A Home for Hannah Read online

  Aaron shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

  “It’s been a journey,” she finally said. It wasn’t quite an answer. “But I have Brandon.” She swallowed hard. While she had been thinking about how to respond, a huge lump had formed in her throat. It was almost impossible to get words past it.

  “He looks like a good kid.”

  Hannah stifled a laugh. “No, he doesn’t, but it’s kind of you to say so. He’s had a rough time.”

  Aaron nodded. “I understand. But he has you. And that’s a lot.”

  To her chagrin, tears filled her eyes. She had to get out of there while she was still in control of her emotions. It was a tenuous hold, but it was all she had. “Thanks for the pot. I’ll get it back to you in a couple of days.”

  “Keep it,” he said. “I don’t do a lot of canning.”

  Hannah nodded and ducked back into her car. She started the engine, keeping her eyes averted as she put it in reverse and backed up in the side yard. She couldn’t help herself. She cast a quick glance at him.

  He was standing right where she had left him, watching her prepare to leave. The expression on his face was neutral. She had no idea of his thoughts. She wished she knew what was going on behind those smoky blue eyes.

  Why? So she could know that he hated her for what she had done to him? She couldn’t bear his contempt. But he was Amish, raised to forgive. Maybe she would see his indifference. She didn’t think she could stand that either. That only left him wishing that things could have been different. Loving her still. And she knew that could never be.

  * * *

  He was being ridiculous. But even as Aaron told himself that, he couldn’t stop himself. He had thought of nothing else but Hannah all through the night. He could make up as many excuses as he wanted, but the truth of the matter was he wanted to spend a little time with Hannah. Maybe he needed to find out who she really was, without speculation. Or maybe he had simply missed her. Did the why really matter? Not when he was pulling into her parents’ drive with no more plans at his disposal than a glass of lemonade on the front porch. Or maybe a carriage ride.

  She would probably turn him down flat. After all, she drove around in fancy Englisch cars. How could poking around in a buggy be thrilling? But it was all he had.

  He pulled his carriage to a stop and looped the horse’s reins around the hitching post. He rubbed his hands down the sides of his pants, feeling more nervous than he had the first time he had asked to take her home from a singing.

  What if she told him no? What if she told him yes?

  “Hi, Aaron.” Abner came from the direction of his workshop. Aaron could still hear the buzz of the saw and supposed that David and Jim were still inside working. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

  Aaron wiped his hands again, but hopefully Abner didn’t notice. He didn’t want the man to know how nervous he was. Nervous meant this was important, and it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. No, it was merely two friends catching up on old times. Nothing more. Nothing less. “I came to see Hannah.”

  Abner stopped brushing the sawdust from his clothes, his eyes centering on Aaron in an instant. “Jah?”

  Aaron nodded. “You know. Just as friends. She came out to the house yesterday and I . . . I . . . well, I thought maybe now would be a good time to clear the air.”

  The older man gave a quick bob of his head. “That would be good, jah.”

  Aaron released a pent-up breath, shook the man’s hand, and started for the house. Maybe Abner’s hesitation was a sign. Maybe he should forget all about this and just go home. What good was clearing the air anyway?

  He climbed the steps to the front porch and knocked on the door.

  “Aaron.”

  She seemed genuinely surprised to see him. But he couldn’t tell if she was happy about it.

  “I had a mind today to come and see you.”

  “Yes?” Again her voice was neutral. How was he supposed to know how to proceed if she acted as if his visit wasn’t anything out of the ordinary?

  He looked into those hazel eyes. Clouds of doubt dulled the spirit that he had always seen there. But were they doubts about him?

  “I thought we might sit and talk for a spell. Maybe go for a ride or something.”

  She shook her head before he even finished. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “How come?” He knew. But he wanted to hear her say it.

  “Aaron . . .”

  He shifted his weight, moving a bit closer to her. She smelled sweet, like perfume and soap. He wanted to bury his nose in her neck and inhale that scent, make it another memory to treasure when she was gone.

  And she would be. He knew that. One day soon she would head out again. How could she stay here after so many years with Englisch conveniences? Plus she had her son to think about.

  He took a step back. Memories would never live up to the real thing.

  Not that it mattered. He had moved on. There were just a few loose ends that needed tying up. Just a few questions. That was all.

  “Just talk to me for a bit, Hannah. Is that too much to ask?”

  It was a mistake coming here. But now that he had, he needed to see it through.

  She sighed and stepped out onto the porch. “I guess I owe you that much.”

  “Would you like to go for a ride?”

  She shook her head again. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  She was probably right. What would the bishop say if he caught Aaron riding around Pontotoc with Hannah Gingerich in his carriage? Hannah McLean, he corrected. He had to start thinking of her as Hannah McLean. But even in her Englisch clothes with her short hair and no prayer kapp, she would always be Hannah Gingerich to him. It was as if he could see past the outside to what lay beneath. Or maybe that was wishful thinking on his part.

  “We can sit in the swing, if you want,” she offered.

  Aaron nodded and followed her to the end of the porch where the swing hung. They settled down next to each other, a good foot between them. She used the heels of her bare feet to set them in motion.

