The Redemption of Sarah Cain

by Beverly Lewis

  ‘‘Very nice to meet you, Caleb.’’ She shook his hand briefly. Lydia tapped the top of her sister Anna Mae’s head, then Josiah, saying each of their names and ages. Quickly, then, she went to the sofa, glancing over her shoulder as if expecting Sarah and the others to follow. ‘‘And this is our little sister, Hannah.’’ ‘‘I thought you’d never come,’’ the diminutive girl said, struggling to prop herself on one elbow to have a look at her.

  Gazing into the radiant face of this exquisite child, Sarah felt tense, yet transfixed. ‘‘I’m here now,’’ she managed to say. Then, ‘‘Have you been ill?’’

  ‘‘Hannah fell in the snow . . . had the wind knocked clean out of her,’’ Lydia explained. ‘‘She’s got a knot on the back of her head.’’ She lifted a bag of ice off Hannah’s head. ‘‘We were praying for her just as you came.’’ She shot an ardent glance at Caleb. ‘‘So I don’t think we’ll be needin’ a doctor . . . ’specially now that Aunt Sarah’s here.’’

  Sarah was confused by Lydia’s comment but leaned down to inspect Hannah’s head, aware of the thick braids that wound about the little girl’s head. Her fingers located the bump. ‘‘Does that hurt, dear?’’

  Hannah winced.

  ‘‘Can you sit up at all?’’ Sarah asked.

  Hannah strained to do so with Lydia’s help. Caleb promptly stuffed a sofa pillow behind his sister. ‘‘I think I’m better now, since Lydia prayed,’’ Hannah said. Without skipping a beat, she added, ‘‘Mamma always prayed for us, ya know.’’

  Sarah didn’t know firsthand, but she had read various accounts of Ivy’s daily religious routine via the many letters her sister was so fond of writing. It seemed Ivy’s spiritual bent had indeed rubbed off on her children.

  Lydia suggested that Caleb and Josiah bring Aunt Sarah’s suitcases and things into the house. She peered out the window, mighty surprised to see a shiny red sports car parked in their lane. Disguising her gasp by coughing a little, she hoped her aunt wouldn’t notice just how surprised she was .

  Hastily, Caleb and Josiah came huffing and puffing up the snowy walkway to the front porch, pulling a large suitcase on wheels and two squarelike bags. ‘‘Guess we shoulda had her park her fancy car ’round back,’’ Josiah whispered, lugging the two smaller suitcases.

  ‘‘Never mind that now,’’ Lydia said, holding the door open wide.

  ‘‘I daresay she’s brought enough clothes for a year,’’ Caleb said softly with a wistful smile.

  Lydia thought differently, remembering the stories her mamma had told ’bout Aunt Sarah’s fondness for clothes and shoes. Truth be told, she wondered where her aunt’s trunk was or when it might be arrivin’. Or if Aunt Sarah had other plans— that she had come only to take them away to Oregon. She took a deep breath and stifled the troubling thought. They would find out soon enough.

  She followed the boys as they hoisted the luggage up the steep flight of stairs. ‘‘My brothers are mighty strong,’’ she remarked to Aunt Sarah, who’d stepped out to lock her car. ‘‘Don’t worry ’bout them droppin’ your suitcases.’’

  Her aunt only nodded, as if the mindful part of her was hundreds of miles away.

  Then Caleb and Josiah came running downstairs, all smiles. Lydia led the way for Aunt Sarah up the steps to Mamma’s bedroom. ‘‘This is where you’ll be most comfortable, I’m thinkin’,’’ she said, standing in the doorway.

  Aunt Sarah’s face turned nearly pale as the moon as she paused at the entrance to the large room. ‘‘Was this Ivy’s . . . I mean your mother’s room?’’ the slender woman asked softly.

  ‘‘Mamma and Dat’s both, when they were alive.’’

  Her aunt made a little motion with her head that Lydia could not quite grasp, then moved past her, going into the room where just less than an hour ago Lydia had committed the sin of meddling. ‘‘I best go and check on Hannah,’’ she said, excusing herself.

  Hurrying downstairs, she thought it was just as well that Aunt Sarah was settling into Mamma’s old room. It was the respectful thing to do.

  Downstairs, she found Hannah propped up with even more pillows as she sat on the sofa. Only now Caleb was telling her a story, and Josiah and Anna Mae listened, too. The children seemed positively engrossed, and Lydia wondered what in the world he was saying.

