Davey's Daughter

by Linda Byler

  “Hey!” Ruthann reached behind her head to tap Sarah’s knees.

  “Relax. I’m not disturbing you.”

  With a snuffling sound, Ruthann slouched down and went back to sleep.

  Sarah was cold, but she didn’t have the nerve to ask the driver to turn the air conditioning off. He was overweight and was drinking his coffee in great, hot slurps, so he probably needed the cool air to stay comfortable. Meanwhile, the group of young passengers was freezing, many of them huddled under the small, fuzzy blankets they’d brought from home.

  Sarah couldn’t find her blanket that morning. She had scrambled wildly about her room looking for it as the van’s headlights sliced through the darkness of the early summer morning. Priscilla had probably borrowed it again. She was always too lazy to go to the cedar chest to get a blanket of her own.

  Sarah managed to doze fitfully, but she was glad when the vanload of workers reached their destination. She was happy to jump down out of the van, stretch, and start her day after a quick trip to the restroom to fix her hair and pin on her freshly ironed covering.

  She had dark circles lurking beneath her green eyes, and the pasty beige color she was wearing did nothing for her complexion. There was a coffee stain on the front of her white apron, but dabbing at it with a towel only made it worse, so she gave up and went to work, greeting her employers and fellow workers with half-hearted attempts at imitating her usual cheerfulness. Everyone knew Matthew was still away, so they shrugged their shoulders and left her alone.

  Sarah measured ingredients and turned on mixers but kept her eyes averted, sending a clear signal for everyone to leave her to her thoughts. As the morning wore on, however, she became steadily caught up in the grinding work of the bakery. Her thoughts were occupied completely by her ability to turn out enough fresh cinnamon rolls, bread, dinner rolls, and sandwich rolls. She also helped out with any other pastries as needed.

  An hour after her usual break time, she was exhausted, hungry, and completely fed up with her job. She felt as if no one cared whether she had a break at all. She figured that all the other girls probably had had theirs by this time, but because she was stuck back with the dough mixers, who would even care if she got one or not?

  Fighting the waves of self-pity that threatened her, she looked up to find her boss, Emma Glick, handing her a ten-dollar bill and saying Sarah was always the last to go for her break. She said to take an extra long one, and here, use this.

  “You’re doing an excellent job,” she said, patting Sarah’s shoulder.

  Lifted from her pit of despair, Sarah gratefully accepted the money and thanked Emma. She went and bought the largest sandwich she could find and settled herself into a booth, not caring whether she saw Rose or not.

  It was pure bliss—the homemade hoagie roll, browned and crisp from the oven, layers of ham and cheese toasted and melted with mayonnaise. The sandwich was then filled generously with shredded lettuce and onion with fresh red tomatoes peeking out from underneath.

  She munched happily, wiped the mayonnaise from her lips, then smiled at Rose when she approached her table.

  “Hey, stranger!”

  “You hungry?”

  “Not anymore.”

  Their small talk was just that—very small. In fact, it was ridiculous the way they circled around the subject of Matthew.

  Sarah finally realized it was only her pride that was coming between them. Swallowing that pride, she slowly revealed to Rose the agony of her heart, knowing she just couldn’t hold it in much longer. Rose completely caught Sarah off guard with her gentle sympathy as she lowered her face into a used napkin, smearing mayonnaise across her nose and leaving a thin shred of lettuce dangling from one eyelash. Rose laughed hysterically when Sarah told her and reached to remove the lettuce.

  Rose then filled in Sarah about Lee Glick, how much fun they had hanging out together, and how her heart skipped about seventy beats last Sunday evening at the singing, when he loitered around their buggy. She thought sure he was going to ask her.

  Rummaging in her purse, she found a small mirror, checked her appearance, batted her perfect eyelashes, and smiled at Sarah.

  “I wouldn’t get too miserable about Matthew. Lee is much better for me.”

  “What does that mean?” Sarah asked sourly.

  “Well, you’ll get over him. Find someone better.”

