The Sacrifice

by Beverly Lewis

  Thinking about this, Hannah felt she could accept Ezra’s affections if for this one reason alone—to keep the double courting going full speed ahead, for the sake of a peaceful household and for Mary Ruth’s future as a baptized church member. The latter she knew their parents wished for above all else.

  “Let’s find another courtin’ couple to race,” Elias said nearly the minute they were finished eating ice cream.

  “Not tonight,” Ezra replied firmly.

  Hannah bit her tongue. She hoped her beau got his way, being older and all.

  “Aw, lookee there. It’s Sam Ebersol and Adah Peachey.” Elias pointed to an open buggy some distance behind them, then waved his arms, trying to get the couple’s attention.

  “I’m driving,” Ezra said at once.

  But Elias persisted. “C’mon, it’ll be fun. What do you say, Mary Ruth?”

  “Sure, why not?” her twin was quick to say.

  Hannah grew tense. The last time Elias persuaded his brother to let him race, they’d nearly locked wheels with another courting carriage on the way to a railroad crossing down on Route 372. In the end, Hannah had let out a squeal . . . and Elias had stopped. He’d apologized promptly, saying he hadn’t meant any harm by it. He had also said, “There’s plenty other things to do to have fun after singing.”

  Plenty other things is right, thought Hannah. She figured at the rate he was going, Elias wouldn’t be ready to settle down and farm, probably, or marry, for another couple of years. But she’d seen the love-light in her twin’s eyes for the redheaded and handsome young man, and in his for pretty Mary Ruth. Sooner or later, the both of them would start thinking about joining church.

  Just then Sam and Adah pulled up beside them. “What’s goin’ on?” asked Sam.

  “Thought you might wanna race,” Elias called to them from the backseat.

  Sam looked at Adah, then answered, “Oh, that’s all right. We’ve got some talking to do, Adah and I.”

  “Okay, then,” Elias said, sitting down.

  Hannah was relieved and felt herself relax against the seat. Sam hurried his horse, passing them, and she was glad to see Ezra let Sam gain on him. Ezra, after all, was most steady and dependable. At nearly eighteen, he was taking baptismal instruction classes and might be looking to settle down and marry within a year or so. Hannah wondered if she was truly mature enough, though, to accept if he should ask her to be his wife. Was she ready for the duties of home and motherhood? Mamma’s sisters had married young. All except Aunt Lizzie, of course. And Mamma, who, though she’d been but seventeen when first she’d met Dat, had waited until her early twenties to tie the knot.

  Behind her, she heard Elias whispering to Mary Ruth, probably with his arm draped around her shoulder; they’d done their share of snuggling, for sure.

  As for herself, the rest of the night would be most pleasant—watching for shooting stars with Ezra, playing Twenty Questions, and letting him reach for her hand as they slowly made their way back home before dawn.

  Once Leah had safely nestled Lydiann into her crib for the night, she crept toward the stairs. Having just kissed the little girl’s tiny face, she realized sadly that Sadie might never know about Mamma’s coming baby—their new sibling-to-be.

  Downstairs, she spotted the tops of her parents’ heads through the front room window. She wouldn’t think of disturbing them. Much of their energy, too, went into thinking of Sadie; Leah was sure it had been so since her sister’s shunning.

  Turning from the room, she decided it was best to leave Dat and Mamma be. They deserved some quiet time together.

  She went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water, thinking now of Smithy Gid. More than likely, he could be found in his father’s big barn playing with the new brood of pups. “Tonight’s the night,” she said to herself, “ready or not.”

  Slipping out the back door, she headed past the barnyard and through the cornfield. She’d kept Gid waiting long enough—too long, really, as he’d made his thoughtful invitation to her two days ago. She mustn’t be rude and keep him guessing by the hour. She’d had several opportunities to speak privately with him yesterday, but she had still been uncertain, though she knew Gid was as stalwart in his soul as he was in his frame. He wasn’t just “as good as gold,” as Dat liked to say; Gid was superior to Dat’s proverbial gold, and the girl who consented to be his wife would be truly blessed.

