A Widow's Hope. Vannetta Chapman

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      Grabbing his tool belt and folder with design plans, Jacob hesitated before heading to the front door. This was always the hardest part for him—initially meeting someone. His left hand automatically went to his face, traced the web of scar tissue that stretched from his temple to his chin. He wasn’t a prideful man, but neither did he wish to scare anyone.

      There was nothing he could do about his appearance, though, so he pulled in a deep breath, said a final word to the horse and hurried to the front door. He knocked, waited and then stood there staring when a young, beautiful woman opened the door. She stood about five and a half feet tall. Chestnut-colored hair peeked out from her kapp. It matched her warm brown eyes and the sprinkling of freckles on her cheeks.

      There was something familiar about her. He nearly smacked himself on the forehead. Of course she looked familiar, though it had been years since he’d seen her.

      “Hannah? Hannah Beiler?”

      “Hannah King.” She quickly scanned him head to toe. Her gaze darted to the left side of his face and then refocused on his eyes. She frowned and said, “I’m Hannah King.”

      “But...isn’t this the Beiler home?”

      “Ya. Wait. Aren’t you Jacob? Jacob Schrock?”

      He nearly laughed at the expression of puzzlement on her face.

      “The same, and I’m looking for the Beiler place.”

      “Ya, this is my parents’ home, but why are you here?”

      “To work.” He stared down at the work order as if he could make sense of seeing the first girl he’d ever kissed standing on the doorstep of the place he was supposed to be working.

      “I don’t understand,” he said.

      “Neither do I. Who are you looking for?”

      “Alton Beiler.”

      “But that’s my father. Why—”

      At that point Mr. Beiler joined them, telling Hannah he would take care of their visitor and shaking Jacob’s hand. Surely he noticed the scar on Jacob’s face, but he didn’t dwell on it. “You’re at the right house, Jacob. Please, come inside.”

      “Why would he come inside?” Hannah had crossed her arms and was frowning at him now.

      He’d never have guessed when he put on his suspenders that morning that he would be seeing Hannah Beiler before the sun was properly up. The same Hannah Beiler he had once kissed behind the playground and several years later asked out for a buggy ride and dinner. It had been a disastrous date for sure, but still he remembered it with fondness. The question was, what was she doing here?

      But then he peered more closely at Alton. Yes, it was Hannah’s father for sure and certain. Older, grayer and with wrinkles lining his face, but still her father.

      “I haven’t seen you in years,” Jacob said to Alton.

      “Do we know each other?”

      “Barely.” Jacob chuckled, though Hannah continued to glare at him. “Hannah and I went on a date many years ago.”

      “It was hardly a date,” Hannah chimed in.

      “I took you in my buggy.”

      “Which hadn’t been properly cleaned, and your horse was lame.”

      “I should have checked the horse more carefully.”

      “We never even made it to dinner.”

      “I’m surprised you remember.”

      “And I had to walk home.”

      “I offered to walk with you.”

      Hannah rolled her eyes, shook her head and headed back into the house.

      “She hasn’t changed much,” Jacob said in a lower voice.

      “Oh, but she has.” Alton opened the door wider so that Jacob would come in. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you.”

      “It has been ten years.”

      They passed through a living room that appeared to be sparsely but comfortably furnished. Jacob could smell bacon and biscuits. His stomach grumbled and he instantly regretted that he hadn’t taken the time to eat a proper breakfast.

      “So your dating Hannah must have been when we were at the other place, on the east side of the district.”

      “Indeed.”

      “Obviously we’ve moved since then.” Alton stopped before entering the kitchen, seemed about to say something and then rubbed at the back of his neck and ushered Jacob into the room.

      “Claire, maybe you remember Jacob Schrock. Apparently he took our Hannah on a buggy ride once.”

      Jacob heard them, but his attention was on the young boy sitting at the table. He was young—probably not school-age yet. Brown hair flopped into his eyes and he had the same smattering of freckles as his mother. He sat in a regular kitchen chair, which was slightly higher than the wheelchair parked behind him. No doubt moving back and forth was cumbersome. If he had a small ramp, the chair could be rolled up and locked into place. He should talk to Alton about that. It would be easy enough to create from scrap lumber.

      Hannah was helping the child with his breakfast, or perhaps she was merely avoiding Jacob’s gaze.

      The boy, though, had no problem with staring. He cocked his head to the side, as if trying to puzzle through what he saw of Jacob. Then a smile won out over any questions, and he said, “Gudemariye.”

      “And to you,” Jacob replied.

      Hannah’s mother, Claire, motioned him toward a seat. “Of course I remember you, Jacob. Though you’ve grown since then.”

      “Ya, I was a bit of a skinny lad.” This was the awkward part. He never knew if he should share the cause of his scars or wait for someone to ask. With the child in the room, perhaps it would be better to wait.

      Hannah continued to ignore him, but now the boy was watching him closely, curiously.

      “You’re taller too, if I remember right. You were definitely not as tall as Alton when you were a youngie. Now you’re a good six feet, I’d guess.”

      “Six feet and two inches. My mamm used to say I had growth spurts up until I turned twenty.” Jacob accepted a mug of coffee and sat down across the table from the boy.

      “Who are you?” he asked.

      “I’m Jacob. What’s your name?”

      “Matthew. This is Mamm, and that’s Mammi and Daddi. We’re a family now.” Matthew grinned as if he’d said the most clever thing.

      Hannah met Jacob’s gaze and СКАЧАТЬ