The Covenant

by Beverly Lewis

  Hannah knew that, all right. She and Mary Ruth had spent many evening hours embroidering pillowcases and crocheting doilies. Hannah especially liked to embroider—with the lazy-daisy stitch—tiny colored flowers or a butterfly in the corners of simple square handkerchiefs Mamma bought over in Strasburg. Sometimes Hannah marked them “For Sale” out on the roadside stand, but mostly she enjoyed giving them away as gifts.

  Mamma would often tuck one of Hannah’s perty handkerchiefs up the sleeve of her dress. It came in handy for erasing a splotch of dirt from a young child’s face—any number of nephews and nieces who came to visit—or just simply nose blowing for herself. One of the handkerchiefs Hannah had embroidered featured a row of six tiny people in the corner, one for each of her immediate family. That one happened to be both Leah’s and Mamma’s favorite, but Mamma usually won out having it in her pocket or wherever.

  Much of what was already folded away in Hannah’s pine hope chest could also be found in Mary Ruth’s matching trunk. What one sister created, the other usually did, too.

  Just now, turning in bed, Hannah stared into the serene face of her twin. Mary Ruth’s eyelids were twitching rapidly. What sort of dream is my sister having tonight? she wondered.

  She wished she might be so relaxed as to sleep through the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. Was it Sadie coming home after midnight again? Hannah actually thought of slipping out of bed to catch her in the act of tiptoeing back to the bedroom. But, no, best not. Who knows what handsome and interesting Amish boy might catch her eye someday, if she ever broke out of her timid shell, that is. Who knows what risks she might take to spend time with a beau once she turned courting age.

  Restless, with a hundred thoughts of her own future and that of her dear sisters, she rolled over and stared up wide-eyed at the dim ceiling, hearing Mary Ruth sigh tenderly in her sleep, utterly free from care.

  Leah knew it was probably wrong to pretend to be asleep, when she was as wide awake as an owl and very much aware of Sadie’s swift movements just now. Not to mention the loud getup her sister was wearing. Yet she trusted the dear Lord to forgive her for not sitting up right then and there, causing a scene in their quiet house.

  Sadie had come silently into their room, moved quickly to the wooden chest at the base of the double bed, lifted the lid and secured it, then immediately removed her billowy, too-short skirt, then the sheer blouse and white ankle-length socks and saddle shoes.

  Leah couldn’t see now, and didn’t try to, but she was fairly sure by the sound of it that Sadie was pushing the English clothes down into the depths of the trunk.

  The rich, damp smell of the woods filled the room, that and a sprinkling of hyacinth, some cheap bottled cologne, maybe. Where on earth had Sadie found such clothes, not to mention the idea for the arrangement of her hair? It seemed that Sadie had become a frustrated artist and her golden locks, the canvas. Nearly every time she returned home late at night, her hairdo was different. Leah had no idea you could change your hair so many ways.

  Saturdays were not so different from any other choring day amongst the People. Ida did notice, though, that Sadie seemed ever so sluggish this morning, lacking her usual vitality. Sadie’s eyes were a watery gray. Gone the bright blue, and ach, such dark circles there were beneath her eyes. Was it possible her eldest had tossed and turned all night long? And if that was true, whatever could’ve plagued her dear girl’s mind to torment her so? Was she ill?

  “You seem all-in,” she said as Sadie rolled out the pastry for pies. “Trouble sleeping maybe?”

  Sadie was silent. Then she said something about maybe, jah, that could be, that she’d had herself a fitful sleep. “I’ll hafta make up for it sooner or later, I ’spect.”

  “Anything I can do for you?” Ida replied quickly, thinking a nice warm herbal tea might help relax Sadie come bedtime tonight.

  But Sadie seemed to bristle at the remark. “No need to worry, Mamma” came the unexpected retort.

  “All right, then.” Ida went about her kitchen work, sweeping and washing the floor. She began cooking the noon meal for Abram and the girls, knowing how awful hungry her husband, and Leah, too, would be when they came in from the barn around eleven-thirty or so, eager for a nice meal. Today it was meatball chowder, homemade bread and butter, cottage cheese salad, and chocolate revel bars, Abram’s favorite dessert.

