‘‘Either of them propose?’’
‘‘Why do you ask?’’
‘‘It’s just that Mamma told me you were more interested in music and other things in high school, but that you had one special beau in college.’’
‘‘Your Mamma and I were writing letters during those days, so I guess she should know.’’
Lydia thought on that. ‘‘I’d like to hear about your life from you .’’
Aunt Sarah glanced at her, then turned back to face the road ahead, hands gripping the steering wheel. ‘‘What would you like to know?’’ She seemed a bit uneasy.
‘‘You didn’t marry, like Mamma did. How come?’’
Aunt Sarah was still.
Lydia wondered if she’d pried too much. ‘‘Sorry, I s’pose it wasn’t polite to ask,’’ she said quickly.
The woman said nothing.
‘‘You must’ve liked children, ’cause you were a schoolteacher yourself once.’’
‘‘As a matter of fact, I was. But only for a short time.’’
‘‘Mamma told me ’bout it . . . before she died.’’
Aunt Sarah turned to look at her again. ‘‘What did she tell you?’’
‘‘That something awful sad happened to you. Something that made you quit teachin’.’’
Aunt Sarah did a surprising thing just then. She signaled and brought the car to a stop on the side of the deserted road. ‘‘What else did your mother tell you?’’
‘‘Well, uh . . . she didn’t ever really tell me more than what I already said just now. But the other night, while I was readin’ one of her diaries, I came across something.’’ She was breathless, almost afraid to go on, ’cause Aunt Sarah was starin’ hard at her.
‘‘Go ahead, Lydia. I’m listening.’’
Lydia took a breath and wondered if she was doin’ the right thing by Mamma. ’Course, then again, Aunt Sarah was readin’ Mamma’s writings, too. ‘‘I don’t honestly know a thing ’bout this, but in Mamma’s 1998 journal, for the month of December, she wrote that there’d been an accident of some kind.’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘It . . . well, that accident must’ve been awful bad. Mamma wrote that it claimed your spirit, or suchlike.’’
Instantly her aunt’s face drooped, and she was shakin’ her head back and forth, unable to speak.
‘‘I’m so sorry,’’ Lydia offered, genuinely contrite. ‘‘I shouldn’t have brought up such a sad rememberin’.’’
Opening her leather pocketbook, Aunt Sarah fished ’round inside and pulled out a tissue. She leaned up to the rearview mirror, dabbing ever so carefully at her eyes, prob’ly so she wouldn’t smudge the makeup, positioning the mirror once again when she was finished. Then, without another word, she looked back over her left shoulder and slowly steered the car onto the road again.
In all her days, Lydia had never seen a woman’s face turn so completely ashen and drawn—like Lydia had somehow had the power to make her mamma’s sister age awful fast in just five minutes!
The quilting at Susie Lapp’s drew fifteen Plain women from their church district, a bigger turnout than Sarah ever expected for such a cold, wintry day. She was also surprised by the number of women her age present. She had presumed such get-togethers were predominantly attended by older women in the community. But on this particular day, the eldest woman sitting at the large quilt frame was Mammi Elizabeth.
‘‘In all of Strasburg and Paradise, Mammi Elizabeth sews the tiniest stitches of anybody,’’ Lydia whispered as they hung up their coats in the little mud room adjacent to the kitchen.
Observing Elizabeth, her face deeply wrinkled with the years, her white hair tucked neatly under a cap, Sarah wondered how the woman managed to quilt without glasses. That old adage about eating plenty of carrots—was it true? The Amish certainly consumed their share of vegetables. In fact, now that she thought of it, not a single woman gathered at the quilting frame was wearing glasses.
‘‘There’ll be thousands of stitches in this quilt when it’s finished. We call it the Diamond in the Square, one of our most popular patterns,’’ Lydia said, pulling a chair up for Sarah at the edge of the quilt. ‘‘We can use your help.’’
Sarah didn’t wish to cause a scene nor reject the sincere offer on the part of her niece. She assumed Lydia was merely being polite, because looking over the wide girth of the enormous frame and the intricate work already underway, she was fairly certain she could not do what these women were doing. Furthermore, she didn’t want to ruin the lovely quilt for its soon-to-be owner.
