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 blushed, but this time she didn’t look away.
“It’s really nice to meet you, Matthew. I’m going to be working here for a few days.”
“Working on what?”
Jacob glanced at Alton, who nodded once. “I’m going to build you a playhouse.”
* * *
Hannah heard the conversation going on around her, but she felt as if she’d fallen into the creek and her ears were clogged with water. She heard it all from a distance. Then Matthew smiled that smile that changed the shape of his eyes. It caused his cheeks to dimple. It was a simple thing that never failed to reach all the way into her heart.
And suddenly Hannah’s hearing worked just fine.
“A playhouse? For me?”
“For sure and certain.”
“How come?”
Jacob shrugged and waited for Alton to answer the child.
“Some nice people want you to have one.”
“Oh. Cool.”
“Dat, we can’t...”
“We most certainly can, Hannah. The charity foundation contacted me last week to make sure it was all right, and I said yes. I think it would be a fine thing for Matthew to have.”
“Will I be able to move around in a playhouse? Like, with my wheelchair?”
“You most certainly will,” Jacob assured him.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m positive.”
“Because it don’t always fit good. Not in cars or on merry-go-rounds. Sometimes not even in buggies and we have to tie it on the back.”
“Your chair will fit in your playhouse. I can promise you that.”
Matthew laughed and stabbed his biscuit with his fork, dipped it in a puddle of syrup he’d poured on his plate and stuffed the gooey mess into his mouth.
Hannah’s head was spinning. Surely it was a good and gracious thing that someone had commissioned a playhouse for Matthew, but would it be safe for him to play in one? What if he fell out of his chair? What if he rolled out of the playhouse?
How could her father agree to such a thing?
And why was it being built by Jacob Schrock? She hadn’t thought about him in years, certainly hadn’t expected to see him again. Why today of all days, when her heart was sore from dreaming of David? Why this morning?
“Can I help?” Matthew asked.
“Oh, no.” Hannah abandoned her future worries and focused on the problems at hand. “You’ll leave that to Jacob.”
“But, Mamm...”
“We can’t risk your getting hurt.”
“I’ll be super careful...”
“And you’d only be in Jacob’s way.”
Matthew stabbed another piece of biscuit and swirled it into the syrup, but he didn’t plop it in his mouth. Instead he stared at the food, worried his bottom lip and hunched up his shoulders. Her son’s bullheadedness had been quite useful during his initial recovery. When the doctors had said he probably couldn’t do a thing, Matthew had buckled down, concentrated and found a way. There were days, though, when she wondered why Gotte had given her such a strong-willed child.
Jacob had drunk half his coffee and accepted a plate of eggs and bacon, which he’d consumed rather quickly. Now he sat rubbing his hand up and down his jaw, his clean-shaven jaw. The right side—the unscarred side. Was the injury the reason he’d never married? Was he embarrassed about the scar? Did women avoid him? Not that it was her business, and she’d certainly never ask.
“I just wanted to help,” Matthew muttered.
“Now that you mention it, I could use an apprentice.”
“I could be a ’rentice.” Matthew nodded his head so hard his hair flopped forward into his eyes, reminding Hannah that she would need to cut it again soon.
“It’s hard work,” Jacob cautioned.
“I can work hard.”
“You sure?”
“Tell him, Mamm. Tell him how hard I work at the center.”
“You’d have to hand me nails, tools, that sort of thing.”
“I can do that!” Matthew was rocking in his chair now, and Hannah was wise enough to know the battle was lost.
“Only