Sarah's Gift (Pleasant Valley 4)

by Marta Perry

  “Denke, Aaron.” The words came out in a whisper, and she cleared her throat, striving for normalcy. “I feared for a minute I’d have to go down solo.”

  “You’re all right?” His fingers brushed her cheek in a feather-light touch. “Nathan was as heedless as one of Benjamin’s friends.”

  “I’m fine.” But she couldn’t hold on to her calm facade much longer. “I ... I must help Molly with the food.” She turned and hurried to the house, forcing herself not to run.

  She hoped she had fooled Aaron. Certainly she didn’t fool Molly, who saw her face the instant she came through the door.

  “Sarah, was ist letz? What’s wrong?” Molly came quickly to put a comforting arm around her.

  “Nothing.” But her voice choked on the word.

  “It’s Aaron, isn’t it?” Molly led her to a chair and sat down next to her. “I knew it. I knew you had feelings for each other.”

  Sarah shook her head. It was too late now to pretend that Aaron meant nothing to her, obviously. She mopped away a stray tear and straightened.

  “I think that I am the only one foolish enough to feel something, Molly. And you must say nothing to Aaron about this.”

  “But why?” Molly bent toward her, her expression earnest. “You two would be so gut for each other. I’m sure he cares for you.”

  “No.” Sarah had to stop this before Molly said something to Aaron and made the whole situation unbearable. “You’re wrong. And even if he did feel something, your mammi’s death . . .”

  She let that trail off. It was impossible to get anywhere this way.

  “You mean because Aaron blames Emma for Mammi’s dying that way.” Molly sounded composed, as if she’d come to terms with this long ago.

  Sarah pressed her fingers against her forehead, trying to stop the pounding that had begun there. “He can’t forgive, and I can’t explain—”

  She stopped, aghast at what she’d almost blurted out.

  There was a heavy step in the hallway, and Aaron stood in the door, hands pressed against the frame as if to hold himself back.

  “What do you mean? What can’t you explain?” His voice rasped with a harshness she’d never heard from him.

  Sarah groped for strength. “Nothing.” She fought to keep her voice calm. “Nothing.”

  He crossed the space between them in two long strides. “Tell me, Sarah. If there is something about my mother’s death, I have the right to know it.”

  She shook her head, helpless against the tide of his anger.

  “It’s something about Daadi, isn’t it?” Molly’s face was pale, but she seemed composed. “I always thought there was something.”

  Sarah took a deep breath. She’d prayed that the Lord would guide her in this decision. She hadn’t expected that His answer would come in this way, but perhaps it had. Walking away from this was now impossible.

  Aaron leaned over her, one hand on the back of her chair, the other planted firmly on the table. She couldn’t look at him, so she looked at his hand instead—taut, hard, the tendons standing out as if he strained against something.

  This would be difficult, no matter how she told the story. It was best just to get it out as quickly as she could.

  “My aunt finally told me what happened that day. Everything was fine until after Benjamin was born. Then things went wrong, and your mamm started bleeding. Aunt Emma knew right away that she needed to go to the hospital. She sent your father to call for the ambulance.”

  She stopped, as if a hand had clutched her throat. How could she say the rest of it?

  “He . . .” Aaron sounded puzzled, shaking his head. “He went . . . I remember that. I harnessed up the horse for him, and he went.”

  “He didn’t bring help.” Sarah said the words flatly. Just get it out. “By the time Aunt Emma realized no one was coming and sent you to the neighboring house to ask for help, it was too late.”

  “What happened to him?” Aaron’s voice was harsh.

  “One of the neighbors found him asleep in the buggy. He’d been drinking.” She hesitated. “Aunt Emma has blamed herself ever since, thinking she somehow should have known he’d been drinking, but she didn’t.”

  Aaron shook his head again, anger battling grief and doubt in his eyes. “No. That can’t be. He didn’t start drinking until after Mamm died. He was grieving, and he turned to that—” He stopped, probably because she was shaking her head.

  “I’m sorry. Maybe you didn’t recognize it, but he was drunk that night.”

