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The mall. Lunch in a real restaurant. Hanna couldn’t believe it. She beamed at Mr. Foster. “Thank you.”
His smile disappeared and he regarded her with a thoughtful look. “Here. I want to try something.” His deep voice rumbled through her insides, making her feel shaky and unsettled and… achy between her thighs. Her face flushed. She didn’t understand the visceral reactions she kept having to Mr. Foster’s nearness and his deep voice.
Before she realized his intentions, he reached out to touch her kapp. She forgot how to breathe as he tried pulling it off. It didn’t budge. She restrained a nervous laugh.
“Mr. Foster, it’s pinned on tight. Would you like me to remove it?”
“Yes, Hanna.” He gulped, and a strange look entered his eyes. Excitement? “I want to see you,” he said.
The intensity of his gaze called to her heart and caused her hands to shake.
Why couldn’t she breathe? And why was her heart racing so?
Ignoring the trembling of her fingers, she took the pins out of the kapp, one by one, laying them on the countertop. Once the kapp was free, she pulled it off and sat it next to the pins. She stole a glance at Mr. Foster. He appeared confused, probably because her hair hadn’t fallen down about her shoulders after losing the kapp.
“More pins,” she explained, reaching up again to yank each one out. Next came the hairnet and additional pins underneath it. Fixing her hair under a kapp was her least favorite chore, and she looked forward to never doing it again. She would’ve disposed of it earlier if her hair wasn’t so long and unmanageable.
Finally, she shook out the bun and pulled the hair tie out. Cascading down to her lower back, her hair fell in waves. Outside, the wind chimes played their summer song louder, and the curtains at the open window above the sink ruffled in the breeze. Her tresses blew around her shoulders with the draft. As she stood there, a flash of wickedness took her by surprise, a longing for Mr. Foster to run his hands through her hair.
So improper.
Not for the first time, she wondered what was happening to her.
Everything inside her ached to be touched.
“I-I didn’t realize your hair was so long,” Mr. Foster said in a thicker-than-usual voice. His eyes, dark and intense, swept over her features. “It’s quite beautiful. You’re a beautiful girl, Hanna. Don’t ever forget that.”
No one had ever called her beautiful before, and she didn’t quite know how to receive the compliment. She’d grown up learning how to be plain and proper. How to never draw attention to herself. Taking her kapp off and letting her hair down in front of an English man was an act that would’ve been punished severely. Now it felt wonderful and freeing, even more so because she didn’t fear her daat’s fist or cruel words, or having to shamefully confess her sins in front of the bishops.
“It’s never been cut,” she said.
“Do you want to cut it?”
A choice. Mr. Foster was giving her another choice about her appearance.
Careful to hide her giddiness, she nodded. “Yes. I couldn’t bear to wear it down when it’s this long, but I don’t want to put the kapp back on.”
“We’ll get you a haircut tomorrow too. Maybe we’ll spend the whole day in town. I need supplies for the garden and some other odds and ends.”
Hanna agreed, then she set about finishing lunch and soon had the bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches Mr. Foster had requested ready.
She joined him at the table and couldn’t stop thinking about tomorrow’s trip to town.
During most of her previous trips to town, she hadn’t been allowed out of the buggy. In fact, she’d only been inside the Dollar General and a quilting shop a few times. After Abram and Jacob had joined the church, her father no longer paid any mind to their travels to town. She’d envied their freedom, and she was jealous her rumspringha had been restricted to nothing more than a few buggy rides with young Amish men to church or a game of volleyball with others her age. She suspected her daat was extra strict with her since she’d been indecisive the first time he’d asked if she was ready to join the church, shortly before her seventeenth birthday. He’d likely thought shielding her from the English ways would prevent her from leaving. Instead, she’d grown more curious over the years. More isolated within her tightknit community. Lonelier. More determined.
“Hanna, we need to discuss the trip to town,” Mr. Foster said once he finished his lunch.
“All right.”
“I get odd looks when I go to town. People think I’m strange because I live out here by myself, and most everyone thinks I’m some kind of crazy survivalist with a bunker, just waiting for the government to come take my guns away.”
Half of what Mr. Foster said didn’t make sense. She strived to understand his meaning, but her thoughts grew fuzzy. “A crazy survivalist? What do you mean?” Guns terrified her and she hoped he didn’t own one, but fear kept her from asking.
“A weirdo,” he said. “A man who has secrets. A man who has mental problems.” He tapped at his head.
“I’m afraid I still don’t understand.”
“They don’t like me because I’m different.”
