A Home for Hannah

Book 1: Amish of Pontotoc

by Amy Lillard

Genres: Religious & Inspirational

Synopsis

Fifteen years. That’s how long it’s been since Hannah McLean set foot in the Amish community where she was raised. Through it all, her heart has never forgotten Pontotoc - or Aaron Zook, her first love.

Now widowed and left with little more than her hurting teenager and her prayers, she returns home, even knowing she and her son may be turned away. When Aaron learns Hannah has returned, he nearly falls to his knees. He’s a strong man, but lately the care of his three motherless children and family land have been more than he can handle. Now providence has delivered the first woman he loved and, with her, the rush of feelings they once shared.

But will his simple, removed way of life leave Hannah longing for something more, or can they begin anew, finding a new way forward together?

Release date: February 27, 2018

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 336

Sample

There should have been more—balloons, fanfare, something to herald her return. But there was only the proud burgundy and gold sign that declared Hannah Gingerich McLean was back in Pontotoc.

She eased her car slowly through the town. It was nearing sundown and no one was about. Pontotoc was the kind of town that rolled up the sidewalks after supper. Once upon a time she had hated that small fact. Now it was more of a comfort than an annoyance. There were fewer people to witness her shame. When she’d left so many years ago, she had vowed never to return. It seemed like this was her year for breaking promises.

She sighed and turned to look at Brandon, slumped against the door, lips parted as he slept. When he was like this he still looked like her little boy, her baby. The one person she loved most in this world. Not the surly teenager who had taken over his body, but her precious angel.

“Hey.” She touched his leg. “We’re almost there.” Pontotoc wasn’t their final destination, but Randolph, the small community just south of town. There wasn’t much in Randolph—just a water tower, a post office, and a community center. And home.

Brandon stirred. “Kay,” he mumbled. “Why are we coming here again?”

Hannah took a deep breath and murmured the lie she had almost come to believe. “It’s time you met your family here.”

“I thought they didn’t ‘approve.’” He used air quotes around the last word, but didn’t open his eyes.

Her family didn’t approve, but she was counting on love to win out. Once upon a time she had been their precious angel.

Well . . . that wasn’t exactly true. Her twin sister, Leah, had always been the good child, while Hannah had been the handful, never quite fitting in with the rest of the community. Never quite accepting their ways. Willful, rebellious, contentious. But this was different.

“I’ve explained this,” she said, her voice heavy with patience. “My grossmammi—grandmother—fell and broke her hip.” At least that part was true. “Now my mother needs help with things until she gets well.” It was as good of an excuse as any.

“Whatever.” Brandon sighed and braced his Converse-clad feet on the dashboard. Any other car and she would have chastised him. But this was his car, a beat-up clunker that Mitchell had bought Brandon as a last-ditch effort to make amends. But as usual, the effort was too little, too late. And a little too soon. Brandon wouldn’t be able to drive the car for another year and a half. At the time Mitch had presented him with the car, Hannah had been furious. Now she was grateful for the transportation. Without it, they would be on foot.

She peered over the steering wheel, trying to find her way. It was better by far than dwelling on the past. Past mistakes, past heartache, past lies.

But there was no escaping. She was driving into the past even as she called it a step toward the future. She shook the thought away and studied the landscape once more. Even in a tiny community like Randolph the vegetation changed. The tree line grew or was cut down. Flowers were planted, died, and bloomed once again. The turn was coming up, and she didn’t want to miss it.

“I thought you said we were almost there.” Brandon squinted through the bug-speckled windshield as Hannah veered to the left. A little farther on Topsy Road, then she would turn down the gravel road that led past the Gingerich drive. But she would have to watch carefully. After all this time, they had probably paved the lane through the Amish settlement.

Hannah eased the car down the lane, not allowing herself time to wonder what her mamm would think, her dat. Or the bishop. Gravel knocked against the bottom of the car. Going faster than twenty miles an hour was more than impossible. Driving slow gave her the extra minutes she needed to take it all in. It had been such a long time. Over fifteen years.

She spotted the fence before the road and the sign made of slats of siding, carefully hand-lettered to state that local honey, goat milk soap, jellies, jams, and storage sheds were available for sale. The weathered barbed wire stretched across the land, holding in goats and people alike. How could it be that after fifteen years the sign was still the same? The fence the same. The road still gravel. Nothing had changed.

