by Linda Byler
“Would you like to walk for awhile? We’ll stay out of the sun.”
He smiled. Sarah would not look at his eyes.
When she alighted from the buggy in her black funeral garb, Sarah moved in one swift, graceful movement. She was unaware of her elegance, the ease of her movement. Lee imagined many girls had to train themselves to move like that.
He stood very still, and Sarah hesitated, wondering at his stillness. Throwing the reins across the horse’s back, he led him to a tree, then got the neck rope from beneath the seat, tied him securely, and turned to look at Sarah.
“Ready?”
She nodded.
The park was a lovely place, but the small adjoining woods was far more restful for her, the leafy, green shadows giving her more confidence.
Crickets and cicadas were noisily lending their voices to herald their walk, creating an uninvited, deafening harmony of clamorous sound. Sarah remembered the woodland insects from her childhood, when she and her siblings had played on the wooded hillside at her grandparents’ home.
Sarah wanted to tell Lee about these sounds from her memories, but he seemed so aloof and remained so stone silent that the words would not come.
They walked toward a small, decorative bench made of cement. The seat was wide, comfortable, inviting. He stopped, looked down at her.
“Do you want to sit for a while, to talk?”
“Yes.”
Sitting side by side with her shoulder touching his, but barely, she was completely aware of him, and her speech left her again.
She knew then, that she could not do it. She should have gone home the minute everyone was fed. Instead she had come up with all these grandiose presumptions about the possibility of Lee staying here instead of going to Alaska, when in reality that was a dream swiftly coming true for him.
Overhead, the leaves fluttered and rustled, the sound accented by the chirping birds, heralding the evening as they called their offspring to bed, or at least for an evening snack.
A goose honked on the pond, and another answered. A child’s high squeal came from the swings.
It all seemed unreal. Here she was with Lee, on his last night, and the longer she remained seated beside him, the less she could think how to go about asking him to stay.
Lee cleared his throat and turned to look at her.
“Sarah.”
The word was woven through with so much kindness, her throat tightened.
“Look at me.”
The courage to do his bidding came slowly, but finally she turned her head and lifted her eyes to his. Always, the color of them amazed her. There was sheer pleasure in the blue depths, but now, in the shadowy green of the trees, they were electric with emotion.
“Sarah, you know my tickets are bought, plans made. You know—Alaska, new life, here I come.”
He laughed derisively.
“Can you figure out my life for me?”
Sarah’s hands were in her lap, the fingers twisting, turning. She clenched them together to still them, straightened her shoulders, drew a deep breath, and opened her mouth, but her courage fled.
She closed her mouth again, bent her head, and said nothing.
Lee waited. He thought he heard something, but he wasn’t sure. He turned again to look at Sarah.
“Don’t go,” she whispered again.
He heard.
“Did you say what I thought you said?”
Sarah nodded.
“You don’t want me to go?”
She shook her head.
Then he did something she would never forget. He reached across her lap, picked up the scarred hand, and pushed back the sleeve. He let his fingertips trace the scars and the ridges where the sutures had been. Softly, he stroked her arm, then stopped and looked at her, tenderly.
“I can’t go. Every bit of my conscience, every pore of my body knows I have to stay here on Ben’s farm. It’s a moral obligation, the only right thing to do. Ben was in debt, of course, as every young farmer is, and now that Anna is alone, the place will have to be sold. It’s a shame. I am attached to the place.”
Lee paused but kept Sarah’s hand in his. Then he continued, “I could sell my roofing and siding business—I think I could swing it—to buy the farm. Anna could stay. We could add an addition for her living quarters maybe. Or else we could just live together. She’s so easy to get along with.”
Lee was talking quickly now, the words tumbling over each other.
“I think I could be happy as a farmer, but I’m not too sure about being a bachelor. Anna’s a wonderful cook, but there are things in life I need other than just food. You know, Sarah, I get the feeling that you and I are two people with the same mind set. We want what we want, and nothing is going to change our minds.”
Sarah listened to the beauty of his voice, his words, and tried to grasp the true meaning.
“Then God comes into our lives and says, look here, it’s time you sit up and take notice.”
Sarah nodded.
“After I was burned, I knew what Matthew had become.”
“You mean, what he always was. You just looked at him through rose-colored glasses before.”
“Yes. I was kind of stuck in tunnel vision.”
Lee laughed.
“But Sarah, are you sure this time? Are you certain no love stays in your heart for Matthew?”
Sarah shook her head.
“No, Lee. My eyes were opened, after I went through all the pain of my burns. There was nothing I needed, as far as Matthew was concerned.”
“I couldn’t stand it, Sarah. I couldn’t bear to think of you suffering. I’d end up pacing my room in the middle of the night. No human being should have to endure what you did. I’ll never know how you came through it.”
Sarah shrugged her shoulders.
“You do what you have to do.”
“And now, Ben is gone. And it torments me. Did he have to die so my pride could be extinguished? I was going to Alaska because of you. Your sad eyes, your scars. And then Matthew living down the road, asking you to leave your family. I could not take one more week, one more day of it.”
