Most of all, she felt compelled to get to the bottom of Lydia’s late-night liaison, and as soon as possible. On behalf of her dead sister she would do this. For no other reason.
Monday night, January 24
I am horrified (heartbroken, too). Aunt Sarah burst into the kitchen tonight while Levi kissed me, right after he’d proposed marriage and I’d turned him down. Ach, I don’t see how our courting relationship, if it’s even to continue, can ever be kept secret now, as is our custom. I can only hope my aunt leaves before she spills the beans to anyone!
So awful mixed up, I am. I do want Aunt Sarah to help us find a family, if that’s what Mamma intended. Somehow, I don’t believe our dear mamma had that in mind at all. I think she wanted Aunt Sarah to raise us herself. But how can that be, when Sarah Cain doesn’t know the first thing about bein’ Amish . . . or a mother? Neither one.
My heart truly belongs to Levi King. Someday I hope to be his bride, but first some mighty important things must be worked out for my brothers and sisters. Then, thank goodness, Aunt Sarah will be on her way. I can only hope and pray Levi will wait for me!
Chapter Eighteen
The house began to stir somewhat later than it had the day before, Amish laundry day. Today, the scurry of feet on the stairs diminished rather quickly as the children hurried outside to tend to barn chores. Neither Lydia nor Caleb had ever hinted that she should assist with outdoor duties since her arrival, and even if the suggestion were to be made, she knew she would have to decline. Not a single item of clothing in her fine wardrobe could withstand the grime and mire associated with farm work.
Tired as she was, Sarah did not opt to lie in bed, nor did she take pleasure in the quietude. Instead, she got up and purposely ignored Megan’s framed picture on the bedside table, going to the washstand.
Peering into the mirror, she noticed dark circles under her eyes. ‘‘I should have stayed in bed,’’ she whispered to her reflection.
I should have stayed in Portland. . . .
Catching sight of a white towel where decorative brooches of flowers, birds, and a ladybug were pinned in a row, she felt the towel’s smoothness and wondered if Ivy had ever worn this jewelry. She studied each pin, recalling a letter from Ivy written several years ago. Her sister had casually mentioned a brooch purchased at Wal-Mart on sale.
At the time, Sarah had been struck by the humor of Ivy’s comment. For an Amishwoman to be shopping at a discount store, or any store for that matter, seemed peculiar to her. She had always assumed that ultraconservative women either made or grew the items they needed. It never occurred to her, until this moment, that Ivy might have actually desired something pretty. Something like these little gold and silver pins, storebought items.
What else did Ivy enjoy? she wondered.
Meandering to the highboy, she opened the top drawer and discovered a simple, black leather-bound Bible. She turned the first pages and was surprised to see that it was written in English, not the German she expected. There were also five handmade bookmarks near the front of the drawer, two with pressed wild flowers—sky-blue and russet-colored blossoms—she could not identify. And there were three dainty handkerchiefs with crocheted edging, one with intricate embroidery in the corner, creating a pink rose in full bloom.
She inspected Ivy’s personal items briefly, then returned them to the drawer, noticing various undergarments and slips tucked away in the same compartment, obviously store purchased.
Abandoning the dresser, she went to her own suitcases, removing fresh clothing for the day. She had thought of unpacking but was determined not to settle in here, knowing that she planned to leave next weekend, one way or the other. She would not consider changing her mind.
During morning Bible reading and prayers, Hannah pulled on Sarah’s hand when it came time to kneel. For the first time since coming here, Sarah knelt along with the rest of the children. She decided it wouldn’t hurt for her to do as Hannah wished. At least once.
When the youngsters headed out the door for school, Sarah was still thinking through her plan of attack regarding Lydia’s indiscreet conduct last night. How did one introduce such a delicate topic? Was it her place to initiate such talk?
She waited until all the children were well on their way down the lane before turning to Lydia. ‘‘I want to talk with you,’’ she said, making an effort to sound more confident than she felt.
Lydia wiped her face with her long apron, silently leaning against the kitchen counter. Her eyes were wide—like a fawn caught in headlights.
