The Betrayal

by Beverly Lewis

  After sipping coffee and relishing their sweet rolls, the sisters sat without speaking for a moment. Then Leah licked her fingers before reaching into her pocket to hand a wad of bills to Sadie. ‘‘You’ll need part of this for your trolley fare and again in Lancaster when you purchase your ticket at the train depot. Be sure to save the rest for your return trip in October.’’

  I won’t be comin’ back, Sadie thought, a lump in her throat. She mustn’t let on, though. She must keep her chin from quivering when they said good-bye.

  Sadie felt thankful for her younger sister’s unmistakable gentleness, noticing for the first time the beauty that radiated from her smile and the way she sat tall and slender in the chair. Her hazel eyes shone with tenderness. Strong both in body and spirit, Leah was the kind of young woman a person could entrust her life to. Sadie felt she was doing just that by allowing herself to be secretly whisked off to Ohio.

  Sadie and Leah sat together in the family buggy on Main Street, waiting for the trolley. ‘‘I guess this is Hatyee—so long—for a little while,’’ Leah said, smiling sadly. ‘‘ ’Tis hard to believe you’re goin’.’’

  Sadie thought of the many miles that would eventually separate them. ‘‘My head’s still spinnin’, so quick you were to arrange things. I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you.’’

  ‘‘Jonas was a big help with the plannin’ . . . though he knows nothin’ at all about what you did during rumschpringe.’’ Leah looked downright glum. ‘‘He’ll be the one to meet you in Millersburg. Stay alert when you change trains in Pittsburgh, jah? Don’t be shy about askin’ for directions. It’ll be wonderful-gut for you to get away.’’

  They embraced ever so tightly. Sadie hung on to her sister longer than she might have under different circumstances. It was next to impossible to think of saying good-bye forever. ‘‘Oh, Leah, thank you for keepin’ my awful secret—you and Aunt Lizzie both. You’re a dear sister.’’

  Leah’s face turned ashen just then. She seemed at a loss for words.

  ‘‘You’ll tell Mamma and Aunt Lizzie I love ’em, won’t you? After they realize I’m gone and all. Same for Hannah and Mary Ruth . . . and Dat, too.’’

  ‘‘I’ll be sure and tell everyone.’’

  Sadie reached for her suitcase. ‘‘Don’t worry ’bout me, hear?’’

  Leah nodded. ‘‘I’ve been wantin’ to ask you somethin’, Sadie. Will you still consider bein’ one of my bridesmaids, come November?’’

  ‘‘Well, I—’’ She fought hard the tears. Truth was, long before then Naomi would have gone to the brethren with her revelation of Sadie’s sins. And if so, Sadie could be in Leah’s wedding only if she was willing to confess, and they both knew it. Still, she couldn’t blame Leah for asking. ‘‘It’ll be a wonderful-gut day for you and Jonas.’’

  ‘‘I really want you to stand up with me,’’ Leah persisted. ‘‘Will you think on it?’’

  ‘‘I’ll send you a letter in due time.’’ They hugged again. ‘‘I’ll be missin’ your baptism, too,’’ Sadie said, torn with emotion.

  ‘‘ ’Tis all right.’’

  This was torture, now that she was this far into her flight away from home. To think she might never lay eyes on Leah—on any of her family—ever again.

  Sadie did not delay. Climbing down from the carriage, she waved one last time, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

  ‘‘Safe trip!’’ she heard Leah call.

  Turning to look once more, she saw her sister stand, waving to her from the buggy. The horse started a bit, and Leah sat down quickly, still holding the reins tightly in her hands.

  The image of Leah, looking so forlorn, even anxious, remained with Sadie during the trolley ride past the Strasburg Mennonite Church and cemetery and down Route 222 to Lancaster.

  Once she was settled on the train, she kept to herself, not once speaking to the passenger next to her. She warded off the ever-present stares of the English while covertly looking around herself. Two women with bobbed hair wore interesting dark suits with collared jackets that hugged the bodice, then flared slightly below the waistline. One woman powdered her nose and applied bright red lipstick before opening her book, The Egg and I by Betty MacDonald. Sadie wondered how the author had come up with such a peculiar title.

