An Amish Homecoming

by Amy Clipston

  “Ya, we absolutely do have to talk about it now.” His mother lowered her hands, folding them in her lap again. “We have a grandchild we didn’t know about, so we’re obviously anxious to meet her.”

  Abram’s parents had avoided a verbal lashing when they found out Sarah had a child. He sensed their disappointment, but it was quickly overshadowed by the revelation that they had another grandchild. Sarah and Abram had gone against God by being together as man and wife before they were married. Abram recalled that day in the barn, the tenderness, the love he felt for Sarah. It hadn’t been planned, but they crossed the boundaries they’d set for their relationship. He touched his cheek as he thought about her slapping him today, which he had deserved. Then he cringed when he remembered the way he’d treated her, but Abram had held on to six years of pain and emotions to reach that point. Still, he regretted his actions.

  “She said the child isn’t mine,” he finally said, unable to look either of his parents in the eye.

  Silence filled the room. Only the sounds of the outdoors breezed into the house through the open windows. Crickets chirped, an occasional frog made its presence known, and their confused rooster crowed every few minutes.

  “Barbara said Sarah left when she was pregnant, too scared to face what the two of you had done.” His mother scowled a little. “I can understand her being fearful of her parents, but I don’t understand why she didn’t let you know. And how could the baby not be yours?”

  Abram had had enough time earlier this evening to consider the possibility that Sarah was telling the truth, which made her return to Lancaster County even harder to bear. He didn’t believe she could be a cheater, but if the baby wasn’t Abram’s, who else had she slept with in their community? That thought disturbed him as much as anything else. Was someone walking among them carrying such a secret? And if so, did that person know he was a father? He finally shook his head. “I don’t know, Mamm. I’m just telling you what she said.”

  “Do you think she’s lying?” His father eyed Abram like he was the one who might be lying.

  “I don’t know. I did at first. But now I’m not sure.”

  “Ach, that would mean that while you two were promised to be married, Sarah . . .” She brought a hand to her mouth but quickly shook her head. “Nee, I don’t believe that. Sarah is a gut girl. She wouldn’t do something like that . . .”

  “You mean, she wouldn’t do that with someone else.”

  His mother sighed. “Your daed and I aren’t proud of the fact that you and Sarah took liberties that aren’t right in the eyes of the Lord, but it isn’t like you were the first. Lots of times such things are swept under the rug, and there have been a lot of babies come early in this community. I suspect they didn’t all arrive prematurely.”

  “Sarah knew how much I loved her.” The more he thought about it, the more Sarah’s leaving made sense. She had been with someone else. “She knew I would have stuck by her, no matter what, even if she thought we should leave here.”

  Mamm lowered her eyes to her lap and gripped her apron, frowning.

  “I loved her.” Abram raised one shoulder and let it drop slowly.

  “I know you did.” She finally looked up at him with sad eyes. “But you didn’t sneak out in the middle of the night, leaving all you’ve ever known and those you love, without any explanation.”

  Abram raised an eyebrow. “She didn’t give me the choice. Could you have predicted she would do something like that?”

  Mamm shook her head. “Nee, it was hard to believe when she left.”

  “I guess it makes sense if the boppli isn’t mine.” Abram stood up and walked toward the stairs. His parents didn’t call after him. They realized this was all they could handle. It was all Abram could handle tonight too.

  By the time he bathed and got into bed, he was crying. Again. He hadn’t cried this much since he was a little boy. He’d become a master at turning hurt into anger over the past six years. But seeing Sarah today had confused him more than ever and opened a floodgate of tears he’d held back for a long time. God, help me. I still love her.

  Barbara scooted closer to John in the bed, then lay her head against her husband’s shoulder, wrapping an arm around him. Two lanterns lit the room, and she and John were awake much later than normal.

  “I heard you talking to Sarah, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying.”

  John was quiet. Barbara sat up and looked into his face to make sure he hadn’t fallen asleep. His eyes were wide open.