  “It’s not that easy, Rose. I have always loved Matthew.”

  “You never told me.”

  “You knew.”

  “Not really.”

  Sarah had no answer for Rose’s denial, so she sighed and changed the subject. She told Rose about the vehicle going past Lydia’s house.

  “You go hang out with that Lydia? She’s mentally off, isn’t she? She gives me the shivers. I don’t know how you do it, helping her.”

  Sarah was surprised at her friend’s lack of empathy.

  “She’s so pitiful, Rose. You have no idea.”

  “Whatever. I think it’s creepy to spend time with her.”

  There was nothing to say in response. Wanting to show her disapproval, Sarah left the booth hurriedly, leaving Rose staring after her.

  Sarah was seething now. Her day had started poorly to begin with, and now Rose had suddenly made her feel small and inadequate, the way she looked down her nose at Lydia. Sarah stormed past the meat stand, disregarding the friendly smiles of the proprietors and leaving them with raised eyebrows and questions in their eyes.

  Her head down, her step quickening, she rounded a corner and hit something solid and immovable. She lurched to the right but was caught by a strong arm. She heard a “Whoa!” as she steadied herself. Then she saw a navy blue shirt, open at the neck, a pair of broadfall denims with a pair of gray suspenders attached.

  “Watch where you’re going!”

  Sarah caught hold of the corner as she stepped back and looked up into the face of Lee Glick. His blue eyes mocked her, but not unkindly.

  She rose to the challenge.

  “Watch where I’m going? What about you?”

  Only for a few seconds, he allowed himself to watch the restless colors dancing in her eyes, completely losing any measure of time. It was a nanosecond, and it was an eternity. It was the most mesmerizing moment of his life, acknowledging the depth of this girl’s spirit, her goodness, her sincerity.

  “I didn’t know you worked here,” he said. What he wanted to say was something so much more profound, so filled with longing, questioning, wondering.

  “At the bakery.”

  “You on break?”

  “Just finished.”

  “Let me buy you dessert.”

  Ill at ease, shy, Sarah turned her head to look behind her, thinking of Rose.

  “You don’t have time?”

  Sarah nodded, incapable of speech now, his blue eyes captivating her.

  He bought two raspberry twist ice cream cones and led her outside where picnic tables dotted the narrow strip of grass by the parking lot. Young pear trees were planted at measured distances, their small leaves rustling in the summer breeze and creating a bit of shade across the graying, splintered top of the wooden table.

  Sarah sat opposite him, swung her legs beneath the table, ate her ice cream, and was suddenly aware of an all-encompassing shyness gripping her throat. She could not speak.

  Lee watched her face intently, following the shadows of the pear leaves as they played across her golden face, her startling eyes, the honey-colored waves in her chestnut hair.

  He wanted to paint her portrait, silly as it seemed. He felt he could sit there for the rest of the day and say nothing at all. He could just watch her expressions, the eyes that gave so much away.

  Finally she said, soft and low, “Why are you here?”

  “We’re roofing a house about a block from here.”

  “You came to see Rose?”

  “Rose? You mean Rose Zook?”

  Sarah nodded, bit down on the cone, afraid he had, afraid he
had not.

  “I didn’t know she worked here.”

  “Oh.”

  Then, without thinking, having already thought far too much about this subject, he said, “How’s Matthew? Heard from him?”

  He wiped his mouth with his napkin and averted his eyes, too chicken now to meet hers as he was consumed with fear in anticipation of her answer. For a long moment, she didn’t answer. When she did speak, her voice was barely above a whisper.

  “I don’t know how he is. I haven’t heard from him.”

  Lee raised his eyebrows, ashamed of the joy that flooded his very soul.

  “He doesn’t write? Call?”

  Lee drew his breath in sharply when she leaned her elbows on the table and hunched her shoulders. Her eyes became almost brown with shifting forces, waves whipped to foam by the strength of her emotion. She paused, breathing hard.

