The Betrayal

by Beverly Lewis

  Short of asking her to go with them to the barn or for a walk over to Blackbird Pond, behind the smithy’s barn . . . well, he didn’t know how things would play out. Still, he could wait no longer; otherwise, Lizzie might take matters into her own hands, jump ahead, and talk to Leah about the circumstances of her birth.

  His father-in-law would be of no help with any of this, Abram knew. It had been John’s desire ever since he’d come to live in the Dawdi Haus last spring for Abram to ‘‘face up to the hard facts, and the sooner the better.’’ John’s attitude hadn’t set well with Abram, and as a result they’d exchanged some heated words, the last of which seemed to cause a flare-up in John’s bad hip. No longer could he lift a hand to harvest or to fill silo. With Leah soon to be hitched, Abram hadn’t the slightest idea how he was going to keep the farm running at all, let alone soundly.

  Mary Ruth broke the silence. ‘‘Please pass the mashed potatoes, Mamma.’’

  Ida did so quickly, then handed the large platter of baked pork chops to Abram. ‘‘Your favorite,’’ she said with a quick smile.

  Abram looked to see where Ida had put Lydiann, who usually spent the supper hour in Ida’s arms. ‘‘Is the baby upstairs sleepin’?’’

  ‘‘Jah, she has a low-grade fever. . . .’’

  ‘‘End of summer flu?’’ Mary Ruth asked.

  ‘‘Oh, I hope not,’’ Hannah spoke up.

  ‘‘No, no, no.’’ Ida was adamant. ‘‘Lydiann’s just trying to cut her first tooth.’’

  Leah had slumped down in her seat, awfully quiet—more so than usual. Abram observed her discreetly between bites of meat. Did Jonas defy me today and speak to Leah about Lizzie?

  He shuddered at the thought.

  Without so much as a nod from Abram after supper, Hannah rose from the table and helped Dawdi John out of his seat and over next door. They were still keeping Leah at arm’s length from John, but it remained to be seen how much longer that would matter.

  Abram breathed deeply. John’s relationship with his granddaughter Leah would not change one iota once she was told of her true beginnings. As for himself, Abram’s parental status would be reduced to merely Onkel. With that woeful thought, he curled his toes inside his shoes.

  He got up from the table and found The Budget, a newspaper published in Sugar Creek, Ohio, and distributed by mail to the Old Order communities. Meanwhile, Leah and Mary Ruth cleared the table and cleaned up the dishes.

  After a bit Leah said she was feeling ‘‘awful tired tonight’’ and turned to leave the kitchen.

  ‘‘I hope you’re not cutting teeth like the baby,’’ Mary Ruth teased.

  This brought a peal of laughter from Mamma, as well as Hannah, who’d just now returned from the Dawdi Haus.

  ‘‘Ach, Mary Ruth, best leave your sister be,’’ Abram spoke up in Leah’s defense.

  Leah smiled weakly, even gratefully, and headed upstairs.

  Hearing from Leah’s lips that she was under the weather gave Abram pause. Tonight just might not be the best time to reveal such life-altering information, after all.

  He drew a sigh and settled back in his hickory rocker. One more day won’t hurt none, he decided.

  But what if Leah had already been told by Jonas? The thought continued to nag him through the evening and later as he lay down on his bed and had to contend with Ida’s steady snoring. His back pained him enough to make him restless. He stared out the window at the moonlit sky, afraid that once Leah was told of her roots, he and Ida would never regain what they’d lost.

  Sadie helped Edith off to bed early, as was the older woman’s custom. ‘‘Lanterns out’’ usually came by eight o’clock of an evening, which gave Sadie plenty of time to read or think. But this night she planned to write a letter.

  Sunday, September 21

  Dear Mamma,

  Hello from Millersburg.

  I suppose Leah and Jonas are glad to have joined church today. You and Dat must surely be grateful. Was there a big crowd?

  She wondered when or if she might hear that a letter from Preacher Yoder had been sent to the Millersburg preacher. Or worse, from Bishop Bontrager to the Ohio bishop. Church discipline, after all, followed closely on the heels of the unrepentant soul. Naomi Kauffman, if she’d kept her word, had already set things in motion for Sadie to be disciplined, at least in the Gobbler’s Knob church. With Leah having spilled the beans to Dat and Mamma, as surely she had, no doubt Preacher Yoder had gotten an earful from her, too.