Lydia must have sensed her reticence and proceeded to show Sarah how to hold the needle, where to put her free hand. ‘‘It’s all in the wrist,’’ the girl said. ‘‘Here, watch me.’’
‘‘Maybe I should just watch for a while,’’ she said softly, hoping Lydia would back off a bit.
‘‘Either that, or you can practice on a remnant. Lots of new quilters do just that.’’
What Sarah truly wanted was to blend into the woodwork, but being the only Englischer in the room made blending rather difficult. Looking around, she tried to pick out which woman was Miriam Esh.
Lydia said something about going in search of scraps and got up to look. She wasn’t giving up anytime soon, reminding Sarah once again of the unyielding aspects of Ivy’s personality. Lydia, indeed, had something of her mother’s temperament. The fact was becoming more evident to Sarah as each day progressed.
‘‘We oughta be sayin’ who we are, for Lydia’s aunt’s sake,’’ the eldest quilter, Elizabeth, spoke up.
‘‘Jah, by all means,’’ Susie Lapp agreed, glancing at Sarah and offering a pleasant grin. ‘‘I’m sure she remembers me.’’
‘‘Yes, hello again,’’ Sarah said quickly, offering a quick smile.
‘‘Oh, by the way, my husband said he saw you out on the road with the Cottrell children yesterday mornin’.’’ As quickly as Susie had spoken, she put her head down, careful to keep an eye on her own nimble fingers guiding the needle up and down through the fabric and batting.
Sarah listened as eleven women told her their names, noting several Marys and Beckys. Fannie Flaud and her mother, Emma, also introduced themselves. But there was only one quilter present by the name of Miriam Esh. Sarah had not been able to identify her before the introductions, although she stood out—unfortunately, because she needed a bath!
‘‘I’m one of Preacher’s first cousins,’’ the black-haired woman said without cracking the slightest smile, though the others chuckled. She avoided making eye contact with either Sarah or Lydia, which puzzled Sarah greatly.
She also observed that Miriam appeared to be older than her midthirties, as Lydia had told her earlier. The Amishwoman wore a green cape dress, the same hue and styling as several other women at the quilting. Her black cape was attached to a long black apron, as well. By the smile lines around her full lips, Sarah guessed the soft-spoken woman was apparently fun-loving, at least on occasion. At the present, however, it was hard to determine just how happy a person Miriam Esh might be.
After several hours, the quilters had themselves a lunch break. Aunt Sarah seemed willing to sample most everything set before them, including the pickled eggs. And when they bowed their heads for the silent prayer, she did, too, which pleased Lydia to no end.
She’s tryin’ real hard , Lydia thought, glad things had worked out for her aunt to come along. Glad, too, that she was makin’ an attempt to sew practice stitches on three or four small scraps of fabric. And Aunt Sarah was joinin’ in the chatter every now and then, and asking questions, too.
Truth be told, Lydia had a sneakin’ suspicion that Mamma’s sister was actually enjoying herself, if only a little, for the first time since she’d come here last Sunday. ’Course, then, she wouldn’t go so far as to get her hopes up ’bout that.
It was Miriam’s almost curt response that set Lydia back a bit, left her unsure of herself. No, it actually spoilt the rest of th
e afternoon for her altogether.
‘‘I was hopin’ you and I could have a talk,’’ she said, seekin’ Miriam out at the long table and sitting down next to her.
‘‘Oh?’’
Lydia held her breath, trying for the life of her not to breathe in Miriam’s offensive body odor. ‘‘Jah, there’s something I think you might be interested in doin’—for Mamma.’’
‘‘And what would that be?’’
Lydia’s heart sank. Dare she go on? ‘‘Can you stop by our house this-after, maybe?’’
‘‘Well, I’d planned to stay ’n help till the work’s done on the quilt, ya know.’’
From past experience, Lydia knew the expert quilters would finish off things with the final stitches in a rapid show of energized motivation to ‘‘get the quilt out’’ before nightfall. That’s how it was done. So she couldn’t blame Miriam for wantin’ to stay. After all, the woman had an empty house to greet her—no husband waitin’, and no children, either.
Thinking on the topic burnin’ inside her, she honestly wondered if maybe Preacher’s cousin just might not want to keep things the way they were. Her bein’ an old maid and all. Some folk seemed more cut out for a solitary life. Maybe Miriam was one of ’em.