‘‘About last night, Lydia . . .’’ She stopped, groping for the right direction the conversation should take. ‘‘If your mother were alive, she would be appalled, no doubt.’’
Lydia sniffled, shaking her head. ‘‘Mamma would never have come downstairs. She trusted me completely.’’
‘‘I see,’’ Sarah said, but she did not. ‘‘Perhaps you should explain your courting customs, or whatever I encountered in your kitchen . . . since you are obviously quite taken with your young man.’’
Lydia sighed audibly, standing more erect, as if on trial. Her hair, parted down the middle without bangs or curls to frame her face, was pulled into a bun at the back of her neck, covered by the same white veiling she wore each day. She folded her hands in front of her.
Only one time had she not seen Lydia sporting the little cap. Late last night. Because of this, she presumed Amishwomen slept without their coverings, but she had no way of knowing for certain.
‘‘What you witnessed last night is personal—to be kept a secret, really. I pray you will act as if you never saw us, as though my friend had never come here. Can you promise me this?’’
Who does she think she is? Sarah wondered. Her niece was treating her like a child, making unreasonable demands.Without question, she would have pushed the issue further, but tears welled up in Lydia’s eyes. The girl looked positively panic-stricken. ‘‘I don’t understand,’’ she said, yet something inside her struggled to reach out to her niece.
‘‘S’pose if I thought you were truly interested in knowing, I would try hard to make you understand our ways. Forgive me for bein’ blunt, but I don’t think you care one bit what happens to any of us.’’ Lydia covered her face with her hands and began to sob.
Sarah was at a loss to know what to say or do. So when Lydia ran past her, heading upstairs, she set about cleaning the kitchen, starting with breakfast dishes and ending with sweeping the floor.
That done, she trudged into the living room and sat down with an Amish newspaper—The Budget . Inside its pages, she discovered short anecdotal accounts of events and nonevents, written by Plain folk. Unusual, indeed.
The day had started out wrong—not much of a morning. She was not so interested in what Martha Yoder or Nancy Bontrager or any number of other Amish ‘‘scribes’’ had written in what seemed to be a column-type rendition of a backwoodsy paper.
Wishing she was anywhere else in the world but here, Sarah rose from the spot on the threadbare sofa and went to the window to look out. There was bread to be made and a soup stock to be boiled and turned into a stew for lunch, but since Lydia was upstairs sulking, having a pity party alone, Sarah decided to take a moment to reflect.
A cold mist stole across the meadow to the east, and the sky seemed to sink even lower as she watched. A northern thin strip of woodland was in tatters, and a heavy snow had fallen in the night. She saw the imprint of boots where Caleb, Anna Mae, Josiah, and Hannah had walked along the roadside.
‘‘What am I doing here?’’ she whispered.
Lydia brushed away tears, sitting on the straight-backed chair near her bed. She fought hard the bitterness that came near to takin’ her over. I’ll be ever so glad when Aunt Sarah goes home! For sure and for certain, she and her sisters and brothers wouldn’t be needin’ their aunt if Lydia could get Miriam Esh to live with them.
But how?
Far as Lydia was concerned, ’twasn’t necessary to hope a
nd pray Sarah Cain would stay, after all. The Children and Youth Agency would not have to be called in—wouldn’t need to split them up at all—if Sarah could appoint Miriam somehow. Simple as A-B-C. Still, she worried ’bout making her case for Preacher’s cousin.
She washed her face and smoothed her apron, then headed downstairs to call Miriam Esh right quick.
‘‘Hullo?’’ the woman answered on the second ring.
‘‘It’s Lydia Cottrell,’’ she said, a bit weak in the knees. ‘‘I was wonderin’ if we—I —could come visit you today.’’ She didn’t want to give Miriam time to say no right off. ‘‘I’d be beholden to you if—’’
Miriam’s answer came all too swiftly, interrupted her, really. ‘‘I’m awful sorry, Lyddie. Just won’t suit today. A batch of dough is a-starin’ me in the face, and the house needs cleanin’ and whatnot all.’’
If Lydia hadn’t known better, she might’ve thought Miriam was puttin’ her off but good. She thanked her, said she hoped to see her at the quiltin’ at Susie Lapp’s later this week.
