‘‘Doesn’t make ’em kin,’’ said Anna Mae, speaking up for the first time.
‘‘No, but that doesn’t seem to matter to God, now, does it?’’ She hoped that might squelch her sister’s negative attitude for once. ‘‘Does it?’’ she said again.
Anna Mae lowered her head, looking mighty repentant.
Lydia’s heart went out to her. ‘‘It’s all right, Anna Mae. Honest, ’tis.’’
But Anna Mae kept her peace, sayin’ nary another word.
Josiah plopped himself down on the rag rug made by Lydia, Mamma, and Anna Mae last winter. Soon the towheaded youngster was surrounded by smiling Hannah and sour-faced Anna Mae. A slight distance behind them, Caleb sat cross-legged, waiting with expectation.
‘‘Time for a Tellin’,’’ Lydia said, recalling a humorous but supposedly true tale she’d heard years ago at a quiltin’ bee. Back when the Cottrells had first come here to ‘‘God’s country,’’ as Dat always liked to call Lancaster County.
‘‘What’s it gonna be tonight?’’ Hannah asked, but she was quickly shushed by Anna Mae, whose expression wasn’t all so unhappy-lookin’ as it was rankled.
‘‘Anna Mae?’’ Lydia said softly. ‘‘You all right?’’
Shaking her head slowly, Anna Mae folded her arms across her round chest. ‘‘Nothin’s wrong.’’ But she was pouting, makin’ her answer less convincing.
Lydia put on a smile for her sister. ‘‘Aw, somethin’s ailing you.’’ She could see the problem a-frettin’ on Anna Mae’s freckled face. Yet she wouldn’t push too hard with this sister. She would show more kindness than insistence.
Just then Josiah stood up and cupped his hands over his mouth, like he wanted to share a secret. ‘‘Bend down to me, Lyddie,’’ he said, eyes still a-blinkin’.
‘‘S’not nice to whisper in front of others,’’ she chided.
But Josiah’s eyes pleaded, and she gave in to the request. Before she could lean over and hear what Josiah wanted, Hannah blurted, ‘‘Anna Mae threw up before supper.’’
With that revelation, Anna Mae’s face turned ashen. ‘‘I ain’t sick,’’ she declared. ‘‘I don’t need no cod-liver oil, honest I don’t!’’
Lydia motioned for Josiah to sit back down. ‘‘I s’pose we’ve all felt sick this week, in one way or other.’’
Hannah and Josiah were nodding their heads. Caleb had his eyes fixed on her, in one accord with what she was sayin’. Anna Mae was the only one peerin’ down into her lap.
‘‘It’s all right to feel sad,’’ Lydia continued. ‘‘Our bodies hafta give way to our feelings . . . lotsa times they do.’’ She remembered feeling sick to her stomach after hearing ’bout Dat’s farm accident. The details were awful bad, but it was thinkin’ how he must’ve suffered—him lying on the ground, his blood oozing into the soil—that made her feel even worse.
‘‘Lyddie’s right,’’ Caleb spoke up. ‘‘It’s gonna take a long time for any of us to feel all right after losin’ Mamma.’’
She was shocked to hear her brother go on. A young man of few words, Caleb’s approach to things was similar to the way Anna Mae thought and acted. It was a good thing, too, for Anna Mae’s sake, ’cause Lydia sure didn’t have much in common with her sullen younger sister. Caleb’s occasional coolness she could easily tolerate because he also had a hearty laugh and a jovial spirit. Anna Mae was something else altogether.
Lydia straightened her apron and sat on an oak bench, facing her family. ‘‘Are we ready for a story now?’’ she asked again.
Anna Mae’s head came up at last, and she gave a rare nod— the go-ahead. The others sat with upturned faces, eager for the evening’s entertainment.
‘‘A long, long time ago, an old man lived deep in the woods,’’ she began. It had been quite some time since she had first heard this story. Mamma’s friend Susie had told it to the women one day as they gathered over at the Lapps’ farmhouse to put the cotton backing on an old quilt.
Lydia had been sitting all quietlike under the giant quilt frame with two other little girls, listening in. . . .