  The passenger across the aisle and up one seat was reading a page from The New York Times. A half-page advertisement for something called A Streetcar Named Desire caught Sadie’s attention, but she had no idea what such a thing as Broadway was.

  Turning toward the window where she sat, she realized just how excited she was to be on a train for the first time— going anywhere, really—as the rhythmic sway of the passenger car lulled her into thinking she was indeed doing the right thing. To think it was Leah, of all people, who had made it possible for her to take the train, which ran from Pittsburgh west to Orrville, Ohio, before heading south to Millersburg.

  Already, Sadie was missing home. Dear Mamma and Dat, her sisters, and Aunt Lizzie, along with the deceased baby she’d birthed—missing him every day she lived. She must dry her endless tears and attempt to make a new life for herself, leaving the old behind, including her constant thoughts of the love she’d shared with Derek Schwartz. Hard as it was to forsake the only folk she’d ever known, she must set her mind on meeting a good Amish boy and becoming his wife someday. Nothing else would do.

  The more Mary Ruth read from the book Uncle Tom’s Cabin, the more outraged she became. She thought constantly about the enslavement of helpless black folk—during her chores, on the way to house church, and while she prayed silent prayers at night. What a torturous life poor Tom led in the south! she thought sadly.

  Sometimes her imagination ran unchecked, and she wondered if somewhere in the world there were other men as cruel as plantation owner Simon Legree. Never in Pennsylvania Amish country, she assumed. Her world was far different; she was safe here.

  She would not think of breathing a word of this book, or any like it, to her family. Not even to Hannah, though she had heard last year from several students at the Georgetown School that the book was required study in high school. That being the case, she’d done herself a favor by devouring it ahead of time.

  When she scurried downstairs to help Mamma with breakfast, she was startled to find Sadie nowhere around. To top it off, Dat was just now coming in from the barn, asking, ‘‘Ida, have ya seen Leah?’’

  Mamma’s red and swollen eyes told a sad story.

  Abram locked his legs deliberately where he stood, there in the lower portion of the barn where he milked, fed, and watered his cows daily. He listened with ears to hear, but he did not comprehend—not immediately—the things Leah was telling his weeping Ida and him. ‘‘What do you mean, you helped Sadie leave home?’’ Bewildered, he took off his hat. ‘‘Why would you do such an impulsive thing, daughter?’’

  Leah hung her head.

  ‘‘Ain’t like you, Leah,’’ Ida spoke up.

  At last Leah raised her head. ‘‘Sadie was . . . well, afraid you wouldn’t give her your blessin’ to go away.’’

  Ida was rocking back and forth as she sat on a milk stool. ‘‘Your sister’s wants and wishes haven’t influenced you before. How could you act on your own judgment, without your father’s say-so?’’

  ‘‘Truth be told, Sadie was plannin’ to sneak away on her own.’’

  ‘‘And you felt you ought to help her?’’ Abram felt the ire rising in him and struggled to keep his temper in check. Then, before Leah could respond, he added, ‘‘I thought it was you who was lookin’ to go out to Millersburg.’’

  ‘‘I was, but I honestly thought it wiser for Sadie to be the one. There she’ll be welcomed by shirttail cousins—looked after, too. I guess you could say she and I traded spots.’’

  ‘‘Just a short trade, I hope,’’ Ida said, her jaw set as she leaned against a bale of hay. Her blue eyes looked faded, as if her tears had washed away some of the color.

&nbs
p; ‘‘Jah, ’tis what both Sadie and I thought she needed—a new outlook on life for a little while,’’ Leah replied, looking as sheepish as Abram had ever seen her.

  ‘‘And was this turn of events disappointin’ to Jonas? Sadie goin’, ’stead of you?’’ he couldn’t help asking.

  ‘‘Jonas seemed to understand when I called from Dr. Schwartz’s office.’’

  ‘‘You used Dr. Schwartz’s telephone?’’ Ida was obviously disappointed.

  ‘‘I left money beside the phone,’’ Leah said. ‘‘I know it sounds awful forward, Mamma, but there was no other way to make plans quickly. And since Jonas took the train out there, I knew he could give me advice for Sadie’s trip.’’

  ‘‘Why on earth was it necessary to do all this so quicklike?’’ Ida folded her arms over her ample bosom.

