The Sacrifice

by Beverly Lewis

  “If you won’t ask Hannah for a clean dress, what ’bout Leah?” Aunt Lizzie suggested.

  “Gut idea . . . just might solve the predicament,” Mary Ruth said and reached for her aunt, gave her a grateful hug, and hurried out the back door in search of Leah.

  Lizzie could see Ida needed to give extra attention to Lydiann, who was awful fussy following supper, so Lizzie stayed to clean up the dishes, then dropped off Hannah, Mary Ruth, and Leah at the barn singing over at Abram’s brother Jesse Ebersol’s place. It was right nice to see Leah participating in the activities with the young folk again; Lizzie’s heart was truly glad.

  When she returned from the trip, she took her time unhitching the horse and carriage, in no hurry to head toward the house. The evening was pleasant, and what with having taken the girls to the singing, she was feeling a slight bit sorry for herself. Not like her, really. She knew she ought not to allow her thoughts to stray back to her own courting years, but Abram had told her rather falteringly on several occasions that Leah had been asking questions of him, wanting to know about her father—namely who he was. If Lizzie had her druthers, she’d just as soon never say.

  Straightening now, she looked toward the woods and her log house, put there by Abram and his brothers back when she was in such a bad way, expecting Leah and scarcely but a girl herself . . . not knowing anything about her baby’s father. At least, not back then. And now didn’t it beat all for Leah to be so interested in knowing?

  Just what was she to tell Leah? She certainly couldn’t bring herself to make known the whole story—how she’d run around something terrible as a teenager, thumbing a car ride with a complete stranger, an Englischer at that. Oh, the idea of revealing such a thing to precious Leah made her feel queasy with embarrassment. She almost wished to roll back the calendar, thinking it might’ve been better to leave things as they had been, with Leah thinking Ida was her one and only mamma.

  If I could relive the worst of my youth, what would I do differently? she wondered, shuddering at the sudden thought. If she had not had her hair cut or her face made up on New Year’s Eve back when—and drunk far too much moonshine—dear sweet Leah would never have been conceived. Truly, the Lord God had wrought a miracle of life and joy out of her great sin.

  Feeling glum, she found herself heading toward the Ebersol Cottage, hoping she might offer to help Ida with something, anything at all, as an excuse to stay. At the moment she could not face her own empty house.

  She discovered Ida giving Lydiann a bath in the middle of the kitchen in the big galvanized tub. “Here, let me do that for you.” She knelt down to splash her little niece while Ida rose and went to sit across the room in Abram’s hickory rocker.

  “I’m all in,” Ida admitted, fanning her face with her apron.

  “You just rest there, sister.” And to Lydiann, she said, “Now, ain’t that right? We’ll let your mamma be for a bit while you get all soaped up and clean.” She couldn’t help it; the baby talk came flying fast out of her mouth as she enjoyed bathing the adorable toddler.

  Soon Abram clumped indoors to wash his hands. He made over Lydiann, still sitting in four inches or so of water that had been warmed by the kettle on the wood stove. Lydiann tapped a wooden spoon on the water’s surface, making more and more bubbles.

  “Well, now, Ida, looks like we’ve got ourselves a tidy youngster,” said Abram, standing near the tub and watching.

  “Soon it’ll be Ida’s turn in the bath, jah?” Lizzie said, glancing at Ida, who was grinning at her wee daughter, lathered up from head to toe.

  “I should say so,” Ida replied. “Goodness knows, I must smell like a pig, what with the awful heat this week.”

  Lizzie offered to tuck Lydiann in for the night, but the girl cried up a storm when she went to pick her up. “Aw, you wanna play longer?” She set her back down.

  Abram chuckled. “You’re spoiling the child; that’s plain to see.”

  “She’s only two once, ain’t?” Ida said, beaming with love from the rocking chair.

  Going to sit on the bench, Abram leaned back against the table, his elbows spread behind him. “You’s oughta guess who I ran into this morning,” he said.

  “Who?” Lizzie said.

  “Peter Mast.” On any given day, Abram would have avoided all discussion about the Masts, quickly looking at the floor if they were mentioned in conversation, as if merely hearing the name caused him distress. “Did he speak to ya?” Ida asked, leaning forward.