  There was much work to be done in the house— plenty of weeding in the vegetable garden out back, too—more chores than Sadie seemed to have the energy for on this already muggy day. True, maybe her firstborn had merely suffered a poor night’s sleep. But why on earth did she seem so nervous, almost jumpy? Didn’t add up. Come to think of it, maybe Leah might know what was bothering Sadie, but Ida hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the girl since Leah had gotten up with the chickens and gone out to milk cows with Abram before sunup. Besides, it was like pulling teeth to get Leah to share much of anything about Sadie or the twins. No, if Ida truly wanted to know why Sadie wore that everlasting half grin on her face, she’d have to wait till Sadie herself came confiding in her, which could be a mighty long time. Probably never.

  Leah swept every inch of the barn that needed attention, whipping up a swirl of dust like never before. She couldn’t help it, she simply felt like taking out her frustrations on the old broom and the barn floor. It was a good thing she’d hurried out here early this morning, so cross she was with Sadie.

  An interesting discussion with Dat was about the only thing that might get her mind off her sister. She glanced over at him there in the milk house washing down the small room. He happened to catch her eye, and seeing her going about her chore with such vigor, he stopped what he was doing and hurried to her, digging deep into his trouser pockets for a clean blue kerchief. “Here, Leah, looks like you might be needin’ this. It’ll help keep your lungs free of grime, maybe,” and he placed it over her nose and mouth, knotting it firmly behind her head.

  “I’ll surely scare the mules lookin’ like this,” she said, though awfully touched by her father’s sympathetic gesture.

  “Pay no mind to the animals. They’ve seen us both lookin’ worse, ain’t?”

  “Guess you’re right.” Still, she felt awkward the way Dat’s kerchief was tied around her head, pushing her devotional cap off center. So she quickened her pace, completing her job in the nick of time, just as Dat mentioned he was headed over to the welding shop. “Wouldja like to ride along? We’ll be back before your mamma ever misses us,” he said, already choosing his driving horse for the short trip.

  “Jah, I’ll go.” She pulled off Dat’s handkerchief. She’d much rather spend her morning with Dat than be anywhere near Sadie at the moment. No doubt in her mind! But she never let on to her father as they rode, the carriage swaying gently as the horse pulled them toward the welding shop.

  “Preacher Yoder’s thinking of hiring a driver to take him and his family out to Indiana for a short vacation, after the harvest is past.”

  “Why Indiana?”

  “Well, it wouldn’t surprise me if they’re goin’ to look for some grazing land while out there. Not for them to up and move, mind you, just to help one of his cousins who’s thinking of getting married soon.”

  “To a girl in Indiana?”

  Dat nodded. “Now don’t that beat all?”

  “Talk about long-distance courtship.” She thought Dat might bring up Smithy Gid just then, try to blend the present topic with his ongoing anticipation of Gid marrying her; but he didn’t. She was quite surprised that he refrained, especially when he easily could have slipped in a comment or two.

  They rode along for a time enjoying the silence, aware of the hum of insects and chirp of birds. At last, Leah asked, “What do you think is the difference between being sorely tempted and yielding to it?”

  “Well, all the difference in the world, far as the Scriptures say. We’re admonished to watch and pray lest we fall into temptation.”

  “But how does a person avoid bein
g tempted?”

  “ ’Tis by steering clear of those who may be tools of the enemy.”

  “You mean Englishers?”

  The reins lay loosely in his lap, and he lifted his straw hat and scratched his head beneath. “Seems to me there’s a time and a place to mingle with the outside world, but when it comes to making close friends or choosin’ a mate, well, you know the best way is God’s way.”

  She was trying not to think of Sadie now, afraid Dat might wisely see through her questions and suspect, maybe, why she was asking such things. They talked about the spirit being willing and the flesh awful weak at times. Dat brought up the pure conscience of the righteous and the battle that rages in every man . . . “every woman, too.” He gave her a serious look. “But the most important thing ’bout temptation is knowing how to avoid it.”