And yet everything was different. Or maybe it was just her. She had been so glad to see the last of this place, with its run-down houses and dust that seemed to coat everything no matter how many times she swept and mopped. Theirs was one of the most conservative sects, not even allowing indoor plumbing or slow-moving triangles on the backs of their buggies.

She turned off the motor, then sighed. She knew everyone in the house had heard their arrival. The sound of an engine wasn’t the most uncommon sound in a Plain community, but at this time of day . . . It would only be a matter of seconds before someone peeked out the window, came out onto the front porch to make out the identity of their unexpected visitor.

The thought made her heart pound, her mouth dry, and her palms damp. What was she doing here? Just . . . what?

“Is this it?”

She nodded, unable to get a word past the lump in her throat. She could only imagine what it looked like through his eyes. She had grown up here; some of the best times of her life had happened right there on that front porch. But those were all wrapped up with the worst times. All the times she couldn’t understand the rules or the benefits in living such an austere life. All the times she had snuck out to meet Aaron.

Aaron. Now there was another memory altogether.

“It looks so . . .” For once Brandon seemed at a loss for words.

“I told you; they are very conservative.”

“Yeah.” He nodded slowly, but didn’t take his gaze from the house before him. Like most in the area, the house was white, plain, and covered with siding. The barns and outbuildings were protected with the same corrugated tin, though in a deep red. Only the orange dust that floated so freely about took the edge off the contrast.

Once again the truth of her situation slammed into her. How was she going to make it through?

Surely there was another way. She should be able to come up with some plan that would keep her from having to crawl back home on her hands and knees. The car’s engine gave one last knock, as if it had traveled its last mile. She’d had to crawl back almost literally. And there was no other course of action she could take. Mitch had seen to that.

But there were things she could have done. She should have written more. She could have waited for a response. She should have made certain that she and Brandon would be welcome instead of hoping against the odds that love would overcome objection, even after all the years that had passed. But just how did a person say, I have no place to go. I need to come home, can I stay? And what would she have done if they told her she wasn’t welcome?

“Let’s get this over with,” Brandon grumbled and opened his door.

Hannah didn’t bother to correct his attitude as she got out of the car and turned toward the house.

A plump, barefoot woman in a plain green dress and a gray apron stood on the porch holding open the door and staring at Hannah as if she had seen the Lord Himself come back. Her hair was covered by the traditional Amish prayer kapp, but what Hannah could see of it was gray. She didn’t remember it being that gray.

“Hannah?” The word was barely a hopeful whisper.

“It’s me, Mamm.” She took a couple of steps toward all the things she had left behind so many years ago.

This was the moment she had been dreading and anticipating. She took two more steps toward her mother, the house. Then she stopped, wrapped her fingers around Brandon’s arm, and steered him forward. She tried to convince herself she had done that to introduce him, but she needed him by her side. The one steady in her life right now.

She almost stumbled as her father came out onto the porch, settling his hat into place as he peered at her car.

“Abner,” her mother said, her clear voice still barely above a whisper. “It’s Hannah. Our Hannah has come home.”

Her father grunted once, then jumped off the porch and strode purposefully toward the barn. He disappeared readily into the shadows.

He didn’t even glance toward them as he walked past.

“Nice, Mom,” Brandon muttered under his breath.

But Hannah didn’t have time to comment before her mother rushed toward her and enveloped her in the loving arms she had missed so much. The familiar scents of vanilla, homemade soap, and honest sweat filled her senses and all else fled from her mind.

“Your letter said you were coming home, but I dared not hope.”

Tears stung Hannah’s eyes. The last few weeks, months, had almost been more than she could stand. Her legs went weak with the relief.

She had missed her mother more than anything else. But the Ordnung was clear about such matters. Hannah couldn’t live under Amish laws, so she had left, and in leaving she had sacrificed her contact with her family.

Mamm set her away, but retained the hold on her arms. “Look at you.” She brushed the hair back from Hannah’s brow. “So Englisch.”

