Sample read - When Love Finds Hannah

Harold Whitmore sat at his mother’s kitchen table. One had only to see his face to see the look of dejection on it. No observer could miss it. Least of all his mother. With a sigh, she sat down at the table, opposite him. She pushed the freshly poured cup of tea his way.

She watched him stir in one, and then two lumps of sugar, while studying his twenty-seven-year-old face. Which right now looked much older. His black hair was uncombed, and there was a redness around his eyes.

“You didn’t sleep much last night, did you,” she remarked. “Did you see Margarite?”

“No,” he answered, shaking his head. “I’ve not spoken to her for a couple of days.”

“You’ve not been arguing, have you?” she asked.

“When are we not arguing?” he returned.

Just then a younger version of Harold stumbled into the room. He did not fall, in spite of the method of his entry. “Watch yourself, Zeke,” his mother scolded. “What do you want? You’ve had breakfast already.”

“I’m still hungry. Hullo, Harold. What are you doing here?” the younger Whitmore boy, age of fifteen asked, without waiting for an answer from his eldest brother.

“You can’t still be hungry,” his mother replied, with impatience in her voice. “Go outside and play. And get out of my hair awhile.”

“Oh Mum,” and with that, Zeke grabbed a biscuit from the plate on the table, and rushed back out the kitchen door.

“Nice seeing you too!” Harold said loudly, but the young one was out of hearing range by then.

“You were like that when you were his age,” she returned her attention to Harold. All of you boys were like that. Funny thing, your sisters were not. Don’t know why, but they just never seemed to grow their bodies faster than their age.”

“I was not!” he countered. “Never.” Then he broke into a laugh. “Perhaps I was. Just a bit. He’s as clumsy as an ox. I never was.”

“The boy is indeed growing too fast for his age,” she sighed, while looking in the direction from which he had come, and fled. “Billy will come along and be just like him. I’m sure of that.”

“I was that bad? Nope. Could not have been.”

“Just a little, you were,” she corrected him. “But you grew out of it, and so will he.

“So what brought you over this morning? Not that I’m not always glad to see my oldest boy. You know I am. But you’re not usually dropping by here so early in the day.

“What’s going on? You look a mess. Didn’t you even bother to comb your hair before you left your apartment?” Without effective improvement, he ran his fingers through his hair. It remained the same as before.

“How are things at the café?” she changed the focus of the questions without allowing an answer to her former questions.

“Restaurant, Mum,” he insisted on correcting her minor discrepancy between the two. His restaurant was above the class of a café, in his estimation. And he did not understand why his own mother failed to know the difference. “Things are fine there, but…”

“But what?” She knew that he had already been talking about quitting his job as head chef. And his plan to embark on something she just knew was a hairbrained scheme. Flying machines?

What did flying machines have to do with cooking, and being a chef? Or making a decent wage to support a new wife. If there was to be a new wife, that is.

“We’ve been over this time and time again, Mum. I’ve got to live my life while I’m young. I still have the chance to do what I want to do. Cooking will always be there should I change my mind.”

“I know and I somewhat understand, Harold, but…” she paused. “There are so many other things to consider. And people too, you know.”

“I’m not planning on being gone for the rest of my life.” He replied. “I’m not going to be gone more than a month. Two, at most.”

“And we fear for your safety. Are you sure those flying machines are safe? You know we pray for you kids every night. Your dad and I do. But that doesn’t give you leave to take careless risks.”

“Mum,” Harold replied with a sigh. “I do appreciate your concern, and by all means, your prayers. But this is not a dangerous adventure. Flying machines have been traveling in the air for a very long time. Before Grandpa’s days. Long before that, actually. They’re safe enough.”

“You know your dad and I just want what’s best for you. You’re an adult now, and what you choose in life is your life. But there are others to consider, you know.

“You mean Margarite, right?”

“Aye. What’s she thinking about your going away in some flying machine?

“She’s not exactly keen on it, of course,” he answered. “I’ll see her this evening at her folk’s house. They’ve invited me for supper. I don’t believe they’re too keen on me right now, I guess.”

“They were hoping… we all were hoping…”

The kitchen door banged again, and Zeke without a chance for his mother to stop him, stole another biscuit. “Zeke!” But he was gone before he even heard his name shouted. She shook her head, and turned her attention back to her eldest son.

Harold picked up the unfinished question. “Hoping we’d be married by now. I know.” That answer came with a tone of impatience in his voice. “I’m not ready yet. Neither is she.” That came with the unspoken, “don’t ask again.”