‘‘Jacob was an Amish widower with nary a hope of snaggin’ a bride for himself—mostly to do his washing and whatnot ’round the house. The reason he wasn’t such a good catch for a mate was ’cause he was known to be downright deceitful on occasion.
‘‘Oh, he was hardworkin’ enough, got up at the crack of dawn to do the laundry chores all by himself. But he was never so happy ’bout it, wishin’ he had a wife to do the womanly chores.
‘‘Well, it got so there was a whole bunch of Plain women up and down the same road as the old man, and the full lot of them started up havin’ a bit of competition. They made a game of it, seein’ who was first to hang out Monday mornin’ wash and get it dry.
‘‘So they each started gettin’ up early—very early—in the morning. Each week, nigh unto another whole hour earlier than the last, till the lot of ’em was gettin’ up in the dark to hang out their laundry, hopin’ to be the winner for the week.
‘‘Now, all the elderly folk in the community testify up and down that this next part of the story about Washday Competition is one hundred percent accurate and true. They declare that the old man outsmarted those neighborly women friends of his at their own game.
‘‘He devised an unbeatable system, proving that he’d gotten up the earliest in the morning. And he didn’t have to say a single word ’bout it, neither, to prove that it was so. He simply went to his closet and took and hung a whole string of clean and dry trousers and shirts on his clothesline.
‘‘When the womenfolk noticed his laundry a-flappin’ on the clothesline ’bout the time theirs was just gettin’ hung out, well, they knew he was the winner.’’
Lydia grinned at the children as she folded her hands in her lap. ‘‘Now, what do you think of that?’’
The children clapped their hands, begging for more. ‘‘Surely that story isn’t true,’’ Caleb said, still grinning.
‘‘Well, I know what you’re thinking, ’cause I hardly believed it when first I heard it myself,’’ she replied. ‘‘But that just goes to show what some folk’ll do to win, jah?’’
Josiah kept a-lookin’ up at her. ‘‘Mamma would say that’s lyin’,’’ he said. ‘‘Plain and simple.’’
‘‘Jah, right deceitful it is,’’ Caleb concluded.
Lydia waited for Anna Mae to say something, but she looked as if she were in a daze. And Hannah was gettin’ mighty sleepy.
‘‘I think we best turn in for the night.’’ She motioned for Caleb to get the Bible down.
Anna Mae surprised everyone by saying, ‘‘Let’s have the English Bible tonight for evenin’ prayers.’’
‘‘Jah,’’ Hannah said with a smile.
‘‘S’pose it’s a gut idea,’’ Lydia said. ‘‘We oughta get used to it, maybe.’’
’Specially if—and when—Aunt Sarah ever comes , she thought.
‘‘Why’s that such a gut idea, Lyddie?’’ Josiah asked.
She didn’t want to end the evening on a sour note. Her dear little brother didn’t need to be hearing ’bout her fears or her frustration over their aunt’s obvious reluctance to accept her rightful place in the family.
‘‘Well, now,’’ she said at last, ‘‘Dat always wanted us to read from both the German and the English.’’
Just then she felt every bit as deceitful as old Jacob in the clothes-washin’ story she’d just told.
‘‘Please get Bill on the line,’’ Sarah called to Heidi as she rushed into the front entrance to Alexander’s Realty. ‘‘I need a last-minute favor from the boss.’’
‘‘Uh-oh,’’ Heidi muttered, her eyebrows rising.
‘‘Yeah, isn’t that the truth,’’ Sarah whispered, marching down the hallway to her office.
Bill Alexander would have every reason to be irritated when she told him what she wanted to do. But she had given her word to a Mennonite attorney. She had to fly to Penn
sylvania, if only for a few days. There was no alternative.
Choices, it seemed, had suddenly become a thing of the past.
Chapter Six
Sarah did not take time to mull over her day this morning while sitting in bed. Her trip took precedence, and she was literally too busy to meet Bryan for their casual breakfast date.
Picking up the cell phone, she scanned the data for his number. She located it quickly, then hesitated. Could she spare the extra half hour, or whatever it took, to meet with him?
She recalled their excruciating final date as college sweethearts. Stubbornly, they had argued their individual positions long into the night. To think that she and Bryan could have moved from that one tumultuous moment and reemerged as friends still boggled her mind.
