‘‘Okay . . . I’ll wait for your call.’’
They said hurried good-byes and hung up.
She had to get well and see Bryan, possibly on Wednesday, and somewhere between now and then, she and Lydia must have a heart-to-heart talk, as well.
Sarah reached for an aspirin and a cup of chamomile and drank it straight down.
The morning was going along wonderful-gut for her first day, and Lydia was pleased. ‘‘Time to tidy up for lunch,’’ she told the children at noon.
Josiah raised his hand as he sat at his student desk. ‘‘I forgot my lunch bucket.’’
‘‘Ach, you did?’’
‘‘Jah, and it was ’cause you weren’t home this mornin’ to remind me,’’ he said, solemn faced.
Little Hannah and two other first-grade girls cupped their hands over their mouths.
‘‘What ’bout Anna Mae, your sister?’’ Lydia replied. ‘‘Didn’t she remind you to bring your lunch bucket?’’
Josiah raised his hand again.
‘‘What is it?’’ she asked, beginning to feel uneasy, bringing family matters into the school day.
‘‘Can I come whisper somethin’ to you?’’
‘‘May I whisper . . .’’
‘‘Jah, that’s what I meant.’’
She motioned for her second-grade brother to approach her desk. ‘‘What’s on your mind?’’
He leaned over and whispered in her ear, ‘‘We got to talkin’ to Aunt Sarah, that’s why I forgot my lunch bucket.’’
‘‘You can share some of my sandwich. Maybe Caleb and Anna Mae will share with you, too. We won’t let you go hungry.’’ He wasn’t finished whispering by the looks of it. ‘‘Aunt Sarah’s got something to tell you when you get home.’’
Lydia was all ears. ‘‘Why do you say that?’’
‘‘She told us so . . .’’ His voice trailed off. ‘‘But I best let her tell you.’’
Motioning to his desk, she said, ‘‘And you best take your seat.’’
Josiah’s words played tag in her head all through the lunch hour and throughout recess time. After playing hard outside, several of the older girls stood at the back of the classroom and helped rebraid the hair of the younger ones, standing one in front of the other. In a few minutes, many sets of braids had been smoothed and tucked back into tightly wound buns. Boys, meanwhile, ran broken and bent combs through their own tousled hair, putting it in order.
Soon afternoon recitations were under way. Monday was always arithmetic day, so each grade stood and recited for twenty minutes at a time. At three o’clock on the dot, school was dismissed.
Caleb grinned at her as the last pupil filed out the door. ‘‘I like havin’ you for our teacher, Lyddie,’’ he said, waiting for her to gather up her books and things. ‘‘Will you be drivin’ home, or should I?’’
She agreed that he should. ‘‘Go ahead and hitch up Dobbin now. I’ll come in a minute.’’
Anna Mae, Josiah, and Hannah came wandering back inside to warm themselves by the wood stove while Lydia cleared her teacher’s desk. ‘‘I’m ready for a snack,’’ little Hannah said.
‘‘I wonder if Aunt Sarah’ll have any cocoa waitin’ for us,’’ Josiah said with a sly grin.
‘‘If not, we’ll make some ourselves,’’ replied Caleb.
Anna Mae laughed. ‘‘That’ll be the day—when I see my brothers cookin’ in the kitchen.’’
‘‘Now, now,’’ scolded Lydia. ‘‘Let’s head on home.’’
Josiah hung back, waiting for her to close the door on the wood stove. Its dying embers would be stirred to life early tomorrow morning once again. ‘‘Aunt Sarah’s got gut news for ya,’’ he whispered as they made their way to the door and closed it securely.
‘‘Is that so?’’ she said, playing along.
‘‘And I think you’ll be mighty pleased.’’
The way he said it, she was perty sure what that news was. It wouldn’t do to hear an unpleasant report of Aunt Sarah’s chat with Preacher Esh . . . possibly talk ’bout Levi King. Ach, she hoped she was right, what she was thinkin’ just now.
Sarah mulled over her phone conversation with Bryan Ford. He had seemed exceptionally confident. Perhaps a little too upbeat. ‘‘We have some catching up to do,’’ he had said, sounding both urgent and amiable. She didn’t care to imagine what he might have on his mind.