  “Why?” The question burst out of him. “If this is so, why didn’t we ever know?”

  Oh, Aaron. Her heart hurt for him.

  “You had just lost your mamm. They didn’t want to put that burden on you as well. They agreed to be silent.”

  “They had no right.” The doubt was gone from his voice now, leaving only the grief and anger.

  Her heart sank. Knowing the truth hadn’t mended Aaron’s feelings. It had only turned them in a different direction.

  She rose, putting her hand on his arm in a gesture meant to comfort. His muscles were rigid, unyielding. He couldn’t accept comfort from her.

  “They meant it for the best, Aaron. Don’t you see that? They didn’t want you children to turn away from the only parent you had left. Please . . .”

  She let that die away. Nothing she said would help now. He and Molly both needed time to accept the truth.

  She turned and went quickly out the door.

  Aaron was vaguely aware of Sarah’s departure. He looked at Molly, afraid of what he might see, but she seemed calm enough.

  “She shouldn’t have told that in front of you,” he said.

  “You didn’t give her much choice.” Molly moved, seemingly at random, and sat down heavily in the rocking chair. “It’s not Sarah’s fault.”

  His heart seemed to clutch. He remembered Mammi sitting in that chair in the days before Benjamin’s birth, knitting something small and white—a bootie, maybe.

  “If it’s true . . .” He couldn’t go on. Everything he thought he’d known had been turned on its head.

  “It is true,” Molly said, her voice flat. “We both knew that the moment Sarah said the words. Daadi was never the same after Mamm died. He probably blamed himself.”

  “So he drank even more.” Aaron’s anger spurted out.

  “Don’t, Aaron.” Molly shook her head tiredly. “They’re both gone now, and being angry doesn’t help anyone. The only thing to do now is to forgive.”

  He wanted to say that he couldn’t help the anger. But wasn’t that what Daad would have said about the drinking? That he couldn’t help it?

  The shrieks and laughter from outside seemed to be louder. Molly glanced toward the window.

  “I’ll see to them,” he said quickly. “Why don’t you go on to bed? This has been enough for you to deal with. The kids can get their own snacks.”

  Molly made a shooing motion with her hand. “Go. See what’s going on. We’ll talk later.”

  He stepped outside, pausing for a moment on the porch, praying that the cold air would clear his head. He needed a bit of clarity right now.

  The kids had grown more boisterous, for sure. Nathan wasn’t much of a deterrent. He was too close to them in age and not settled himself yet.

  Aaron went down the steps. Sure enough, the volume of noise lowered the minute the kids saw him. He nodded to Nathan.

  “Let’s start getting them inside for something to eat. It’s time to wind this down, I think.”

  Nathan grinned. “Nobody wants to stop on a night like this. But I’ll try.” He jerked his head toward the lane. “I see Sarah is leaving.”

  Aaron followed his gaze to where Sarah adjusted the harness on the buggy horse. He went quickly to her, not giving himself a chance to think about it. He caught the strap and pulled it through.

  “Shouldn’t one of the boys be taking care of this?”

  He’d make this sound normal if it killed him. Molly wa
s right. None of this was Sarah’s fault. And as for those moments when he’d held her close in his arms ... well, maybe he’d best not think of that.

  “They’re too busy having fun to disturb them,” Sarah said. She swung the lines into place, her face turned away from his.

  She started to climb up, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm. She shook her head.

  “I’m sorry, Aaron. I shouldn’t have . . .”

  “You were right to tell us,” he said quickly. Even through his own haze of pain, he could see that she’d hurt herself, too, in the telling.

  “I don’t know.” She turned, looking into his face as if searching for something there. “Aunt Emma just told me about it a few days ago, and I’ve been praying for guidance ever since.”

  His hand closed over hers, and he felt the warmth of her comfort. “You did right. The truth is always best, ain’t so?”

  “I hope.” Doubt clouded the clear green of her eyes, but it couldn’t dim the caring.

  He wanted to draw her into his arms. He wanted to hold her close and let her comfort him.

  But that wouldn’t be fair to her. He helped her up into the buggy.

