The Betrayal

by Beverly Lewis

  There was only one thing to do now: try his best to forget her, that and the pain she’d caused him . . . and his family. Best leave the past right where it belonged—behind. Yet that was anything but easy with Leah’s beautiful and wide-eyed sister practically living under the same roof. She was a constant reminder of what he’d lost.

  Leah and Adah had been walking out near Blackbird Pond and beyond for over an hour. Even though Adah insisted they rest near the willow tree, Leah refused to stop. She had such pent-up energy, yet was nearing collapse at the same time. She wanted to calm down but wouldn’t let herself. ‘‘How will I ever forget Jonas?’’ The question poured out of her like vinegar mixed with honey.

  She welcomed Adah’s gentle touch on her shoulder, and they fell back into their silent, somber walk. The two friends had shared both sadness and joy through their years together, but today Leah’s despondency was far more intense than any time she could remember.

  ‘‘Love must be disappointing at times,’’ Adah said. ‘‘I ’spect you’ll never forget him.’’

  They walked in silence till Adah spoke up again. ‘‘Mamma sometimes says, ‘Love is faith with its work clothes on.’ ’’

  Leah had heard that said, too. ‘‘It’s all I can do to rise in the morning, missin’ him . . . missin’ the life we’d planned. I have no hope in me, Adah.’’ She wouldn’t go so far as to reveal that as children she and Jonas had made a love covenant of sorts. It was pointless to talk about, let alone consider now . . . especially with Gid’s sister.

  ‘‘I s’pose after some time passes, you’ll delve deep into your heart and find forgiveness there for what Jonas and Sadie have done to you.’’

  ‘‘Forgiveness warms the heart and soothes the sting,’’ Leah said softly. ‘‘Aunt Lizzie has said that my whole life, growin’ up. Easier said than done.’’

  ‘‘The Good Lord will help you, Leah. I’ll do my part, as well.’’

  Giving Adah a quick smile, she slipped her arm around her best friend, and they walked one more time around the large pond.

  Tuckered out, Leah said good-bye to Adah at last and headed across the field to the barn. She went around the back way, toward the earthen barn bridge leading to the second level. The haymow beckoned her.

  She stepped inside, taking in the familiar and sweet scent. Looking around, she made herself a spot to nestle in and sank down into the warm hay. Fatigued as she was, she called to mind her conversation with David Mellinger yet again.

  Jonas and Sadie . . .

  Together.

  Jonas’s name connected to her sister’s. Why? How? Oh, Lord God heavenly Father, please help this weary soul of mine! she prayed.

  She drifted off to tearful sleep and dreamed she was pitching hay, the raked pile seemingly never ending as she gripped the pitchfork. Her arm muscles and clenched fist throbbed with the intensity of the chore, and she roused herself slightly, only to relax once again and return to sleep.

  In search of a shovel, Smithy Gid climbed the ladder to the hayloft and was thunderstruck to see Leah there, fast asleep. Several gray mouse catchers had positioned themselves around her like miniature guards, but by the look of their relaxed and furry bodies, getting forty winks was uppermost in their feline minds.

  Lest he disturb Leah’s peaceful slumber, he decided against tramping through the hay just now and would have immediately descended the ladder if he hadn’t noticed Leah’s tearstreaked face. Unable to move away, he stared unashamedly at the curve of her eyelashes, the blush of peach on her cheeks, the relaxed expression on her lips.

  Most precious she is. . . .

  His heart wrenched and his breath caught in his throat. He would move heaven and earth if he could to let her know, in the appropriate time, that he was eager to offer his hand of friendship. If it should take years, he would wait. For goodness’ sake, Leah must not live life as a passed-over maidel due to the outright heartlessness of Jonas Mast.

  Two cats awakened and blinked their green eyes at him, staring him down. Pressing his finger to his lips, he hoped to ward off any piercing meows; then he realized how futile the gesture was. Cats cried, even screeched, as they desired. A body could simply look at a barn cat and a ruckus could follow if the cat’s mood was just right.

  He stood motionless, hoping the cats in question might run off or return to their dozing. Just keep still, he thought.

  Again shifting his gaze to Leah, he found himself wanting to lean forward, stretch just enough to touch her face . . . even gently press the loose strand of her brown hair between his fingers. But he held fast to the ladder.

