by Amy Clipston
Miriam nodded.
Barbara wasn’t sure how hard to push since Miriam hadn’t elaborated. “Dreams can be scary, but I’m sure your mamm told you that monsters aren’t real, ya?”
Miriam’s cheeks dimpled as she smiled broadly. “I like the way you talk.”
Barbara glanced at John, who grinned. Then Barbara spoke to her granddaughter in Pennsylvania Deutsch, and Miriam laughed. “What did you say?”
“I said that I have a very pretty granddaughter.”
Miriam smiled, but not quite as much. She put the uneaten half of her cookie on the plate John had gotten for her and lowered her eyes. After a few seconds, she locked eyes with Barbara and blinked a few times. “You know, monsters are real. Even though Mommy says they aren’t, I know they are.”
Barbara tipped her head to one side. “Why do you say that?”
Miriam pinched off a piece of the uneaten cookie but didn’t put it in her mouth. She sighed. “Can I go back to bed now?”
Barbara opened her mouth to speak, but John cleared his throat, frowning, and she adhered to the warning not to push Miriam.
“Why don’t I go check on Mommy first?” She nodded to John. “And your daadi can get you some milk with chocolate in it.”
“Okay.” Miriam didn’t smile. The cookies had been a distraction, and not a very long one.
Barbara walked upstairs, and when she got to Sarah’s bedroom, she saw a faint light from under the door, so she tapped lightly.
“Come in.”
Barbara stepped over the threshold. Sarah had lit the lantern and was sitting in bed, her knees to her chest. “Is Miriam okay?”
“She’s fine.” Barbara sat down on the edge of the queen-size bed. Sarah’s old bed. The one she was now sharing with her daughter.
“Everything is exactly the same as when I left.” Sarah’s eyes scanned the room, landing on the bookshelf she’d asked her father to make when she was around ten. “You could have given my books to someone to enjoy.”
Barbara glanced at Sarah’s collection, six shelves’ worth. “I wanted you to have them if you came back.”
“And here I am.” She smiled slightly.
“And here you are.” Barbara swallowed back the lump forming in her throat. After a few awkward moments of silence, she cleared her throat. “Miriam thinks monsters are real. At least, that’s what she said.”
Sarah sighed. “If you are going to question my parenting skills, you should know that I have told her repeatedly that there are no such things as monsters.”
Barbara bit her tongue, recalling the way she and Sarah talked to each other when Sarah was a teenager. She didn’t want to go back to that. “I’m not questioning your parenting skills. Miriam is lovely and well-mannered.” She planned to keep her promise about not tattling on Miriam for saying “poo-poo head.” “It’s just that she was so serious when she said that about the monsters being real.”
“Miriam is a very smart little girl. All I can do is to keep telling her that the monster is only in Mommy’s dream, and it can’t hurt us. I regret ever telling her that my nightmares were about a monster, but it seemed easier than telling her the—” She stopped and shook her head. “Never mind.”
“Easier than telling her the truth? What is it that wakes you so viciously in the middle of the night?”
Sarah stared at her long and hard. “The monster.”
Barbara felt the fear radiating from her daughter, and again she longed to hold and comfort her. But fear of rejection kept her from it. So much armor had chipped from the wall around her heart that she felt totally exposed. Sarah wasn’t her enemy, she reminded herself. She was her daughter. Is. And forever would be.
“Does the monster have a name?” Barbara realized she was talking to Sarah as one might talk to a young child. The way she comforted her all those years ago.
Sarah opened her mouth to say something, but then looked away before speaking. “Nope. It’s just a silly dream I have over and over again about a monster.” She turned to Barbara. “Thank you and Daed for entertaining Miriam, but I’m fine now, so you can send her up whenever you want.”
Barbara smiled. “Or you could come eat midnight cookies. We certainly didn’t allow that when you were that age.”
Sarah smiled a little too. “I think I’d just like to cuddle up with Miriam and go back to sleep.”
“Ya. Okay.” Barbara stood and was almost out the door when she turned around. “Do you need anything?”
Sarah sighed. “To face the monster, I guess.”