Miriam replied, ‘‘All right, then.’’ And they hung up.
Downright disappointed, Lydia went to knead a great handful of dough for her own bread-making. Her brothers and sisters had eaten down the remaining loaf to less than half, so she knew she mustn’t dally. Not one little bit.
Grateful that Aunt Sarah had washed the dishes and swept the floor, Lydia set about preparing three loaf pans for baking. She was also glad her aunt was nowhere ’round.
Best this way, ’least for the time bein’ , she thought, remembering how she’d fled from the room in tears earlier. Now that she thought on it, prob’ly was a good idea Aunt Sarah was upstairs doin’ whatever she was doin’. Lydia needed to put some space between herself and the woman who called herself Mamma’s sister but didn’t seem to fit in anywhere at all. Not for the life of her, she didn’t!
Lydia turned her attention to Miriam Esh. What’s ailin’ her? she wondered. Surely the word hadn’t already gotten out that Aunt Sarah hoped to find a family for them. Even so, if Miriam had heard such a thing, why would she act like that on the phone? Just wasn’t becomin’ to the usually gracious woman. Unless maybe Miriam simply wasn’t interested in bein’ asked to be a substitute mamma. Was that the reason why Preacher’s cousin had been in such a hurry to end their telephone chat?
Sliding the loaf pans into the hot oven, Lydia heard a buggy rattle into the barnyard. She went to the back window and saw Preacher Esh unhitching his horse from the carriage, then leading the sorrel mare to the barn for water, prob’ly.
Preacher must be plannin’ to stay for a bit , she thought, glad her aunt had gone upstairs to ret up her room. She could only hope that Aunt Sarah might stay put, ’specially if Preacher’s visit had anything to do with her bein’ the one to fill the opening at the Amish school. She sure didn’t want Sarah blurting out anything ’bout Levi coming over here last night!
About the time the man of God knocked on the door, she’d washed and dried her hands, ready to greet him. ‘‘Willkomm, Breddicher —Preacher!’’
‘‘And hullo to you, Lyddie.’’ His hat was off almost before he was inside, and she smelled wood smoke on his heavy black Wamus —coat.
She waited for him to maneuver his long arms out of the woolen winter outer garment. ‘‘I’ll hang it up for you.’’
‘‘Denki, ’tis kind of you.’’
How embarrassed she was not to have baked goods, warm from the oven, ready to offer at a minute’s notice, as Mamma always had. Not wanting to confess to bein’ lazy—and she wasn’t—she just wished with all her might that she wasn’t so awful distracted. Because of Aunt Sarah bein’ here. ’Course, she wouldn’t go tellin’ Preacher Esh any of that. He was here to ask her ’bout teaching school. Sure as anything.
‘‘If you had come after lunch, I would’ve had plenty of fresh bread on hand,’’ she explained.
‘‘Ach, that’s just fine, Lyddie.’’ He patted his round stomach. ‘‘I’ve got me a gut cook at home.’’
She laughed along with him. ‘‘A blessing, ain’t?’’
‘‘A plump wife and a big barn never did a man any harm,’’ he said with a wink. Then, settling down in a rocker nearby, he pulled it up close to the stove, as if forgettin’ that this wasn’t a wood stove. Just the way Fannie had yesterday. ‘‘I’m here to ask a favor of you.’’ He leaned back, his gray head bumping the back of the hickory rocker.
She wouldn’t think of jumpin’ ahead of him, even though she was perty sure what was on his mind.
‘‘Wouldja be willin’ to teach the schoolchildren . . .’least till the end of May?’’
He hadn’t wasted any time gettin’ right to the point. She was overjoyed. ‘‘I’d do it in a minute. There’s only one thing that might keep me from teachin’.’’ She went on to tell him but it turned out he already knew. ‘‘Then you’ve heard ’bout Aunt Sarah Cain comin’?’’
He nodded his head a little jerkily, like he was thinkin’ hard on something. ‘‘Word’s going ’round fast here lately, I’d hafta say.’’
‘‘Do you think it’s a gut idea for me to start teachin’, then?’’