  ‘‘A huge billy goat just a-chased me all the way home from school that day,’’ Caleb said, his voice lowered, making it sound ever so eerie.

  ‘‘What happened after that, when you got home?’’ Josiah asked.

  ‘‘Jah,’’ asked Hannah. ‘‘Were ya safe and sound, or did the billy goat come chargin’ after ya, right up the porch steps and into the house?’’

  Caleb chuckled good-naturedly, but Lydia didn’t wait for her brother’s reply. Glad that the older children were entertaining their suffering little sister, she headed for the kitchen. Mamma had taught her young ones well.

  She washed her hands thoroughly before taking the frozen soup out of the freezer. Then she lit the front burner on the old gas stove, humming softly to herself. She could hardly wait to heat up and serve the honest-to-goodness best potato soup Sarah Cain had prob’ly ever tasted. She hoped it might be taken as a thoughtful gesture to lay out a nice hot supper for their aunt, who’d come such an awful long ways.

  With all her heart, Lydia hoped the evening would go off without a hitch. At least as well as things had gone thus far, ’cept for one thing that bothered her. Mamma’s sister hadn’t uttered a single word about stayin’ here or takin’ the whole bunch to Oregon. Neither one.

  Chapter Eleven

  Without question, Ivy must have gotten a certain vengeful pleasure out of joining the ranks of the Plain years back. Of this, Sarah was absolutely certain as she placed her portable computer on the wooden chest at the foot of the bed. Skeptically, she surveyed the sparsely furnished room, pacing the plank floor as she did.

  The nondescript bed was smaller than any double bed she had ever seen. It stood against barren gray walls, unrelieved by not so much as a single painting, although a picturesque calendar hung near the radiator across from a walnut highboy.

  It was a large room, spacious enough for a small brown sofa, a three-drawer dresser, the tall bureau, and a wooden blanket chest at the foot of the bed. The only chair in the entire room was a straight-backed cane. As for a rug, there was a single oval rag rug positioned near the bed, but only on one side. The bed was festooned with an old quilt, whose colors did not coordinate in the least.

  Pondering her situation anew, Sarah attempted to freshen up for supper in this poor excuse for a room. In her moment of displeasure, she supposed she ought to offer to assist young Lydia with whatever supper plans the girl had in mind. But the mirror over Ivy’s dresser drooped so low on the wall, she had to bend her knees and hunch down to see the sum total of her head. She brushed her hair, peering forward and noting that the mirror was chipped on one side.

  No wonder Ivy had had such trouble in life , she thought, staring at the crack.

  Yet, there was no arguing one fact: Her sister had raised some remarkable kids. Courteous, even thoughtful. But she wouldn’t let their good manners influence her. Sarah envisioned the plan she had conceived in her mind, and with less than a week to go, she didn’t have any time to waste.

  ‘‘Pass the crackers and cheese,’’ Caleb said after the silent suppertime prayer.

  Please , thought Sarah, who made the interesting observation that Ivy’s children were far less polite at the table. Not a single ‘‘please’’ or ‘‘thank-you’’ was sprinkled into the conversation at any juncture. She thought this quite odd as she dipped her spoon into the plastic soup bowl.

  ‘‘This soup’s from scratch,’’ Lydia offered, glancing up, her lovely eyes gleaming. ‘‘Hope you like it.’’

  Scratch . . .

  ‘‘Oh yes,’’ Sarah replied. ‘‘Thank you, it’s delicious.’’

  Caleb and Josiah, across the table, were busy crushing a wad of crack
ers into their bowls, sprinkling crumbs about.

  Lydia must’ve caught her staring. ‘‘My brothers take after our father, I’m afraid.’’

  ‘‘Dat liked a little soup with his crackers,’’ Josiah explained.

  The boy’s comment brought sidesplitting laughter from Hannah, who, now that Sarah looked at her, appeared to be completely recovered from her head bump.

  Hesitant to interject, she wished the children would eat more quietly—all of them—including Lydia. The smacking of lips and even occasional belching was nearly more than she could endure. But being a guest in this house, and this the first night of such venture, no less, made her reluctant to speak up. There was , however, something she was determined to discuss over the rather insubstantial meal, but it might be better if she postponed the topic until dessert.

  ‘‘Preacher Esh said he might be droppin’ in on us sometime this week,’’ Caleb spoke up.

  ‘‘Is that right?’’ replied Lydia, looking somewhat surprised.