“Lee, don’t blame yourself for Ben’s death. You know the Lord truly does end our lives according to His will. When our time on earth is finished, we’re done.”
Lee groaned.
“Oh, Sarah. You will never know what I’ve gone through. I tried to give myself entirely to God’s will, but I could not bear to think of the possibility of you drawing your last breath, never to have you as my own.”
Sarah couldn’t move. Was she hearing Lee correctly? Was he speaking from the heart?
“But I’m burned, scarred,” she whispered.
In answer, he stood, reached for her hands, and pulled her to her feet. Slowly he let go of her right hand. His fingertips explored every fissure, every riddle of her scars, along her cheek, her ear, the side of her neck. He stepped back to smile at her. He looked deeply into her eyes that changed color with the rustling of the leaves overhead, stormy with her own discovery of this new and certain love.
He bent his head, his cheek brushing hers, as he placed his lips delicately on the side of her jawline where the scarring was worst.
“I love you with all my heart. I have always loved you, this way and before. I love you, Sarah, your scars, your burns, everything. These scars are a testimony of God’s will for our lives. I believe in my soul we are meant to be together, here on earth and in eternity.”
When Sarah’s tears overflowed, he kissed them away. Then he pulled her into his arms and crushed her painfully against himself, shocked when she let out a soft cry.
“I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Can you forgive me?”
Sarah laughed.
“No, no, it’s okay. It’s just my shoulder. It’s the worst. I’m. . . . Well, Lee, are you sure you want me? I’m probably scarred worse than you know.”
Lee searched her eyes. He saw the anxiety, the genuine doubt, an
d he wrapped his arms around her gently this time. He lowered his face, inches from hers, and whispered again, “I love you.”
From the depths of her heart, Sarah replied, “Lee, I love you more.”
He kissed her then, softly. It was a pact, an agreement of a budding consent, cementing a love between two people that would stand the test of time. The years would bring changes, more trials, days of happiness, sorrow, and shared concern, but their love would see them through.
This knowledge flowed between the sweetness of their lips, the wondrous sense of having found the good and perfect will for their lives.
Lee sighed, trembling, his hands on her shoulders.
“Do you think you can stand to be a farmer’s wife?”
She gasped.
“What?”
“I’m asking you to be my wife.”
“But we never dated!”
“I dated you a lot—in my head.”
Sarah’s laugh rang out, and she reached for him, put her arms around him, and said, “This year?”
“Sarah, oh yes. This fall. I will have a whole herd of cows and the harvest, and, well, everything.”
“You won’t have time to get married.”
“I’ll make time.”
Smiling up at him, Sarah breathed, “Yes, Lee, I will be your wife.”
His lips sought and found hers, and they became part of the wonder of the nature around them, created by God, designed so that man should not live his life alone.
Darkness was falling as they walked out to the pond. The mowed grass, the pavilions—everything took on a new appearance as the grayness descended.
They found the horse, patiently snoozing by the tree where he was tied. He lifted his head when he heard their approach, ready to go home to his stall and box of feed.
“Oh, Lee, what about Mommy King’s leftovers?”
Lee stopped short.
“We forgot.”
“She’ll be in bed.”
“What should we do?”
“Have a picnic?”
The horse had to wait another half hour, and Mommy King told Anna’s mother, Rachel, that it was a shame the way these old practices were becoming lost. Since she had been unable to attend Ben’s funeral, she should absolutely have gotten some cheese and sliced roast beef. The older generation did not get the respect they deserved.
Rachel bought a nice pound of meat and cheese and told her they had saved it for her, which repaired the rift quite nicely. Especially since Rachel sent along some cupcakes as well.
They would wait to tell their parents, but only for a few short weeks. They had to think of Sarah’s mother, the one who would be organizing the wedding.
Lee told Anna that very night, after he took Sarah home. His sister hadn’t been able to sleep. She was lying on the recliner, weeping, her poor face blotched with the depth of her grief.
“Anna, is it a help to you to know that I asked Sarah tonight?”
“You’re not going?”
“To Alaska? Oh no. I can’t, Anna. Not with Ben gone. I’ll buy the farm. We’ll build an addition. Don’t worry, Anna. I’ll sark (care) for you.”
A storm of weeping ensued, but it was a relaxed, gentle crying. Over and over, she thanked her brother, told him it was a dream.
How she had dreaded having to leave the farm, and now she wouldn’t need to. She wished she could tell Ben.
“When is your first date?”
“No, not dating. I asked her to marry me.”
“But what about joining the church? Lee, you can’t get married this year. What are you thinking?”
Far into the night they talked, planned, and remembered Ben. Lee got up to do the milking and felt as if he hadn’t slept at all, which didn’t make much difference. He could live on fresh air and the thought of being Sarah’s husband.
When Sarah did tell her parents, they were shocked, then ecstatic, unable to hide their wide grins of approval. The anticipation made their faces young, the surprise proving a veritable fountain of youth.
It had been a long time since Anna Mae was married, almost five years. Having a wedding would be something to look forward to.
Over at Elam’s, the news was received with far less enthusiasm. Hannah stated the news, said she was supposed to keep it a secret, and they better not say anything.