  She fell silent then, soaking in all that Dat had said.

  When Mamma wasn’t looking, Sadie slipped into their large sunroom just off the kitchen, staring longingly out the windows, toward the barn and beyond to the dark woods. They’d made it through the dreadful maze—survived the denseness, the lurking shadows—just as Derry had said they would. He’d helped her find the way out, and she would tell Naomi so when she went to pick up her knapsack later on.

  Why had she worried last night? With Derry by her side, she was safe in the forest. Safe anywhere at all, for sure and for certain.

  Derry Schwartz. The most wonderful boy in the whole world. With a peculiar pang—part thrill, part anguish—she thought of his life and hers, how the two of them had seemed to collide unexpectedly, like an automobile appearing out of nowhere and hitting a horse and buggy—sort of like that. Of course, they had no business spending time together, none whatsoever. Yet they were drawn to each other, she for the sheer daring of a forbidden English boy who knew the outside world through and through and for the great love she truly believed he would soon have for her. And Derry . . . She didn’t quite know yet. Maybe it was her wheat-colored hair and big blue eyes. Maybe he saw something in her other boys had missed. But find out, she must. She would fully discover what it was that the village doctor’s son had appreciated in her, and in such a short time, yet . . . that he would ask to see her again, this very night! “Do you think you can meet me here in the woods? Would you be afraid?” he’d said after their joyful evening together. She’d said she didn’t know—“It’s ever so thick outside, confusing, too . . . with so much underbrush and all.”

  She had been careful not to admit to being fearful of the woods, just hoped he’d take the hint. And he had. He said he would be glad to meet her behind her father’s barn at ten o’clock straight up.

  “You could . . . wear your regular, uh, dress if you’d like,” he’d added quickly, which took her off guard. “No need to pretend you’re not Plain for my sake.” So he’d known all along.

  She could feel her cheeks growing warm. “You’re sure?”

  “Please don’t risk getting caught in modern clothes that might, well, reveal that your boyfriend is modern.”

  Boyfriend . . . Her heart had leaped up at the thought. Derry must truly care for her already.

  She decided right then that Derry was a very wise young man. For him to say outright that she didn’t have to bother impressing him with fancy English clothing any longer. Jah, this was quite a burden lifted off her shoulders. She could be herself with him. Dress Plain, if he didn’t mind. No more games to be played. Maybe she’d found the man of her dreams. Who knows, maybe he’d want to join church with her. Maybe he’d be asking more about life in the Plain community. Why else had he asked her to meet him for a second walk in the woods? Then again, maybe she would join his world and leave the Amish life behind.

  She would know the answers soon enough. Now, if Mamma would just stop poking her head in the room, looking at her as if she was trying to figure out what in the world was twirling round in Sadie’s head. No, she wouldn’t go and spoil things by sharing her secret with either Mamma or Leah about the boy with dark wavy hair and shining brown eyes. Not just yet. Mamma would put her foot down hard about seeing a boy outside the church, heaven knows, especially when she was planning to be baptized here before too long. And Leah . . . well, she knew her sister would flat out tell her she was playing with fire. In the boundless forest, yet. Best keep all this to herself.

  Mamma had often accused Mary Ruth, jokingly of course, that once she got started chattering she just didn’t know when to quit. And she had been doing her share of talking this morning while helping Mamma cook breakfast.

  I’ll make a gut schoolteacher someday, she thought. But Dat and Mamma would be alarmed if they knew.

  Her whole life, Mary Ruth had dreamed of becoming a teacher. But how could such a wonderful thing happen? Higher education—past the legal age of fifteen—was a no-no amongst the People, according to their bishop. Yet it was impossible to quiet her overwhelming desire to communicate learning skills to youngsters.

  Mixing the pancake batter, she allowed her mind to wander. Tomorrow at Preaching service over at the Peachey place, there would be many little children in attendance. She hoped to spend time playing with some of them at the picnic following the church meeting. How many youngsters would the Good Lord give her and her future husband? And what sort of young man would share her love for books?