“I thought both of you were anxious to get married,” she said, with a puzzled look on her face. “Aren’t you?”

“Mum, I really don’t know what I want. That’s one of the reasons I’ve got to take this offer. Margarite and I have discussed marriage. But we have not even discussed a date. Not yet. I need to put the restaurant job aside for a while.”

“Someone has offered you a job on an airship?” she asked, surprise in her voice.

“Aye, he did. Listen to this.” He reached into the inside pocket of his waistcoat, and produced a blue envelope. Inside, also on blue paper, handwritten, he read the words aloud;

“Mr. Whitmore,

“Upon reviewing your application, and following our telephone interviews, I am pleased to offer you the position of Third Mate on the private airship Abigail for the voyage to Paris beginning on a date late in June of this year. The date of the launch is yet to be determined.

"I request that you be able to be at the launch site no later than the 15th day of June. This is necessary to ensure that your instructions are well understood for the duties you are being hired for…”

His mother interrupted his reading. “That’s just two weeks from today!”

“It ‘tis,” he replied. “I’ll tell Margarite this evening. She’s been expecting it. Now it’s a certain thing.”

His mother looked at him directly. “Tell me this, Harold. Be honest with me. Do you really want to marry Margarite?”

“Honestly, Mum,” he began. “I’m not sure. I think I love her, but… I really don’t know. I think this separation may be what I need to find out for myself.”

***

That evening he sat at the dining table with Margarite Bisset. With them, her father, her mother, and her only sibling, her younger sister Jane. This evening the table was uncharacteristically quiet. If anyone else felt the discomfort, Harold was not sure, but it was certain that he felt it.

The Bissets and the Whitmores had been friends, as well as neighbors for longer than either Harold or Margarite had been alive. Harold and Margarite had literally grown up together.

They had been the best of chums as children. They grew through their teen years as first, close friends, and now as young adults, they were sweethearts.

Someday they would marry. Everyone knew it. Nobody in either family, had through the growing up years, given it a second thought that it would be otherwise. Neither had anyone ever formally mentioned it, nor was the word ever spoken.

It was just an understood fact. The two were perfect for each other. They were made for each other, and thus it was certain that they would marry.

“Tell me about this flying position, Harold,” Mr. Bisset finally broke the silence after Harold had shared the contents of the letter with them.

“It’s not much, Sir,” Harold answered. “There are two pilots, and they need an extra crew member. And one who can cook. That was a plus for my wanting the position.”

“I see,” the older man returned. “What will your duties be? Besides cooking, that is.”

“I don’t rightly know. Exactly, that is. Just helping maintain the ship, and assist the pilots in any way I can. The primary duty for me will be in the galley.”

“Tell me about the ship. What do you know of it? Who’s going to be aboard besides those two pilots? And you.”

“It’s a private ship. Owned by a man named Lancaster. I believe he and his wife will be the only passengers aboard. The ship’s name is Abigail. Or so I was told. He’s a president, or owner of some large manufacturing enterprise in Topeka.”

“And doesn’t know what to do with his money, I’ll wager,” Mr. Bisset retorted.

“Oh Daddy, be nice,” Margarite spoke up.

“Well,” her father responded, “don’t you think Harold should know what he’s getting into before getting into it? Sorry, Harold. You know what I mean.”

“It’s fine, Sir,” Harold replied. “But there is some risk in any venture worth pursuing. If after I meet them, I don’t feel comfortable, I won’t take the position.”

“Good,” Mr. Bisset replied. “I just hope this will be enough to satisfy the wanderlust you’re feeling right now. I know it’s a thing with youth. I don’t fault you that. I simply want what’s best for my daughter. You do understand that. Right?”

“Sir, my intentions are the most honorable toward Margarite. She knows that. You do, Honey, don’t you?”

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I do. I wish we were married now, but I know you will come back to me after this voyage is over.”

“What’s with the name of the ship again?” Mr. Bisset asked. “Abigail, you said? Was it named after his wife?”

“No,” Harold answered. “Not his current wife. I was told it was a sweetheart of his who died. A fiancée, actually. She died before the ship was completed. It was named after her.”

Mr. Bisset looked at him, and his cheeks quivered as he struggled to stifle a laugh. “Now that is a strange one,” he began.

“He’s got a new wife, and together they’re going to be sailing on a ship which is named after an old sweetheart of his. What must his new wife think about that?”

