An Amish Homecoming

by Amy Clipston

  “Hi, Barbara,” a tiny voice said before the little girl eased away, looked up at her, and smiled. “Mommy said I could call you that, but I don’t think it’s good manners to call a grown-up by their first name. I’m going to call you Mammi, if that’s okay.”

  Barbara brought two fingers to her trembling lips and nodded. A small piece of that wall around her heart chipped loose without warning, allowing a sliver of love to slip out like a traitor latching onto something unknown before: the love of a grandchild.

  Barbara forced herself to look at Sarah. Her daughter’s eyes were watery, and tiny lines feathered from their corners. Sarah was only twenty-three. What had her daughter been through over the past six years? Sarah’s eyes relayed all the fear Barbara felt in her heart.

  Another chunk of the wall broke away, but Barbara didn’t know what to do with the love that was escaping and filling her up in a way only God could do. But still, her heart needed protection.

  “Excuse me.” Barbara covered her mouth with her hand, turned, and left them standing barely over the threshold. She closed her bedroom door, sat on the bed, and wept. God, help me. I can’t take any more heartbreak. Sarah had already said they would be staying only long enough for her to get a job and save some money. Then Barbara’s daughter would leave again, taking her grandchild away as well.

  She could hear John in the living room making excuses for her. “She’s been nervous, and I think it’s just going to take some time, and . . .”

  Barbara didn’t listen to the rest. She took a deep breath, dried her tears, and squeezed her eyes closed, mentally repairing the wall, until she felt it was sturdy enough to contain her emotions. Then she raised her chin and went back to the living room.

  CHAPTER 2

  Her mother’s abrupt exit didn’t last long, and when she returned, she motioned for everyone to follow her into the kitchen, saying supper was ready. She hadn’t embraced Sarah the way her father had, and she’d avoided looking at her as much as possible, but Sarah caught her sneaking peeks at Miriam. Her daughter had been a jabber box since they arrived, mostly asking Sarah’s father questions like, “Where is the TV? How long before I can ride in a buggy? Why is your beard so long—are you secretly Santa Claus? Does everyone dress the way you and Mammi do?”

  John Zook fielded these questions in the same calm manner Sarah remembered. He was a man who rarely got upset, and Sarah hated herself for what she must have put him through. It was her mother who was the problem back then, and apparently not much had changed. Everything must be done by the rules, according to her mother’s way of interpretation. Sarah couldn’t imagine what her wrath would have been like six years ago if she’d known Sarah was pregnant. Sarah hadn’t stuck around to find out.

  “It’s nothing fancy.” Sarah’s mother set a pot of roast in the middle of the table, the same large yellow pot that had cooked many a roast in Sarah’s past. There were carrots and potatoes all around the meat, and the aroma filled her senses with memories and regrets all comingled into an emotional whirlwind.

  As she glanced around the table, she made note that not much had changed at mealtime either. Jams and jellies were laid out, a tray was filled with pickles and olives, another dish held chow-chow, and a freshly baked loaf of bread was in a basket. Cooking was one thing Sarah couldn’t fault her mother for. Everything she prepared was exceptional. Sarah had learned to cook from her mother, but her work schedule often prevented her from making the family recipes she’d grown up with. And the few times she had made some of her mother’s recipes, they brought back too many memories, both good and bad.

  “It looks great, Mamm.” It was the only thing she’d ever called her mother, but when she spun around and narrowed her eyebrows at Sarah, Sarah made a mental note not to call her by the once appreciated endearment again.

  Sarah was planning to get a job, save some money, and get back to Houston as soon as possible. She would face and conquer the things she could, and she’d try to make amends with those she’d hurt. But it didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that her mother wouldn’t be on board the ship of redemption, no matter where it sailed.

  Sarah had hoped things would be different. She wanted to reconcile, but her mother wasn’t going to make it easy, which seemed unfair to Sarah. Barbara had played a role in all of this too. Maybe if she hadn’t always been so hard on Sarah, she could have reached out to her mother for help, instead of fleeing because she was terrified.

