Sisters of the Quilt Trilogy by Cindy Woodsmall

of the table and took a seat. Once the drink was in her father’s hand, her mother’s motions slowed, and she eased into a chair adjacent to his. The women sat in silence while he sipped his cool drink, the furrow never leaving his brow.
    The kerosene lamp sputtered, needing to be refilled. Even in the dim, wavering glow, her father looked weary. Another round of guilt assaulted Hannah. He, too, was getting behind because of the disruption she’d caused. Added to that, there was a stress in her home she’d never known before. She had no idea whether it was because of the new rules concerning the road and her younger siblings needing to be watched closely or because Hannah wasn’t pulling her load or because of hidden stress brought on by her mystery aunt. But the whole family seemed to be suffering under some unspoken, unbearable burden.
    Finally he placed the empty glass on the wooden table and removed his straw hat. “The bishop came by today when I was in the potato field. He was checking to see if we were doing all right.”
    Hannah’s breath caught in her chest. The flame of the lamp spit and dimmed, barely staying lit as the last of the fuel on the wick burned. Bishop Eli checking on a family usually meant he had concerns that someone in the family was moving toward needing a correction. That could mean her father would be questioned in depth by the church leaders. She always thought the bishop’s visits were nothing more than a spying mission, but her father considered them a worthy part of staying submissive and humble under a higher authority.
    Mamm leaned toward her husband. “Was denkscht?”
    Hannah also wondered what her father thought. They both waited on the head of the household to answer the burning question.
    “He wants to know why Hannah missed two church services and the work frolic and why she wasn’t in the field working with me.”
    A look of concern shrouded Mamm . “What did you say?”
    “I told him the truth. I said that Hannah’s behavior had nothing to do with rebellion and that all my children were obedient and respectful.”
    “Ya. Gut.” Her mother breathed a sigh of relief. The ticktock of the living room clock kept a steady rhythm through the quiet house as the three of them sat in silence.
    In spite of her upbringing, Hannah wanted to protest this game. Her father was always telling the truth and yet not. It was enough to drive her mad. Why couldn’t he tell the bishop that it was none of his concern what Hannah was or wasn’t doing with her time? She wasn’t a baptized member of the church. The bishop had only a certain amount of say over the young adults who hadn’t yet submitted to the Ordnung . So he used his power on the ones who had been baptized—the parents—knowing that few young people were willing to cause trouble for their Mamm or Daed , even if they disagreed with the views of the church on a particular matter.
    Mamm rose and pulled a full kerosene lamp out of the pantry. She set it on the table and lit it just as the other lamp went out.
    Her father folded his hands and rested them on the table. “I told him that if I had anything I thought needed sharing, I’d come to him right quick like. I just ain’t decided whether this unmentionable should be told or not. It’s not like there are rules concerning it. Still, I’m wonderin’ if it might be best to go ahead and tell him and let him decide what the right thing is.”
    Hannah stood. “ Daed , I think this needs to stay just with us three. You said so yourself the night I was … the night I came home.”
    His hand came down on the table hard. “Do not try to confuse me, Hannah. I am trying to do what’s right. Have you no sense of respect for my position or the bishop’s?”
    Her chest tightened, and her heartbeat seemed to speed up something horrible. Breathing became difficult, and she bolted outside.
    The cool night air brought no relief. She glanced toward the barn with its kerosene lights