  Gid struggled, knowing he had always been a distant second in Leah’s mind. Can I persuade her otherwise? He recalled the coolness of her hand in his that day in the woods. Several times during their difficult trek down the entangled hillock, he had reached for her innocently—steadying her, keeping her from stumbling or worse.

  But now it appeared she had fallen, having succumbed to the cruelly twisted jumble of her life. And though he was willing, he had been unable to keep her from doing so.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Asolid half hour came and went as Leah napped quietly. She stirred in and out of a dream, aware of voices below her.

  ‘‘No . . . no, Leah can’t handle this now. I’ve just lost one daughter; I won’t lose another!’’

  It was Dat’s voice . . . in her dream? But no, she was right here in the hay.

  Lost in a sleepy stupor, she tuned her ears to whatever she thought she’d heard.

  ‘‘Time’s run out, Abram. There are people who know the truth. . . .’’

  Aunt Lizzie? Was she nearby, too? She wondered what on earth Dat and Aunt Lizzie were doing in the barn together.

  ‘‘There’s no need to be rushin’ ahead with this, ’specially with the wedding called off,’’ Mamma said. ‘‘And ’tis a difficult time for the family just now, what with Sadie soon to be shunned.’’

  ‘‘I agree,’’ Aunt Lizzie said. ‘‘But wouldn’t you rather tell her than have her find out through the grapevine?’’

  Leah rose and shook the hay off her dress and apron, the cats scattering as she did so. Bewildered, she walked to the edge of the loft and peered down. ‘‘Dat? Mamma?’’ she called softly, surprised to see all of them in a huddle by the feed trough.

  Dat turned and spotted her, his face paling instantly.

  Their eyes held. An awkward silence fell between them, and Leah saw that both Mamma and Lizzie were befuddled, too. Lizzie’s hand flew to her mouth; Mamma’s eyes glistened, her face quivering.

  At last Dat broke the stillness. ‘‘Leah, how long have you been up there?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know . . . must’ve fallen asleep.’’ She moved toward the ladder and made her way down.

  ‘‘Come here to me, child.’’ Mamma opened her arms to embrace her.

  She felt the breathless heaving of her mother’s bosom and wondered why her heart beat so fast.

  Dat turned to Aunt Lizzie, his mouth open as if he wanted to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.

  Mamma held fast to Leah. ‘‘I think ’tis best for Abram and me to be alone with Leah for now, Lizzie. You understand, ain’t?’’

  Eyes downcast, Aunt Lizzie sighed audibly, and Leah observed the intense struggle between what Dat and Mamma were wanting—whatever it was—and what Lizzie must have been hoping for. Lizzie seemed to shrink in size just then. For an agonizing moment her aunt stood next to Mamma, saying not a word, looking forlorn and alone.

  When Aunt Lizzie raised her head, she fixed her sad eyes on Leah.

  ‘‘Sister?’’ pleaded Mamma softly.

  Slowly turning away, Aunt Lizzie wandered slump shouldered over to the wide barn door, leaning hard against it as it inched open.

  Leah felt the rush of cool air as her dear auntie headed outside.

  Once they were alone, Dat sat down on a square bundle of alfalfa. He looked at her, beard twitching to beat the band. ‘‘It�
��s time you heard the truth, Leah.’’ He placed his big hand on the spot beside him. ‘‘Come, sit beside ol’ Dat.’’

  Just the way he patted the baled forage made Leah tremble.

  Lizzie was beside herself. Why had they sent her out of the barn? In all truth, she had every right to be present when her honey-girl heard the story for the first time.

  She stumbled up the mule road toward home, continuing to worry. Had they made a mistake deciding to tell Leah? Poor thing, she’d been through so much lately. Lizzie had seen how washed out and frail Leah looked as a bridesmaid in Naomi’s wedding this morning. A wonder she’d managed to get through the wedding service at all!

  Heartsick as she was, Leah didn’t need to learn that Lizzie, not Ida, was her real mamma . . . not this day. How awful selfish of me, Lizzie thought.

  Hurrying to the back door of her house, she pushed it open and went straight to the wood stove to begin boiling water. Some strong mint tea would help calm her, if that was possible. She scarcely knew peace at all anymore.