“I don’t know, Sir. I really don’t,” Harold answered. His discomfort, and his irritation were both growing.

“Be nice, Daddy,” Margarite repeated.

The two of them spent the remainder of the evening sitting together on the swing which hung from the ceiling of the front porch of the house.

Margarite sat in a somber mood, saying little. Harold’s mind was on a world far away from the swing and the front porch. Even far away from the girl sitting beside him.

“Tell me truthfully,” she finally broke the silence. “Why are you taking this voyage?” she asked. “There is a reason. I can just feel it, and I know it has to do with us.”

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

“It just makes no sense. You had a good position at the restaurant. You made a good income, and your prospects were good. You could have in time, owned that restaurant. You and I could be planning our wedding right now. Instead, I have no idea where your mind and heart are.” A tear ran down her cheek.

He put his arm around her shoulder. Her coal black hair settled onto his shoulder. He enjoyed the feel of her warmth against him. Inside, he did not know how to answer her. Did he really want to be married? Especially, did he want to be married to her?

But why not? What was wrong with Margarite? Nothing was wrong with her, he told himself. She was pretty. She was beautiful, and he knew it. He felt good in her company. He felt comfortable. Yes, that was it. Comfortable was the best description. But was that enough?

He had had no other girlfriends but her. Likewise, she had never given another boy the least interest. She just seemed the natural one for him. Perhaps being married to her would be the best thing. But he had to be sure.

“Honey,” he began, squeezing her closer to him, “I won’t be gone long. The voyage is supposed to last no more than one month. Or no more than a week or two longer than that. We’re flying to Paris. I think it is a fortnight only that we’ll be there. Then home again.

“You know how much I love to read. I have read stories of such adventures. I know once I get a foothold into my career, and though it may be selfish of me to say so, once we’re married, my prospects for adventures such as this will be out of reach.”

“Don’t you think we would ever take trips and go on holiday after we’re married?” she asked.

“Aye. Of course,” he answered. “I see this as something different. When we are married and have children, we will take the usual two or three-week holiday trips. You know, like your parents take. And mine used to. But they haven’t in years.

“I’m not going to be gone forever,” he insisted, attempting to assure her. “I will return, and when I do, I promise we will settle down, and talk in earnest about our marriage plans. You want that. Right?”

“More than anything else, Darling,” she answered, a tremor of emotion in her voice.

Harold rode home on his steam cycle, his mind in a turmoil. Was he doing the right thing? His emotions were torn both ways. Perhaps he should cancel the acceptance of the crew position, and return to his chef position at the restaurant. Or…

No, that would not do. The yearning in his breast was too great. He had to go. Regardless of what might become of the voyage, or for that matter, of his commitment to Margarite, he knew that he would forever regret it if he did not do this thing for himself. And knowing that it was for himself, added a sense of guilt of its own.

Arriving at his apartment building, he garaged the bike and pulling his goggles off, he entered his own apartment. He pulled a cold bottle of soda from the icebox, and sitting at his small kitchen table, while drinking the cold drink, he re-read the letter.

He must be at the address indicated on the fifteenth. Mr. Gilbert Flanigan, who was the head pilot, and the author of the letter would meet him there. Several days of his time would be required to familiarize him with the workings of the airship, as well as the duties of his own position.

His accommodations, room and board would be provided him prior to the beginning of the voyage, as well as his meals. But he must bring sufficient personal clothing for the duration of the voyage, as well as any other necessities which he might require.

Chapter 1 - A Hard Decision

Hannah awakened to another day of duty in the hospital. When had she last had a day off? Two weeks now, on duty every day, with no day to herself. No day of rest, nor any time for herself. She was tired. Physically and mentally tired.

How many patients would she have to look after today?Yesterday, it had been seven.Three of those had been severely ill, and one had died before the end of the day.

An old man who she knew had lived a very long life. The only time he had been sick, so she had been told, was within the last week. And now with his first ever hospital stay, that was the end of life for him.

But she had to run from room to room, from bed to bed, fetching this, or fetching that. Taking temperatures, giving medicines, bringing trays with meals, and making beds after patients were up for the day. Or discharged from their stays, and now gone back to their homes. Back to their homes. Either cured, or simply waiting to die.

She arose from her bed, and from the sink in her room, she splashed water over her face to clear her eyes. Soon she would bathe, dress, and visit the canteen to break her fast. Then she would make the short walk from the nurses’ house to the hospital.