  “What did she say, John?” She nudged him, her bottom lip starting to tremble. “Tell me. Was it about us not opening the letters?” Barbara couldn’t shed the regret that was wrapping around her tighter and tighter as she envisioned how different things could have been.

  “She’s beating herself up for what she did to us by leaving.”

  Barbara took a deep breath. She picked up the brush from her nightstand and ran it through her hair a few times before she said anything. “I know. But she will eventually have to forgive herself.”

  John twisted to face her and propped his head on his elbow. “You will have to forgive her too.”

  Barbara locked eyes with her husband. “Do you remember our sleepless nights, wondering if she was all right? Until the first letter came, we didn’t know if she was dead or alive.”

  “We should have opened that letter,” he was quick to say.

  Barbara set the brush in her lap and turned to John, blinking back tears. “Ya, I know.” She stared into her husband’s eyes as she swallowed the knot in her throat. “I should have opened the letters.”

  “It’s my fault too. I should have insisted that we read them.”

  Barbara sighed. “I wrote her a letter.”

  John sat up. “What? When? And why didn’t you say anything?”

  She raised a shoulder and dropped it slowly. “I was afraid she wouldn’t write back. And she didn’t. So I just didn’t mention it. I thought it would hurt you even more to know she was shunning us as well. It was a while before I did, maybe two and a half years.” She paused, thinking back. “I never told Abram about the letters we received. He would have resented me for returning them unopened. But at the time, I thought I was protecting him.”

  They were both quiet for a while.

  John ran his hand down his beard. “Somehow we are all going to have to let go of the past and move forward. We can’t change the things we did or didn’t do back then.”

  More silence. Barbara was fighting tears. Deep down, she was sure Sarah left mostly because of her, not John, and moving forward was going to be harder on Barbara than her husband. She had much to regret. But if Sarah would just stay, hopefully Barbara and her daughter could make amends. She chose to focus on the miracle that had stepped into their lives.

  “Miriam is a beauty, isn’t she?”

  Her husband smiled. “Ya, she is. She looks like Sarah.”

  Barbara dabbed her eyes with a tissue, then smiled back at her husband. “She looks like Abram too. Did Sarah say anything about her and Abram? They could get baptized and marry, become a family, and at least make things right now.”

  “She said she and Miriam are a package deal.” He cut his eyes at Barbara just enough to let her know he was about to say something important. She’d learned to recognize that expression. “She feels like you will bond with the child, but maybe not with her.” He paused, and Barbara had to admit to herself that it was easier to be around Miriam than Sarah. “When I asked her how Abram fit into the package, she said he doesn’t.”

  Barbara resumed brushing her hair, praying she didn’t have a full meltdown in front of her husband. “Then they won’t stay. I had hoped that her choosing to return had less to do with the lack of a place to stay and no money, and more to do with her wanting Miriam to get to know her father. I thought it would all be a precursor to them getting back together.”

  John shook his head. “Abram has been an angry man since she left. Maybe any
love he had for her is gone. We will have to let Sarah divulge what she’s comfortable with over time. If we push her, she might leave again, before we have much time with her and Miriam.”

  Barbara hung her head. Her husband was right. The past couldn’t be undone. She sniffled as a good thought found its way to the forefront of her mind. “It warmed my heart when Miriam told me that her mother said they were saved from the storm by the grace of God.”

  John propped his pillow, then lay prone and smiled. “I’m happy to see you finding some good in all of this. Sarah held on to her faith. Miriam is our beautiful granddaughter, and of course we want her in our lives. But we want Sarah in our lives, too, and your daughter needs you. She won’t confide in you if you cling to the bitterness. I agree with what Sarah said—they are a package deal.”

  “I know.” Barbara snuffed out the lantern on her side, and John took care of the one on his nightstand. She snuggled into the nook of his arm. “Sarah broke my heart when she left. I’m trying to get past that.”

  He squeezed her, kissing her on the forehead. “Pray about it.”

  “I am. But I hope she is able to reconcile with Abram.”

