Hannah's Courtship

Taking a flashlight from the nightstand, she switched it on. Nothing. Not even a faint glow. The batteries were dead. Again. Hannah sighed, guessing that Susanna had been playing with it.

The propane lamp was attached to the wall, so she took an old-fashioned kerosene lantern from the top of a dresser, lit it and, holding it high, padded into the hall. Quietly, feeling silly, she opened first one door and then the next. There was nothing out of place in the spare bedroom across from hers. No one in the downstairs bathroom. Green eyes peered back at Hannah from the settee in the parlor, and her heart skipped a beat.

Meow!

“Oscar.” She let out the breath she’d been unconsciously holding. “Sorry.” The glowing green orbs blinked and the tomcat flattened his single remaining ear against his gray head and flicked his long tail back and forth, obviously annoyed at being disturbed when he was on duty.

The landing at the bottom of the main staircase was still, every item in place, the wood gleaming and free of dust. And no wonder, Susanna, the same careless daughter who’d used up the flashlight batteries, had spent all afternoon waxing the floor and furniture, polishing the oak balusters and steps, and sweeping away cobwebs.

A smile curved Hannah’s lips. Dear, precious Susanna, born with Down syndrome. Twenty-one and forever a child. Whatever Susanna did, she threw her whole heart and soul into it. That daughter, at least, would remain home with her. In spite of the challenges of mothering a special child, Hannah had always thought of Susanna as God’s gift, much more of a blessing than a worry.

The kitchen, warm and cozy from the fire in the woodstove, was as tidy as Hannah had left it when she’d gone up to bed at nine. Irwin’s shoes stood on the steps that led to the back stairway. Hannah opened the door to the staircase and smiled again. From the second floor came the loud, regular buzz of Irwin’s snoring. Hannah held the lantern up higher and called softly. “Jeremiah!”

She heard the patter of small feet, and the face of a scruffy terrier appeared at the top of the stairs. “It’s all right, Jeremiah,” she said, closing the door. If Jeremiah was on guard, no one had come unbidden into the house. She checked the back door, found it locked and retraced her steps to the front room. She’d found nothing to cause her concern, but she still wasn’t satisfied.

I’m being ridiculous. “I should just go back to bed,” she said, her voice louder than she intended. But she wouldn’t be able to sleep until she’d fully investigated the house. She started up to the second floor where Rebecca and Susanna slept. Susanna’s room first. Empty, as expected. Susanna had wanted her own bedroom because, in her own words, she was a woman grown. But, usually, she grew lonely at night and crawled into her sister’s bed.

The bathroom door stood open, the interior dark. The unused bedrooms presented a wall of closed doors, all latched from the hall side. No problem there. There was only Rebecca’s chamber left, where Hannah expected to find both of her girls fast asleep. It was a shame, really, to disturb them by opening the door and shining lamplight into their eyes. She did it anyway.

“Mam?” Rebecca stirred and raised a hand to shield her eyes. “What time is it? Did I oversleep?”

Hannah stepped into the room. Rebecca was alone in the four-poster bed. No Susanna. “Where’s your sister?” she asked, trying to keep the alarm out of her voice. “Where’s Susanna?”

“In her bed, I suppose.” Rebecca rubbed her eyes with the backs of her hands. “She never came in. I thought—”

“Are you sure?” Hannah raised the lamp to see into the far corners of the room. “She’s not in her room.”

“Downstairs, maybe? Sometimes she gets hungry and—”

“Not in the bathroom. Not in the kitchen.” Hannah suppressed a shiver. “She’s not anywhere in the house.”

Rebecca scrambled out of bed and found her robe. “I don’t think she’d go outside. She’s afraid of the dark. She’s got to be here. Remember the time we thought she was lost and we found her asleep in the pantry?”

Hannah grimaced. “She was eight years old, and she was only missing for a little while. I went to bed at nine. I don’t know how long she’s—”

“We’ll find her.” Rebecca pulled on a pair of black wool stockings and took her sneakers out of a chifforobe. “You check the house again. I’ll look in the yard and barns.” She turned on a high-powered flashlight. Hannah was glad to know that Rebecca’s still had batteries.

Another search of the house, including the rooms over the kitchen, where Irwin slept, proved futile. Anxiously, Hannah stepped out onto the back porch. Rebecca, identified by the bobbing flashlight beam, was just coming out of the barn. “Is she there?” Hannah called.

“Ne.” Not Rebecca’s normal tone. Her voice was flat.

Hannah’s fear flared. Rebecca might not have found Susanna, but she’d discovered something she didn’t like. “What is it?” Hannah demanded, coming down the steps to the back walk. She hurried to the gate, gripping the gatepost to keep her balance. “What’s out there?”

“It’s what’s not there, Mam. The pony’s gone. And Dat’s courting buggy.”