And it would be another day, today, which would be like the day before, and no doubt it would be like the day to follow. Nothing ever changed for Hannah.

For a few minutes, she sat before the dressing table, and looked at her image in the looking glass. Her auburn hair, which sometimes looked more like red, was uncombed, and in a mess about her head. Her green eyes, which she had been told were very pretty eyes, looked back at her from her dark-skinned face.

It’s not a bad looking face, she told herself. Or perhaps it was just a wishing that it was not a bad looking face. But was it really a pretty face? She did not think of herself as pretty.

But comparing her looks to those of other young women, many of whom were called pretty, or beautiful, she thought she looked as good as they did. So perhaps she was pretty.

Not that being pretty mattered. It would only matter if there was someone to like her face. Someone to like her looks. Someone to think she was pretty. Better yet, someone to actually tell her she was pretty.

What would it feel like to have someone, some young and handsome man, tell her she was pretty? She did not know, as no man had ever told her she was pretty. Here at twenty-three, no man had ever came calling on her. On second thought, maybe she was not pretty after all.

Upon entering the hospital, she discovered that today would not be a full working day for her. The listing sheet on the bulletin board in the hallway told her it would be only a half day for her. The schedule had her listed for only the morning hours. From noon on, she had the remainder of the day to herself. And tomorrow as well. It was a rare break for her, but she was glad for it.

She would return to her room in the nurses’ house after the noon hour, and rest for the remainder of the day. There was nothing else to do with her idle time.

First, she would stop by the library on her way back to her room. Two buildings away from the hospital was the city public library. She would find a book or two to read to pass the idleness of the time until duty called her back to the hospital.

And, the books helped her escape this reality. But first, now she remembered. Before the library, there was laundry to do. Her free afternoon would not be as long as she had hoped for.

In her private time, worlds far from her own were hers to journey to, to live in, and to find love in. There was always a tall gentleman in the story who pursued the beautiful lady. And the lady always yielded to his charms.

It could be her the gentleman in her imagination favored. And he would pursue her and he would love her. It could be her, the gentleman said was beautiful, and that he loved her.

Alas, it was all just dreaming for her. It was just a picture painted by words in a book. Perhaps one day a man, a gentleman, a tall gallant man, would come to her. And her life would change, and change forever.

Or, as in the books, perhaps a gentleman from some romantic land, somewhere far away. He would come and take her away. He would take her to his own land, and the two of them would live... It would be true. Happily ever after.

And she did, in her imagination fed from the books, live in worlds far from her own. Worlds outside of this island, and the Big City on the mainland.

Worlds she had never been to, nor was it likely that she ever would see those worlds. But the stories passed the time for her, and they offered her a good escape from the day-to-day life of a junior nurse.

***

“Your sister is here,” a voice behind her said. She had just left the library with a brace of thick, hard bound books cradled in her arm. “What have you got there, my Dear?”

Hannah turned to face her closest friend, Deborah. “Just some books to read in my off time,” she answered.

“More stories of love and romance? Are they?” Deborah teased her. But she loved her as well. And the teasing was just that, and no more.

The redness showed through Hannah’s caramel-coloured cheeks. “It’s not always about romance, you know,” Hannah replied defensively. “These are stories about adventures in far off places. Places you’ve never been to.”

“Nor you,” the other girl responded. “Do you really think you can ever go to such places?” Deborah turned serious, for she too held her desires and dreams, and neither of them held out hopes of ever actually living those dreams.

“You know those places they write about in books are not real. They’re just works of fiction. Those are not real places in the books. Just make-believe places.” Deborah was the ever encourager, and the realist who was good at putting the truth to dreams.

“Phoebe’s here?” Hannah returned to the original message.

“Aye, she’s in your room waiting for you.”

Upon opening the door to her room, Hannah saw her older sister standing before the one window, which overlooked the garden outside the two story, plain building which served as the living quarters for the unmarried nurses.

“What brings you here?” Hannah asked without greeting her sister. “I’ve not seen you in… how long has it been? Where have you been?”

Phoebe turned and rushed from the window to grab her younger sister in a tight embrace. “I’m so sorry, Hannah. I have been negligent, but I’ve been away. I’m back.”

“Where have you been?” Hannah asked releasing herself from her sister’s embrace. “Mother has been worried about you. She has not heard from you in six months. Where have you been?”

The two sisters, though only two years apart in age, had never been emotionally close. Growing up, they had never been close chums.

They were simply too different from each other in temperament. They had little held in common as to likes or interests. Now as adults, their differences were even greater, and they were further apart in every aspect of their individual lives.