  “It’s their journey, Barbara. God always has a plan, even when we can’t see it.”

  She sighed. “I’m Sarah’s mother. It’s only natural for a parent to want to control a child so everything turns out okay.” She paused. “Right?”

  John kissed her again. “Sarah isn’t a child anymore. And she is a mother, too, now. Control is a harsh word, but you can bet Sarah is making decisions based on what is best for her own child. Keep that in mind.”

  Barbara closed her eyes, knowing sleep wouldn’t come for a while. Her daughter was home. She had a granddaughter she longed to know. And as she pulled John’s arm around her, she thanked God she was married to a wise man who put up with her during times when maybe he shouldn’t have. She recalled throwing kitchen plates across the room about two months after Sarah left, using words she’d only heard the Englisch use in fits of anger. John had stood patiently by, then walked to her, scooped her into his arms, and carried her to bed as she cried on his shoulder. When she awoke the next morning, the broken dishes had been cleaned up. John was the love of her life when she was seventeen, and he still was. That was all she’d ever wanted for Sarah.

  An hour later, Barbara was still tossing and turning when a loud scream resounded from upstairs. She and John shot out of bed and headed for the stairs. Barbara’s heart raced as she took the steps two at a time, wondering what could cause Miriam to scream in terror the way she had. Barbara’s motherly instincts kicked in as if they had never left her. “I’m coming, Miriam.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Sarah bolted upright in bed, covered her face, and wept as her daughter wrapped her arms around her.

  “Mommy, wake up! It’s okay.”

  Sarah fought to catch her breath as she clung to Miriam, the familiar shame creeping to the surface. A five-year-old should never be woken up from a sound sleep to comfort her screaming mother.

  As the door flew open, her parents hurried into the room. Sarah’s mother immediately reached for Miriam, touching her on the arm. “What’s wrong with Miriam?”

  “It’s not me, Mammi.” Miriam eased out of Sarah’s arms and pointed to her mother. “It’s her. Mommy gets bad dreams.”

  Sarah uncovered her eyes but couldn’t stop the sobs. If ever she needed a mother, it was now. Would Barbara reach out to her too?

  Before Sarah could protest, her father had picked up Miriam and was leaving the room. “I think we need midnight cookies and milk. How does that sound?” He kissed Miriam on the cheek, but she wiggled out of his arms, almost bringing them both down onto the hardwood floor before she ran back to her mother.

  “I’m not leaving Mommy!”

  Sarah fought to slow her breathing as she pulled Miriam into a hug. “I’m okay, sweetie. You go eat cookies with Daadi. It’s not normally allowed, so you’d better take advantage of it.” Sarah forced a smile. “Go ahead. It was just another bad dream, and remember how Mommy told you dreams can’t hurt you?” Although Sarah was tormented every time she had the nightmare.

  “Are you sure?” Miriam blinked teary eyes.

  Sarah tried to smile again. “Go, Miriam. I promise. I’m all right.”

  Miriam slowly got off the bed and went to her grandfather’s outstretched hand. Sarah’s father closed the door behind them, and she waited for her mother to hug her, to say something, or to show her half the affection she’d shown Miriam since they arrived. But her mother only sat on the bed and stared at her, expressionless.

  “I’m fine, Barbara. You don’t have to stay.” Sarah swiped at her eyes.

  “Barbara? Is that what you’re calling me now?”

  Sarah hadn’t meant for it to slip out. She’d been avoiding calling her mother anything. “I saw the look you gave me when I called you Mamm when we first arrived.”

  “I hadn’t heard you call me that in a long time. I was just taken aback for a moment, but I certainly don’t want you calling me Barbara. I’m happy for you to call me Mamm if you want to.”

  I do want to. Sarah scooted backward until she was sitting up and leaning against her pillow. “Seriously, you don’t have to stay. I had a bad dream, but I’m fine now.”

  Her mother, dressed in a white nightgown that fell well past her knees, swung her legs up on the bed, fluffed Miriam’s pillow, then leaned against it and crossed her ankles, as if she was planning to stay awhile.