But how could Lydia stand by and not ask, at least? She just couldn’t, not with her own future and the future of her sisters and brothers at stake. She’d seen the struggle Aunt Sarah had over makin’ her stitches, tryin’ to fit in ’round the Plain women this mornin’. ’Twas no easy task for a fancy Englischer.
Truly, she felt sorry for Mamma’s sister, havin’ to come to Lancaster like this. Prob’ly against her will.
‘‘Trust the Lord God for His timing. . . .’’
Preacher Esh’s words were more than a comfort to her just now.
‘‘Jah, that’s right, I hope to start teachin’ school next Monday,’’ Lydia told Ada King, Levi’s mamma, after lunch, when the work had resumed on the red, purple, and green quilt.
‘‘Seems to me I heard something ’bout that,’’ Ada said, a twinkle of discernment in her gray blue eyes.
Lydia was thankful her beau’s mother had been discreet ’bout not sayin’ where she’d heard the news. Surely, Levi had mentioned something in passing at mealtime ’bout Lydia’s hope to teach. Besides, now the whole community had prob’ly heard, ’least they would’ve if Preacher Esh had talked it ’round, like she was perty sure he had.
Fannie grinned at Lydia across the quilt. She, too, prob’ly suspected there was much more than met the eye between Levi King and Lydia Cottrell. In that affectionate exchange of glances, Lydia thought of Levi and honestly wished she could’ve given him something more to go on, that she had said she would marry him, just not run off with him . . . elope. Even if Aunt Sarah took Lydia and her family away from here, there wasn’t anything that said the young lovers couldn’t correspond by mail, to keep their affection alive, till such time as they could be wed.
Why she was thinkin’ like this, she didn’t rightly know. But ofttimes such knotty problems actually had a chance to be mentally solved durin’ the process of a quilting.
‘‘There’s a healing that often comes from creating an heirloom,’’ Mamma used to say.
Mammi Elizabeth, too, was a believer in the notion that each and every quilt had pieced into it stitches of the quilters’ lives. In fact, Lydia was surprised no one was doin’ any storytelling today. Were they bein’ extra cautious because of Aunt Sarah?
There was only one way to find out. So she asked, ‘‘Does anybody know what happened to Redbeet John’s Abe’s Susannah’s center-diamond quilt?’’ she asked, referring to the ancestral line, as was the People’s way.
‘‘Ach, that’s one of the saddest things I ever did hear,’’ Emma Flaud spoke up, takin’ the bait.
Sarah listened with interest to Mrs. Flaud’s account of the Amishwoman whose garden shed, where an array of homemade quilts and samplers and other crafts were displayed and sold, had been broken into by way of a window in back of the small outbuilding. ‘‘Prob’ly nobody could see what the robber was doin’,’’ Mammi Elizabeth interjected at one point. ‘‘Sneaky fella, he was.’’
‘‘That’s right, and, sadly enough, many of Susannah’s beautiful quilts were taken in the wink of an eye—several thousand dollars’ worth.’’
The quilters oohed softly in unison.
Most interesting to Sarah was the manner in which Emma Flaud had characterized the deplorable situation. The poor woman’s quilts had been stolen, but the ‘‘robber couldn’t steal Susannah’s joy from her.’’
Young Fannie spoke up, ‘‘No, and she went on to make even pertier quilts after that. I know it’s true, ’cause two of her quilts are on my bed . . . and two in my hope chest.’’ Fannie and her mother traded endearing looks, then settled back to the quilting at hand.
Lydia was puzzled at the strange turn of events at the Lapp quilting. Never once did Miriam Esh open her mouth for a Tellin’—didn’t seem like she wanted to be there quiltin’, even.
Honest to goodness, she couldn’t ever remember Miriam actin’ so peculiar. It wondered her. Just what had Preacher told Miriam, anyways?
On the drive home after the quiltin’, Aunt Sarah said, ‘‘I had hoped to speak with Miriam Esh today, but there never seemed to be an opportune time.’’
‘‘I know. I felt the same way.’’ She went on to say how awkward things had been with Miriam. ‘‘Something’s up with her.’’
‘‘Is she normally friendly . . . outgoing?’’
‘‘Jah.’’
