PROLOGUE
Hannah Speaks
Surely life should consist of more than work and endless
acres of dust and dirt? What's wrong with wantin' to know
things, to experience more than getting up every morning
with a long list of chores to do and only farm animals for
company? I was an unruly child, lonely, energetic and
fanciful beyond measure. Emalith, my Mama seemed to care
more about farming than anything else. She covered her wiry
body in shapeless garments of washed out gingham, while I
yearned to have pretty things, which she believed to be
vain and sinful. If vanity was a sin, it was just the
beginning of the many sins I would commit. Labor defined
our lives. Depending on the season, Mondays were washday,
Tuesdays ironin', Wednesdays mendin' and we did odd chores
on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. If hired help was
scarce, we tended to the horses, cattle, sheep and pigs
too. On Sundays we went to church.
Mama truly believed hard work was the path to heaven. I
wondered whether her Heaven was worth aspiring to. I envied
the birds bein' able to fly, the colorful flowers; daisies,
asters and primrose for their beauty, wishin' and wantin'
things I was told I wasn't meant to have or be. According
to my Mama, a body had to accept things the way they were
and to stop askin' questions. Problem was, I couldn't stop.
Often, by summer's end, when the flowers were dying and the
bees flying erratically, living fast and furious to make up
for their lack of time, I felt like they were the only ones
understood exactly how I was feelin', like time was runnin'
out and we had to hurry up and live before it might all be
over. I worried somethin' awful I'd be sucked dry, brittle
and hollow like the wheat stems lying in the field after
harvest. I didn't want to be left with nothin' but regrets
and tough work hardened hands like my mother, whose once
remarkably smooth skin was dry and parched as an old wagon
road. I wanted things, things I suspected existed yet I
didn't know where. And, I burned for freedoms I had yet to
feel, for something different, for change, for pleasures
yet to be. I learned too late perhaps that wantin' lots of
nice things is its' own kind of trap and true freedom comes
from letting go, not from holdin' on and from acceptance
and forgiveness but that's gettin' ahead of myself here.
Folks say I was pretty as an angel. I was no angel, but was
it so bad to listen to my heart, to want, need and dream?
In the telling of my story some might judge me harshly,
think I got my due. Times I was greedy, impulsive and a
willing partner in my own corruption, yet even now I don't
regret my choices, for they were mine and felt right at
that time. Still do considerin'. So why talk now? Because I
need you to know that every life whether lived well,
foolishly, or barely has a clear–cut purpose to it.
That it's better to live life true to oneself than to just
exist to be safe or comfortable.
Tragedies befall us. We don't always grasp the need for
hardship, pain, or suffering while we're livin', but it's
okay, all part of the BIG plan. And, I have learned from
life and death that there is a plan. That there are
unlimited beginnings, infinite, sad or happy endings. But,
most importantly, never endings. My name is Hannah and this
is my story.
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