  They sat there in silence for a moment, the noises of the farm and the squeak of the chains the only sound between them. Not exactly the picture in his head of them seated side by side, drinking lemonade, and reliving old times. But some of those memories held more pain than good times. And there were others . . .

  He cleared his throat. He had told her that he wanted to talk, and yet he hadn’t said a word. Any minute now she was going to get up and go back into the house, and his opportunity would be gone.

  “Why did you do it, Hannah? Why did you leave?”

  Chapter Six

  It was the question she had both anticipated and dreaded. Hannah sucked in a quick breath, but she gained no courage, no more clarity than she’d had before.

  “I just wanted to see what was out there.” She stared out over the pasture. What a scene. Bitterweed with its small yellow flowers and fernlike leaves disappeared down the slope on the other side of the barbed wire fence. The fence posts themselves were gray from their time in the sun. Tiny rust rivers bled down the wood where the wire had turned from the rain. The wind blew through the leaves and, somewhere in the small crop of trees, a bird called to its mate. Peaceful, beautiful, but not enough to satisfy her curious mind. If only she had known then what she knew now. Maybe everything would be different. Or maybe it wouldn’t.

  “And did you?” His question was so quietly spoken she wondered if she had imagined it.

  “Yes.”

  “And?” he asked.

  And what? “It’s where my life is.”

  It’s where your life was.

  “You broke my heart, you know.”

  She swallowed back the lump in her throat. She had known, but to hear him actually say it . . . “I seem to be good at that.” So many hearts were broken when she walked out—Aaron’s, her father’s, her mother’s, Gracie and Tillie’s. And her own. She just hadn’t know
n it at the time. “For what it’s worth, I never meant to hurt you.”

  He nodded, then shook his head as if he couldn’t find words.

  She thought about telling him of her plans to return. But that was so long ago. What difference would it make now? It would only make her wonder about what-ifs that could never be.

  “How long are you staying?” He said it as if he knew she was leaving and had settled himself to it.

  Aren’t you?

  Of course she was. She couldn’t stay there. No matter how much she enjoyed connecting with her family. All but her father. Her mother kept telling her to give it time. Yet Hannah knew, he might forgive her in his heart, but he couldn’t forget. And he wouldn’t leave himself open for that hurt again. In some ways her father and Aaron were a lot alike.

  And because she was leaving, she needed to keep her distance as well.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Abner said your husband died.”

  “Yes.” There was nothing else to say about it, really.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  What could she say? She stood and made her way to the porch railing, looking out at nothing in particular. “It’s okay.”

  My marriage was over anyway.

  But it didn’t take away the hurt. It had been a long time since she had loved Mitch, but they’d had a comfortable understanding. And as long as he was alive, there was a hope that somehow things would go back to how they used to be. Or maybe even how she had dreamed they would be. But now that he was gone there was no chance for things to be different. He would always be at odds with Brandon. She would never be what he had imagined her to be. They could never make up, never have what those around them had. Never.

  But now she had a chance to start over, to make it right. It was the least she could do for Brandon’s sake: to give him the life he deserved.

  How are you going to do that with no money, no job, and no skills?

  She held on to the hope that the lawyer was right, that there would be enough to start over. She could hope, but she wasn’t able to pray. Not yet; maybe not ever.

  And if that hope didn’t hold out, she didn’t know what she would do. She surely couldn’t stay here.

  Behind her the swing creaked, and she knew the sound well enough to know that Aaron had stood.

  “I brought up bad memories. I’m sorry.”

  She blinked back tears, not realizing until that moment that she was crying. Not sobbing, just tears of hopelessness and frustration trailing down her cheeks. She dashed them away with the back of her hand and blinked again. “It’s all right. This whole place is filled with bad memories.”

  He made a noise behind her. It could have been a sigh, or maybe he just cleared his throat. She didn’t turn around to see. “There are more than bad memories here. I pass them every day.”

  She knew what he was talking about. The schoolhouse where they had gone to school together, the cornfield where they used to hide on summer days when they wanted a little time alone, and that side road next to the cotton gin where they had . . .

  “Yes,” she managed to choke out. She didn’t need to tell him that the good memories were outshone by the bad.

  “There’s another solution,” he said, not asking her to turn around. “We could make some new memories.”

  She whirled to face him, needing to see his expression as he said the words. “New memories?”

  He nodded. “As friends. We could do that, jah?”

  Hannah couldn’t stop her smile. It trembled on her lips, but it held through. “I would like that, but what about . . . ?” She waved a hand in front of herself, indicating her Englisch clothes. “I’m not sure how the rest of the community will take us running around together.”

  He seemed to think about it a minute. “You never cared what other people thought before.”

  It was true. She had done what she was supposed to because it was expected of her, but she had pushed her fair share of the boundaries. But Aaron didn’t deserve the trouble that her presence would bring him. She might not be officially under the Bann, but in a district as conservative as theirs, it wouldn’t be long before people started to talk and the bishop was brought in. “I’m not worried about me.”

  He nodded. “I know, but I’m a grown man. Let me worry about that.”

