Mennonites Don't Dance Read Online Free PDF Page A

them sneaking towards the henhouse first thing in the morning, pretending they were foxes. When they came back, Hazel would meet them at the door, ready to cook the eggs. Sunny-side-up for Jonah. Scrambled for herself and Katie.
    At first when Jonah woke up and couldn’t hear out of his left ear, he thought he must have left it plugged with the cotton wool he used to protect it against the noise of farm machinery. Probably it had been a good joke between Hazel and Katie, and they might even have made a little bet — who would have to peel the apples for Sunday’s pie — about how long it would take him to notice. He laughed at himself and wondered whether either of them thought it would be morning before he noticed his mistake.
    He couldn’t feel anything inside his ear, though. When he tried to peer into it using Hazel’s cosmetics mirrors, he saw nothing. Just a few more wiry hairs than he’d expected, and a rim of wax around the entrance to the canal. He had thought himself more meticulous.
    He covered his good ear with his hand and slammed a cabinet door. No, he wasn’t deaf. Not completely. It was like listening through a pillow. Jonah slammed the door again, expecting a change, for something to shake loose and sound to rush back in. But it was the same.
    In the kitchen, Jonah found Hazel busy over a pan of eggs, Katie colouring on his newspaper. The bacon grease crackled and spat, but sounded flat.
    â€œSunny side?” Hazel said.
    Jonah realized he was staring at her, and that she’d noticed. He was often given to long, appreciative looks — sometimes he still couldn’t believe she was his — but this was different. Seeing her dressed in last night’s rumpled pyjamas, her hair twisted into a careless knot, his mouth dried up and his breath became shallow. What would she do if something were to happen to him now? How would she survive out here, living next to his parents? Or would she leave with Katie and never think of him again?
    Jonah put his hand over his good ear as Hazel repeated her question, but all he heard was her muffled voice, with no words.
    â€œFine,” he said. He sat down at the table across from Katie and watched her darling face, the map of freckles sprayed across her nose.
    Katie looked up at her father, and when he gazed into her eyes, she giggled. “Daddy, don’t look at me like that,” she said.
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œLike you love me.”
    Jonah felt as though his chest had been caught in a fan belt.
    â€œI’m not supposed to love you?” he said, his voice becoming sharp.
    Katie knit her eyebrows together. “You’re funny today,” she said and looked back to the picture she was drawing.
    â€œMy newspapers aren’t for your colouring,” Jonah said. He snatched the paper from underneath her crayons, sending them flying. The one she’d been using left a mark on the table.
    â€œWhat’s gotten into you this morning?” Hazel said. She set a plate with two eggs, a heap of bacon, and toast in front of him.
    â€œNothing. I’d just like to read the paper before it becomes a colouring book.”
    Jonah lowered his head to look at his eggs and thought about how he and Hazel were spoiling Katie. He made up his mind right then to be more firm.
    As April became May and the last days of cold gave way to spring weather, Jonah convinced himself he was fine. No need to worry.
    He helped Hazel sweep out the front porch. It was Katie’s favourite place, where she had finally decided to crawl for the first time. She’d been determined to visit the row of Hazel’s colourful rubber boots lined up against the outside wall.
    In May, Hazel always moved her sewing into the porch. Katie was kept busy sorting buttons and helping unspool colourful bolts of fabric to become slipcovers and pillowcases and pleated bed skirts. At six years old Katie wasn’t