  You might think me uncaring, Mamma, if I say Leah shouldn’t count on me to be a bridesmaid. You can tell her for me. There’s so much going through my mind now. Better to ask Hannah and Mary Ruth. Or . . . Adah Peachey, since she and Leah have been bosom friends. Yet I daresn’t be so bold as to suggest whom Leah ought to pick, for goodness’ sake. Still, I’m awful angry at her these days.

  Mamma, I know it was ever so awkward for you and Dat to use the telephone yesterday. I know, too, that your words— both of yours—were meant to encourage me to confess. Truly, they have gone round and round in my head. And, if I’m to be honest, in my heart.

  I best be signing off for now. Write when you’re able. I hope Jonas Mast might tell me of his and Leah’s baptism.

  With love,

  Your daughter Sadie

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Abram rose and dressed in his work clothes before the rooster’s first crow. He rolled up his sleeves and headed promptly to the barn, where he wiped down the bloated udders of his two milk cows before sliding the wooden stool up to Rosie.

  Leah was late in getting out to help, which was unusual for her on a Monday morning—if she was coming at all, considering her departing words in the kitchen last evening. Ida would surely alert him if Leah was, in fact, ill.

  The last time one of his daughters had been said to be ‘‘under the weather,’’ no one guessed she was expecting a child. Sadie had been both immoral and successful at concealing it for a time. Even now, thinking about Sadie’s deception made him want to go out and find the Lump who’d done her wrong. He hadn’t asked who had been the father of the baby. Best not to know.

  The unexpected clatter of a carriage coming up the long lane caused him to crane his neck to look; Abram was flabbergasted to see Preacher Yoder in the faint morning light.

  ‘‘Wie geht’s,’’ the brawny man called to him from the side yard.

  ‘‘Hullo! I’m in the barn milkin’.’’

  ‘‘I know where you are, Abram’’ came the reply, reminiscent of the Lord God calling Samuel of old.

  He looked up and saw Preacher walking at a brisk pace, following the outline of the barnyard where the gravel met the back lawn. ‘‘Looks to be another mild day on the way,’’ Abram said, keeping on with his hand-milking chore beneath Rosie.

  ‘‘Better weather I haven’t seen for September twenty-second.’’

  ‘‘We mark this day?’’ he asked, puzzled. ‘‘What’s on your mind, Preacher?’’

  Not only stocky, but taller than most Plain men in the area, Preacher had a fearsome way of filling up the space he occupied. Young folk, mainly those in danger of church discipline, often whispered that the strength of Jehovah God was sketched on Preacher’s countenance. He had been only thirty-two years old when the lot of ordination fell on him; it was soon after that he became the divinely appointed shepherd for the Gobbler’s Knob flock. Now he was fifty-five and as forthright as ever. ‘‘Leah spoke with me on Saturday mornin’, just so you know, Abram. Are you privy to what she had to say?’’

  He nodded. ‘‘That I am.’’

  ‘‘Then you know your eldest—soon as she returns home— will have to face Deacon Stoltzfus, Bishop Bontrager, and myself.’’ Preacher stepped back as if eager to exit. ‘‘When do you expect the girl back?’’

  The girl . . . not ‘‘your daughter.’’ Preacher Yoder was making a severe point, and Abram should have expected as much. Preacher, along with Bishop Bontrager, was known to dig in his
heels. Little or no mercy was the rule, and baptized church members were fully aware of the consequences of missing the mark.

  ‘‘Sadie is visiting in Ohio. As far as I know, she’ll return in a few weeks. When she does I’ll instruct her to follow the Ordnung in submission to the church.’’

  ‘‘That is your word on this, Abram?’’

  ‘‘Jah, ’tis.’’

  Standing at the upstairs window, Leah had seen Preacher Yoder’s buggy through the lane and into the barnyard. She decided it best not to head out to the barn, what with somber talk of Sadie going on. Must be the reason why Preacher had come here so early of a morning. She’d half expected him to come calling yesterday afternoon, even while Dat and Jonas had gone to talk privately in the cornfield. But Preacher Yoder had his own way of doing things, and no one ever questioned the time of day he chose to drop in.

  She carried around in her at least a speck of hope. After all, Sadie hadn’t yet turned down her request to be a bridesmaid in the wedding, an honor Sadie knew was wholly tied to a confession. Now, with the church brethren involved, it might be that the way was paved for her sister’s redemption.