‘‘I don’t mean to second-guess her, but do you think she was upset because I was present?’’
Lydia thought her aunt might be right. ‘‘Hard to say, really.
We’ll just have to wait and see what can be done.’’ She was hopin’ that Preacher might be able to talk to Miriam, get her to rethink things, maybe.
‘‘Is there anyone else Amish in the neighborhood who could be foster parents?’’
‘‘No one who’d be apt to take all five of us,’’ she replied. ‘‘Mamma would turn over in her grave if—’’
‘‘I guess you’re right,’’ interrupted Aunt Sarah.
They rode in silence for less than a mile. Darkness began to settle ’round them like gray kittens tiptoein’ into the warm haymow for the long night ahead.
Lydia was itchin’ to share something with her aunt. She didn’t know why exactly, but she felt she wanted to all the same. ‘‘That boy you saw me with in the kitchen? Well, his mamma was there at Susie’s frolic,’’ she said softly.
‘‘Which woman?’’
‘‘Ada King . . . and Mammi Elizabeth’s his great-grandmother.’’
Aunt Sarah kept her eyes on the road as she drove. ‘‘Does your young man have a name today ?’’
‘‘Jah, it’s Levi King.’’
The road was a bumpy snow-white ribbon, barren of traffic except for two teams. Aunt Sarah passed them slowly, giving the horse and carriage wide girth so as not to spook the animals.
Lydia was ever so glad of that. Seemed to her that Aunt Sarah was at least tryin’ to show some respect for the People.
‘‘Thank you for the quilting experience,’’ Sarah said as the car turned into their lane.
‘‘Well, at first, I honestly wondered how things would be.’’ Lydia didn’t want to spoil things and say something out of turn. ‘‘Best to keep disappointments unspoken,’’ Mamma had often counseled. ‘‘Things are always different when outsiders are present.’’
‘‘I understand,’’ said Aunt Sarah.
Lydia had a powerful-strong feeling she did.
‘‘What am I to do ’bout Miriam Esh?’’ Lydia asked Fannie on the phone that night.
‘‘If I were you, I’d go ’n talk to her at her house.’’
‘‘Without Aunt Sarah?’’
‘‘What’ve you got to lose?’’
‘‘Do you think Miriam’s troubled o
ver something? She didn’t seem to have much of a gut time today.’’
‘‘I’m sure she’s bothered, all right’’ came Fannie’s less than evasive reply.
Lydia felt her friend knew more than she was lettin’ on. ‘‘Tell me what you’ve heard, please ?’’
‘‘Right now, on the telephone? Do ya think it’s such a gut idea, Lyddie?’’
‘‘Well, everyone’s asleep here. How ’bout you?’’
‘‘Same thing.’’
‘‘Then go ahead and tell what you know. C’mon, Fannie.’’
‘‘You won’t say where you heard this, promise?’’
‘‘Won’t say a word.’’
‘‘Seems it’s all over Grasshopper Level that Miriam Esh has no intention of bein’ your foster mother. It’s the last thing she wants.’’
‘‘Well, why on earth not?’’
‘‘I’ll tell you why. She’s got it in her head that we—all the People—oughta be honorin’ your mamma’s last wishes, followin’ every jot and tittle of her will.’’
Lydia didn’t understand what Fannie was gettin’ at. ‘‘What do you mean?’’
‘‘It’s just that Miriam doesn’t wanna take over the duties your mamma ’specially chose for your Aunt Sarah to do.’’
‘‘I don’t get it. How could Miriam even know what Mamma was thinkin’?’’
‘‘Hard to say, really. Maybe she and your mamma talked a while back before Ivy died. I’m thinkin’—and my mamma says so, too—it’s possible there’s some reason why Ivy wanted her sister to stay ’round here.’’
Lydia listened intently. The reason was beyond her .
‘‘If’n your aunt stays, it may not be the best years of her life, Lyddie. But who’s to say they won’t be the most important?’’
Maybe Fannie had something there.
‘‘Knowin’ Aunt Sarah for this short of time, I can’t see how her stayin’ will do any of us much gut.’’ Lydia sighed, skippin’ ahead in her mind. ‘‘If she doesn’t have ideas ’bout taking us back to Oregon with her, then I will get to start teachin’ school.
The Redemption of Sarah Cain Page 17