  “Not a word.” Abram shook his head. “ ’Tis the oddest thing, really.”

  “Jah” was all Ida said.

  Lizzie had an idea—maybe not such a bright one, but she shared it anyway. “Has anyone thought of taking some fruit pies over to Fannie Mast?”

  Ida clasped her hands and brought them up as if praying. “I’ve considered doing so any number of times as a goodwill gesture.”

  “A peace offering?” Abram frowned, clearly not sure if this was something to ponder, let alone pursue.

  “What if you sent the twins over to deliver the pies?” Lizzie suggested.

  “Certainly not Leah,” Ida said.

  Nodding in agreement over that, Abram rose and wandered into the dark front room, and Lizzie heard him sink down into a chair.

  “Well, what do ya say?” she asked Ida, who came and threw a towel over her shoulder and lifted out Lydiann. The toddler’s soft bottom looked as shriveled as a prune.

  “It would be nice to get things smoothed over with the Masts, but I’m sure Abram will want to think on it some more,” Ida said as she wrapped Lydiann, bawling and squirming, in the towel before marching out of the room and upstairs.

  A couple of tasty pies just might begin to repair the breach, Lizzie thought, removing her wet black apron and going to hang it up in the utility room. If so, how foolish of them to have waited all this time.

  Chapter Eight

  The next day was a no-church Sunday, a day set aside not for Preaching service but for rest, reading the Good Book, and visiting relatives and friends.

  Mary Ruth held the reins while Hannah sat to her left, silent as a rock. “Dat and Mamma must’ve thought this over for a gut long time, us goin’ to Grasshopper Level with pies for the Masts,” Mary Ruth muttered.

  “Two long years Mamma’s been thinking of what to do, I ’spect,” Hannah said softly.

  “Aunt Lizzie baked till late last night is what I was told. Must’ve been a hurry-up job.”

  “While we were at singing, maybe,” Hannah replied.

  Mary Ruth scratched her head. “By the way, did you happen to see who Leah rode home with last night?”

  “I thought ’twas Gid, though I can’t be certain.”

  “Won’t Dat be happy if it was?”

  Hannah made a little sound, then spoke. “Mamma prob’ly will be, too, seein’ Leah’s been hurt so awful bad . . . the way Jonas did her wrong.”

  “Wasn’t all Jonas’s fault, don’t forget. Takes two, ya know.” Mary Ruth felt she had to remind Hannah.

  “Wouldn’t any parent be pleased to have Smithy Gid as a son-in-law?”

  “Can you see Gid and Leah as husband and wife?

  Honestly, can you?” asked Mary Ruth.

  Hannah sighed. “Maybe so,” she said in almost a whisper. Then abruptly she changed the subject.

  “Mamma’s nothin’ short of wonderful-gut. She never once thinks of Leah as her niece, now, does she?”

  Mary Ruth found this turn of topic rather interesting. They had spoken behind closed doors of Lizzie’s being Leah’s birth mother after Mamma had shared with them, almost two years ago, the story of their aunt’s wild days. Occasionally the twins would rehash their feelings, so great had been their surprise. “Seems to me, Leah is just as much Mamma’s as you and I are.”

  Mary Ruth meant this with all of her heart. “I wouldn’t want things to change with Leah just because we know the truth ’bout Aunt Lizzie.”

  “Me neither.” Hannah s
moothed out her long green dress.

  “Anyway, I could never think of Leah as merely our first cousin, even though she is that. The heart ties that unite are so strong, ain’t so?” She surprised herself saying as much. “We’ll always be sisters.”

  The tie that binds . . .

  Now was as good a time as any for Hannah to bring up the knotty fact they were no longer double courting with the Stoltzfus boys . . . that there was a sort of estrangement between the two of them.

  But Hannah said nothing, and they rode on in silence for the last mile.

  As the twins pulled in the lane at the Masts’ farmhouse, Mary Ruth noticed several of the younger Mast children scampering about. But when the youngsters spotted who was driving up in the carriage, they quickly disappeared into the house.

  “Just as I expected,” Mary Ruth said. “Now what?”