  “He’s on a spiritual journey, he says. He thinks Amish people are not born again, that these barns are burning because we aren’t who we should be, we aren’t really spiritual. Too much ordnung, he says. The thing is he doesn’t even want to be Amish. He’s threatened to leave the church ever since he broke up with Rose.”

  She stopped, biting her lower lip.

  “Lee, what do these barns have to do with it? What?”

  She’d said his name!

  “I don’t think someone lighting fires has too much to do with the spiritual health of the Amish church. If anything, the Amish spirituality has only increased….I don’t know. It seems just about everything good there is to practice is being done even more.”

  “That’s what Dat says.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t give my opinion. I’m not worth a whole lot when it comes to Bible stuff. I don’t know a lot about anything. But you only know what you feel, and if a barn raising isn’t the fruit of the right spirit, then I don’t know what is. It’s a coming together, everyone, and the whole reason is to help the poor guy who lost his barn. I always think the whole thing in a nutshell—as far as religion goes—is giving a hoot about what happens to your neighbor, helping out whenever someone needs you, simply because you care.”

  Sarah breathed in slowly, blinking her eyes as if to truly grasp the meaning of the words he was saying. She realized that Lee spoke, and thought, along the same lines as her own revered father.

  Lee’s eyes found hers. There was not a word spoken between them, and yet Sarah felt as if they had talked at length.

  Cars came and went, passersby strolled along, carrying purchases, or eager to make them. Despite the bustle of the market, Lee was oblivious to any motion around him, consumed by his strong feelings for this troubled girl.

  Suddenly she spoke. “Are you born again?”

  “You shouldn’t be asking me that question.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s not our way.”

  “It’s Matthew’s.”

  His hope was dashed in an instant, leaving scalding burns like a kettle of boiling water dropped to the ground. Sarah’s words splashed a dangerous wetness against his heart and left angry blisters of pain. Unable to stop himself, he leapt to his feet, his blue eyes blazing with a new and terrible light.

  “If you want to follow Matthew, then go. Just go. Get out of my life, out of my mind, out of my knowing you even exist. Okay?”

  He placed both palms on the rough, weathered surface of the picnic table. The muscles of his shoulders strained against the navy blue fabric of his shirt, the heavy veins in his tanned neck bulging as he fought the overpowering emotions that threatened to consume him.

  “You seem happily oblivious to the fact that you are already misled, going around asking people if they’re born again. Do me a favor, and stay away from me, okay?”

  With that, he abruptly straightened, turned on his heel, and stalked away. As he threaded his way between the parked vehicles, his closely shorn blond hair shone like a beacon of sunshine.

  Sarah lowered her head into her hands, but her eyes remained dry. She felt cold and barren, windswept like an arid land without rain, without sustenance of any kind. Flat and unemotional. That obviously had not been the correct thing to say.

  Well, he couldn’t blame her for wondering if Matthew was right. He was, after all, her boyfriend, her fiancé, her intended. Obviously, her intended.

  A great weariness enveloped her now. It folded her in seductive arms and whispered words of defeat into her tired ears. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea to leave the Amish. If she was with Matthew, she’d be sure. She would have made a decision, and she would stick to her choice. No more doubting and wondering.

  She would know she was born again, have a sure pass into heaven, and she could join the people who thought the same way she did.

  Matthew would marry her. She would be forever secure and loved, and she would be knowledgeable, growing in wisdom from the Bible.

  Back at the bakery, Sarah burned a tray of sweet rolls and was sharply reprimanded by her boss. She wept furtive tears into a paper towel and wondered if her life would ever right itself. If only Matthew would come home.

  Sarah rushed to compensate for her mistake with the sweet rolls and cut her index finger with the dough cutter. She slashed it horribly, and blood spurted from the long gash. Her day’s work was now finished except for standing at the cash register, her finger throbbing painfully inside its heavy bandage.

  When Sarah stumbled in the door at home, Mam looked up with her usual warm smile of welcome. The smile quickly slid away and was replaced by a lifting of the eyebrows, a clouding of concern.