  Is it to be me? she wondered. Can I trust the Lord God to guide my faltering steps?

  In vain, she tried to imagine being held in his strong arms. Would she be gladdened by his tender affection . . . ready for their courting days to begin? All these things and more Leah contemplated as her bare feet padded the ground on her way to find the blacksmith’s son before Dat and Mamma wondered where on earth she’d taken herself off to on a night set apart for singings.

  She found Smithy Gid in the haymow, amusing himself with a new pup. “Hullo,” Leah called up to him.

  Quickly he rose and made his way down the long ladder to her, carrying the tiny dog. “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight, Leah.” He looked at her with gentle eyes. “But it’s awful nice,” he added with a warm smile.

  They stood there looking at each other by lantern light, Leah feeling ever so awkward. She glanced down for a moment, breathed a sigh, and then lifted her face to his. “I’m ready to give you my answer,” she said softly.

  “Jah?”

  “I’ll go along to Strasburg with you . . . with Adah and Sam, come Saturday night.”

  Gid’s face lit up like a forbidden electric light bulb.

  “Wonderful-gut! Denki for comin’ here to say so.”

  She realized at that moment the power her decision had over him. If she’d said otherwise, she could just imagine the look of disappointment that would have transformed his ruddy face. “I best be headin’ home,” she said.

  “Aw, must ya?” His eyes implored her to stay.

  “Dat and Mamma don’t know I’m gone. I wouldn’t want them to fret.” She didn’t go on to say they were worried enough over Sadie. No doubt he was aware of that; it was to be expected with Gid’s mother and Mamma close neighbors and bosom friends. Miriam Peachey had surely heard tell of Mamma’s sleepless nights.

  “Well, then, I ’spect it’s best you return schnell— quickly.”

  At that she moved toward the barn door. “Gut Nacht,” she said as Gid strolled alongside her.

  “Good night, Leah.”

  She nodded self-consciously and turned to go, walking briskly toward her father’s cornfield. Hundreds of stars beckoned her, and she found herself wondering if anyone had ever tried to count them, at least those twinkling over the Ebersol Cottage.

  Staring up at the sky, she pondered her decision to go with Gid this one time . . . and his near-gleeful response. Did I do the right thing?

  The last place Gid wanted to be, now that Leah had told him her good news, was back up in the lonely haymow. He returned the puppy in hand to the whelping box and hurried out behind the barn, toward Blackbird Pond. He had to keep looking at the ground, now murky in the early evening hour, to see if his feet were really touching the grassy path that led through the pastureland and beyond to the lake.

  With great joy, he began to count the hours till he would see Leah again, not in Abram’s barn or out in the field . . . no, what he most anticipated was their first real date. The long ride to Strasburg was nothing to sneeze at as far as time on the road; he must make sure he took along a light lap robe, in case the evening had a chill to it. They would enjoy a fine meal in town with Adah and Sam, then leisurely return to Gobbler’s Knob, a round trip of nearly ten miles. All in all, the night would not be so young when he returned Leah to the covering of her father’s house.

  Gid’s heart sang as he picked up his pace and began to run around the wide lake. Will Leah accept my love at last?

  Chapter Four

  Dr. Schwartz plodded upstairs to the second-floor bedroom, where, in the corn
er of the large room, he found his wife reclining on the leather chaise, sipping a cup of chamomile tea. Lorraine’s nerves must be ragged again tonight, he thought. He’d learned not to address her when she was in such a state. In the past, when he had attempted to engage her in conversation, she withdrew further still.