She knew she looked nothing like the girl who had left. She had cut her chestnut-colored hair first thing and never let it grow past her shoulders. Mitch had liked it lighter than nature had determined, and Hannah had kept it heavily highlighted to appease him.

Not anymore.

Her clothes weren’t the fanciest she owned. She was accustomed to going around in top label pantsuits and designer heels. But when she packed her bags she grabbed her comfies from the back of the closet, those clothes she wore only when Mitch wasn’t around.

Mamm pulled her close for another quick squeeze, then turned toward her companion.

“This is Brandon,” she said. “Your grandson. Brandon, this is your grandmother.” How uncomfortable to introduce them after fifteen years.

The sting of her father’s rejection and the awkwardness of the evening subsided as her mother put her hands on Brandon’s shoulders. “Let me have a look at you. You’re the image of your mother, you know.”

To Brandon’s credit, he didn’t roll his eyes. He even let her pat his cheek and fuss over him a bit.

To her mother’s credit, she didn’t say a word about his long hair or the ring in his lip. But Hannah could see the questions she had about both.

“Hannah?” A hesitant voice sounded close by, and she turned her attention from the long-overdue interaction between her mother and her son to the young woman who approached. “You made it.”

“Gracie?” She couldn’t hold back the tears any longer as her cousin took her turn to greet her. Though Gracie had been only ten when Hannah and Leah had left their Amish home, Hannah would have known her anywhere. Same big blue eyes that seemed to swallow up her face, same sweet dimples and unassuming disposition. “Oh, Hannah! I’m so glad you’re home.”

“I’m glad too.” And she was. Glad to be home, glad to have her son at her side. If only her father were as happy. “Dat,” she said, glancing toward the barn.

Her mother wiped her eyes with the end of her apron and shook her head. “Give him time, Hannah Mae. Now come on in the house. I’ll get you something to eat.”

Hell. That was the only way to describe it. He’d fallen asleep in the car, and he woke up in hell. Dusty, run-down, and sad, but hell all the same.

Brandon rubbed his eyes once again, hoping that when he was good and awake things would look better, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen.

His mother didn’t talk about her childhood much. Not like his friends’ parents did. Now he understood why. Geez! How did people live like this?

“Are you coming?” Mom stopped, one foot on the first of the wooden steps that led to the weathered porch.

She couldn’t be serious, but she seemed to be. They were really going to stay here?

His new grandmother was standing in the doorway, the screen door open as she waited for his response.

Unbelievable.

Somehow he put his feet into motion and followed behind them.

The inside of the house was dim, only the dying sun from the windows giving light to the rooms. What he could see of it was clean and smelled like the pizzeria that was down the street from their apartment in the city. He figured that was bread or something else baking in the oven that had surely come straight out of the Clampetts’.

The whole place might be out of the history books, but it seemed okay enough. The scent of lemon detergent mixed with the yeasty aroma to form a blend that was both homey and welcoming.

But this isn’t your home.

Like he needed a reminder.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and eyed the room around him. Sparse and crowded were the first two words to enter his thoughts. And a far cry from their Nashville home. There was nothing on the walls, all the furniture looked to be made out of only wood, and there was no carpet on the floor.

But it’s clean and sort of inviting.

He pushed the voice away. He didn’t want to see any good in this move. His mother had told him that it was just a stopping point until they could get his father’s estate settled, but after seeing her hugging his grandmother, he was beginning to think otherwise.

People seemed to materialize from nowhere. The woman who had met them outside had followed them in. Now another girl not much older than him approached, her eyes sparkling.

They were all dressed the same, with funny little caps on their heads, dresses, and aprons. None of them had on shoes.

He couldn’t imagine his mother ever wearing such an outfit or going around barefoot, but if she had truly grown up here he supposed she must have.

He shoved his hands a bit deeper into his pockets and tried to make himself as small as possible. He was tired and angry and not ready to meet all these people. Couldn’t they put this off until tomorrow?

“Brandon, this is your aunt Tillie.”

Apparently not.

“Hi.” He gave a quick shrug. The woman looked a little like his mom, with the same color eyes. But her hair was darker, more of a coffee sort of brown, instead of the streaky reddish blond his mother faithfully kept up.

“Are you hungry?” his grandmother asked. He didn’t even know what to call her. Had he ever heard his mother actually say her name? He couldn’t remember.

