Read Online Sisters of the Quilt Trilogy by Cindy Woodsmall - Free Book Online
Authors: Cindy Woodsmall
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grandson, whatever his name was. The grandson was from a very conservative Mennonite family but they weren’t in fellowship with the Old Order Amish. “ Daed still doesn’t know that Mary and I have been bringing you home from the singings.”
A look of defiance came over her face. She lifted her hand, showing an inch of space between her index finger and her thumb. “I have about this much freedom under our bishop, and only because it’s my time of rumschpringe . Singings and buggy courting are a private thing. Don’t take that away from me, Luke.”
“But, Hannah, you ain’t using your freedom to find a mate. You’re just pretending to. It’s not right.”
Her eyes grew cold and hard. “It’d be best not to talk to me of what’s right. Not now. Maybe not ever.” She turned away from him and pressed the pedal on the old Singer.
Laying the trousers aside, Hannah rose from the stool and crossed to the far window. She watched Luke amble toward the barn to hitch the horse to the buggy. He and Mary would fritter the night away, laughing and having their mock arguments. Not long ago the three of them had delighted in playing board games and strolling in the cool of the evening. Now all she felt was indifference and bitterness. Where had her love for life and for her family gone?
Her dear friend Mary always listened whenever Hannah was chafing against the strict conformity demanded among the People. But even with Mary, Hannah didn’t share too much. If Mary’s parents knew Hannah questioned the authority of the bishop, preachers, and even the Ordnung , they’d never let Mary see her.
But those irritations didn’t compare to the resentment and vengeance that warred in her soul of late. What seemed like years ago she used to dream of Mary and Luke remaining close to her even if she didn’t join the faith. Now nothing seemed possible. Hannah no longer shared kindred thoughts with anyone—Luke, Mary, or even herself. Paul had loved her energy and sense of humor, but she didn’t possess that now. She’d become an empty kerosene lamp, the outward part of no use without its fuel.
Yet, in spite of every gloomy thought moving within her, she felt a lingering trace of optimism that when she heard from Paul, her once-hopeful soul would return, and life would again have purpose. The haunting question of why Paul hadn’t written made a shudder run through her body.
For several nights now, her father had been pacing the floors hours before the four o’clock milking. And she knew why. He still hadn’t decided whether to tell the bishop what had happened to his daughter. If he did, all power to have final say over her life would be removed from him. If the bishop chose to tell certain ones in the community about the incident, the news would eventually get back to Paul since he had distant cousins who lived in Owl’s Perch.
Glancing at the shiny, gold-trimmed clock, Hannah took a deep, miserable breath. Paul had promised to send her a letter within two days after he left. Although she couldn’t manage to keep track of the days, Mamm had told her it had been more than three weeks since that day on the road.
Sarah had ridden the mile to Mrs. Waddell’s with their brother Levi. Surely Sarah would bring a letter for her today. Hannah had spent quite a bit of time patiently reasoning with Sarah to convince her to bring home any letters without telling Mamm or Daed . Her sister had finally agreed.
Hannah sighed and shuffled to the machine. Bending to grab the shirt off the floor, she spotted several folded papers sticking out from between the bottom of the dresser and the last drawer—as if someone had hidden them under a drawer and they had worked their way out. A closer look said it was probably a letter. Without hesitation, she eased the papers out of their half-hidden spot.
Paul sat in his apartment with his open books spread across the small desk as he studied for another psychology test. The place was quiet
A look of defiance came over her face. She lifted her hand, showing an inch of space between her index finger and her thumb. “I have about this much freedom under our bishop, and only because it’s my time of rumschpringe . Singings and buggy courting are a private thing. Don’t take that away from me, Luke.”
“But, Hannah, you ain’t using your freedom to find a mate. You’re just pretending to. It’s not right.”
Her eyes grew cold and hard. “It’d be best not to talk to me of what’s right. Not now. Maybe not ever.” She turned away from him and pressed the pedal on the old Singer.
Laying the trousers aside, Hannah rose from the stool and crossed to the far window. She watched Luke amble toward the barn to hitch the horse to the buggy. He and Mary would fritter the night away, laughing and having their mock arguments. Not long ago the three of them had delighted in playing board games and strolling in the cool of the evening. Now all she felt was indifference and bitterness. Where had her love for life and for her family gone?
Her dear friend Mary always listened whenever Hannah was chafing against the strict conformity demanded among the People. But even with Mary, Hannah didn’t share too much. If Mary’s parents knew Hannah questioned the authority of the bishop, preachers, and even the Ordnung , they’d never let Mary see her.
But those irritations didn’t compare to the resentment and vengeance that warred in her soul of late. What seemed like years ago she used to dream of Mary and Luke remaining close to her even if she didn’t join the faith. Now nothing seemed possible. Hannah no longer shared kindred thoughts with anyone—Luke, Mary, or even herself. Paul had loved her energy and sense of humor, but she didn’t possess that now. She’d become an empty kerosene lamp, the outward part of no use without its fuel.
Yet, in spite of every gloomy thought moving within her, she felt a lingering trace of optimism that when she heard from Paul, her once-hopeful soul would return, and life would again have purpose. The haunting question of why Paul hadn’t written made a shudder run through her body.
For several nights now, her father had been pacing the floors hours before the four o’clock milking. And she knew why. He still hadn’t decided whether to tell the bishop what had happened to his daughter. If he did, all power to have final say over her life would be removed from him. If the bishop chose to tell certain ones in the community about the incident, the news would eventually get back to Paul since he had distant cousins who lived in Owl’s Perch.
Glancing at the shiny, gold-trimmed clock, Hannah took a deep, miserable breath. Paul had promised to send her a letter within two days after he left. Although she couldn’t manage to keep track of the days, Mamm had told her it had been more than three weeks since that day on the road.
Sarah had ridden the mile to Mrs. Waddell’s with their brother Levi. Surely Sarah would bring a letter for her today. Hannah had spent quite a bit of time patiently reasoning with Sarah to convince her to bring home any letters without telling Mamm or Daed . Her sister had finally agreed.
Hannah sighed and shuffled to the machine. Bending to grab the shirt off the floor, she spotted several folded papers sticking out from between the bottom of the dresser and the last drawer—as if someone had hidden them under a drawer and they had worked their way out. A closer look said it was probably a letter. Without hesitation, she eased the papers out of their half-hidden spot.
Paul sat in his apartment with his open books spread across the small desk as he studied for another psychology test. The place was quiet
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