Chapter 2
“You are being dikk-keppich, Hannah,” Daed said as he gazed down at her from the side of her hospital bed. “Jah, mighty stubborn. You need care and family right now. You need to come home.”
She loved her parents, but Hannah knew most certainly that of all the things she needed, she did not need to “come home.” Things between them hadn’t been good for a while and she knew their relationship would only get more strained if she moved back into her old bedroom. “I’m sure I am being stubborn, but it canna be helped. I’m stubborn by nature. You’ve told me that time and again. Ain’t so?” She smiled to take the sting out of her words.
But her father’s expression didn’t lighten one bit. Instead, he continued to silently study her. Then, as if he couldn’t look at her another second, he turned to her mother. “Claire, do something.”
“I would if you’d but move, Samuel.”
Hannah closed her eyes and counted to seven while her parents switched places. As if her mamm weren’t about to start saying the exact same thing.
This was a familiar dance, and one she’d once thought rather amusing. But as she’d gotten older, her patience with their attempts to lovingly manipulate her ebbed. Now, on her best days? She was mildly exasperated. On her worst, such as today? More than a little irritated by their performance.
Though she loved them, she no longer wanted much to do with their bossy, interfering ways. She especially did not want to be bullied while sitting in a hospital bed.
“Hannah,” Mamm began in a sweet, lilting voice, “you must realize that you ain’t thinking straight. No doubt the smoke you inhaled has made you addled.”
“I am not addled.” She was in pain, had a fierce headache, and was worried about her dog and how many—if any—of her belongings had survived the fire. But she was most definitely not addled. “I do not want to go to your haus.”
“It’s not our haus; it’s your home, Daughter.”
“Nee, my home burned down last night.”
Mamm’s eyes filled with heavy tears. Ever so slowly, she raised a hand and wiped one away.
The motion was filled with no small bit of drama, and when Hannah was a young teenager it had worked like a charm. All it took were two or three tears and she’d be besieged by guilt.
But now? Now Hannah knew that the tears were all for show.
She sighed.
Mamm blinked. Two seconds later, her bottom lip trembled. “I canna believe you are acting so cold and uncaring. It’s like we hardly know you anymore.”
Her father stepped closer. Wearing a heavy frown, he loomed over her mother’s shoulder. After a pause, he folded his arms over his chest. With his graying hair and long beard, he looked much like an irritated barn owl. “You should be more respectful of your mother’s needs, child.”
Oh! Oh, for heaven’s sake! She was in the hospital recovering from a fire! Yet, once again, her parents had neatly turned the tables so they could focus on their own pain and suffering.
At least Hannah knew now that it did no good to ask them to concentrate on her needs instead of their own wants. They’d simply stare at her in confusion, protesting that they actually were thinking only of her.
If she tried to explain her point of view, they’d accuse her of being disrespectful and things would become even more strained among the three of them.
It was far better to simply send them on their way. “Danke for visiting, but I am verra tired. I think I need to rest.”
“Don’t be like this, Hannah,” Mamm chided.
“I’m afraid I canna be ‘like’ any other way. You are leaving me no choice. Please, can’t we talk later?” She hated to sound so difficult and rude, but experience had taught her that giving in to them meant losing so much more than just a minor disagreement.
Her mother’s tears multiplied. “Oh, Hannah. How could you?”
It was self-preservation, through and through. Her mother had perfected the art of crying a long time ago and had used it to her benefit often. And like a trigger, it forced the same reaction that it usually did. Shame and regret.
But then Hannah remembered what those tears had encouraged her to do. Nine months ago, not ten minutes after Rob Prince had driven away from their home, her parents had gone on the attack. For weeks, they’d pressured her to stop seeing him. They’d used every tactic in their arsenal, too. Threats about how they would disown her. Tales of the dangers that beset Amish folks who lived among the English. When neither of those things worked?
Her mother softly insinuated that a wealthy, successful man like Rob would never be happy with a sheltered Amish girl.
Oh, that had hurt.
Then, when she began to doubt herself, they’d added a healthy dose of guilt.
As she recalled that time, her resentment sprouted—at both the things they’d done and the way she’d allowed herself to believe them. She wished she’d been braver and not let her fears overrule her heart.
“I really need to sleep, Mamm. I’m exhausted and I think the nurse is going to come in soon to change my bandages.”
“Let’s go, Claire,” Daed said. “We can return tonight.”
Her mother took one step back before turning to Hannah again. “Are you sure you don’t want us to stay? The hospital is a lonely, scary place,” Mamm said.
“I’m sure. I’ll try to handle being here for a few hours by myself.”
“We’ll be back soon,” he replied, not catching a bit of the sarcasm in her comment, which was really a good thing.
After they turned and walked out, she closed her eyes and leaned back against her hard pillow. Wishing for the peace she used to take for granted.
Before Paul had died in the Kinsinger Mill disaster. Before she’d met Rob and felt something new and fierce. An attraction that had made what she’d felt for Paul seem bland in comparison.
The door opened again. Trudy, her nurse—and her onetime classmate—entered. All smiles.
“You, my dear, have two choices.”
“Let me guess—I get to have either my blood pressure taken or my bandages checked?”
“You make me sound so evil!” One of Trudy’s dimples appeared. “I actually have two much better options for you.”
“And they are?”
“You get to either rest until it’s time to check your vitals again . . . or let the person who’s been sitting outside your room for the last hour come inside to visit.”
“Someone’s been waiting out in the hall for me?” It didn’t make any sense. Her parents would have told her about Dr. and Mrs. Ross. She’d been their children’s nanny for years. Or perhaps it was Joanne, another longtime friend.
Actually, they would have ushered any of her friends in the door.
Unless . . .
With both a sense of foreboding and excitement, she whispered, “Trudy, who has been sitting out there?”
“A very handsome firefighter named Rob.”
“Rob is here?”
Trudy’s smile turned into a wide grin. “Aha! I knew there was something between the two of you! Are you two close friends?”
Once, they were. Once, they were so much more than that. “I don’t know.”
Some of the excitement that had been shining in Trudy’s eyes dimmed. “Well, he came to see you. Do you wish to see him? You don’t have to, you know.”
Nine months ago, she’d broken his heart. Nine months ago, she’d told him they didn’t have a future. And after he’d turned around and walked away, she’d realized she’d made the biggest mistake of her life.
“Jah, I do,” she said softly, looking at the door. “Please, send Rob on in.”