  ‘‘He’s worried, prob’ly,’’ Josiah added.

  ‘‘About us ?’’ asked Lydia.

  Anna Mae was nodding her head up and down, as if she might not stop unless asked to. Then she said, ‘‘Susie Lapp’s just as fretful, I’m thinkin’.’’

  Susie Lapp . . .

  Sarah’s ears perked up. She clearly recognized the name of Ivy’s close friend.

  ‘‘Now, why on earth wouldja say such a thing—that Susie’s frettin’ over us?’’ Caleb said, making strange twitching movements with his eyes.

  Lydia intervened, and not too soon, it seemed. ‘‘Well, nobody need be worryin’ any longer.’’ Her voice was confident and strong as Ivy’s ever was. ‘‘Look here who’s sittin’ at our table tonight.’’ Lydia didn’t wait for the younger children to acknowledge what she meant. She continued. ‘‘Seems to me we’ve got right here exactly what Mamma was wantin’ for us.’’

  ‘‘Are ya sayin’ if Preacher Esh stops by, we’ll just hafta set his mind at ease?’’ Josiah asked, trying to avoid Sarah’s gaze.

  ‘‘You heard me right,’’ Lydia answered. ‘‘Everything’s just fine now. Aunt Sarah is here. And besides, Susie’s most likely comin’ to sort through Mamma’s clothes and things.’’

  ‘‘Ain’t that Aunt Sarah’s job?’’ Hannah asked, eyes bright.

  ‘‘Jah, but I’m sure she could use some help,’’ Lydia replied, glancing at Sarah, then lowering her eyes to look down at her soup bowl.

  Sighing inconspicuously, Sarah thought now was as good a time as any to express herself. ‘‘Children . . . I would like to say something, if I may.’’

  As if connected—in unison—all five heads turned to focus on her.

  ‘‘I realize this is not the most ideal situation,’’ she began. ‘‘It must be quite puzzling to you why your mother should have wanted me, a non-Amish woman, for your guardian.’’

  Anna Mae was the only child whose head was bobbing in affirmation. The others wore the most serious facial expressions, as if they questioned their deceased mother’s judgment.

  The silence was as thick as blackstrap molasses.

  Lydia was first to speak. ‘‘Whatever Mamma chose is the best thing for us. We know that.’’

  Little Hannah joined Anna Mae in nodding her head, brown eyes trusting and wide. ‘‘But we hope ’n pray that we won’t hafta leave here and go way out to Oregon to live.’’

  ‘‘Hannah, please . . . not now,’’ Lydia scolded. ‘‘That’s Aunt Sarah’s choice to make for us.’’

  Sarah regarded the children’s responses, the hopeful expressions on each face. It occurred to her that they had no idea she had not come to stay permanently. Tonight wasn’t the time to reveal her plan. ‘‘One of you mentioned that Mrs. Lapp might visit this week,’’ she said. ‘‘Tell me more about that.’’

  ‘‘Jah, Susie said she would come sort through Mamma’s clothes,’’ Anna Mae insisted, looking wholly sincere. So much so that Sarah felt a twinge of regret for having disregarded Lydia.

  But before Sarah could backtrack, Caleb defended his sister. ‘‘If Susie Lapp says she’s coming, you can count on her showin’ up.’’

  Sarah saw her opportunity again. ‘‘And what day might that be?’’

  ‘‘Prob’ly Tuesday or Wednesday,’’ Lydia said.

  ‘‘Where does she live?’’ Sarah asked.

  ‘‘Not far from here, over on Rohrer’s Mill Road.’’

  ‘‘I’d like to see her as soon as possible. If you could give her a call, Lydia, ask if it would suit for me to visit her tomorrow.’’

  ‘‘Tomorrow?’’ Lydia looked fairly bewildered.

  ‘‘If it’s convenient.’’

  ‘‘It won’t suit Monday. I’m sure of it.’’

  ‘‘Why is that?’’

  ‘‘Susie’s busy with washing and ironing just like all the rest of us. Mondays aren’t a gut visitin’ day ’round here.’’

  ‘‘I see.’’ Sarah wouldn’t query further. On either Tuesday or Wednesday, she would definitely be on hand to explore her idea with the illustrious Mrs. Lapp.

  ‘‘Susie Lapp is known to have a biting tongue sometimes,’’ Caleb said, his eyes earnest.

  ‘‘But she’s awful nice, too,’’ little Hannah put in.