‘‘ ’Tis an honest question, Lyddie.’’ He scratched his long beard. Then a sly smile spread across his face. ‘‘Maybe it would serve you well to start teachin’ right away—next Monday.’’
Just what she’d been thinking. ‘‘Denki for askin’ me.’’
‘‘You’ll do a right fine job for the People. And we’ll just hope you can stay till school’s end . . . at least.’’
This minute, with the homey smell of yeast and dough mingling together, she wished she had the nerve to ask if it was displeasin’ to the Lord God heavenly Father, her reading through Mamma’s journals and all.
Instead, she said, ‘‘What would you think of your cousin comin’ to live with us, ’least till little Hannah is grown?’’
‘‘Which cousin do ya mean?’’
‘‘Miriam, down the road a piece.’’
Something akin to opposition rippled over his brow and settled in his eyes, striking fear to Lydia’s heart.
‘‘Have you talked to her lately?’’ He scratched his head where his hat had been.
‘‘Just this mornin’, by telephone.’’
He nodded. ‘‘Best go on down to Susie Lapp’s quiltin’ frolic this Thursday. Far as I know, Miriam will be goin’, too.’’
‘‘I’d thought of that, but how do I get her off alone so I can talk to her?’’
‘‘Trust the Lord God for His timing in all things, Lyddie.’’
Mamma had said those words to her often enough. She shouldn’t have been surprised that the preacher was reminding her now.
‘‘And what’ll I do with Aunt Sarah during the quiltin’ bee? Wouldn’t be right to leave her home alone,’’ she said, lowering her voice.
‘‘Take your mamma’s sister along with you. Surely she can be taught to make stitches, ain’t?’’
Lydia hadn’t thought of that. She had no idea, really, what her aunt could or couldn’t do with a needle and thread. Guess she’d just have to find out.
‘‘About Aunt Sarah . . . uh, she’s busy upstairs,’’ Lydia said, hoping the preacher wouldn’t ask to meet her aunt today.
‘‘Sorry, I can’t stay too awful long,’’ he replied. ‘‘Would be nice to meet your mamma’s sister sometime soon, her bein’ your temporary caretaker and all.’’
‘‘Oh, you’ll prob’ly meet her here ’fore too long.’’
‘‘Jah.’’ Preacher Esh got up out of the rocking chair and moseyed toward the back door. ‘‘Blessings on ya, Lyddie.’’
As she bade him good-bye, she could hardly stand still, thinkin’ that come next Monday, she had herself a fine job as a schoolteacher. With all her heart—and with the help of God— she would do her very best.
Now if she could just get Miriam to be more agreeable.
Chapter Nineteen
‘‘You’ll be comin’, too, won’t you?’’ Lydia said quickly, addressing her aunt.
‘‘Jah, do ,’’ Susie insisted, her gray eyes lighting up. ‘‘You’ll have a gut chance to look us over once.’’
Aunt Sarah blinked, appearing to be ever so shaken at Susie’s off-the-cuff remark. ‘‘Excuse me?’’ she said.
‘‘Ach, you Englischers are all the same,’’ Susie said, shakin’ her head and chuckling. ‘‘We know you’re lookin’ us over, so go ahead ’n get it over with.’’
In the worst way, Lydia wanted to change the subject. Susie seemed downright gretzich —cranky. Right outspoken, too. Just why, she didn’t know.
‘‘Was Ivy also curious when she and her husband first came here?’’ Aunt Sarah’s offhand question made Lydia squirm.
‘‘Well, forevermore,’’ murmured Susie. ‘‘Whatever gave you that notion?’’
‘‘English are all alike,’’ parroted Aunt Sarah.
Dismayed, Lydia could no longer sit by and witness the barbed exchange. ‘‘Anybody hankerin’ for pie?’’ she asked, forcing a cheerful air.
Susie seemed a bit cool, like she hadn’t heard. Aunt Sarah, on the other hand, was leaning forward, her elbows on the table.
It looked as if they were goin’ to go at it here and now!
‘‘Jah, I’ll have a piece,’’ Susie said ’bout the time the silence was so thick you could’ve sliced it in two. ‘‘And while you’re up, Lyddie, give your aunt some, too.’’
The Redemption of Sarah Cain Page 14