  Her mother pulled her long dark hair over her shoulder and began braiding it. “What was the dream about?”

  “I don’t remember.” It was a lie, but talking about it was like living it again.

  “Does this happen often?”

  Sarah wanted to yell for her mother to get out. “No.”

  “Hmm . . . That’s gut. Even though it’s a lie.”

  Sarah slowly turned and faced her mother, her chest tightening. But she didn’t say a word.

  “Miriam has obviously seen this happen before.” Barbara—or Mamm—finished the braid, left it loose at the end, and put her hands in her lap. “Does Miriam have nightmares?”

  “No.” Maybe if Sarah kept her answers short, her mother would get the hint.

  They were quiet for a while. Sarah folded her arms across her chest.

  “How did your meeting with Abram go? Do you think you’ll be able to resolve your differences?”

  Steam was rising from Sarah’s head, she was sure of it. Her mother was still as insensitive as she’d been when Sarah was younger. Why couldn’t she just pull her daughter into a hug, instead of marching into her own agenda? Clenching her fists at her sides, Sarah reminded herself that this woman was her mother, but even after taking in a deep breath, she wasn’t any calmer.

  “I snuck out in the middle of the night and didn’t look back.” She cut her eyes at her mother. “I’d say there’s a little bit more to it than resolving our differences.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure our coming here will make things awkward for you in the eyes of your friends, and if I would just come to my senses, confess that I made a horrible mistake, get baptized, and marry Abram, your life would be perfect.”

  Her mother slowly got off the bed, walked to the bedroom door, and gently closed it behind her as she left.

  Sarah and her mother fought like feral cats when Sarah was a teenager, but her father always said it was because they were both strong women with strong opinions about things.

  The teenager was grown up. Her mother didn’t know her anymore. Otherwise, she would have pulled Sarah into a big hug, rubbed her hair, kissed her on the cheek, and told her that everything was going to be all right.

  Nothing was ever going to be okay, but Sarah put her best foot forward each day for the one person who mattered. Miriam.

  But she didn’t feel like the mom right now. She was the child, and as she curled into a fetal position on the bed, she sobbed.

  Barbara
stood on the other side of the door as her daughter cried, wanting nothing more than to go to her, to hold her, to comfort her. As her own tears poured down her cheeks, she wondered what she’d done wrong as a mother, something she’d pondered for years.

  She and Sarah didn’t see eye-to-eye when Sarah was a teenager, but there had never been any doubt that they loved each other. At least, not in Barbara’s eyes. But the way Sarah spoke to her now made her wonder if Sarah had loved her even half as much as Barbara loved her daughter. Why else would she leave the way she did, pregnant or not? Barbara would have been disappointed, maybe even livid, and surely embarrassed. But they would have gotten through it. And Barbara would have been around to see Miriam grow from a baby into the beautiful and smart little girl she was now. She would have seen her daughter growing into the role of motherhood.

  She put her hand on the doorknob and kept it there for a few moments. Then she turned and left to join John and Miriam downstairs, slowing her pace when she reached the landing. She took a tissue from her pocket and wiped her tears. Then she took a deep breath and started walking again. Maybe Miriam would offer more information than Sarah.

  “These are the best cookies ever.” Miriam beamed as she talked with her mouth full. Barbara wondered how many chocolate chip cookies she’d had, remembering how sugar late at night used to prevent Sarah from getting to sleep.

  “That’s my mammi’s recipe.” Barbara pulled out a chair next to John’s, both of them facing Miriam. “Does your mommy have a lot of these bad dreams?”

  John cut his eyes at Barbara disapprovingly, as if to discourage her from questioning the girl. But when Miriam nodded, he softened his expression.

  “Does she ever say what the dreams are about?” Barbara reached for a cookie. She wouldn’t sleep for a while anyway.

  “The monster.”

  Barbara swallowed the bite in her mouth. “A monster?” She glanced at John, who was also listening intently to their granddaughter.