  Standing over the pot of hot water, she forced her thoughts away from Leah to Abram’s flesh-and-blood daughter. How relieved she was; Sadie’s secret was out in the open at last. In spite of the shun the dear girl might be able to get herself some much-needed spiritual help in Millersburg . . . especially if there was a godly bishop, as Leah had indicated from Jonas’s previous letters. If only Sadie had never left home, she thought. If only she’d been repentant here, none of this dreadful thing between Sadie and Jonas would have happened.

  What gall of Sadie! She poured the water into her prettiest cup and walked to the front room window. Sipping her tea, she looked out toward the depths of the forest, where Sadie had, no doubt, conceived her love child.

  Lizzie was overcome with despair yet again, recalling the night of her own rumschpringe madness. Things had gotten clean out of hand, beginning with her decision to seek out some New Year’s Eve excitement. She had gone to a beauty parlor to have her waist-long hair cut to chin length and parted on the side, with finger waves like the young woman in a Coca-Cola ad she’d seen. Brazen and fun loving, she was ready for anything.

  All her life, she had been warned to stay close to home— to avoid fancy Englishers’ automobiles—yet defiantly she had tucked a pack of Chesterfields in her pocketbook and walked up to Route 340, thumbing a ride. The handsome young man who picked her up had no idea she was Amish, let alone underage. Grinning a warm greeting, he drove her around Lancaster County, eventually heading to Gobbler’s Knob, where he parked his Niagara Blue Roadster near the ditch along the road and shared some moonshine. They laughed and talked and drank too much, then hiked into the cold woods. There, in a hunters’ shack hidden deep in the trees, she willingly gave up her virtue.

  Leah’s life began in the shanty that winter night—the worst possible thing that could have happened to young Lizzie, discovering she was with child. Both her mother and father, as well as her older brother, Noah, brought the fact up to her continually, till she thought she might lose her wits. Noah even threatened to haul her away to a big city and force her to abort her baby. ‘‘Such a disgrace you are to this family!’’ he’d said time and again, the color in his face rising to a bright purple.

  In desperation, she had written a letter to her big sister, Ida, pleading for help. The next day Abram and Ida came with toddler in arms—fair-haired Sadie—to Hickory Hollow, having ridden all the way from Gobbler’s Knob.

  A serious scuffle took place in the barn, she learned later. Abram stood up to Noah—even held up his fists—and said under no circumstances was Noah to compound Lizzie’s sin with two wrongs.

  In short order a pact was made involving Abram, Ida, and herself. That very night, Lizzie rode to her new home in Gobbler’s Knob.

  Lizzie held no grudge toward the handsome stranger. Conceiving his child had been just as much her fault as his. Yet October 2, 1930, the date of Leah’s birth, had burned its way into her memory for always.

  Abram took her and Ida to talk privately with Bishop Bontrager, who welcomed Lizzie into the church after she freely repented. She was baptized a year later, along with a number of unsuspecting youths.

  So the secret was set, and Leah was raised as Abram’s and Ida’s own. Altogether plump, Ida didn’t have to make much excuse for this new baby showing up three years after Sadie. Only a handful of folk knew much of anything at all, though rumors flew like lightning bugs when Lizzie moved into the Ebersols’ Dawdi Haus till her little log house could be built up behind the bank barn.

  Lizzie turned away from the window and went to sit for a spell. She was ever so tired all of a sudden. Her head spun with the memory of years.

  Setting the teacup down on the floral saucer, she sighed and leaned back a bit, wishing she’d never, ever breathed a word to Abram today, nor this week for that matter. What had she been thinking? Poor Leah needed a respite from sadness and pain. Not a revelation that could cause her further grief.

  Closing her eyes, she breathed a prayer for what must surely be happening in Abram’s barn this very moment—her dear Leah was being presented with such untimely news.

  Tears sprang to her eyes. What’ll happen when Leah hears the truth? Will she distrust me? What of Abram and Ida? Will our girl view us as betrayers, all these years?

  Just how long she had been resting there, she didn’t know. Maybe only a few minutes when she heard someone calling in the distance.

  ‘‘Aunt Lizzie!’’

  Getting up out of her chair, she flew to the southeastfacing window in the spare bedroom and looked out. There, running up the mule road, was Leah, skirts flying like a kite in a windstorm.