The monster. Barbara’s heart raced. She was sure they were no longer talking about a child’s version of a monster. This was something real.
CHAPTER 7
Sarah flicked the reins until the horse settled into a slow trot. Her father had been right, it was like riding a bike. The drive to Abram’s house wasn’t far, and she wanted to see if the Abram she remembered was still in there somewhere. Sarah was sure he wouldn’t be ugly to her in front of Miriam. And Miriam had been begging for a buggy ride. Sarah heard her parents say Abram’s sister was having a baby, so she hoped his parents wouldn’t be at home. She wasn’t ready to face them.
“I wish I could ride in a buggy everywhere!” Miriam clapped her hands together, grinning from ear to ear, her blue eyes wide with excitement.
“You might feel differently in the wintertime.” Sarah could still remember the blustery, cold rides.
Miriam leaned closer to the dash. “Where’s the heat button?”
Sarah chuckled. “There isn’t a heat button. Sometimes people use battery-operated heaters, but trust me, it’s still cold.”
Memories flooded Sarah each time they passed a homestead, but regret also swam with the wonderful recollections. She’d grown up playing in those yards, barefoot and carefree. How she would love for Miriam to have grown up that way.
“Is that your friend’s farm?” Miriam pointed to a large white house on the right when Sarah slowed down. Abram’s mother planted petunias in the flower beds at this time every year, and the pink flowers were in full bloom. Sarah recalled the many gardens she and her mother had created. There was nothing like tilling the land in preparation for God’s blessed harvest. Something else Miriam had missed out on living in the city.
Sarah wondered if this trip was a mistake, but Abram must have felt like he’d been sucker punched when Sarah told him Miriam wasn’t his child. She’d given him a couple of days to let that soak in before she chose to visit.
Abram was in the yard wearing ear buds when they pulled in. She couldn’t help but smile. By the way he was tapping his foot as he milked the cow, he was enjoying an uplifting Christian song. Abram had always loved music, and even though he was still in his rumschpringe, maybe he only indulged when his parents weren’t around, like he did years ago. Sarah didn’t see his parents’ buggy, so she pulled to a stop and tethered the horse—again, like riding a bike. Miriam didn’t wait for her, even though she asked her to, but her daughter was fixated on the cow and the person doing the milking.
Sarah ran to catch up to her daughter just about the time Abram pulled out his ear buds. “Sorry. She ran ahead before I could get the horse tethered.”
Abram glanced up at Sarah and pushed back the rim of his straw hat, his eyes wide for a few seconds. After their last conversation, she hoped he didn’t send them away. But he smiled a little and turned his focus quickly to Miriam. He extended his hand. “I’m Abram, and you must be Miriam.”
Miriam squeezed her eyes closed, as if she was trying to remember something, then opened them. “Yes, sir. I am Miriam.”
Manners. Good girl.
“Doesn’t that hurt the cow?” Miriam pointed to the bucket partially filled with freshly squeezed milk.
Abram laughed, which took Sarah all the way back to the day he proposed. A red wasp had circled him, landed on his shoulder, and stung him in the middle of the proposal, and he’d hopped around like a jackrabbit on the verge of cursing. When the pai
n finally lessened, he’d taken a deep breath and tried to finish asking Sarah to marry him. But she burst into laughter at his wild display. Then he laughed, and Sarah had jumped into his arms and whispered, “Yes,” in his ear.
“Nee, it doesn’t hurt the cow.” Abram looked long and hard and lovingly at Miriam.
If only he knew the truth.
“If you stand right here in front of me, I can show you how to do it.”
Miriam looked at Sarah for permission and Sarah nodded as she edged closer. Abram was gentle as he instructed Miriam, folding his hands over hers, helping her stroke the teat. Miriam jumped, giggling when milk began to squirt into the bucket. Sarah had always known Abram would be a good father.
As she watched, Sarah fought the knot building in her throat as she thought of what could have been. She’d spent a long time being angry at God, wondering why He sent her down a path so different from the one she’d envisioned for her life. But over time, she began to soften. Every time she looked at her daughter, there was no denying what a blessing Miriam was, and God had gifted Sarah this precious child. Eventually, she reclaimed her relationship with the Lord, knowing He would be there waiting for her. She wanted Miriam to know God, and she’d made sure she did, as much as a five-year-old could.