Furthermore, they hardly looked like sisters. Hannah did acknowledge that Phoebe was very pretty, and probably more so than herself.

After all, men did seem to be attracted to her, with her blonde, long hair, and her large blue eyes. And her flesh was somewhat darker than Hannah’s own. A darker brown, but pure and free of any defect.

“I was up in Europe,” Phoebe answered.

“What were you doing there?”

“Just looking around.”

“Did you go by yourself?”

“Oh no. Two other women and I. We had a great time. There are some beautiful places there, you know. Really, Dear, there are places outside of this island. And even the city.”

“I know,” Hannah sighed. “Someday I would love to see something besides this cursed island. I hate it here.”

“You’ve been to the city though. That’s someplace else.”

“Aye. But it’s not really different. It’s all the same people. Us. Our people. It’s not someplace else.”

Her sister sat down on the chair before Hannah’s dressing table. She turned and looked at her image in the glass. She turned her head side to side, viewing the angles of her image.

And a look of approval crossed her face. “I know what you mean,” she answered. “It is the same as here.”

“Did you meet any attractive and interesting men there?” Hannah dared to ask the question.

“Of course, there are men there,” Phoebe answered. “You know there are many interesting and very attractive men there. They don’t look quite like us, you know. They are, at least mostly they are, pale of complexion. Not dark like we are. But they are handsome.”

“Did you find a husband there?” Hannah knew that her question was a jab at her sister, but somehow, she did not care.

The look on Phoebe’s face darkened. “No, dear Sister, I did not. I could have, you know. I could have had a host of suiters, but none of them would have been worth pursuing.”

“But you just said they are handsome and more. Whatever you would want in a man. Why would you say they are not worth pursuing? Or were you just afraid to try to win one? Or did you think you couldn’t win one?”

Her sister did not answer, but a cloud came over her face.

“I’m sorry, Sister.” Hannah now felt mean after her comment to her sister. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Let’s pay no mind,” Phoebe responded. “Here’s the reason for my visit. Mother wishes us to come to her house for supper tonight. I was at her house before coming here.”

“Did she say why? She’s not invited me all this year. I hardly hear from her. Ever.”

Phoebe shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t know. Perhaps because I’m here now, and we’re all together. Will you come?”

***

Hannah selected a new robe, which unlike the one she had just shed; this one did not have the blue embroidery trim around the neck, and the waist marking it the uniform of one of the nursing professions. Otherwise, just like the other one, this new one was white.

That was what everyone wore in Mantiba, as well as anywhere within the kingdom. And that included in the big city of Bethel itself.

Both men and women wore the similar looking toga like robe. Some with differences of trim of different colours, usually signifying the wearer to be a member of a particular trade, or even of a position in society.

On occasion, she had seen men wear something more resembling trousers. Baggy, and lose fitting around the legs. Those tended to be men of lower social and economic stature. Beggars, sometimes. Men desiring, or even deserving of social respect wore the robes.

Her robe bore no adornment. She did add a necklace of artificial gold. It looked real enough to the casual observer, but she knew, and she told no one otherwise. And she added earrings to match.

Her mother did not approve of jewelry, and now thinking to herself, perhaps she chose this adornment to spite her mother’s disapproval. And, she added a bright light shade of red lipstick to complete the statement.

Priscilla opened the door of her house to admit her younger daughter. Phoebe had already arrived. Hannah stood just outside the now opened door which her mother still stood in, looking hard at her daughter. Surely, the older woman was not pleased with what she saw.

“Trying to attract a man?” she asked, her voice cold.

“No, mother,” Hannah answered sheepishly. “Am I to be welcomed or not?”

“I’m sorry, Hannah,” the mood of her mother quickly softened, and so did the tone of her voice. “Come in, come in. It’s been so long. I’m just not used to seeing you looking… you know.”

Hannah did not know, and she chose to ignore the initial coldness. “Thank you for inviting me to supper, Mother. Inviting both of us. Phoebe too.”

Entering the small kitchen where her mother managed to make even of simple fare a feast, she sat at the table across from her sister. The look in her eyes to her sister asked the unvoiced question, “what is Mother doing?” The other one simply shrugged in return.

“It’s been so long. So long,” the older woman mumbled as she returned to the room bringing trays with just broiled fish and vegetables. “I’ve missed my girls so much. That I have.”

“Mother, if the missing has been so great, why no calling me for so long?” Hannah asked.

