Hannah's Joy Read Free Page B

“With no kinder of her own, Paula needs someone to take care of. I’ve seen how she dotes on that little boy . . . so cute he is with those big brown eyes like his mammi’s.” Katie paused for a moment. “I just hope it works out for them. An Englisch woman and a soldier’s widow, as well—it seems strange that she’d want to stay here.”
    “Ja,” William said softly, thinking of the sorrow in Hannah’s face, the innocent laughter of her little son. How hard her life must seem to her right now.
    At least, with her aunt she’d found a resting place. A person didn’t have to be interested in her to see that, to sympathize, and maybe to hope she’d stay.
    *   *   *
    Hannah stood for a few minutes by the crib that evening, listening to Jamie’s soft, even breathing. His cheeks were rosy, and his soft brown hair, still damp from his bath, curled on his neck.
    “God bless you, little man,” she whispered. Giving him a final pat, she tiptoed out of the small room.
    She eased the door closed. The monitor would tell her if Jamie woke, but he was a good sleeper, up in the night only when he was sick.
    They were fortunate that Aunt Paula’s apartment was large enough to give each of them a bedroom. When Hannah had stayed with her friend Megan and her family, she and Jamie had been cramped into a room hardly larger than a closet.
    Not that she’d complained, of course. If Megan and Jeff hadn’t taken her in when she’d had to move out of base housing, she wasn’t sure what she’d have done.
    Come here, maybe, as she had eventually anyway. She certainly hadn’t belonged on the army base, even as a guest, once Travis was gone. When she’d finally been honest with Aunt Paula about her situation, her aunt had responded with two words.
Come home.
She’d never forget that, and never stop being grateful.
    She walked out to the living room, finally getting used to the quiet after nearly two months here. Black bumper Mennonites like Aunt Paula drove cars and allowed electricity and telephones in their homes, even computers, but not television or Internet access. She still hadn’t quite figured out the reasons why one technology was okay and another banned, but as long as she lived with Aunt Paula, she’d follow her rules.
    Those first months after Travis died she’d had the television on twenty-four hours a day, just for the sake of hearing another voice. But she was past that now. Her aunt must be down in the bakery kitchen, preparing for the next day. Picking up the baby monitor, Hannah hurried down the stairs.
    At the sound of Hannah’s footsteps, Aunt Paula looked up from the bread she was kneading. “Is he asleep then, the precious lamb?”
    “Out like a light.” Hannah set the monitor on the counter and washed her hands at the sink. “What can I do?”
    Aunt Paula nodded toward the bowls draped with tea towels that sat atop the stove. “That rye dough should be ready for punching down and forming into loaves already.”
    Hannah nodded, tying one of the large white aprons over her clothes. Sure enough, the dough had risen well over the top of the bowl. She punched it down, turned it out onto a floured board, and set to work, moving in tandem with her aunt, working on the opposite side of the table. The risen dough had its own scent and texture, and she took pleasure in feeling it work under her hands.
    At first she’d been virtually useless in the bakery, fit only for waiting on tables in the coffee shop section and making change. But desire was a great teacher. She wanted more than anything to pull her weight as long as she was here. Besides, it was fascinating. There was so much more to the bakery than she’d imagined, and her aunt made it all look almost effortless.
    But Aunt Paula really did need her. Running the bakery was too much for one person, and the Amish women who worked for her came only during the day.
    “Naomi Esch is coming in early tomorrow,” Aunt Paula said, as if she’d