  “Denke, Sarah. For everything.”

  She nodded, lifted the lines, and clucked to the horse, moving down the lane away from him.

  He didn’t have time to think about it. Tonight, of all nights, when they had all Benjamin’s friends here. Still, if they hadn’t been here, if he hadn’t taken that sled ride with Sarah, maybe the truth wouldn’t have come out.

  When he returned to the kitchen, it was full of kids, all talking and eating. The din seemed enough to rattle the windows. He didn’t know how Molly managed to keep smiling, let alone stay on her feet.

  He guided her gently into the rocking chair and took over, making sure everyone had enough to eat and drink while praying they’d soon get tired and go home.

  Finally it was over. Nathan and Benjamin went out to see the last stragglers off. Aaron glanced around the kitchen, relieved to see that the girls had cleaned most everything up before they left.

  “No more now.” He headed Molly off before she could reach the sink. “We’ll finish the rest, and in the morning you can tell us we did it wrong. Now go off to bed.”

  “Bed sounds gut.” Benjamin came in ahead of Nathan, yawning ostentatiously, and headed for the stairs.

  “Not you,” Aaron said quickly. “It’s Molly who must go to bed. Thank her for all she did, and you can help me wash up these cups.”

  “Can’t we leave them until morning?” Benjamin clung to the doorframe, as if reluctant to let go.

  “No, we can’t.” It was hard to remain patient with the boy at times like this. “Komm, tell your sister good night.”

  Benjamin crossed the kitchen slowly, not looking at Aaron. He leaned toward Molly to accept her hug. Aaron caught a whiff of his breath, and it was as if the boy had slapped him full in the face.

  He grabbed Benjamin’s arm, spinning him around. “You’ve been drinking.” He seemed to be drowning in a flood of painful memories. “Admit it! You’ve been drinking!”

  Benjamin looked away. “I don’t—”

  “Don’t lie to us. We can smell the beer on your breath. Where did you get it?” His stomach churned. “Is this the first time?”

  “All right.” Benjamin yanked himself free. “You don’t have to make such a big thing of it. I just had a beer. So what? Lots of guys have a beer once in a while.”

  Lots of guys didn’t have a father who’d been an alcoholic. The words were on his tongue, but he couldn’t say them.

  “Where did you get it?” he asked again.

  Benjamin shrugged. “One of the guys brought a six-pack. That’s all. I don’t know what you’re getting so excited about. I’m not drunk.”

  “You were drinking.” Like Daadi. “You let someone bring beer to our house.”

  “I didn’t tell him to.” Benjamin’s expression turned sulky. “It’s not like I planned it. But he had it, and everyone would think I was a little kid if I didn’t have a taste.”

  “You can’t—”

  “You think I’m like Daadi.” Benj’s temper flared, and he fairly shouted the words. “You think I’m like Daadi, and you hate me for it.” He spun and ran from the room.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  When Aaron came down to breakfast the next morning, Benjamin wasn’t there. He sent a questioning glance toward Molly, who was ladling oatmeal into a serving bowl.

  “I thought I’d let Benjamin sleep a little longer this morning,” she said. “It was a late night.”

  “Ja.” The word was heavy with regret. He should not have let anger get the better of him. Engaging in a shouting match with his young brother was not the way to help Benjamin toward maturity.

  Aaron’s chair scraped. He sat, bowing his head for the silent prayer.

  The prayer ended. Nathan scooped oatmeal into his bowl and reached for the brown sugar. “Your oatmeal always tastes better than when I make it, Molly. I don’t know why. I make it the way you showed me.”

  Aaron appreciated the effort Nathan made to sound as if this were any normal morning. Nothing would be gained by going over last night’s events, surely.

  “That’s because Molly watches the oatmeal while it cooks, instead of letting it boil and stick like some people do,” Aaron said.

  Nathan grinned, his good nature unimpaired, and spooned oatmeal into his mouth. “You could take over the cooking,” he mumbled around the oatmeal.

  Molly swatted at him with a dish towel. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. Don’t you remember any of the manners I taught you? It’s no wonder you don’t have a steady girl yet.”