Like he cared. All he wanted was to be out of here as quickly as possible. Yesterday.

Mom shook her head. “I’m fine. Brandon?”

He shrugged again without taking his hands from his pockets. “Whatever.”

His mother and grandmother stared at him as if he had just walked off an alien spaceship, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to be here, and he wasn’t about to pretend otherwise.

“Eunice? Who’s there?”

His grandmother looked back to Mom. “That’s Mammi.”

“I’ll go.” His mother glanced to him as if he should volunteer to go with her, but no way. He’d had enough of meeting people he never wanted to know for one day.

“Whatever,” he said again and flung himself down at the kitchen table.

“I have pie.”

He turned to look at his grandmother. His aunt hovered behind, along with the woman named Gracie. He heard the door open as someone else entered the small house. So weird to meet these people and find out that he was related to them though he had just now seen them for the first time. He was practically an adult!

“And cold milk.”

He shrugged one shoulder. Pie sounded awesome. But he didn’t want to appear excited. So lame. “Sure. Whatever.”

She gave him a questioning glance, then moved around the kitchen that looked as if it belonged in a museum exhibit. Tillie and Gracie slid into chairs across from him. They propped their chins on their hands and watched him like spectators at a baseball game while he pretended not to notice. Or to care. His grandmother puttered around, and before he knew it, she slid a piece of pie and a large glass of milk in front of him.

“Thanks.” He sat up straight and picked up the fork resting on the edge of the plate.

“Danki.” His grandmother smiled.

“What?” he asked around his bite of pie. Blackberry. Yum. But he wasn’t about to say too much. No sense letting everyone know they could get to him. Now, if it had been an apple pie . . . “Is that like Amish for you’re welcome?”

“It’s Dutch for thank you,” Tillie said.

He took a gulp of the milk. It tasted a little weird—not bad like it had turned or anything, just different. “Dutch?”

“Pennsylvania Dutch.” His grandmother gave a quick nod, then moved away as his mother came back into the room.

Weird. He thought they were German.

Mom sat in the chair next to him, releasing a sigh as she eased down. She looked beat, but he wasn’t about to show concern. She was the reason they were in this mess.

Brandon took another large bite of the pie. It was so good. Maybe even the best he had ever eaten, but he wasn’t saying that out loud. He didn’t want his mother getting any ideas about staying. Three weeks and he was out of here. That had been the agreement. Well, sort of. She had said they needed to move, that the house where they lived would have to be sold. Something about unknown debts and bills and an estate in probate, whatever that meant. He’d looked it up on the Internet, but it was boring adult stuff. He should have cared more about it since it somehow affected his life, but he couldn’t muster even the smallest interest in understanding it. He’d made up his mind. He was giving this whole thing three weeks—that was fair as far as he was concerned—but once that time was up, he was out.

Unless this was all some kind of joke and his mother would start laughing at any minute claiming that she had “got him.”

Yeah, that had to be it. Just a joke. A late April Fool’s prank. Never mind that it was August. His mother was never really good with that sort of thing.

“Once you finish your pie, we’ll get our bags from the car.”

Just his luck. She wasn’t kidding. This was no joke. His dad was gone, his home was up for sale, and he was stuck in Amish Land.

Perfect, he thought as he scooped up the last bite of pie. Just perfect.

Hannah stared up into the darkness where the ceiling should be. She had forgotten how dark it got out here once the sun was completely down, once everyone had gone to bed. There were no lights in the house to show the way, no streetlamps or security lights outside. Only the moon gave any reprieve from the darkness, but even its light couldn’t make its way into her room.

Above her, the roof creaked and moaned as the soft wind made its way under the corrugated tin to rattle around in the rafters. Not so long ago such a noise would have sent Brandon scurrying into her room wanting to know what all the strange noises were. But these days he was too big and tough to scurry anywhere, scared or not. Just when had her baby turned into such a . . . well, she didn’t have a word. Teenager was all she could say.

Once she had come out of the adjacent dawdihaus, her family had descended, her brothers, Jim and David, and Jim’s wife, Anna. David was a couple of years younger than Hannah and Leah, while Jim was a couple of years older. Both had joined their father’s business of building storage sheds for Amish and Englisch alike. Both had built houses on the adjacent land, though David had yet to find himself a bride. They seemed genuinely happy to see her, though her father stayed in the barn until after she and Brandon had retired to their room.