Still wearing her robe and slippers, she crept into the bathroom and drew the water for a midafternoon bath. Without the aid of antibiotics or decongestants, she was beginning to feel better. Quite a bit better, in fact.
After her bath, she dressed quickly, noting the time. The children would be arriving home soon, most likely by horse and buggy, as she had heard Lydia leave just after six o’clock this morning. I’ll simmer some milk for hot cocoa , she thought.
On the ride home, they happened to pass Levi King. He was sittin’ high in his racy black open carriage, brand-new last year, given to him by his father. Levi waved to the younger children, even called a warm ‘‘hullo!’’ to Caleb, but didn’t begin to look Lydia’s way. Not this time. Her heart sank, yet the fact that he was riding alone gave her good courage. No one else had taken her place in his heart. Not yet.
During the supper hour, Sarah encouraged each of the children to practice table manners. But Josiah promptly explained for her benefit that ‘‘a gut, loud belch is the People’s way of showin’ a cook just how tasty a meal is.’’
Sarah tried to keep from grinning, the boy’s response was so adorable.
‘‘ ‘Please’ and ‘thank you’ are Englischer words,’’ he continued. ‘‘And we wouldn’t wanna be soundin’ like fancy folk nohow.’’
‘‘I see,’’ she replied, not seeing at all. In fact, she was even more puzzled as to why her sister had chosen her .
Before retiring for the night, Sarah read the last entry in one of Ivy’s earlier journals, six months after Anna Mae was born:
It’s nearly midnight and my youngest is still restless. Tiny Anna Mae needs lots of attention, it seems. She’s clingy and colicky, more so than either Lyddie or Caleb were at this age. Yet I am determined to be a loving, caring mother to this wee one, so needy she is.
I received a short letter from Sarah today. She’s looking ahead to her practice teaching this spring. I’m surprised, really. Sarah has never been inclined toward children.
Gil and I were talking this evening after supper. We’ve come to this conclusion: We must get rid of even more clutter in the house and the barn. He says if we don’t free ourselves of things, we’ll spend our whole life tidying up .
Sarah, weary from the day and the lingering effects of her illness, had felt uplifted somewhat by the children’s reaction to her staying on a few more days. Their eyes had brightened when she greeted them after school and served the mugs of hot chocolate on a tray, complete with oatmeal cookies, which Lydia and Anna Mae had baked on Saturday.
Slipping under the sheets, she thought of Ivy’s journal entry. Her sister’s pointed opinion regarding Sarah’s inadequacy with children had been emphasized once again. She sighed, staring across the room at the wisps of light floating in the window.
What a dichotomy that Ivy had continually felt that way, yet named Sarah as guardian for her offspring nonetheless. It never ceased to boggle Sarah’s mind.
Pushing that thought aside, she pondered the final paragraph in Ivy’s diary. Somehow, the extremely modern Ivy Cottrell, former teenage prom princess and socialite, had turned a corner in her life. How had she managed to free her life of things—of chaos—as she had written?
Lydia, tired as she was, couldn’t wait to write in her diary before going to bed.
Monday night, January 31
My first day as teacher at Peach Lane School!
Honestly, I don’t see how I did it, getting up at three-thirty this morning to do the washing, without the help of Anna Mae or anyone else. I do believe Mondays will be the hardest day for a
young schoolteacher like me. When things are settled—and I hope they are soon—I hope not to have the clothes-washing duties, along with the added responsibility of getting the fire in the wood stove going at the schoolhouse. Maybe Preacher Esh or another nearby farmer might help with that . . . ’least on Mondays. Aunt Sarah is pitching in a lot more now that she’s feelin’ better. She’ll prob’ly take over the laundry duties for us.
I’d never be so forward as to declare it, but I felt exhilarated on my first day of teaching. Seems to me the Lord God helped me do a right good job, too. Wasn’t so hard to manage all eight grades, either, as I put some of the older pupils to work helping the younger ones. Everything worked out so well. Even Anna Mae was on her best behavior. Glory be!