  “I’m just taking my time about picking one out,” he said. “I want to be sure I do it right, like your Jacob did.”

  Molly smiled, passing him a bowl of scrambled eggs. “My Jacob knew what he wanted from the time he was sixteen already.”

  “You mean he knew what he wanted as soon as you decided for him, ain’t so?”

  Molly withdrew the bowl. “You sure you want breakfast this morning?”

  “All right, all right, I give.” He held up his hands in surrender. “Jacob knew you were the one for him from the minute he clapped eyes on you.”

  Aaron listened to his siblings’ good-natured kidding with half his attention as he nursed a mug of coffee. He must have slept some last night, but it didn’t feel that way. He wasn’t sure whether he’d spent more time thinking about Benjamin’s drinking or Sarah’s unexpected revelation. Or about Sarah herself.

  Too bad all that thinking hadn’t resulted in any major breakthroughs. All he knew for sure was that he had to talk to Benjamin seriously, and not when the two of them were like powder kegs ready to explode.

  Nathan finally stood up, giving Aaron a questioning look. “You ready?”

  “I want to talk to Molly for a bit. You go ahead and get started.”

  Nathan nodded, grabbed his jacket from its hook, and headed out the back door. He’d have the workshop warmed up by the time Aaron got there.

  Aaron looked at Molly, lifting his eyebrows. “Did you tell Nathan what Sarah said about Daad?”

  She shook her head. “That’s for you to do, I think. You’re the head of the family.”

  “I haven’t been doing that any too well lately.” He stared down at the cooling coffee in his mug, as if he might find an answer there. “What happened with Benj and the drinking . . . it’s exactly what I’ve been worried about, and yet I still wasn’t prepared.”

  “I’m not sure how you would prepare for that. I’m worried about him, too,” Molly said, her voice soft. “Maybe especially after what Sarah told us last night.”

  “Ja.” He was silent for a moment, trying to still the pain. “It’s hard—trying to adjust to the truth being so very different from what I’ve thought it was all these years.”

  Molly nodded, her usually merry face grave. “I was young enough not to notice a l
ot, or maybe not to understand what I did see. I just knew that I’d soon have a new baby sister or brother.” She smiled just a little. “Don’t tell Benjamin, but I was hoping for a sister.”

  “I won’t tell him.” Would he have been less worried if the child had been a girl? Maybe, but it was impossible to say.

  “You were up most of the night.” Molly reached across the table to clasp his hand. “I heard you pacing.”

  “I’m sorry if I disturbed you. You need your rest.”

  “Ach, how could I sleep? I just kept going over it and over it. Like you.”

  “I’ve remembered a little more, I think.” He gripped her hand. “It’s all mixed up in my mind—what Sarah said, what I believed, what I think I remember. All the signs were there—I don’t know why I didn’t piece it together myself.”

  “You wouldn’t have wanted to believe it. I wouldn’t, either. Somehow it was easier to excuse Daadi’s drinking when we thought it was caused by grief. But it was guilt.”

  “I think so.” He frowned down at their clasped hands. “Maybe we shouldn’t tell Nathan and Benjamin.”

  Her hand jerked in his. “Isn’t the truth always better?”

  “I know that’s what I said last night. But I don’t want Nathan and Benjamin to feel the anger I do.”

  “Ach, Aaron, you must not be angry. You certainly can’t blame Emma or anyone else who hid the truth from us. Poor Emma. She must have known all these years that you blamed her, and she bore it because she thought it was better for you.”

  That sliced straight to his heart. “For Emma to do that ... somehow I must make things right with her.”

  “Ja, you will want to, but I think Emma does not expect anything from you. She’s a woman who always does what she thinks is right.” She paused. “Sarah is like her in that respect.”

  His jaw tightened. Sarah had let herself in for pain in her effort to help him.

  “None of us has the right to be angry,” Molly said earnestly, clasping his hand. “What happened is God’s will. We have to accept that. We have to forgive, if we want to be forgiven.”

  He swallowed, throat muscles working. His little sister had learned wisdom, it seemed.