  Chapter Seven

  She was not looking out the window and watching for Aaron to pull down the drive. Well, she was looking out the window, she just wasn’t waiting for him. Maybe if she repeated the lie enough times she would even believe it.

  Yesterday she had seen him again, that made three times in fifteen years. He had looked so different, yet still the same. At least where her heart was concerned. But no matter how many times she told herself she wasn’t looking for him, she still straightened at the sound of the carriage coming down the lane.

  As she watched, he pulled his buggy to one side and hopped out with that same lithe grace. Just as he had before, he looped the reins around the hitching post and started toward the barn.

  Hannah bit back a sigh. Just what was it about Aaron Zook that made her heart tight in her chest and her mouth dry? Fifteen years was a long time. She should’ve gotten over him by now. Actually, she thought she had. “They” were wrong; absence didn’t make the heart grow fonder. Absence made it easy to forget. Fifteen years away and she had almost forgotten what he looked like, what he sounded like, what he smelled like. She had chalked all that up to being over him. Then one look and it was as if she had stepped fifteen years back in time.

  But her mind knew what her heart didn’t. There was no going back. There could never be. And she felt drawn to him. Inexplicably drawn to him as he walked toward the barn. How easy it would be to get up, go through the door, cross the yard, and be at his side in seconds. How easy.

  “Mom.”

  Hannah jumped nearly three feet out of her seat. She whirled around to face her son, one hand pressed against her pounding heart. “Brandon,” she breathed. “You scared me.”

  “Obviously.” He rolled his eyes. He glanced from her face to the window, then back again. “What are you doing?”

  “N-nothing,” she stammered. It was true and a lie all at the same time.

  “Is that what I’m supposed to be doing too?”

  Hannah shook her head, unable to follow the thread of the conversation. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Is that what I’m supposed to do all day? Nothing? I mean, there’s not a whole lot to do here anyway. My phone’s dead. I can’t talk to any of my friends. I got nothing. Should I stare out the window too?”

  Hannah bit back a retort. She was just shaky and anxious after being caught staring at Aaron. It wasn’t like Brandon knew that anything was out of sorts. He simply needed a bit of attention and direction.

  “We can play cards.”

  She wouldn’t say his eyes actually lit up, but there was a small spark of interest in there somewhere. “You mean like rummy or poker?”

  Maybe she had spoken too soon. “I was thinking more of Uno or Rook.” But both games needed more than two people.

  “What’s Rook?” Brandon frowned.

  Hannah shook her head. “Never mind. Why don’t you see what your cousins are doing?” He had told her about meeting up with Joshua and going fishing in the pond. Jim’s son was a good boy, and Hannah could only hope that some of that selfless attitude would rub off on her son.

  “Can’t. He’s gone to town with his dad. ‘Gone to town’?” he asked. “What exactly does that mean?”

  “It means that they went into town.” Hannah shrugged. It was something she’d grown up saying. The Amish settlement was just far enough out that going into town was a big deal. Sometimes it could take up most of the day. Brandon had always lived in town. So “going” was never an option.

  “Okay,” she tried again. “How about you go learn how to milk a goat?” She smiled and gave a nod as if to encourage his agreement.

 
Brandon frowned at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  “Actually, I’m not. Your grandmother keeps several goats. We milk them twice a day, then she takes that milk and makes soap, lotion, and cheese out of it. All sorts of things.”

  Brandon grimaced. “Lotion? Gross.”

  That was just about the response she had expected, though she wasn’t willing to give Brandon too much leeway in his attitude. They would both be miserable if he spent their entire visit bellyaching about every little thing. Tough time or not, it was past the point of chin up and go forward. “Okay, so if you don’t want to milk goats, then I suggest you find something else to do.” She used her best “mommy” voice so he knew she meant business.

  “Fine,” he grumbled. He pushed past her and out of the house.

  Hannah watched him stride across the yard and told herself that he would be fine. A couple more days and his online school would start. That would give him a few things to do during the day. Plus he would have to go into town to use the computers at the public library. That would get him off the farm for a bit. And if he continued to spend his afternoons with Joshua, all the better.

  In seconds he disappeared behind Jimmy and Anna’s house and was off to who knew where. Hannah nearly slumped with relief. At least he was in Pontotoc. There weren’t a great deal of things to get a person in trouble in Pontotoc, Mississippi. Especially not out where they were. She wished now she had warned him to be careful, but he would have just grumbled that she was being overprotective. Maybe she was. Maybe she wasn’t. Brandon was everything to her, and she wouldn’t know what to do if she didn’t have him.

  She pulled her thoughts off that melancholy path and fixed her gaze on the horse corral. Once again Aaron was out with the mare.

  Honestly, she wasn’t sure which one was the most interesting to watch. Tall and slim, Aaron moved with such grace, his movements fluid, almost as if he were swimming in slow motion. She couldn’t hear him, but could imagine him crooning softly to the horse. And she could definitely see a difference in the beast from the first day to today. She wasn’t fighting at her bridle, and she didn’t have such a wild-eyed look. At least Hannah didn’t think the mare did. The only way to know for certain would be to go out and watch Aaron as he worked. But she would only do that in interest of the job he performed.