  After Sarah’s mother filled tea glasses for everyone but Miriam, she took a jug of milk from the refrigerator and poured a glass. Sarah hadn’t been allowed to have tea until she was twelve years old. Milk for growing children, her mother always said. But now, as a mother herself, Sarah didn’t see that as such a bad thing.

  “We bow our heads to pray silently,” Barbara said to Miriam.

  “So do we.” Miriam placed her palms together, closed her eyes, and lowered her chin to her chest.

  Barbara’s jaw dropped a little.

  “I left here, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t take my faith with me.” Sarah regretted the remark and defensive tone immediately when her father sent a warning scowl her way. He was right. This was no longer Sarah’s home. She was a guest now. And she didn’t want to show disrespect to her parents in front of Miriam. “I’m sorry,” she said, then lowered her head.

  After the blessing, Miriam reached for her glass of milk and took several big swallows before spewing it all over the roast. “Mommy! What is that?”

  Sarah stared at the pot roast now dotted with white spots. “Uh, it’s milk, but straight from the cow.” She leaned across the table a little. “We don’t spit out food or drinks at the table, or ever. Is that clear?”

  Miriam crinkled her nose. “It didn’t taste like milk.”

  Sarah glanced at her father, who grinned. “I like roast with a side of milk on top.” He carved himself a big slice and transferred it to his plate, along with some potatoes and carrots.

  Sarah’s mamm—or Barbara, as she would be calling her from now on—pushed back her chair, surely appalled at Miriam’s behavior. Sarah sighed before getting herself some milk-splattered meat and vegetables.

  “Do you like chocolate?” Barbara asked Miriam as she held out a bottle of Hershey’s syrup. Wow, that’s new. Sarah had never seen her mother with much of anything store-bought, and certainly not chocolate syrup. She tried to picture herself at Miriam’s age, spewing milk all over a lovingly prepared meal. She didn’t think her mother would have shown such grace the way she just had with Miriam.

  Miriam sat taller and smiled. “Yes, ma’am. I like it very much.” Barbara squirted a generous amount in the milk, stirred it, then smiled a little as Miriam took a cautious drink, then smiled too. “Yummy. Thank you.”

  Barbara sat back down, a smug expression on her face. At least she wasn’t frowning or scowling. Probably judging Sarah’s parenting skills, but she would live with that for now.

  “We want to hear all about your life, and praise Gott that you and Miriam stayed out of harm’s way during the hurricane.” Daed—who would remain Daed in Sarah’s mind—was as genuine a man as ever lived. A kind and gentle soul. He was still head of the household, as all Amish believed men to be, but he never ruled with an iron fist. He didn’t need to. Sarah had always respected him enough to abide by his rules. Only Barbara’s rules had ever been questionable, like the time she made Sarah go out with Jonathan Lapp because she was good friends with his mother. Even though Barbara knew how much Sarah liked Abram.

  Sarah became lost in memories as she recalled her time with Abram. He was the person she’d likely hurt the most six years ago. Sarah needed to see him, to try to explain, but she wanted to wait a few days. She needed to plan her words carefully.

  “Well, when I first got to Houston, I—” Sarah began in response to her father’s inquiry.

  “How did you even get to Houston?” After the interruption, Barbara stared at Sarah.

  “I hired a dri
ver to take me to Veronica’s. I had enough babysitting money to take a bus to Houston and rent a small apartment over an older couple’s garage for the first month. After that, I cleaned house for the woman, and she got me jobs cleaning some of her friends’ houses. After Miriam was born, she became like a . . .” Sarah swallowed hard and decided not to go that route since her mother’s eyes reflected an emotion Sarah couldn’t quite define. “Anyway, then I got a job working as a legal secretary.” She forced a smile.

  “How were you able to do that with only an eighth-grade education?” Barbara took a bite of bread but kept her eyes on Sarah. The Amish only went to school through eighth grade, a rule Sarah hadn’t liked but had abided by when she still lived here.