  Looking up at him, Leah captured Abram’s heart anew. ‘‘I wonder, Dat . . . and Mamma, did you ever happen to hear Sadie weepin’ in the night?’’

  Ida’s sad eyes gleamed and she nodded her head.

  Abram didn’t own up to having heard any such goings-on. He was more interested in knowing the real reason for Sadie’s wanting to up and leave . . . and where on earth she’d gotten the money.

  ‘‘I believe gettin’ away for a bit will help my sister.’’ Leah turned her head and stared at the hayloft.

  Scant as it was, that was all the explanation she appeared willing to give for now. Yet he was almost sure Leah knew more than she was letting on. ‘‘You must go to Preacher Yoder with whatever you’re not tellin’ us,’’ he said. ‘‘Tell him why Sadie’s in Ohio.’’

  ‘‘But . . . Dat, I love my sister’’ came the soft protest.

  Abram felt he might burst, so frustrated was he. ‘‘ ’Tis best you confide in Preacher if you care ’bout her at all.’’

  ‘‘Sisters may come before a beau,’’ Ida added, ‘‘but not before the Lord God or the church.’’ She was growing tearful again. ‘‘Oh, what’ll we do round here without Sadie?’’ she whimpered.

  He felt right sad for his wife, surely he did. He understood how she felt because he felt the selfsame way toward Leah. Going over, he placed a gentle hand on Ida’s shoulder. ‘‘Might be this is gut timin’, seein’ how rebellious Sadie’s been lately.’’ It was mighty hard to erase from his mind Sadie’s repeatedly unruly ways.

  ‘‘Maybe she’ll appreciate home more once she returns,’’ Leah offered.

  Ida wiped her eyes. ‘‘Meanwhile, what’ll we tell the twins?’’

  ‘‘Best let me think on this and discuss it tonight at supper,’’ Abram spoke up.

  Ida nodded in agreement. So it was settled. Hannah and Mary Ruth would be told something—just what, he didn’t know yet. He was thankful to have Leah still here living under his roof, that much was certain. Could it mean her affection for Jonas was beginning to fade? He would continue to hold out hope to that end.

  ‘‘Sadie’s visiting some of Fannie Mast’s cousins in Ohio for a few weeks,’’ Abram said when they’d all gathered at the table. The twins had begun eating Ida’s Swiss steak and rich gravy, but when realization set in, their fair faces drooped identically, as if they’d each lost their best friend.

  ‘‘This surely is awful sudden, ain’t so?’’ Mary Ruth spoke up. ‘‘But Sadie did seem dreadful sad, I daresay. Maybe she’ll be happier there.’’

  ‘‘Will Sadie be looked after . . . out there, so far away?’’ Hannah asked shyly.

  Abram was glad to reassure his gentle Hannah. So much like Leah, this twin was. Mary Ruth, on the other hand, reminded him of Sadie—a troubling thought, to be sure. ‘‘Sadie will be just fine, and you’ll hear of Millersburg in her letters.’’

  Leah was nodding at that. ‘‘Sadie said she’d write. I ’spect we’ll be hearin’ something in a few days.’’

  Mary Ruth looked up from her plate and gazed at Leah just then. Abram noticed the knowing glance exchanged between the two. Just as I guessed, he thought. Mary Ruth provided the money for the train ticket.

  Later, during Bible reading, he read from the Ninety-first Psalm to comfort his family. ‘‘ ‘He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust.’’’

  Besides him, Mary Ruth was the only one not sniffling as he finished up the chapter.

  Lizzie paced back and forth in her kitchen, wishing she’d 17had a chance to stop Leah from doing what she’d gone and done. She was downright annoyed to hear the news from Abram of Sadie’s leaving, much preferring Leah or Sadie to have told of their plans.

  Sighing, she was awful sure they’d never see hide nor hair of their pretty Sadie again. Ach, the pain of it all, she thought. She stepped out onto her back porch and went to lean on the banister, taking comfort in her colorful garden flowers, nearly too many to count. It was as she leaned hard against the railing that she was struck anew how this whole terrible idea of Sadie’s—to forever keep such a secret—was so wrong. She, of all people, knew what it was like to have a secret burning a hole in your heart. And with the knowing came the heartbreak . . . and the praying.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The day after Sadie’s departure, Ida carried sleeping Lydiann to the wooden crib, recently passed down from her sister-in-law Nancy Ebersol, Abram’s younger brother’s wife. ‘‘Sleep tight, little one.’’ She kissed the sweet face, then gently lowered the tiny girl onto the small mattress.