  After Preacher Yoder left the barn to return to his carriage and hurry out to the road, Abram finished the milking and stumbled across the barnyard, heading for the house. The tantalizing aroma of bacon sizzling and Ida’s scrambled eggs with cheese welcomed him, discouraged as he was.

  ‘‘Abram?’’ His rosy wife met him at the back door.

  Before she could say more, he was nodding his head. He sensed her concern. ‘‘Jah, Sadie best be gettin’ herself home. And mighty soon.’’

  ‘‘Then, she’s in danger of the shun?’’

  ‘‘If she doesn’t hurry and confess, she is.’’

  ‘‘Ach, what’ll we do?’’ asked Ida, hovering near as he hung his hat on the wooden peg in the utility room.

  ‘‘When it comes to our daughters, we never give up on ’em.’’

  Ida gave him an encouraging smile, then leaned on the crook of his elbow as they headed for the kitchen. ‘‘I’ll keep this in my prayers.’’

  He wanted to ask about Leah in the worst way but held his peace. The fact she wasn’t anywhere around led him to think she might be upstairs tending to Lydiann.

  About the time he might have asked, here came Leah carrying his wee daughter. ‘‘Let me have that baby of mine,’’ he said, sitting down at the table.

  Leah, smiling now, gently offered Lydiann to him. ‘‘She’s dry and ever so happy.’’

  ‘‘Then her tummy’s full, too?’’ He glanced over at Ida, who was scooping up the eggs and dishing them onto an oval platter.

  ‘‘Oh my, did she ever eat.’’ Ida came over, carrying the platter. She set it down and gave him a peck on the forehead, then smooched Lydiann’s tiny cheek, making over their little one. ‘‘Can you believe how fast she’s growin’?’’

  Abram touched Lydiann’s soft face with his thumb. ‘‘Who’s she take after, do you think?’’

  ‘‘Hard to say, just yet,’’ Ida replied. ‘‘But I daresay Lydiann’s most like our Leah.’’

  Our Leah . . . How much longer will she be considered ours alone? he wondered. Everything within him resisted telling Leah now. If ever.

  Leah’s eyes shone with delight at Ida’s comment. She hurried to set the table, catching his eye. ‘‘Sorry I didn’t get out to help you this mornin’, Dat. What with Hannah and Mary Ruth dressin’ round for school and all, Mamma needed my help with the baby.’’

  Just then the twins rushed to take their places at the table. ‘‘Aw, lookee there,’’ Mary Ruth said, grinning at Lydiann in Abram’s arms. ‘‘She’s her father’s baby girl, ain’t so?’’

  This brought plenty of smiles, and Abram figured he knew why. Truth was, he’d spent hardly any time at all with Lydiann. Not because he didn’t want to. He was just far busier than he’d hoped to be at this phase of his life. Looking to slow down some, he’d been hoping for the longest time Smithy Gid might take over the heavy farming duties once married to Leah. But Jonas Mast had seen to it those plans had gone awry.

  ‘‘No . . . no, I say Lydiann’s Mamma’s girl,’’ said Ida, cooing now and taking the baby from Abram. ‘‘I daresay she’ll be mighty content to sit on my lap while you feed your face, dear.’’

  Quickly Leah and Ida took their seats. When Abram bowed his head for the blessing over the meal, he added an additional prayer. O Lord God, may your watch care rest on our Sadie. . . .

  He breathed in audibly, signaling the end of the prayer.

  Leah reached for the platter of eggs near her and noticed Mary Ruth helping herself to three long strips of bacon across the table. ‘‘Won’tcha save some for the rest of us?’’ she joked.

  Mary Ruth gave her an apologetic look. ‘‘Sorry. Guess I thought I needed plenty of energy today.’’

  Hannah nodded her head.

  ‘‘And why’s that?’’ Dat asked.

  ‘‘We’re havin’ the first test in mathematics,’’ Mary Ruth explained, all smiles. ‘‘I s’pose to see what each pupil recalls from last year.’’

  ‘‘In arithmetic, you say?’’ Dat said.

  ‘‘It’s hard work,’’ Hannah said softly. ‘‘Takes a lot out of certain pupils.’’ She smiled at Mary Ruth and they tittered.

  ‘‘If a certain daughter of mine didn’t fret so over grades, I doubt she’d need any extra bacon a’tall.’’ Dat chuckled a bit. ‘‘Ain’t so, Mary Ruth?’’