  ‘‘Aunt Lizzie!’’ her daughter called.

  Oh, Lizzie thought she must be seeing things. Her heart leaped into her throat. How would Leah react to such jolting news?

  Lizzie ran to get her shawl and hurried out the back door, down the narrow porch, and past the flower beds, finished for the season. Over the grassy yard she went, past the stone wall and down the hill to the edge of the woods, where the light broke free, clear as glass.

  She kept going, fast as she could, though young Leah’s pace was far quicker. ‘‘Are you all right?’’ Lizzie called to her, nearly out of breath.

  Leah’s feet pounded hard against the dirt path, and if Lizzie wasn’t mistaken, her face was marked with tears.

  And then they were in each other’s arms, Leah sobbing and whimpering. ‘‘Oh, Aunt Lizzie, it was you all along . . . all these years, ’twas you.’’

  Stunned at what she was hearing, she kissed Leah’s soft, wet cheek. ‘‘The Lord God be praised,’’ she said, breathing much easier now. To think how Leah might have responded to the news. Well, she dared not dwell on that. Not now. She wanted to soak up all the love, capture the brightness in Leah’s eyes, the pure delight she saw in them, reflected in her own. Truly, she was more than relieved; she was brimming with utter gladness.

  Leah stepped back and fixed her eyes on Lizzie. ‘‘Ach, I can scarcely believe it . . . you gave me life, Aunt Lizzie. How on earth could it be that I never guessed such a wonderful-gut thing!’’ Then she threw her arms around Lizzie again.

  Why, oh why, did I ever worry? Lizzie thought, truly grateful. ‘‘How I love you, Leah.’’ This she whispered, clinging to her daughter for dearest life.

  Then, arm in arm, they strolled toward the log house, all the while Lizzie feeling her heart might burst apart. ‘‘I could only pray you might feel this way,’’ she managed to say. ‘‘Honestly, I have to say I worried you might—’’ ‘‘But how else could I feel? Goodness, I’ve loved you all along—nearly like a daughter loves her mamma, ya must surely know,’’ declared Leah. ‘‘Of course I told Mamma and Dat, ‘I am and always will be your girl, too.’ ’’ Leah was wearing the first true smile Lizzie had seen on her pretty face in weeks.

  ‘‘Well, of course, you’re theirs for always.’’ She was unable to keep from looking . . . no, staring at
Leah’s lovely face.

  ‘‘And I’m your honey-girl, Aunt Lizzie. To think I’ve had two mammas all along. Guess I’m double-blessed, ain’t?’’

  Lizzie agreed wholeheartedly. O Lord God, thank you for making it so.

  On November 25, the Tuesday she and Jonas had planned to wed, Leah skirted a sharp, rock-strewn bank scattered here and there with moss, picking her way through the woods. She rather liked the feeling of being overwhelmed by age-old trees and their intertwined branches above, along with the leafy labyrinth below.

  Once again, she found herself pondering Catharina Meylin, slain at the hands of God’s cruel enemies. Dat’s ancestor had given up her life freely for her devout faith. Leah wondered, Did I lose Jonas in exchange for my obedience to the Lord God?

  For sure and for certain, she hadn’t lost her physical life . . . but she felt as if she’d lost her heart. Daring to do what was right and good in the sight of the Almighty, she’d made her lifelong covenant with the church, regardless of the harsh consequences.

  Locating the honey locust tree, she stood tall and determined beneath its cold and leafless branches, leaning back to peer up through the web of bough and stem to the blue sky. Somehow, her future would be bright with or without Jonas. If they must be apart—no matter what lay before her—she was determined to trust in God.

  Aunt Lizzie had often talked of ‘‘praying from one’s heart.’’ But not until this moment had Leah ever attempted to do so. She bowed her head, faltering at first, and began to address her heavenly Father. ‘‘O Lord, I stand here . . . heartbroken before you. Hear my prayer, dear God.’’

  She poured out her sorrow, even her bitterness, in the timbered stillness. She went so far as to speak aloud Sadie’s name . . . and the betrayal, placing it all before the Throne of Grace. ‘‘I must find the strength to forgive both my sister—’’ and here she stopped, struggling with tears—‘‘and . . . Jonas. O Lord and heavenly Father, help me to do this difficult thing.’’