“Denki. I will stop by your classroom as soon as I’m ready to leave,” Hannah confirmed.
Before exiting, Doris turned to Sawyer and brazenly hinted, “With Hannah watching the triplets, I hope you find you have time for socializing with your neighbors here in Willow Creek.”
* * *
No sooner had Doris flounced away than Hannah confessed, “I was being hasty. I shouldn’t have accepted your offer. I’m terribly sorry, but I can’t possibly help you.”
“Why not? If it’s a matter of salary, I assure you I’ll pay you plentifully and—”
“Neh, it isn’t that,” Hannah insisted. “It’s...my groossdaadi. I have a responsibility to him. I must keep our house, make our supper... He is old and deaf. He can’t manage on his own. And unlike Doris, I don’t have daily transportation. Our buggy is showing signs of wear and the horse is getting old, so we limit taking them out for essential trips only.”
Sawyer was quiet a moment, his eyes scanning her face. She looked as downcast as he felt.
“Suppose the kinner come home from school with you and stay until after supper? Would your groossdaadi object? I would collect them each evening. They could help you with your household chores and they wouldn’t make any—”
“Jah!” she interrupted, beaming. “I will have to ask Groossdaadi, but I don’t think he’ll object. I’ll need a few days to confirm it with him and make preparations. Perhaps I could begin next Monday?”
“Absolutely.” Sawyer grinned. “Now, would you please permit the kinner and me to give you a ride home? I’ll need to know where you live in order to pick them up on Monday.”
She hesitated before saying, “Denki, but Doris has already offered.”
“Are you certain?” he persisted.
Just then, a flash of lightning brightened the room and Hannah dropped the eraser she was holding, effectively halting their conversation. “I’m certain,” she stated. “You mustn’t keep your kinner waiting any longer. They’ve been so patient already.”
Sawyer was taken aback by the sudden shift in Hannah’s demeanor. As he darted through the spitting rain, he thought that her countenance was like the weather itself; one minute her expression was sunny and clear, but the next it was clouded and dark. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of her at all, but at least his worries about the children’s care had subsided for the time being.
Because Doris gave her a ride home from school, Hannah arrived early enough to prepare one of her grandfather’s favorite meals: ground beef and cabbage skillet and apple dumplings. Making supper kept her distracted from the peals of thunder that sounded in the distance, and so did thinking about Sawyer and the children.
She supposed she could have accepted his offer to bring her home, instead of imposing on Doris. But what kind of example would she have been to the children—a grown woman, afraid of a storm? Hadn’t she reminded Sarah several times that day to trust in the Lord when she was worried about her father? Yet there Hannah was, trembling like a leaf because of a little thunder.
She realized there was a second reason she hesitated to ride with Sawyer: she worried what kind of foolish thing she might say. She didn’t know what had caused her to joke about his horse’s speed, but she couldn’t risk offending him, especially as he might be her new employer. Thinking about the slight smile that lit his serious, handsome face made her stomach flutter. She retrieved her satchel from its hook in search of a piece of bread, but then remembered she’d given her last crust to Simon, who gobbled it up in four bites.
When her grandfather entered the kitchen, his first words were not unlike those she had cast at Sawyer, but his tone was much gruffer.
“What is your reason for being so late?” he barked.
Because her grandfather had lost his hearing years ago, he had no sense of the volume of his voice—at least, that was what Hannah chose to believe.
“I’m sorry, Groossdaadi. I was helping my new scholars.” She looked at him directly when she spoke. Although her grandfather was adept at reading lips, she knew from experience a brief answer was the best reply, especially when he seemed agitated.
“Is dinner going to be late again?” he complained, despite the early hour.
Please, Lord, give him patience. And me, too, she prayed.
“Neh. It is almost done.”
“Gut,” he grunted. “You left me here with hardly a morsel of bread.”
Hannah knew the claim was preposterous; she fixed him a sizable lunch before leaving for school, and there was always freshly made bread in the bread box. Thinking about it made her remember Sarah’s desire to learn how to bake bread. Hannah hadn’t been exactly accurate when she’d said it was more fun to eat than to bake. Eating freshly baked bread was a pleasure, but smelling it baking was equally appealing.
She realized because her grandfather was deaf, he probably looked forward to having his other senses stimulated. Adding a little extra garlic to the skillet to enhance the aroma, she began to sing, and by the time she and her grandfather were seated, the storm had blown over.
After saying grace, she touched her grandfather’s arm to get his attention. He dug into his meal, chewing as he watched her lips.
“Gott has provided us help with our income,” she said, knowing that if she prefaced her proposal by indicating it was from the Lord, her grandfather would be less inclined to say no. “I have been asked to watch the kinner of Sawyer Plank. He is John Plank’s nephew, the one who is helping him harvest until his leg heals.”
Her grandfather shoveled a few forkfuls of meat into his mouth. When he looked up again, Hannah continued.
“I will need to bring them home with me after school—”
“Neh,” her grandfather refused, lifting his glass of milk. Unlike most Amish, they had always been too poor to afford their own milk cow, but for generations the Zook family had made it a faithful practice to deliver a fresh bottle—often with a chunk of cheese—to their milk bin.
As her grandfather took a big swallow, Hannah finished speaking, undaunted. “They will stay here through supper time. Then Sawyer will pick them up.”
“Neh,” her grandfather repeated. “I will not have kinner in my house.”
Hannah curled her fingers into a fist beneath the table, digging her fingernails into her palm. She knew how much her grandfather disliked having children around—after all, he’d reminded her and her younger sister, Eve, of that fact repeatedly when they were growing up. She waited until he’d had a second helping of beef and cabbage, and then she dished him up the biggest, gooiest apple dumpling before she attempted to persuade him again.
“Groossdaadi,” she pleaded, her eyes expressing the urgency he couldn’t hear in her voice. “I promise to keep them outside as much as possible. They will help with the chores. The boys will stack wood and clean the coop and do whatever else you need them to do. I will see to it they don’t disturb you in your workshop.”
This time her grandfather merely shook his head as he cut into the tender dumpling with the side of his fork. The crust oozed with sweet fruit.
“I know how hard you’ve worked to provide for us,” Hannah said, tugging on his sleeve to make him read her lips. “But I’ve stretched our budget as far as I can, and it will only get worse when I am no longer a teacher. Please, Groossdaadi, let me do my part and earn this income.”
As he ate the rest of his dessert, Hannah sent