  “How was your day?”

  “Fine.”

  Sarah’s tone was short, clipped. The word was hard, like a pellet.

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “I cut my finger.”

  “Did you take care of it?”

  “Yeah.”

  Mam sighed and decided to take action. Enough was enough.

  Resolutely she poured cold mint tea over ice cubes in tall glasses. She placed the glasses on a tray along with slices of sharp cheddar cheese, some Ritz crackers, hot pepper jelly, and the soft, raisin-filled cookies she had just baked before supper.

  “Let’s have a glass of tea,” was all she said. She was soon joined by the rest of the family. Levi heaped crackers and cheese with large spoonfuls of the quivering hot pepper jelly.

  Sarah joined them reluctantly, her tears on the verge of spilling over. Dat plopped on the wooden porch swing and slapped Levi’s knee with a resounding whack.

  “Davey Beila!” Levi said, greeting his father and calling him by his given name as he occasionally did.

  “How much of that pepper jelly are you going to eat?” Dat chortled, slapping Levi’s knee again with affection.

  “All of it, Davey. Then you can’t have any.”

  Smiling, Mam handed Dat a glass of mint tea. The humidity produced beads of moisture on the outside of the glass, and a ring of water remained on the tray after she lifted it.

  The night was coming on, but it did nothing to lift the blanket of oppressive humidity. The heavy green maple leaves hung thickly, completely still, not a whisper of a breeze stirring them.

  “A storm will come up later tonight,” Dat observed.

  For now, the routine of the evening, the homey atmosphere, the completely relaxed setting surrounded the family. It provided the foundation of their home, a place where each was accepted and loved without having to be told. And it finally broke Sarah’s resolve to hide away her doubts and fears about the future.

  Hesitantly at first, then with stronger conviction, she told them of Matthew’s quest and the real reason he was traveling.

  In the fading summer light, Dat’s face appeared shadowed, patriarchal. His graying beard flowed across his chest, and his hair lay close to his skull where his straw hat had pressed against it all day as he worked the fields. He looked away across the porch and the neatly cut lawn, past the new barn and the fields beyond. He said nothing to interrupt the flo
w of words that now rained from Sarah.

  Mam clucked, put a hand to her mouth, and shook her head, but she remained as quiet as she could.

  “So, I’m no longer sure what is right and what is wrong. Everything is blurred. And my zeit-lang (longing) for Matthew to return is almost more than I can bear.

  “And what if he’s right? What if we Amish are blind, misguided individuals who have grown up in the shadow of the ordnung and all the Old Testament stuff that doesn’t amount to anything at all?”

  The questions vibrated above them, static with a sense of the unknown. Levi smacked his lips appreciatively after a long drink of the icy mint tea. Then he slid forward clumsily, balancing himself by grasping the chain attaching the swing to the hooks above it, and reached for two raisin-filled cookies.

  “Levi,” Mam said.

  “We didn’t have much supper, Mam. Kalte sup (Cold soup)!”

  “Just one, Levi.”

  Resignedly, Levi returned one cookie, asking Dat if he was full on kalte sup.

  “We had fish, too.”

  “I don’t like fish too good.”

  Dat smiled at Mam, knowing Levi would eat another cookie eventually.

  “Well, Sarah, you likely asked the most often asked question among the Amish people nowadays. It really surprises me how long you’ve kept this to yourself.”

  She hung her head. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Don’t be. I just hope you aren’t planning on following Matthew.”

  “I want to.”

  “I believe that.”

  Then Dat told her that he believed any individual could search the Bible and could pick out verses to justify their own beliefs. But too often, a belief was an attitude, a way of thinking, a way of looking at the world with either an air of superiority or an inflated ego. Call it born again, if you want, he said.

  “When Adam and Eve were in the Garden of Eden, the serpent misled Eve by saying if she would eat the forbidden fruit, she would know what was right and what was wrong, like God. To this day, we completely mislead ourselves—and others—by thinking we know who is born of the Spirit and who is not.”