  With Lydiann snug for her first long nap of the day, Ida had the idea to get a head start on some fall cleaning. She had to do something with herself to get her mind off her eldest slipping away without thinking enough of them to say something ahead of time. Ever so sneaky, it was. And Abram’s Leah . . . goodness’ sake, what was she thinking by helping Sadie do such a thing?

  It wasn’t enough for Leah to tell her side of the story hours after Sadie had already left Lancaster by train; Sadie should have spoken for herself. Leah revealed she had gone so far as to contact Jonas Mast to make plans by ringing the telephone David Mellinger kept out in the woodworking shop—ever so surprising that was. So . . . the Mellingers were much less conservative folk, it seemed, if they were allowed a telephone on the property. She did know of a family who had urgent need of a phone for emergencies—a child allergic to beestings, she recalled. So maybe David had gotten permission from his bishop for some such reason. A rare thing, indeed. Whatever the circumstances were, the ministers here felt strongly that telephones were not to be had by ‘‘a holy generation.’’ Let the Mennonites have their telephones, electricity, and automobiles.

  Ida much preferred the strict teachings of their church district, where the People were encouraged to carry the truth within them, hour by hour, and simply write letters or go visiting whenever they could. After all, they were working toward the highest goal: to get to heaven some sweet day.

  Most disturbing was that both Sadie and Leah had taken matters into their own hands. Such behavior was typical of the teen years, though Sadie had already joined church and wasn’t considered to be running around any longer. Ida would be ever so glad once all her girls had joined church, safely within the Fold . . . and settled down as young wives. So surprising it was that her pretty eldest daughter hadn’t yet chosen a life mate. If only Sadie could be married first, before her younger sister.

  She sighed and got to thinking about making ready for heavy-duty housecleaning. With Hannah and Mary Ruth going off to school next Monday, why not have all the girls pitch in and help? she thought. Standing at the top of the stairs, she called down to the twins. ‘‘Hannah . . . Mary Ruth . . . can you hear me?’’

  When she received no answer, she assumed they were outdoors, so she headed downstairs herself, to the utility room where she kept her many mops. Back upstairs, she hurried to the twins’ bedroom, eager to eliminate any and all cobwebs that might be hiding from view. Though she could not move the heavy double bed he
rself, she got down on the floor and lifted up the quilt, peering beneath. Pushing the dry mop as far back against the wall as she could, she felt satisfied. Then she rose and went to do the same on Mary Ruth’s side of the bed.

  This time the dry mop bumped into something, and she raised the quilt even farther. Getting down to look, she was surprised to see books—a good many of them. ‘‘Well, what’s this?’’ she whispered, stretching to reach them.

  Mary Ruth knew right away she was in hot water when Mamma singled her out upstairs following the noon meal. ‘‘I need to ask you something,’’ her mother said.

  Gesturing for her to go into the big bedroom, Mamma went and pulled out the bottom drawer of her wide dresser and brought out Mary Ruth’s library books. ‘‘I dust mopped your room,’’ she said, waving Uncle Tom’s Cabin at her, ‘‘and I found these under your side of the bed. I s’pose they belong to you?’’

  By the way Mamma’s brow knit into a frustrated frown, Mary Ruth knew she was in big trouble. Probably more so, now that Sadie was gone from home and Mamma missed her so. ‘‘They belong to the public library,’’ Mary Ruth answered.

  ‘‘Why is it you have to go behind my back—mine and Dat’s?’’

  ‘‘I like books, Mamma. I enjoy stories that take me to places I can only hope to see . . . and the story people, ever so different than me.’’ And some not so different, too, she thought, thinking of poor Eliza, the slave girl who had very few choices in life, except to mind her mistress. She couldn’t go on to say that looking forward to reading a book was one of the best things about getting up in the morning. Could she?

  ‘‘You ain’t so much studyin’ with this sort of book but readin’ lies, Mary Ruth, don’t you see?’’ Mamma meant, of course, the novels, the made-up stories Hannah had spoken out against, too.