“You’re gut at this,” Abram said to Miriam before he looked over his shoulder at Sarah and smiled.
You are still in there. His smile was the same. He just hadn’t revealed it to her during their last visit.
“Mommy, look, I’m doing it!” Miriam didn’t turn around, but the excitement in her voice warmed Sarah’s heart. But then came more regret as she thought about all the firsts she could have experienced with Miriam out on a farm—first time collecting eggs, seeing a calf born, driving a buggy, learning Pennsylvania Deutsch, and then watching her master English when she would have started school at five. Even now, she could picture Miriam in the traditional Amish clothes Sarah had grown up wearing.
“You’re doing a great job.” Sarah’s voice cracked a little. Her daughter didn’t seem to notice, but when Abram slowly turned to look at her, his eyes were softer than they were two days ago.
Sarah turned around when she heard the clip-clop of horse hooves, a sound she still heard in her sleep sometimes. Her heart flipped in her chest when she recognized Abram’s parents, and she wondered what kind of reception to expect from Elizabeth and Lloyd. Surely they believed Miriam to be Abram’s child too. And, like her parents and Abram, Sarah was sure they had suffered from her leaving. They’d always treated Sarah like a daughter.
Miriam walked back to her mother when Abram said they were done. Then he moved the milking stool and picked up the bucket of fresh milk. He set it down beside him, then knelt in front of Miriam, not saying anything for a few moments, just eyeing the most beautiful child alive, his expression filled with tenderness and kindness as he lightly touched her cheek. It was impossible not to notice that Miriam and Abram had the same dimples.
“Danki for helping me,” Abram said softly before he lowered his hand.
Miriam glanced at Sarah.
“Danki means thank you.” Sarah coughed, hoping to clear the itch in her throat. But the knot continued to grow as she fought tears, and she could see out of the corner of her eye that Elizabeth and Lloyd were walking toward her. She braced herself for a cool reception, then silently prayed that things would be civil in front of Miriam. But by the time Elizabeth reached her, civility wasn’t a concern. Elizabeth’s eyes were filled with tears as she pulled Sarah into a hug and held her tightly.
“Welcome home,” Elizabeth whispered, and Sarah wept openly as Abram’s mother rubbed her back. “There, there. Everything is all right, mei maedel.” Sarah cried harder, wondering why her own mother couldn’t have welcomed her home in a similar way. Sarah had hurt Elizabeth’s son deeply. She’d hurt all of them. But aside from her father, Elizabeth was the only one who seemed to accept her return as a blessing and not a cruel reminder of all she had denied them. At that thought she eased away from Elizabeth and found Lloyd’s eyes, but they weren’t on her. Lloyd was looking at Miriam and smiling.
Sarah wondered if Abram and his parents had made a pact to embrace her as family since they so desperately wanted to believe that Miriam was Abram’s daughter. But when Elizabeth pushed back a strand of Sarah’s hair, the woman’s eyes reflected genuine love, and Sarah wondered how she would ever forgive herself for hurting them all. If anyone was to blame, it was Sarah’s mother. If she had only opened the letters—maybe things would have turned out differently. In truth, though, she had to admit that it wasn’t her mother who was to blame at all. Sometimes it was just easier to lay blame there than to shoulder all of it on her own. Sometimes the burden was just too heavy.
Miriam talked loudly with excitement as she told Elizabeth and Lloyd about milking the cow, and with all the wonderment and discovery of grandparents, they showered her with laughter, hugs, and love. Surely Abram had told his parents Miriam wasn’t his daughter. Although it was hard to deny the resemblance.
Lloyd eventually turned his attention to Sarah as he stroked his beard. She waited to see if Abram’s father would welcome her home with the same enthusiasm as his wife. After a few moments, he nodded at her. “’Tis gut to see you, Sarah.” He glanced at Miriam. “She is a beautiful girl.”