Josiah, bless his heart, could hardly keep the secret that Aunt Sarah’s planning to stay on a bit more. He was nearly bursting at the seams on the ride home in the buggy after school. It was quite interesting, though, the look on Aunt Sarah’s face when I was sipping her hot cocoa, listening as she shared her news. I don’t know how she’s going to go ’bout it, really. Finding a foster family in this community, what with most parents juggling seven or more children, well, it’ll be a difficult task. If it’s God’s will for us to live with someone other than Mamma’s sister, He’ll provide for us.
I’m praying ever so hard these days. Levi King’s still on my mind and in my heart .
The cell phone rang around nine-thirty, waking Sarah. She reached for it quickly, so as not to startle the house full of sleeping children. ‘‘Yes?’’ she answered.
‘‘Sarah, it’s Bill Alexander. You sound sleepy.’’
‘‘I am.’’ She reminded him of the time differential.
‘‘It’s early there, right?’’
She smiled. ‘‘We’re a farm family . . . we get up with the cows. Sometimes earlier.’’
‘‘Oh, a family , eh?’’
Too tired to explain, she inquired of the closing she knew had taken place that afternoon. ‘‘How did things go?’’
‘‘Smooth as molasses . . . or is it pudding?’’
She smiled. ‘‘Glad to hear it. Send me the check.’’
‘‘You must be planning to stay there a while longer.’’
‘‘I haven’t decided exactly how long.’’
‘‘Well, can you give me a heads up when you think you might return?’’
‘‘Sure.’’
‘‘Before I forget, Heidi’s got everything lined up for your closing on Wednesday and Thursday.’’
‘‘Super. Thanks, Bill. I appreciate it.’’
‘‘Hey, you okay? You sound sick.’’
She wondered if he’d noticed her raspy throat. ‘‘Actually, I’m on the mend. I plan to be up and at ’em full force early tomorrow.’’ ‘‘They got you plowing fields yet?’’
‘‘Not this week.’’ She chuckled softly.
‘‘Don’t forget the real estate business. We need you, Sarah. You’re the best.’’
‘‘Hey, I like that—has a nice ring to it.’’
‘‘Well, I’m not kidding,’’ Bill said before they hung up.
She turned the power off on the cell phone, eager for a tranquil night’s sleep.
Long past midnight, she thought there must be a phone ringing somewhere, though in her sleepy haze, she questioned ever having turned hers off. Groping in the darkness, she put the receiver to her ear and heard the voice of Megan Holmes. ‘‘Please, Teacher? It won’t take me long. I’ll hurry. Please?
’’ ‘‘All right, Megan, one more time. But be very careful,’’ she said, now standing behind a long line of noisy children, bundled up for a wintry recess, waiting impatiently to get back inside the school building. They were jostling one another, vying for position, overly anxious for the door to open.
Just then, she thought she must have dropped the phone when Meggie’s screams awakened her. She sat straight up in bed, her heart pounding nearly out of her rib cage. The silence in the Amish farmhouse made her ears feel clogged, deafened.
Sarah drew a deep breath and reached for a glass of water and, out of habit, another aspirin. As she swallowed both water and pill, she realized that while she knew the precise location of Megan Holmes’s gravesite, she had no idea where her own sister’s body was buried.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sarah was ravenous at breakfast and took a second small helping of scrambled eggs, along with her oatmeal. After Lydia left for school, Sarah followed Hannah around, helping her gather up her lunch bucket and books for school.
After everyone was out the door and on their way, she cleaned the kitchen thoroughly, baked some bread, and took a roast out of the freezer to thaw for supper. Feeling far better than she had in days, she sat at the table and reached into the small shoe box that Lydia had brought downstairs before breakfast. ‘‘These were Mamma’s favorite shells,’’ her niece had said with a big smile. ‘‘Ten of them . . . gathered with Grandpa Cain, when Mamma was little.’’
‘‘Oh, really?’’ Sarah replied, surprising herself with immediate interest. ‘‘I’ll take a look once the house is quiet.’’ Which is precisely what she planned to do at the moment.
Lifting the lid off the box, she peered inside. There she found colorful seashells, smooth and pearlescent. Lydia wanted me to see these . . . why? she wondered. But there was an instinctive quickening of her senses. She knew, possibly, that it was a type of reward from Lydia for Sarah’s willingness to stay on ‘‘a while longer.’’