Putting down the cell phone, she decided against calling. She had hurt him too much already to cancel their casual brunch date. Besides, Bryan might not forgive her if she didn’t follow through on their spontaneous rendezvous. She couldn’t afford to lose his friendship, even if he was a bit overbearing, this much she knew. So she scurried about the room, preparing to shower and dress.
It took her precisely forty-five minutes. She knew what she would wear, had thought it through the night before, prior to falling asleep. She wouldn’t spend an inordinate amount of time on her hair or makeup, though. She let her hair hang free and easy, less of the buttoned-up look. Of course, she would do her best to look nice but would lean more toward her usual classy, but professional, style. After all, it wasn’t her goal to impress Bryan. She must have accomplished that years ago.
‘‘It’s only breakfast,’’ she whispered mockingly at the mirror. She brushed her honey blond locks away from her oval face, flipping her head forward and leaning over to shake her hair to encourage extra bounce. One of her many morning rituals.
Head erect, she sprayed her hair lightly, recalling the time Mother had observed Ivy combing Sarah’s hair. Ivy had been a teenager, around fifteen or so. Sarah, only nine . . .
‘‘You’ve got natural curls,’’ Sarah had said to Ivy, watching her play with her own strawberry blond mane.
‘‘Don’t ever say that!’’ Ivy shot back.
‘‘You should be happy about it,’’ Sarah replied, determined to stand her ground.
Ivy stopped brushing, a stubborn look on her face. ‘‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’’ she seethed.
‘‘Now, girls,’’ Mother said in the doorway of the girls’ bedroom. ‘‘Let’s try to be kinder to each other.’’
Ivy waved her brush in Sarah’s little face. ‘‘Tell her that!’’
Mother shook her head, a hand on her nearly nonexistent hip. ‘‘Might be a good idea if the two of you separate for a while.’’ She wagged her finger at Sarah. ‘‘Come along now. No need to stir up your sister’s wrath.’’
‘‘I was only telling the truth.’’ Sarah turned when Mother wasn’t looking and stuck out her tongue at her sister. ‘‘Ivy’s hair is so naturally curly,’’ she said defiantly.
Mother, wiser than either of them, put in not a word of defense of her older daughter. She took Sarah by the hand and led her out of the room and down the stairs. ‘‘It’s time you stop poking fun at your big sister,’’ Mother said, making her sit in the corner of the living room. ‘‘You must learn to show respect to your elders.’’
But in Sarah’s mind, ‘‘elders’’ were much older folk. People in their twenties or more. Not rotten teenage sisters who were half-blind when it came to hair. Her hair, after all, was stick straight. And she wished it was anything but .
Thinking back, Sarah wondered if that had been the initial reason for their lifelong dissension? Did Ivy really and truly despise her own curls? Did she secretly wish for different hair?
Sarah checked her makeup once again, though she’d promised herself not to obsess over her appearance. Quickly, she sprayed her favorite perfume, the most expensive fragrance she owned—Eternal —wondering if Bryan would remember the scent. Then, standing before the floor mirror, she scrutinized herself from head to toe, especially noting the heather gray pant outfit and soft pink scarf at her neck.
Fabulous , she thought, hoping she’d made the right decision by agreeing to see him again.
Lydia was perty sure Mamma would’ve joined the Old Order Amish if Dat had wanted to years ago. But her parents had chosen the assurance of salvation with the New Order Amish Church over the rigid, tradition-based community of the Old Order.
Truth be told, she was glad they’d favored the way of redemption through God’s grace. ’Specially since with it came the belief that modern electricity and telephones were not as wicked as some brethren had originally thought. This doctrine she wholeheartedly embraced, along with the modern conveniences. Yet, she was content to be submissive to the bishop and the rulings of the People of their own church district.
Lydia honestly enjoyed being Plain. For her, it was the only way to be. Maybe ’cause she’d had some experience with the modern world to compare to the Amish life-style—the first five years of her life.
Sarah stood in the alcove of the anteroom. She scanned the specialty cafe and looked for Bryan, spotting him at the same moment he recognized her, his eyes softening instantly.
He still cares too much , she thought as she made her way to his table.