  “We could end up sittin’ here till the cows come home if we don’t get out and make our delivery,” Hannah replied.

  “I wish Aunt Lizzie had come ’stead of us.” Mary Ruth felt not only embarrassed but put out at having to come here when the Masts had chosen of their own accord to shun them.

  Hannah was the one to stand up first, taking hold of the pies neatly placed in Mamma’s wicker food hamper. “I’m not afraid of Cousin Fannie. I never did her wrong.” With that she climbed down out of the buggy.

  Taken aback by her sister’s uncharacteristic boldness, Mary Ruth breathed in deeply and stepped out, too. “Which of us is goin’ to knock on the back door?”

  “Why, both of us. That’s who” came Hannah’s quick answer.

  Mary Ruth wasn’t so sure any of this was such a good idea, yet she was shocked at the way Hannah’s feet pounded against the ground. Sure was a first, far as she could remember—Hannah spouting off without uttering a word, using only her feet to do the talking!

  Not to be outdone, Mary Ruth knocked on the kitchen screen door, wishing the whole ordeal were over. She could see past the screened-in porch and into the long kitchen, part of the bench next to the table showing. But there was no one in sight, which was downright peculiar on a “visiting” Sunday.

  “Your turn to knock,” she told Hannah, who promptly did so.

  They waited, but the house remained apparently uninhabited. The call of birds seemed louder than before.

  “How much longer should we wait?” Hannah asked.

  Mary Ruth glanced over her shoulder, looking for any sign of life, but there were no sounds coming from the barn nor, naturally, from the fields, it being the Lord’s Day and all. “I say we leave,” she said at last.

  “But . . . what ’bout the pies?” It was Hannah who was wide-eyed now.

  “We’ll have ’em for supper ourselves.”

  “What’ll Mamma say?”

  Then, just as Hannah was speaking, here came Cousin Fannie shuffling along toward the door like she really didn’t want to at all. She poked her head out.

  Before Fannie could speak, Mary Ruth said quickly, “We brought you something from Mamma and Aunt Lizzie.”

  A frown flickered across Fannie’s face as she eyed the pies. “I’m sorry, but we can’t accept them.” She started to close the screen door.

  “Oh, but Aunt Lizzie wants you to have them. She made them special for you and Cousin Peter,” Mary Ruth explained, feeling awkward having to beg someone to accept such delicious gifts.

  But Fannie soundly latched the screen door, then backed away, shaking her head before turning and walking to the kitchen.

  “Well, I declare!” said Mary Ruth, tugging on Hannah’s sleeve. “Come along, sister. They don’t deserve Aunt Lizzie’s pies!” With that they hurried to the buggy and got in. The horse pulled them slowly up to the widest section of the barnyard, then circled around to come back down the lane.

  Mary Ruth spotted two small heads peering out the back door. “Look,” she whispered. “Isn’t that Mandie and Jake?”

  “Sure looks like them to me,” Hannah agreed.

  “So . . . we’ve been out-and-out refused. Well, isn’t this a fine howdy-do!”

  “Something to talk about at supper tonight,” Hannah said.

  “Won’t Mamma be irked?”

  Hannah nodded. “Irked and offended both.”

  “It’s really too bad our families can’t make amends.”

  Mary Ruth was certain both Mamma and Dat would have a reaction to this. Aunt Lizzie, too.

  “What if we give them one more chance—try ’n’ break the ice, so to speak,” Hannah suggested.

  “And do what?”

  “We could both write to Rebekah and Katie one last time . . . see what comes of it. See if they’ll reply.”

  “What a waste of time and stationery. But go ahead, if you want.”

  “I say, best ask Mamma what she thinks.” Hannah seemed to make a to-do of crossing her arms and sighing.

  “Well, now, why are you upset at me, Hannah? I’m not the one ignorin’ your letters.” Mary Ruth paused.

  “Whoever said twins had to be baptized into the church the same year, anyway?” There—she’d said exactly what was on her mind.

  Hannah began to sniffle, which turned into a fullblown sob in a hurry. Mary Ruth had no desire to offer one bit of comfort. If Hannah wanted to cry her eyes out right here on the road, in plain sight . . . well, let her.