Smiling, she picked up the first shell—a snail shell, also called moon shell, which she knew from the occasional walks with her father. She examined it, stroking its glossy fullness, its rounded borders, enjoying its opaque rose color, the smoothness in her hands. A whiff of salty ocean air tickled her imagination. She was a girl, back in Watch Hill, a few blocks east of her parents’ summer cottage.
Her father had once said, ‘‘Human beings often despise aloneness.’’ This bit of wisdom he had shared while holding a gossamer shell in his hand. ‘‘We avoid isolation at all costs. Yet we must reconcile with solitude, learn to embrace it, so that we can hear God’s voice.’’
God’s voice . . .
Was he referring to the still, small inner voice he often mentioned? Was it an audible utterance? Had Bryan heard it, too?
Embrace the solitude. . . .
She pressed the snail’s shell to her cheek. Its coolness soothed her. Was the lack of God’s voice in her life evident to others? And what of Ivy and Gilbert and their children? When, how had they managed to hear—listen to—such a divine pronouncement? Was ‘‘hearing’’ an outgrowth of their purposeful solitude, their abandonment of things, the embracing of a simple, uncomplicated life? Or the reverse—the reason for having heard?
She stared at the milky-colored shell. ‘‘Treasures from the sea teach us heavenly lessons,’’ her dad had said repeatedly when she was growing up.
God’s treasures . . .
The phone rang, startling her. Carefully, she returned the moon shell to its cradle in a wad of tissues and got up to reach for the wall phone. ‘‘Cottrell residence.’’
‘‘Hullo, Sarah’’ came a somewhat familiar voice. ‘‘I met you at the quilting last week . . . at Susie Lapp’s place. My name is Miriam Esh.’’
‘‘How are you, Miriam?’’ She was careful not to sound too exuberant.
‘‘Well, I’m doin’ just fine, I reckon, and how are you gettin’ along?’’
She did not know if the woman was referring to her physically, or otherwise. ‘‘We’re fine,’’ she said cautiously.
‘‘I understand Lyddie’s at Peach Lane School, teachin’ the youngsters.’’
‘‘And enjoying it, too, from what she says.’’
‘‘Wonderful-gut news.’’ Miriam paused. ‘‘Well, now, the reason I telephoned you was to see if you might like to join some of the womenfolk again. We’re gettin’ together Thursday at my house to sew a new binding on an old qu
ilt.’’
‘‘It’s kind of you to ask.’’
‘‘So you’ll give it some thought . . . ’bout coming?’’
‘‘Yes, I think I will come,’’ she replied, glad that the work frolic wasn’t scheduled for tomorrow. She fully intended to meet with Bryan Ford in the morning.
‘‘I could ask someone to stop by ’n pick you up, if you’d like.’’
She thought of riding in an Amish buggy—her first time. The notion made her nervous. ‘‘If you give me directions, I’m sure I can get there on my own, thanks.’’
Miriam obliged her. ‘‘Watch for a hitchin’ post on the east side of the road, and that white picket fence at the corner of such and so’’ was the gist of it.
Sarah smiled to herself as she said good-bye. What a folksy way of telling a person how to locate a place. Her father, unpretentious man that he was, would have enjoyed it. Of this, she was certain.
At midmorning, Sarah was surprised by a visit from Susie Lapp. The woman came with two hot dishes.
‘‘One’s hamburger casserole, the other’s Texas hash,’’ she said as she strolled into the kitchen, wearing a cheerful countenance.
‘‘Well, thank you,’’ Sarah said, thinking of the rock-hard roast on the counter. ‘‘We’ll enjoy this tonight . . . the children and I.’’
‘‘I made some corn fritters, too.’’ Susie seemed more relaxed today. ‘‘Thought you might enjoy ’em.’’
‘‘I’m sure we will,’’ Sarah said, pouring some coffee. ‘‘Care for a cup?’’
‘‘Oh my, yes . . . black coffee would taste awful gut ’bout now.’’
Sarah wondered if Susie was headed off to another house— perhaps to deliver more food to a friend. She did not inquire, however, settling down at the kitchen table with the woman her sister had deemed her closest friend.
‘‘I was rude to you when first we met,’’ Susie said, her eyes downcast. When she looked up, Sarah saw that her eyes were glistening.
The Redemption of Sarah Cain Page 21