Bryan stood tall and lean as she approached, and she let him kiss her cheek. She caught a hint of his subtle cologne as he stepped back, smiling. ‘‘You look wonderful, Sarah.’’ He pulled out a chair for her and she sat.
‘‘How are you?’’ she asked, her head spinning with a dozen different topics, namely her upcoming trip.
‘‘The question is how’s everything going for you ?’’ He had an uncanny way of turning questions back to her. On occasion, this had frustrated her. Today she would overlook it.
‘‘I’ve been horribly busy,’’ she replied. ‘‘The real estate market amazes even me . . . especially this time of year.’’ Not wanting to dissect her career—not today—she reached for the menu, a slim, leather-bound green folder. ‘‘What looks good to you?’’
‘‘You do.’’ He grinned.
She might have known he’d bait her with such a response. ‘‘I’m not on the menu, in case you hadn’t noticed.’’
He reached for her hand, and she didn’t have the heart to pull away. ‘‘I’ve missed you. Okay with you?’’
She felt the passion in his palm, his long warm fingers wrapped around hers. Stiffening, she knew she shouldn’t have agreed to see him after all and avoided his gaze.
‘‘You seem jittery. Something bothering you?’’
Confusion reigned as she looked deep within her soul. Should she confide in him, tell of Ivy’s death? What would he say if he knew the implications facing her?
‘‘Sarah . . . ?’’ he persisted, his eyes searching hers.
She held her breath, not knowing . . . not wanting to answer. But Bryan Ford was as direct and tenacious a man as any she’d known. Truly, she must offer him a crumb of information.
‘‘There’s a family crisis,’’ she managed.
‘‘Oh, honey . . . what is it?’’
Her throat closed up at his endearing word. Slowly, yet firmly, she withdrew her hand.
‘‘I think we’d better order now.’’ Abruptly, she set her gaze on the menu, knowing if she allowed her eyes to find his again, she might cave in and tell all. The knowledge of her orphaned nieces and nephews could only serve to create additional tension between them.
Bryan gave in to her request, it seemed, and they read their menus without speaking.
When the waitress came, Sarah noticed that her friend’s demeanor had changed. He was mechanical. Too polite. She’d wounded him . . . again. She had attempted to shut him out, hoping he might clam up and choose another topic of conversation. She had been unnecessarily rude. Yet she could not help herself.
Soon the waitress was gone, and they were alone once again.
>
Nervously, she played with her pinky ring.
‘‘New?’’ He eyed her finger.
‘‘Santa brought it . . . this year.’’ She stared fondly at the ring, then hid her hands in her lap.
‘‘How many diamonds does a girl need?’’ he quipped.
She laughed, welcoming the relief. ‘‘Oh, you know me. I like pretty things—and lots of them. What can I say?’’
His eyes penetrated hers. ‘‘It’s just stuff, Sarah. You can’t take it with you.’’
He’s talking death now. That’s Ivy’s department , she thought, wishing their discourse were off on better footing. Oh, to chat about something insignificant. Anything but her insatiable need for possessions.
‘‘My material girl,’’ he said more softly.
She couldn’t avoid his dark eyes, the intense expression on his handsome face. ‘‘You know I’m not that, what you said . . . your girl .’’ She felt terribly flustered.
‘‘But you could be. Just say the word.’’
She paused, thinking of ways to change the subject. At last she blurted, ‘‘My sister’s dead, passed away last week.’’
‘‘Ivy?’’
She nodded, unexpected tears welling up.
He frowned, not understanding her sudden grief. No doubt he recalled her ongoing detachment from Ivy. Maybe that’s what he was thinking, looking so concerned.
But she wouldn’t second-guess him. ‘‘She named me guardian for her five children,’’ Sarah told him. ‘‘Can you believe it?’’
Bryan looked puzzled. ‘‘I’m stunned,’’ he said.
‘‘I’m leaving today for Lancaster, Pennsylvania.’’
His eyes were kind, thoughtful. ‘‘How long will you be there?’’
She shook her head, feeling the hostility anew. ‘‘I hope this mess can be straightened out in a few days. Only God knows what sort of mother I’d be. And I doubt I’d take too kindly to the simple life. I prefer a cluttered, complicated, extravagant lifestyle, thank you.’’
The Redemption of Sarah Cain Page 5