Across the darkness, Brandon snored softly as he slept. He had rolled his eyes at the thought of having to share a room with his mother, but Hannah explained as best she could. There was only one spare room. He either slept in one of the twin beds in the sewing room or on the hard couch in the living room.

Hannah rolled over and punched at her pillow. She had gotten accustomed to her memory foam pillow, but when it was time to go, some things had to be left behind. Her neck would be stiff in the morning, but it was just another of the adjustments they would have to make.

So many adjustments. And just like always, her thoughts circled around to Brandon once again. Mitch’s death had come as a shock to them both. Shocking to learn that he had died in an explosion aboard a yacht she hadn’t even known he had bought. Even more shocking was the fact that his twenty-two-year-old assistant was found dead alongside him. Then all of that was topped off with the debt he had racked up, the unpaid bills, loans, and mortgages. Now everything was wrapped up in the legal system. She couldn’t even pretend to understand it all. Her attorney assured her that things would settle down eventually. Everything she and Mitch owned together would be sold or auctioned off to pay the outstanding debts—the house, the cars, the apartment in the city. He all but promised that once everything had been liquidated, she would have enough to modestly start over. She could only hope. And pray. Though she wasn’t sure God was listening to her these days.

She sighed into the darkness. She hated the nights. That was when the thoughts crowded in and refused to let her sleep. During the day she could pretend that everything was just as she planned. That everything was going to be just fine. But at night it was a different matter. And here, in the home where she grew up . . . all the lies she told herself seemed even bigger, the obstacles that stood in her way greater than before.

She had no idea how long they would be here, or even how long they would be allowed to stay. Conservative Amish sects didn’t take to their members leaving, then casually coming back. And with an Englisch son in tow? She’d be lucky if they even had a week before they were forced out. Hopefully that would be enough time to come up with another plan, someplace to stay as she waited it out. The attorney had said this ordeal could take months. But she didn’t have that much time. She only had days to figure out what she could do. Days filled with family and reconnecting and more memories than she cared to think about.

“Time to get up.” Hannah gently shook her son’s shoulder, ignoring how young and innocent he still looked as he slept. Despite his long hair and that awful lip ring, he still was her baby.

She hated the lip ring, but it had been his rebellion against Mitch’s stern treatment of him. She had used reverse psychology, hoping that if she didn’t make a big deal out of it, he would grow bored with it and it would disappear. So far no luck, but she still held tight to her hope.

“Brandon.” She gently shook him again.

“Wut?” he muttered, not bothering to open his eyes.

Poor guy, he’d had a tough couple of days. If they had been home, she would have let him sleep in, but they weren’t at home. Now was the time to win her family’s favor, no matter how long they were staying.

“Time to get up.”

He rolled over and flung one arm over his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Time to get up,” she returned.

He pushed himself up in the bed and glanced out the window, rubbing his eyes as if he couldn’t trust them. “It’s still dark out.”

Welcome to Amish country. “Everyone around here gets up before the sun. Now come on and let’s get something to eat.”

He scratched at his chest through his shirt and mulled over her words. “Kay.” He pushed himself out of bed, still tousled, as he padded barefoot toward the door.

“Wait. You can’t go out there like that.” She pointed toward his plaid pajama pants and black shirt emblazoned with the name of his favorite rock band.

He looked down at himself, then back up to her. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“It’s different here. Just get dressed first, okay?”

For a moment she thought he might start an argument, but he grabbed his clothes and motioned for her to leave the room. “I would go to the bathroom to get ready, but wait . . . there isn’t a bathroom.”

She would give him that dispute. Living without Internet, cable, and electricity would be bad enough. But without indoor plumbing . . . ? She knew she was asking a lot. Yet what choice did they have? “Come to the table when you’re dressed and ready.”

“Fine,” he blustered, turning away as if she were already gone.

“And Brandon?” she started. “Come ready to pray.”

Pray? He scoffed as he pulled a clean T-shirt over his head. He had almost grabbed one with a skull on it, just to see what his conservative family mem. . .