  “If I’d had the money, I would have furthered my education, but instead, I worked hard, and I had a great boss who took me under her wing.” She glanced at Miriam, who was slathering way too much butter on her bread, but one thing motherhood had taught Sarah was that children hear everything, even when you don’t think they are paying attention. Sarah didn’t want to finish the sentence by saying she couldn’t further her education because things like diapers, formula, and daycare ate up every bit of money she made. Miriam was everything Sarah lived for.

  She hadn’t known how much one human being could love another, which brought her gaze to her mother. Sarah wasn’t sure they would ever have a mother-daughter relationship again. Sarah had ruined that. And her mother would probably punish her the entire time she was here. But Sarah deserved it. She hoped Abram would forgive her. She was less hopeful about her mother. They had been butting heads for over a year before Sarah left. Looking back, she assumed it was her teenage hormones bucking up against her mother’s menopausal hormones, which didn’t make a good combination.

  They were quiet for a while as everyone ate. Sarah wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Miriam eat so much, and she was glad her mother had chosen a roast for the meal. Much of what was offered at the shelter, Miriam hadn’t been interested in eating.

  “Someone is coming up the driveway.” Daed wiped his mouth before he got up and went to the window. “I recognize that black mare. That old horse should probably be put out to pasture.”

  Sarah stopped breathing. Surely it wasn’t Abram. Surely that wasn’t the same horse still carting him around.

  Daed turned around. “Ach, well, it didn’t take that boy much time to come calling. He asked us when you would be here, but you haven’t even been home an hour.”

  “I’m not ready to talk to him.” Sarah stood up, walked around the table, and wiped Miriam’s mouth with a napkin. “We’ll be upstairs.”

  “Nee, mei maedel. Abram has waited a long time for an explanation.” Daed glanced at Miriam, then back at Sarah. “You owe him that.”

  “Daed, please. Not yet.” Sarah begged her father with her eyes, but with age—and six years’ absence—her pleading expression wasn’t working the way it had when she was a child. She reminded herself that she was a grown woman now and didn’t have to talk to Abram if she didn’t want to. But she was already on shaky ground with her mother. She didn’t want to upset her father.

  “Your mamm can help Miriam get unpacked and get a bath while you talk to Abram.”

  Sarah quickly looked at her mother.

  “Uh, I need to clean up the kitchen.” Her mother hurriedly began stacking plates.

  Sarah wanted to tell her mother to go get to know her granddaughter, but under the circumstances, she stayed quiet, hoping to avoid Abram.

  “The kitchen can wait.” Her father’s voice was stern, and her mother sighed as she put the plates in the sink. Then she turned to face them, nodded grimly, and motioned for Miriam to follow her. Miriam looked at her mother, as if she needed to know who was in charge here.

  “You go with Barbara, I mean Mammi, while I go talk to an old friend, okay?”

  “Okay, Mommy.” She got up and latched onto her grandmother’s hand and smiled. “Mommy sounds a lot like mammi.”

  Sarah followed them through the living room, waiting for her mother to comment or disengage from the hand holding, but she didn’t. Miriam loved bath time. Even at the shelter, she splashed and played like she always had, minus her floating yellow ducks. Sarah wondered how her mother would react when water went sloshing over the side of the tub. Probably with frustration and heavy sighs, like she’d done with Sarah.

  As Sarah thought about their small apartment in Houston, she wondered what survived the rising water. She recalled Miriam’s yellow plastic ducks floating around the living room when they’d left that day. What about all the pictures she’d taken over the years? A neighbor was supposed to let her know when she’d be able to get back in, which they said could be weeks because of the structural damage. Sarah had grown up without photos being a part of her life, since they were forbidden. But she treasured the pictures she’d taken of Miriam. Everything else could be replaced. Even her car, which had been towed to a parking lot where thousands of other cars waited on insurance adjusters and FEMA.

  Sarah paused at the front door and pushed away thoughts of the hurricane’s aftermath. She took a deep breath, totally unprepared to see Abram. She’d rather be tucking her daughter in and reflecting on the day’s events. As she held her breath in the silence, she strained to hear her mother and Miriam talking, and Sarah hoped Miriam wouldn’t divulge every detail of their lives. Not that there was anything really bad to tell, just things Sarah would rather ease into.

