to talk about them."

Stunned, Hannah stared at him. "I had no idea."

"She hides it well."

He hugged her. "Thank you for stepping in to help while Jenny's gone."

"You're changing the subject."

"Me? No."

He returned to the stove and checked the contents of another pan, then opened the oven. "Mmm, biscuits too?"

Huffing out a breath, she went to shut the oven. "Shoo!"

She waved her hands at him and he scooted out of range."Out of my kitchen." She stopped. "Oh, I didn't mean to say that. It's not my kitchen."

"It was for a long time." His grin faded. "What would the kinner and I have done without you after Amelia died?"

She waved away his thanks. "I loved doing it. Sometimes I miss being around them so much."

"But you're right next door with Phoebe."

"I know. But they're growing so fast."

"I'd hoped—" he stopped and held up his hands. "Don't look at me that way."

"Don't start with the talk of maybe it's time to be looking for a husband."

She opened the jar of applesauce and poured the contents into a pan to warm. Then she grabbed a potholder and opened the oven door.

Pulling out the biscuits, she set the pan on top of the oven."Call everyone to the table. Supper's almost ready."

"But—"

"Maybe those biscuits need to stay in the oven a little longer," she said thoughtfully.

Matthew backed away, holding up his hands. "Then they'll be like Jenny's. Please don't do that to us!"

Laughing, she set the potholder down. "Only because I wouldn't do that to innocent kinner. Now get away from the stove!"

"What a sharp tongue."

Poor Jenny, thought Hannah as she used a spatula to move the biscuits from the pan to a cloth-lined basket. All of them loved to tease her for her cooking. She tried so hard but she often got busy with her writing and let things burn. Hannah planned to get her a timer for a Christmas present. A nice loud one. That should keep her from forgetting something in the oven or on the stove.

Footsteps were heard overhead.

"I'll go call the kinner," Matthew said.

"Danki," she said with a smile.

He left the room and she heard him walk to the stairs and bellow up, "Supper's ready!"

Thoughtful, Hannah forked the pork chops onto a serving platter and poured warmed applesauce over them. She placed the platter in the center of the table, scooped green beans into a dish, and then pulled a pan of scalloped potatoes from the oven.

The table had been set by Mary, the water poured by Annie.Joshua had helped by doing chores in the barn with Matthew.

There, she thought. Everything is ready.

She heard a knock on the front door and when she went to answer it, found Chris on the doorstep. "You're right on time."

"I'm always on time for work. And for a meal."

"Then you'll get along well with Matthew."

"So he told you."

She closed the door and turned to face him. "Ya, he told me."