  As for Henry, he was much more practiced at concealing his misery; he prided himself in his ability to do so. Even Lorraine had no knowledge of his ongoing despair, he was quite certain. On the exterior, his life was as fulfilled now as he had ever hoped it to be— faithful wife, grown sons, and a flourishing medical clinic. With their boys gone from home, he and Lorraine had sufficient time to do as they pleased, which most evenings meant sitting in easy chairs and reading silently, enjoying baroque music, or discussing eldest son Robert’s zealous letters and spiritual ambition. Lorraine was increasingly anxious, though, and he had begun to recognize the fact around the time the boys spread their proverbial wings. Continually she invited him to attend church with her and their neighbors, Dottie and Dan Nolt and their toddler-age son. Without exception, he refused, adding to his wife’s dejection. Having attended church only sporadically during their adult years, he was by no means interested in jumping on Lorraine’s recent religious bandwagon. To her credit, his wife was a woman who knew how to blend persuasion with loving consideration. This fact, over the years, had helped keep their marriage intact.

  His misery had not so much to do with Robert’s search for God, nor Derek’s enlistment in the army and detachment from the family, as his bleak memory of a dark April night when his own frail grandson had experienced both life and death in the space of a few hours.

  That fateful night had altered Henry’s very existence.

  Accordingly, each Sunday before Lorraine awakened and the sun rose, he crept downstairs and got into the car, driving down Georgetown Road, past the Ebersol and Peachey farms, turning onto a dirt lane east of the smithy’s spread of land. That narrow byway led to the ten acres he’d inherited from his father, Reverend Schwartz. Having decided against ever building a house there, Henry had held on to the grazing land, letting it appreciate in value over the years. More recently, he had thought of offering to sell it to the local blacksmith, if the Amishman was so inclined.

  Lorraine, however, had suggested the parcel of land remain in the family, perhaps to be given at the appropriate time to Robert as a wedding gift.

  Getting out of the car, Henry would go and tend to a small grave unmarked by a headstone, trimming the tall grass away with hand clippers. When finished, he stood in deep contemplation, the little mound of earth his altar and the clipped grass his pew, surrounded by a choir of insects and birds.

  Just this morning he had visited the site and stared down at the memorial of his own making, recalling the momentous night he had hauled to the spot a shovel in the trunk of his car. Having paced the ground, he had made a frantic determination for the location of a proper burial. The hollowness in his soul had been undeniable as he pushed hard and deep into the ground—the ball of his foot on the shovel, his arms lifting out the soil one heaping pile at a time. Grave digging was harder work than he had anticipated, both physically and otherwise, but the burial itself had been excruciating. And when the task was complete, the lifeless body of an infant boy lay in the broken earth.

  There it was that Henry presented himself to the Creator-God on Sunday mornings, each and every one since that very first, refusing Lorraine’s invitation to a church with walls of stone and mortar. Nowhere else drew him like the open-air cathedral where he was the one and only parishioner, the lone visitor to a child’s tiny grave.

  Startled out of his musing by Lorraine’s gentle voice, Henry jerked his head, a piece of mail slipping out of his hands and onto the floor.

  “Dear,” she said, “be sure to read Robert’s letter.”

  Lorraine had left a pile of their personal mail from Saturday afternoon lying on the dresser for him. He had been much too busy at the clinic to bother thumbing through the bills and such. He stooped now to reach for his eldest’s latest letter. “How are things going for him?” he inquired for Lorraine’s sake. Hard as it was for him to admit, son Robert was looking for absolute truth—strangely finding it in a group of Bible-believing Mennonites.

  “He’s planning to come home for Thanksgiving,” Lorraine offered, still seated with cup poised in midair.

  “Oh?” He nodded absentmindedly. Late November was the perfect time for a visit with his strapping son.

  Perhaps Robert would consider arriving a few days early so that they might join the enthusiastic turkey shooters over on the wooded hillock across the road. We’ll surprise Lorraine with a plump turkey for our Thanksgiving feast, he thought, wishing that Derek, too, might be inclined to desire connection with family. Regrettably there had been no word from Derek in the past year, a fact that continued to grieve them. Yes, thought Henry.

  Our younger son is long gone in more ways than one.

  He settled down with Robert’s letter, adjusting his eyeglasses and leaning his head close to the linen stationery in order to follow every line and curve of his firstborn’s penmanship.