  “Mommy’s old friend is a nice man,” Barbara said as she and Miriam walked up the stairs together.

  “That’s good that he’s nice.” There was a pause. “And not a poo-poo head like Billy Dalton.”

  Sarah hung her head and sighed. Then she opened the door to go face the only man she’d ever truly loved. She couldn’t help but wonder if God might give them a second chance at happiness. Even though she didn’t deserve it. And Abram had surely moved on.

  CHAPTER 3

  Abram marched across the yard toward Sarah, his chin held high, determined not to let her see the despair he’d carried around since she left. He’d trained himself to never fall in love again after she ripped his heart out and stomped on it, without so much as a phone call or letter.

  And now she was back, as beautiful as ever he imagined, and with his child. She’d cheated him out of five years with a daughter he didn’t know about. He remembered weeping after Sarah’s mother visited and told him Sarah was coming back and that Abram had a daughter. If he wanted a relationship with his daughter, he would have to stow away at least some of the bitterness and anger he felt toward Sarah.

  “Abram . . .” She reached out her arms like she was going to hug him, but he snagged her wrists before she could lay a hand on him. The feel of her arms around him might melt the resolve he’d tried so hard to build.

  “Where is mei dochder?” He struggled to keep his voice steady as he took his hands from her wrists. “I don’t need any explanations. I’m sure you had your reasons for running off in the middle of the night without so much as a good-bye note.” He looped his thumbs beneath his suspenders, mostly to keep his hands from shaking. Sarah was within reach, and part of him wanted to embrace her, to hold her forever, to take up where they’d left off. But that was a fairy tale, and Abram learned a long time ago that fairy tales rarely come true.

  “I don’t blame you for being mad.” Sarah’s bottom lip trembled, which only made him want to hold her that much more. “But you deserved someone better anyway.”

  He grunted. “Whatever.”

  She smiled a little. “You sound . . . different . . . more Englisch.”

  He eyed her up and down, purposefully and with disdain. “And you look different, definitely Englisch.” He waved a dismissive hand at her. “In your blue jeans and all that.”

  Her lip still quivered, but Abram decided not to fault her for that since he couldn’t get his hands to quit shaking.

  “I hang out with the Englisch a lot more since I n
ever got baptized.”

  Abram and Sarah had been scheduled to be baptized two weeks after Sarah left. Since the baptism was a requirement to get married, Abram had forgone the ceremony, unsure if he would stay in the community since Sarah and God had forsaken him. He’d eventually gotten right with the Lord again, even though he hadn’t been able to commit to baptism. He needed to forgive Sarah before he felt worthy of baptism. Abram wasn’t sure that was possible.

  Sarah took a step forward. Abram ordered his feet to move back, but they disobeyed, and now Sarah’s lips were close enough to kiss. So he did. Hard and possessive, until she pushed him away and took a big step back. Then she slapped him. Not hard. But she got her point across.

  “What has happened to you?” Her eyes filled with tears. “You never kissed me like that when we were together. And it hurt.” She reached up and touched her lips.

  “I was just getting something out of my system.” Lies. He was still as attracted to her as he’d ever been. Even though the Sarah he knew was long gone. And the Abram she’d known had checked out a long time ago too.

  “Abram, I’m sorry about everything. But . . . why didn’t you get baptized?”

  He hung his head, then looked up at her and grinned. “It’s none of your business how I’ve spent the past six years or why I chose not to be baptized into a faith I once cherished.”

  “Did I do this to you?” She didn’t come closer.

  “Don’t give yourself that much credit, Sarah.” Her name slid off his tongue like poison. “I’m only here for one reason, and you know what it is.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m assuming you want an explanation for why I left, why I didn’t contact you, and why I’m back now.”

  “I know why you’re back. Your daed told me. A hurricane. You’re broke with nowhere else to go. In all those years, you didn’t make any friends? You had to come back here?”