  Eagerly, she looked forward to helping with the Lord’s Day menu with Mamma and Sadie after breakfast. Unlike Sadie, she was only slightly interested in boys. As for Leah, well, that was the sister who captured her attention, especially when it came to Smithy Gid. He seemed to have his eye on their tomboy sister. Mary Ruth had suspected this for a year or so. Of course she hadn’t, and wouldn’t, utter a word to anyone. Leah was a very private sort of girl—practical, too—so there was no inkling of anything romantic in store, far as she knew.

  Glancing over at Hannah setting the table, Mary Ruth could see that her twin was more curious about Sadie’s glazed expression. It reminded Mary Ruth of the selfsame look in the eyes of worldly girls at the public one-room schoolhouse on Belmont Road, near Route 30, where she and Hannah attended. There, Amish, Mennonite, and English students recited their lessons together, and at recess some of the girls whispered about certain boys.

  Mary Ruth didn’t like the idea of comparing Sadie to worldly girls, though it was true that Sadie had attended the public high school over in the town of Paradise till she was seventeen. These days, Dat declared up and down it hadn’t been such a gut idea for his eldest daughter to cultivate friendships with Englishers at school, an environment that promoted individuality so frowned on by the People. Had those years encouraged Sadie to have herself a wild rumschpringe?

  It wasn’t Mary Ruth’s place to judge, really. She would bide her time, wait and see how the Lord God heavenly Father worked His will and way in each of her sisters’ lives.

  Pouring a cup of batter on the sizzling black skillet, she shook off the annoying blue feeling. She hummed a church song, doing what she could to lift everyone’s spirits, as well as her own. It was high time to rejoice, for goodness’ sake. The Lord’s Day was ever so near.

  Chapter Three

  After the noon meal Leah helped Sadie wash and dry each one of the kerosene lamp chimneys in the house. The glass tubes had been rather cloudy last evening during Bible reading and evening prayers, and Leah and Mamma had both noticed the light was too soft and misty because of it. Dat hadn’t complained at all, though he did have to adjust his reading glasses repeatedly, scooting close to the lamp in the kitchen, where they’d all gathered just before twilight, the back door flung wide, along with all the windows, coaxing the slightest breeze into the warm house.

  “We really oughta clean these every day,” Leah said, handing one to Sadie for drying. “No sense Dat struggling to see the Good Book, jah?”

  Sadie nodded halfheartedly.

  “Are you going out again tonight?” Leah whispered.

  Sadie’s eyes gave a sharp warning. “Ach, not n
ow . . .”

  Glancing over her shoulder, Leah saw that Mamma was dusting the furniture in the sunroom. “Cleanliness is next to godliness,” Mamma liked to say constantly. Hannah and Mary Ruth had run outside to hose off the back porch and sidewalk.

  “You’ll break Mamma’s heart if you’re sneaking out with English boys, ya know,” she said softly.

  “How do you know what I’m doin’?”

  “I saw you come home last night—saw what you were wearing, too.” But before she could ask where on earth Sadie had gotten such a getup, Mamma returned, and that brought a quick end to their conversation.

  Leah washed the rest of the chimneys, turning her thoughts to the Preaching service tomorrow. Will Gid single me out again before the common meal? she wondered. He had been more than forthright with his intentions toward her before, though discreetly enough. Yet she knew he was counting the weeks till she was old enough to attend Sunday singings. And so was she, but for a far different reason. “I’ll be first in line to ask you to ride home with me,” he’d said to her out in the barnyard two Sundays ago, when it was her family’s turn to have house church.

  Speechless at the time, she wished the Lord might give her something both wise and kind to say. To put him off gently. But not one word had come to mind and she just stood there, fidgeting while the smithy’s only son grinned down at her.

  What she was really looking forward to was next Sunday—the off-Sunday between church meetings—when the People spent the day visiting relatives. Mamma was awful eager to go to Grasshopper Level and see the Mast cousins again. It had been several months.

  Leah remembered precisely where she was standing in the barn when Dat had given her the news of the visit. Looking down, in the haymow, she’d stopped short, holding her pitchfork just so in front of her, half leaning on it while she willed her heart to slow its pace.