Elam grunted behind his paper and said he’d not tell. He was one hundred percent trustworthy, as everyone knew the length of time that elapsed between him ever opening his mouth about anything. A cow could be dead for a week before he’d bother telling his wife. The time the milk tested for high bacteria, he silently and sourly let it run down the drain and never said a word.
Hannah fussed for weeks about the pathetic milk check, but he told her the hot weather was hard on milk production. She clamped her mouth into a solid line and didn’t believe him.
Matthew, however, lay in his bed, full of frustration. He could guarantee Sarah didn’t love that Lee. He knew she had always loved him. She still did.
Suddenly, he knew without a doubt that he wanted Sarah for his wife. Who else would he marry? Her scars would improve.
Knowing she was betrothed to another man made her twice as desirable. He lay on his back, his hands clasped behind his head, and schemed, his heavy black brows drawn down, his mouth curved in the same direction.
He’d go Amish again, if that’s what it would take. He’d tell her that for now, and perhaps after they were married, she’d again agree to leave.
The thing was, he didn’t think Rose would take him. She was starting to act the way she always did—grouchy, bored. Yes, Sarah would be just right for him.
Thinking of the challenge, he smiled. All it would take was to announce his desire to be Amish again. He’d do it.
Down in the kitchen, Hannah berated her husband for just sitting behind his paper. She thought he should be admonishing Matthew, the way other fathers did. It was no wonder he wasn’t Amish, and now it was hard to tell who he would marry.
Elam harrumphed behind his paper and rustled the pages. He crossed one stockinged foot over the other, snagged the hole in the sock with his big toenail, and resigned himself to the fact that his toenails need clipping.
Getting up, he headed for the desk drawer and began his task as Hannah stood over him and finished her tirade. She went to bed without him, so upset about Lee and Sarah.
Elam finished his toenails, shook his head, and was glad for Sarah.
He’d hate to be married to Matthew.
CHAPTER 13
MICHAEL LANVIN WAS RELEASED ON BAIL, HIS court appearance not yet announced. He maintained his innocence, and since there was no proof and no one willing to testify, the case was left undecided, likely to be placed on the back burner. For one thing, Michael had no money. He was assigned a public defender, rendered helpless for lack of prosecution.
David Beiler, one in a group of ministers, stayed true to his convictions, despite the visitors who entered the house on many week nights, quietly assuming Levi and the girls would be in bed or at least out of ear shot. One late-night group of visitors accused Davey of being hard-hearted, unfeeling. How could he stand to see his daughter injured so badly? If he’d use some common sense, they’d be glad to testify and get these fires stopped. Levi had all the information they needed.
Davey argued quietly, sensibly.
This situation could be resolved with forgiveness, he felt—so strongly, in fact, that he quoted Scripture to justify his actions. And that was something he did not condone, depending on the circumstances.
Davey’s eyes became weary, underlined by dark circles, as he lay sleepless night after night, endlessly pondering the viewpoints of his distraught laymen.
Sarah moved through the remainder of the summer on wings, her feet skimming the ground as she ran to the barn, skipped across the yard, or swung on the tire swing attached to a limb of the maple tree. She was full of life, nearly fully recovered despite her lasting scars.
; Matthew began to show up at the most inopportune times, cheekily rapping on the screen door and asking for Sarah. Sometimes, he simply spent time with Levi, who promptly produced a checker board, proud that his English friend Matthew wanted to stay.
One evening, the leaves on the maple tree stirred restlessly as an east wind bore smells of an oncoming rain. Dat asked if all the girls could help unload the remaining bales of hay stacked on the wagons by the barn.
Mam said she’d clear the table and do the dishes, so the girls went out to the barn and watched as Dat started the engine on the elevator. It would carry the bales to the bay already stacked high with hay for the horses and cows.
When it popped to life, the belt on the long elevator began to move. Sarah hopped up, grabbed a heavy bale, and heaved it onto the moving belt. She watched as it righted itself and began its slow ascent to the top, where Suzie and Priscilla helped Dat stack the bales tightly, making a good solid pile.
Steadily throwing the bales, she stopped to scratch her shoulder, the healing places itchy so much of the time. Shrugging her shoulder, she shifted her apron strap into place, bent to lift another bale, and looked up to find Matthew staring at her, his face uplifted, a half smile playing around his mouth.
Sarah could feel the heat rise in her face, but she kept working. The noise of the rattling engine drowned out the possibility of any conversation, though she was aware of his eyes steadily watching her.
When the wagon was empty, Dat came down to turn off the engine. His face was red, perspiration dripped off his chin, and his shirt clung to his back. It was a warm evening. Up under the metal roof with no ventilation, it was probably well over a hundred degrees.
Matthew shook his head.
“You’re never going to change, Davey. Still doing everything the hard way, aren’t you?”
Sarah drew a forearm across her face, her eyes burning with perspiration. She could tell by Dat’s unhurried answer that he needed time to compose himself. Hot, itchy, uncomfortable, he would have to measure his words.
“Probably,” he said finally.
Matthew laughed, a short superior snort.
“I figured you’d say that.”