Hannah stared at her. It was too dark to make out the expression on Rebecca’s face, but what she could make out from her tone confirmed Hannah’s alarm. Sensible Rebecca was as frightened as she was. “Susanna took the pony and cart,” Hannah said.

Rebecca gripped her mother’s arm. “Where would she go in the middle of the night?”

Hannah didn’t have to think twice. “David’s.”

David King, the only other person with Downs syndrome Susanna had ever met, was the apple of her eye. For months, Susanna had insisted that she loved King David, as she called him, and that she was going to marry him.

The Kings didn’t live far away, only a quarter of a mile from the end of the lane and to the right, on the opposite side of the county road. But Susanna wasn’t allowed to leave the farm alone, and she’d never driven a horse and buggy. Hannah hadn’t thought that Susanna could even hitch the pony to the cart. And to be out at night, going down a road that carried trucks and cars? Hannah shuddered, and prayed that God would watch over her.

“We’ll find her,” Rebecca said. “She’s fine. I’m sure of it. We haven’t heard any ambulances. You know how the dogs bark when a siren goes off. Wherever she is, Susanna is fine.”

“She won’t be when I catch up with her,” Hannah pronounced. Of all of her girls, Susanna was the last one that she had ever suspected would sneak out at night to see a boy. Johanna, maybe Miriam, or even Leah, but not Susanna. Susanna was an obedient daughter who always followed the rules. It had never been her youngest daughter that had given Hannah her few gray hairs...until now.

“Do you want me to hitch up Blackie?” Rebecca asked. “I’m not dressed, but—”

Hannah set her jaw. “I’m going to walk to the King’s house.”

“In your bathrobe?”

“We have to find her.” Hannah tightened the tie on her robe. “Every minute counts, and I trust the Lord will forgive me for my state of undress. Give me your flashlight.”

“I should go with you.”

“No, you stay here,” Hannah told her, taking the flashlight. “Just in case she comes back and I miss her.”

“I’ll light the lamps in the kitchen.” Rebecca went one way. Hannah another.

The dirt farm lane was a long one, and usually Hannah was grateful that her late husband had picked a place where the house was set far back off the road. Tonight, however, she wished it were a shorter driveway. Oh, Jonas, she thought. Why aren’t you here with me? In the five years since a sudden heart attack had taken him from her, she often wished he was still here by her side, but never more so than tonight. She wasn’t a weepy woman, but if she had been, she’d be inclined to sit down in the dirt and have a good cry.

She walked quickly, not bothering to call Susanna’s name. If she was coming up this lane, with or without the pony and cart, Hannah would have heard her. Instead, all she heard was the far-off wail of a freight train and the high chirping and deep bass croaks of early spring frogs.

The lights of a car whizzed past Hannah’s mailbox. Not far now. The Kings’ farm was dark. As with all the Old Order Amish in their community, David’s parents didn’t have electricity. Hannah had been hoping for the gleam of a kerosene lamp through an uncurtained window, but not a single glimmer showed.

Hannah’s anxiety increased with every step. “Susanna,” she murmured. “Where are you?” If she wasn’t at the Kings’ house and she wasn’t on the road between here and there, Hannah would have to wake her sons-in-law and maybe send Irwin to the chair shop to use the business phone. Calling the English authorities wasn’t a decision to be taken lightly. If an eight-year-old Amish child had been missing at night, it would be considered acceptable. Though Susanna might technically be twenty-one, her maturity level was closer to that of a second-grader.

At the end of the lane, a grove of cedar trees blocked her line of vision on the right. There was no moon tonight, and even with the flashlight, it was difficult to see. Hannah had just turned onto the shoulder of the road when she saw a bobbling light a few hundred feet away. “Susanna?” she called. No answer. Hannah called again. “Susanna!” Please, God, she prayed silently. Let it be her. Let her be safe.

Whoever it was, they were coming slowly, and Hannah couldn’t hear hoof beats or the grate of buggy wheels on the pavement. She hurried toward the light. “Susanna?”

“Mam?”

Relief jolted through Hannah with a physical impact. She broke into a run. “Susanna, are you all right?”

“She’s fine!” came a reply in a deep male voice.

“I’m fine.”

That was Susanna’s voice, but who was with her? Hannah stopped short and aimed the flashlight toward the approaching group: Susanna, short and round, bouncing along in her flat-footed, side-to-side stride and a larger, lumbering figure behind her.

A pickup truck approached, slowed and passed. In the glow of the headlight, Hannah saw a third person, a tall Englisher in a baseball cap leading Hannah’s black-and-white pony. No, she decided, not just any Englisher. She recognized that voice. “Albert Hartman? Is that you?” She started toward them again, not running this time, but walking fast.

In another moment, she had her arms around a sobbing Susanna. Her daughter was trying to tell her something, but she quickly dissolved into hysterics. Because Susanna’s speech was never clear to begin with, Hannah had trouble understanding what her daughter was trying to tell her.