Chapter 4
A New Beginning
Daniel Hostetler tightened the final strap securing his small trunk to the back of the buggy before glancing toward the Peachy farmhouse. Late afternoon sunlight spilled golden light across the fields surrounding the property, softening the weathered fences and rows of freshly planted crops.
The farm looked tired, not neglected. As if there just hadn’t been enough hours in a day to do what needed to be done. He guided the horse slowly up the lane. The wheels creaked over uneven ground until he finally stopped beside the barn.
Before he could climb down, the front door opened. Hannah stepped onto the porch, smoothing her hands nervously against her apron before folding them together. For a brief moment neither of them spoke.
“Hullo Hannah,” Daniel greeted quietly as he climbed down from the buggy, tilting his hat slightly.
“Hullo Daniel.” Hannah’s voice remained polite, though there was tension tucked carefully beneath it. “The bishop said you’d be coming this afternoon.”
Daniel nodded. “I hope the arrangement still suits you.”
“It’s practical,” Hannah answered without revealing any emotions at all.
Daniel found himself studying her before he could stop himself. Hannah had changed. The girl he remembered had become a woman somewhere during the years he’d been gone.
Her features had softened with age, though exhaustion lingered faintly beneath her eyes in a way that tightened something unexpectedly painful inside his chest. And yet she was prettier now than she had been at seventeen because life had shaped her into something steady and quietly strong.
“You’ll stay in the dawdi haus,” Hannah continued, stepping off the porch. “It’s small, but it should suit your needs.”
Daniel reached for his trunk. “It’ll suit me just fine.” She led him silently across the yard.
The spring breeze tugged loose strands of brown hair free from beneath her kapp, though Hannah seemed entirely unaware of it. Her pace remained brisk and purposeful, as though slowing down might allow too much space for awkwardness to settle between them.
The dawdi haus sat slightly behind the main farmhouse beneath two large maple trees. Age showed clearly in the sagging porch steps and peeling white paint near the shutters. Still, to Daniel, it looked more welcoming than anywhere he’d stayed in years.
Hannah pushed open the door. “It’s simple,” she said quickly. “It needs repairs, but you have fresh linens on the bed, and Lydia cleaned what she could.”
Daniel stepped inside slowly. The small space smelled faintly of soap and old wood. Sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, illuminating the modest kitchen area, narrow sitting room, and small bedroom tucked toward the back.
“It’s more than enough,” he said honestly. Hannah nodded once.
“There’s water from the pump out back; the woodstove in the kitchen should work. Supper is at six. Breakfast before sunrise.” Her voice shifted into practical familiarity now, settling more comfortably into instruction than conversation. “Chores start after breakfast.”
Daniel almost smiled. Some things about Hannah Peachy clearly hadn’t changed.
“You’ve organized everything.”
A flicker of embarrassment crossed her face before she looked away. “Organization keeps things manageable.”
Daniel set his trunk beside the wall. “The bishop mentioned repairs on the dawdi haus?”
“The roof leaks during heavy storms.” Hannah gestured toward one corner. “The porch steps need replacing too.”
Daniel nodded automatically, already assessing measurements in his mind.
“And the farm?” he asked carefully.
For the first time, real weariness slipped through her carefully composed expression.
“There’s always something needing done, fields to plow, to harvest, fences that need mending.”
Before he could respond, voices drifted across the fields.
“Hannah! Lydia dropped half the onions!” Miriam’s voice called out, cutting through the thin air.
“I did not!” Lydia cried out.
Daniel heard Hannah sigh softly beneath her breath. Then, unexpectedly, the corner of her mouth twitched. The expression transformed her entirely as warmth flickered briefly through the exhaustion. “You’ll get used to it.”
“They’ve grown,” Daniel observed quietly.
Hannah nodded. “Too quickly.”
Something about the way she said it made Daniel wonder how much of their growing up she had missed while trying to become everything they needed her to be.
Miriam appeared moments later, carrying a basket overflowing with onions, while Lydia followed behind, looking mildly offended.
Both girls stopped abruptly when they noticed Daniel standing near the doorway.
“Well,” Miriam said first, adjusting the basket against her hip, “you actually exist.”
“Miriam,” Hannah warned.
“What? It sounded too gut to be true when the bishop came over this morning.”
Daniel chuckled softly despite Hannah’s visible mortification.
Lydia stepped forward more cautiously. “Hullo.”
“Lydia? It’s nice to meet you.”
Miriam eyed the dawdi haus critically. “You’ll probably want to fix the porch before you fall through it.”
“Miriam.” Hannah sighed, shaking her head.
“The chicken coop’s worse,” Lydia added helpfully. “And the fence by the pasture.”
“The barn roof leaks too,” Miriam continued. “And Hannah refuses to admit she needs help.”
“Hannah,” Lydia added more quietly, “doesn’t really stop working.” Color crept faintly into Hannah’s cheeks.
Daniel noticed she didn’t deny any of it.
“Enough, let him settle in. We’ll see you for supper at six. Schweschders, kumm,” Hannah hurried her sisters along, although she remained standing, as if there was something more she wanted to say.
Daniel watched them disappear back toward the farmhouse before turning toward Hannah again. “They care about you.”
The simple observation seemed to catch her off guard. For a moment, something softer crossed her expression. Then the walls returned.
“They’re my responsibility,” Hannah said firmly, as if establishing that he was only here for the farm. Not to help her care for her sisters.
“I’ll stay out of the way as much as possible,” Daniel said gently.
Hannah finally looked at him fully then, uncertainty flickering briefly in her eyes.
“I’m not worried about you being in the way.” The honesty slipped out so quietly Daniel almost missed it.
Before he could respond, Hannah stepped back. “Supper’s at six,” she repeated softly before turning away.
Daniel remained standing in the doorway of the dawdi haus long after she disappeared into the farmhouse.
The late afternoon breeze stirred through the maple trees overhead while distant laughter drifted faintly from the farmhouse kitchen.
For the first time in years, the ache of not belonging eased slightly inside his chest. And for reasons he still didn’t fully understand, returning home felt less like starting over… and more like perhaps the Lord had guided him exactly where he needed to be.