“True, it is,” her mother answered. “I have been remiss. It’s not too late to make amends, is it?”

Hannah looked at Phoebe, searching in her sister’s eyes for a clue to their mother’s meaning. She saw nothing. Or rather, Phoebe revealed nothing. Perhaps, like her, she knew nothing.

“Is it not permissible for a mother to want to see her daughters?” the older woman asked.

“Mother, what ails you?” Hannah asked.

“Nothing ails me. I am in perfect health. Of body and mind, you know.”

“Are you leaving the island?” Phoebe asked, guessing for an answer.

“We all are, eventually. You know that. Let’s eat and enjoy the gathering of family. Now don’t ask me any more questions.”

“So be it!” Phoebe exclaimed. Lifting the glass in her hand which had been filled from the whisky bottle in her mother’s closet. The bottle she was not supposed to know about. She put forth the mock toast. “To family gatherings.”

Midway through the meal, Priscilla looked at her oldest daughter. She stopped in mid bite and with eyes narrow, simply looked.

“Mother, what is it?” Phoebe asked, a little frightened by the strange behavior of her mother this evening.

“You know it is not right for the younger to marry before the elder.”

“What?” the elder daughter asked. “Is Hannah getting married?”

Hannah turned pale and swallowed hard. “Mother, what is the meaning of this?” she asked. “I’m not getting married. At least not anytime soon. Why would you say such a thing?”

“You will be. And soon.” Priscilla answered.

“Not so, Mother,” Hannah objected. “I don’t have a prospect of a man to marry me. I shall likely never marry. No man will think me pretty enough to want to marry me. I’m not pretty enough.”

“You are pretty enough,” her mother replied by way of a rebuff. “You will marry, and it will be soon. I know it, my daughter. I simply know it.” And turning to Phoebe again, “Oh the shame of it. The shame.”

She did not expect what happened next. Phoebe, of the strong, cold disposition, arose with suddenness, and without a word, bolted through the door, and was gone.

“Now look, Mother! Look what you’ve caused,” Hannah scolded. “The shame is not Phoebe’s. The shame is on him. He’s the one who left her on the threshold of the altar. The fault is not hers.”

“I did not say it was,” her mother countered. “I just said it’s a shame for the youngest to marry before the oldest. But let her be. Let her be. As it may be, I will say no more. You shall see I’m right. You shall see.”

“If a man tells Phoebe she’s not pretty enough for him,” Hannah argued, “and she is much prettier than I am, how will any man ever find me pretty enough to want to marry me?”

“Do you believe all men are like him?” her mother asked.

“Why, are they not?” Hannah retorted. “When last did a man tell me I am pretty? Or, when was the last time a man told you that you are pretty? Father has been gone a long time, and no man has come asking for your hand. And you are still very pretty.”

Priscilla did not answer Hannah’s questions. “You know, she could have a good husband,” she replied instead. “Many men would find her desirable as a wife. But she won’t entertain the thoughts of a husband after what he did to her.

“What man tells a woman, already in her bridal dress, that he cannot marry her because he has found someone else? Someone he thinks is prettier. Tell me. What manner of man does that?”

“I cannot tell that,” Hannah replied. “Now she will not trust any man. Why should I be different? Why should I give trust, as she is certainly prettier than I am? What man would select me as his wife? Tell me that, dear Mother.”

“I don’t know about that, Hannah,” her mother replied. “But something I do know. You will marry soon.”

“How can you know that, Mother, if I myself do not know it?”

“Your father loved me to his dying day. He did tell me I was beautiful. That’s more than pretty, you see. There are more men like your father than like him.”

Her mother rose from the table, and began carrying the now empty plates and dishware to the sink. Hannah beat her to the task, and soon the table was cleared, and cleaned. And no dish remained unwashed.

“Hannah, I don’t know how I know. Or why I should think it so. Something just tells me. Something inside. I hope and pray that I am not wrong.”

“Mother, no man has ever approached me with that kind of interest.” Hannah lamented. “The only men I see are doctors, and they are old. And the patients. They too, are mostly old. Or dying.”

“We shall see, Daughter. We shall see.”

Chapter 2 - An Invitation to Dine With Mother

And he had two wives; the name of the one was Hannah, and the name of the
other Peninnah: and Peninnah had children, but Hannah had no children.
(1 Samuel 1:2))

There is none holy as the Lord: for there is none beside thee: neither is there any rock like our God.
(1 Samuel 2:2)