  Thursday, June 16

  Dear Mom and Dad,

  Thanks for writing, Dad. I received your last letter in the Wednesday mail. And thanks, Mom, for the care packages. Several of my campus friends have gratefully helped me devour your chocolate-chip cookies and banana-nut breads. Because of your delectable gifts, I’m one of the best-fed—and most popular—fellows I know!

  I hope to make a trip home for Thanksgiving weekend. Any chance Derry might show up? He continues to snub my letters, but I’d like to see him again . . . it’s been too long.

  Well, I must head to class. I’ll look forward to hearing from you soon.

  With love to you both,

  Robert

  Sighing, Henry blurted out, “What do you make of that, Lorraine?”

  “Sounds to me Derry has no intention of keeping in touch with any of us.” Her voice wavered.

  Henry felt sure he knew why; no doubt Derek was suffering a severe bout of old-fashioned guilt, and no wonder. He’d gotten an Amish girl pregnant, only to promptly leave Gobbler’s Knob for the army. His son’s misbehavior and indifference were an embarrassment. How could Derek ruin the girl’s life and simply abandon her?

  Henry folded the letter, returning it to the envelope. When it came to guilt, he could relate to having made a few serious mistakes in life—some more earthshaking than others.

  “We must celebrate the prospect of seeing Robert again,” he said suddenly as he prepared to retire for the night. “We can’t go on mourning Derek’s appalling attitude.”

  “Sometimes that’s far easier said than done,” Lorraine replied, dabbing at her eyes.

  He acknowledged the grim fact with a nod of his head. What else is there to do?

  Soon after Leah started working part-time at the village clinic, she began to recognize her interest in children, especially the youngest ones with obvious injuries. She loved to console or distract them in the waiting room by using the sock puppets Hannah had knitted. She often did the same at home while caring for Lydiann, who, at times, seemed rather accident prone—scraped knees, brush-burned elbows, and all.

  Leah had surprised herself with her immediate like for the doctor and his wife; she felt sure she’d met good solid folk, although worlds apart from her in culture and upbringing. There was not one iota of plainness about Henry and Lorraine, but that didn’t stop Leah from enjoying their company. The doctor’s infectious laughter, though seemingly forced at times, and Lorraine’s delicious specialty cakes and breads she set out for the clinic staff during short breaks in the flow of patient traffic made Leah feel most welcome.

  This Monday morning she hurried into the clinic and made coffee for the receptionist, as well as the coming patients. That done, she did a bit of dusting, which, before today, had not been one of the things expected of her. Till now she had swept and w
ashed the floors and windows, making doubly sure the examination rooms and miniscule restroom were sanitary, along with sweeping the steps and sidewalk. In many ways she was considered the clinic’s sole housekeeper.

  Lorraine had recently hinted she might need a bit of help, especially with the large kitchen floor and the many knickknacks that accumulated dust in both the living and sitting rooms of the Schwartz residence. So far Leah hadn’t jumped at the opportunity to assist Lorraine with additional tasks, mainly because Mamma’s strawberries were coming on awful fast now and there would be plenty to sell at the Ebersols’ roadside stand. In fact, at this moment, Mamma and Miriam Peachey were out in the hot sun picking berries while Hannah and Mary Ruth completed the washing. And Lydiann, more than likely, was babbling to Dawdi John next door in the Dawdi Haus. Only occasionally did Mamma ask her father to watch her youngest, but since Leah was expected home in time for the noon meal, Lydiann would be in Dawdi’s charge only a short time. After that Leah herself would help tend to her baby sister, along with her afternoon chores outside. By taking Lydiann along with her to the barn and whatnot, she hoped to develop a strong love of the land and the farm animals in the wee toddler. And, too, it wouldn’t be long and Lydiann would be someone to talk to while working outdoors—someone besides Gid, that was, and Sam Ebersol’s older brother, twenty-year-old Thomas, recently hired by Dat to help with fieldwork part-time.

  During a lull between patient appointments, Leah got up the nerve to mention the doctor’s grazing land, “not so far from the Peacheys’ place,” interested to see what Dr. Schwartz might say about it.