  ‘‘None of us are perfect,’’ Lydia offered. ‘‘The main thing is, Susie was Mamma’s dearest friend.’’

  The words jabbed her soul. ‘‘I’ve heard many good things about the woman.’’

  Caleb frowned. ‘‘How’s that?’’

  She breathed deeply, attempting to remain calm. ‘‘Your mother mentioned Mrs. Lapp often in her letters.’’

  ‘‘Then you prob’ly know that Susie is the grandmother of my best friend,’’ Lydia said. ‘‘Maybe Fannie Flaud will come along, too, when Susie visits. That would be awful nice.’’

  Ivy had never made mention of Fannie Flaud in her letters. Sarah only knew that Susie Lapp had numerous children and grandchildren. Ivy had never given specific information about the woman who had been her confidante through the years.

  ‘‘I’ll look forward to meeting both Susie and Fannie,’’ Sarah said. In all actuality, she thought it might be ideal that she make their acquaintance sooner rather than later.

  Lydia hurried to the refrigerator and took out two desserts— a large bowl of soda cracker pudding and a coconut custard pie. Cutting the pie into equal parts, she considered the peculiar way Aunt Sarah had of stating things. ’Specially the way she said your mother this and your mother that. Why didn’t she just come right out and say ‘‘my sister’’? It made for a taut feeling in Lydia’s stomach.

  Mamma would’ve wanted her to keep her peace and not cause strife amongst family members. Sarah Cain certainly was family. No gettin’ around it. The tall woman was every whit Mamma’s sister. Lydia could see it in the way Sarah’s eyebrows sometimes arched unexpectedly, the way she had first walked into the house—how she’d held herself upright, like she had not a speck of worry ’bout coming into a strange household, meetin’ relatives she’d never laid eyes on before. Little things like that brought Mamma’s image flyin’ right back.

  The lump in her throat seemed to block the air, but Lydia carried the dessert dishes to the table without speaking, setting them down nearest her aunt’s plate. How on earth could she suffer through the rest of her Maedel days with this constant living reminder of dear, dear Mamma before her?

  All she could think of was the next chance she might be alone in her room, pouring out her thoughts onto her journal pages. Later tonight she would do just that, for she feared if she did not somehow release the mounting pressure inside, she might say or do something she would long regret.

  As a child, Sarah had learned through one life experience after another that she was not an adaptable person. ‘‘Why do you get so upset over the slightest change in plans?’’ Ivy would often sneer when Sarah was young.

  Once again, she was merely tolerat
ing an unwelcome alteration in her life. Seven days was positively all she could manage— the limit to which her disposition could endure, considering the peculiar situation.

  Standing at the bureau that had once been Ivy’s, Sarah looked over every inch of the room again, completely amazed that anyone could live this way. There was nothing lovely here. Nothing of consequence about the arrangement of furniture or the choice thereof. As far as she was concerned, the room was hardly an extension of someone’s personality. For she knew—had known—Ivy to be an outgoing person, even fun-loving. How was any of that reflected in her selection of woods or bed coverings? And those hideous green shades—where had Ivy found such things?

  Uneasy about sleeping here at all, Sarah entertained the notion of slipping out of the house, escaping to a more refined environment during the night.

  ‘‘Everything’s just fine now. Aunt Sarah is here. . . .’’

  Lydia’s comment at supper still rang in her memory. Why the girl was so resolute, she did not know. Though Lydia was the very likeness of her mother, she possessed nothing of Ivy’s temperament. Strangely enough, in many ways, Ivy’s eldest reminded Sarah of herself. Painfully so.

  Delaying the inevitable moment when she must slip into Ivy’s bed, pull the handmade spread over her own body, and force herself to drift off to sleep in this drafty old farmhouse of her sister’s choosing, she intentionally turned away from the bed, toward one of four unadorned dormer windows, and peered out.

  The half-moon was a white cradle in the sky, shimmering against a black-ink firmament. Silvery stars scattered out across the vastness of space, winking earnestly down at her.

  It was then she remembered the way the sky had felt dusky— weighty, in space and time—the horrendous moments following the disaster at Stonington Elementary. She recalled with surprise that she had actually looked up at the eerie gray expanse of space, when she might better have hung her head and stared down at the snow-buried earth.

  Unable to ponder sleep just now, Sarah trudged back to the small chair near the bed and sat stiffly until she felt her bones push hard against the cane. Then, turning out the light, she headed back to stand in the window, delighting in the darkness.