“Danki.” The word eased off her tongue as if she’d never stopped speaking the dialect.
“Maybe your mommy and your . . .” Elizabeth paused as she realized what she’d almost said. “Maybe your mommy and Abram would like to talk, and perhaps you would like to come inside for some apple pie?”
“Can I, Mommy?” Miriam bounced up and down on her toes.
Sarah nodded. Then Elizabeth offered her hand to Miriam. They’d only taken a few steps, Lloyd walking beside them, when Miriam said, “We had midnight cookies at my grandparents’ house last night.”
“Oh my. That’s late to be having cookies,” Elizabeth said, her voice fading the farther away they got.
“Yeah. My mommy had a bad dream about the monster, and it made her scream, and . . .”
Sarah didn’t hear the rest, but she could only imagine what Miriam might tell the people who had almost been her in-laws. She finally turned to Abram, but his eyes looked past her and didn’t meet hers until the front door closed and Miriam was out of sight.
“We don’t have to talk,” Sarah said. “I can wait on the porch, or maybe join them, or . . .” She shrugged when the words caught in her throat.
Abram walked closer to her, as close as he’d been when he kissed her the day before, and Sarah took an instinctive step backward.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to kiss you again.” He said it as if doing so would make him sick, even though Sarah longed for him to kiss her the way he used to, back when she could feel all the love he had to give. “But you cannot tell me that Miriam isn’t mei dochder. She looks exactly like me.”
But I can’t tell you she is either. “You both have dimples.” That was the most noticeable feature Miriam and Abram shared, but they also had the same-shaped blue eyes. Some days, Sarah convinced herself that Miriam was Abram’s child and that she could see how much Miriam looked like him.
“It’s more than the dimples,” Abram said softly, his expression reflective of a man who had been wronged, but who might be on the verge of softening his position for the sake of a child he believed to be his. “Do you think I’d try to steal her away from you now that you’re back? You know that isn’t our way. But why can’t you just admit that she is mei dochder? I know you’re lying when you tell me she’s not.”
Sarah longed to fall into his arms, to press her cheek against his firm chest, and to hold on to him forever. She wanted to tell him that Miriam was his daughter and that she wished more than anything they could be a family. But Sarah wasn’t the same girl who left this place, and there were questions that needed answers. Had she lived in the Englisch world too long to ever reclaim her lif
e here, the life she’d thought she was destined for? Help me, Lord. What do I say?
She listened for God’s guidance. When she didn’t hear anything, she deflected the situation by slowly moving toward Abram, then searching his eyes before she kissed him lightly on the mouth. As he cupped the back of her head and pulled her into the kind of kiss she remembered, it was as if no time had passed. They were Sarah and Abram, engaged to be married and looking forward to a lifetime of blessings together.
Abram wasn’t just bitter and angry. He was wounded and had allowed his hurt to consume him. But with each kiss he shared with Sarah, the spark that had been extinguished a long time ago came alive again and grew into an inferno of hope. But years had passed, and they were both so different. Even though Abram had wanted to punish Sarah for the hurt she’d caused him, an eye for an eye just wasn’t going to work. He still loved her as much as he ever had. This was his Sarah, the only woman he’d ever loved. And inside with his parents was his daughter. No matter what Sarah said.
He eased her away, brushed back a strand of her dark hair, and gazed into her eyes as a tear rolled down her cheek.
“I’m sorry about yesterday, about the way I kissed you.” He’d lost sleep last night over that.
“I’m sorry I slapped you. You deserve to be angry.”
Abram gently wiped away her tear with his thumb. “I had planned to be angry at you for the rest of my life.”
She lowered her head, her shoulders shaking as she cried. He pulled her to his chest. She trembled as if it were twenty degrees outside, and he wondered what hardships she’d faced on her own in the Englisch world.
“But you can’t be angry at someone for the rest of your life when you still love that person.” Abram held her tighter as fear crept up on him. He was so scared she would leave him again. Even if there was hope for them, would he always worry that she’d leave?
“I love you too. I always have, and I always will.” Her voice was frail. “But something happened, and it had nothing to do with me not loving you.”