  Mamma looked up just then, jostling Lydiann, who was reaching for the nearby breakfast plate. ‘‘Better learn all you can this year, girls. Next year I’ll be puttin’ you both to work here at home.’’

  Mary Ruth’s smile faded instantly. Leah suspected it was an indication of how her sister’s heart had just sank, to be sure.

  Feeling like it might be a wise thing to change the subject, Leah stuck her neck out and asked, ‘‘Dat, would smithy Peachey happen to know who owns the grassland northeast of his property line?’’

  ‘‘I know who does,’’ Dat replied. ‘‘That land belongs to the good doctor.’’

  ‘‘Dr. Schwartz?’’

  ‘‘Henry Schwartz has done nothin’ with it all these years. Why do you ask?’’

  Leah was caught like a driving horse in the path of a reckless automobile. ‘‘Jonas and I were there yesterday afternoon, is all.’’

  ‘‘So then you know it’s perfect grazing land and a cryin’ shame not to put animals on it.’’ Dat shoveled another spoonful of eggs into his mouth. While chewing, he managed to say, ‘‘You were trespassin’ if you’s were over there.’’

  She recalled Jonas had suspected as much. How peculiar that an English doctor, of all people, wanted to let that land just sit there with no intended purpose.

  Then it struck her hard as a bushel of potatoes falling on her head. Dr. Schwartz owned the land where someone had dug a tiny grave. Awful strange!

  She reached for her glass and drank down half of the creamy milk, straight from Rosie to Mamma’s table. Could it be? But no, surely not. Had Derry’s father buried Sadie’s blue baby in his own field?

  ‘‘What is it, Leah?’’ Mamma was asking, staring at her.

  ‘‘I guess I’m not feelin’ so gut right now.’’ She slid off the bench and rushed out of the kitchen.

  She heard Dat say as she headed upstairs, ‘‘Goodness’ sake, Leah was sick last night, too.’’

  Well, she couldn’t help how she was feeling. She had to take herself off to her room for a while. She needed to breathe slowly . . . think this over carefully. Besides, what could she say was wrong with her later, when she went out to hose down the milk house, feed the chickens, gather the eggs, and mow and fertilize the yards? How could she begin to say that Dr. Henry Schwartz must have buried his own grandson—and Dat’s, too—on that fertile plot of land? How could she confess that Sadie had conceived the dead baby with the doctor’s wicked son?

  Nearly worse than
all of that, Dr. Schwartz hadn’t had the decency to tell Sadie about the burial. He could have done so in confidence, one way or another. Mercy knows, this might have helped ease Sadie’s desperation and suffering, even given her a place to privately kneel and ponder her great loss.

  Henry Schwartz was a licensed physician and a trusted family friend. She’d seen the framed certificates on the wall at his medical clinic, felt the steadfastness in his handshake. So why should such a smart doctor give a stillborn, premature baby a burial? If he indeed had done so. Made hardly any sense.

  She felt helpless and sad at once. Helpless to know what to think . . . and awful sad for Sadie, who knew nothing of this, and just as well.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Lizzie was helping Ida put up the late cabbage the Tuesday after Leah’s baptism, making sauerkraut in her sister’s kitchen. ‘‘ ’Twas my understanding you and Abram were plannin’ to speak openly to Leah two days ago.’’ With both Hannah and Mary Ruth away at school and Leah safely outside with Abram, she felt at ease bringing this up.

  ‘‘We changed our minds, is all,’’ Ida explained. ‘‘Leah wasn’t feeling so well.’’

  ‘‘Oh? Leah’s ill?’’

  Ida nodded, absentmindedly it seemed. ‘‘Abram decided we should wait a bit.’’

  Wait longer?

  Lizzie didn’t like the sound of this. Both Ida and Abram had used the selfsame remark as an excuse too many times over the past months. Honest to goodness, she didn’t think it fair to wait one more day. After all, Leah was old enough to be courted and marry, so why not acknowledge her maturity in this important matter?

  ‘‘I say it’s past time’’ was what she felt like saying, and did so flat out.

  ‘‘Well, now, Lizzie, is it your decision to make, do you think?’’ Ida’s blue eyes could grow dark with displeasure on occasion, and this was clearly one of those times.

  ‘‘If you’re draggin’ your feet—scared of what Leah’s response might be—well, I’m willin’ to tell her myself.’’