  Half a mile later, she spotted Luke and Naomi Bontrager riding in their enclosed carriage. “You best dry your eyes,” she cautioned. “Here comes the bishop’s grandson. Word might get back that you looked mighty sour today.”

  Hannah turned to face her, quick as a wink. “What do I care? Truth is, the bishop himself already knows what you’re up to!”

  “What do you mean?” Mary Ruth didn’t want to believe her ears.

  “Bishop Bontrager has been askin’ why you aren’t joinin’ church with me.”

  “And what’re you sayin’ to that?”

  “Seems to me that’s your problem.”

  Mary Ruth bit her lip. Luke and Naomi were smiling and waving now as they approached on the opposite side of the road. “Wave back,” she whispered to Hannah.

  Meekly Hannah did so, and Mary Ruth called to them, “Hullo, Luke and Naomi!”—waving and grinning for all she was worth. Can’t make things any worse . . . might actually help some, she reasoned.

  “Couldn’t you offer a smile with your wave?” she asked Hannah.

  “Didn’t feel like it,” Hannah said when the other buggy had passed by.

  Mary Ruth knew she could easily say the wrong thing if she opened her mouth just now, so she pressed her lips shut.

  Hannah, however, couldn’t seem to drop the argument of Mary Ruth joining church. “ ‘To him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin.’ ” Hannah stated the pointed verse oft quoted amongst the People.

  Without a shadow of doubt, Mary Ruth knew Hannah was altogether peeved at her about rejecting baptism this year. It was beginning to cloud nearly everything, even something as innocent as a ride in the family carriage. I won’t cut short my rumschpringe! she thought. I’ll join church when I feel like it.

  On Sunday, July 17, Leah met up with Naomi Kauffman Bontrager in Deacon Stoltzfus’s barnyard.

  She, along with Mamma, Aunt Lizzie, and the twins, had been milling about with the other women folk, waiting for the ministers to arrive before Preaching service. “Hullo, Leah, nice to see ya,” Naomi greeted Leah warmly, taking both her hands and squeezing them gently. “I’ve been wishin’ we could talk.”

  They strolled away from the large group of women and young children. “Everything all right, Naomi?”

  There was a distinct dampness to the day, which put a bit of a wave in Naomi’s hair—the wispy strands at the nape of her neck, at least.

  “Oh, jah, things are fine.” Naomi’s eyes lit up. “I’ve been meaning to tell ya my news. I’m in the family way.

  Come this December, Luke and I will have us our first wee babe. Close to Christmas
. . . when your mamma’s baby is due.”

  “This is gut news and I’m ever so happy for you.”

  She kissed Naomi’s cheek. “Luke must be awful excited, too.”

  “He’s holdin’ his breath for a son, naturally.”

  “Maybe you’ll get two boys,” Leah replied, recalling that twins seemed plentiful on Naomi’s mother’s side. In fact, there was a set of triplet boys.

  “I s’pose I wouldn’t mind several babies at once. Whatever the Good Lord gives us will be all right.”

  “I’m glad I heard directly from you,” Leah said as they walked back toward the women. She was truly happy for Sadie’s former girlfriend, and hearing the news from Naomi got her thinking of her own future and the possibility of many children. After all, Mamma was expecting this baby in her midforties. Leah counted the years, thinking ahead. If I were to marry Gid by next year, I’d have plenty of childbearing years ahead of me. . . .

  But she knew it was better not to think in terms of what might be . . . or worse, what might have been where Jonas was concerned. No, she would trust the Lord God, just as she had promised to do at her baptism. She would honor the Almighty One all the days of her life, and He alone would lead her. If God willed that she should marry and have children, then so be it. If not, she would try to be as cheerful and content with her lot as Aunt Lizzie.

  Thinking of her aunt, she spied Lizzie chattering with the deacon’s wife and had to smile. Aunt Lizzie’s a sly one, she is . . . talking to Ezra and Elias’s mother, of all things!

  It was fairly common knowledge among Dat, Mamma, and Aunt Lizzie that two of the Stoltzfus boys were awful sweet on Hannah and Mary Ruth. Mamma had confided this to Leah, who, in turn, had mentioned something to Dat in the barn last week. Dat, bless his heart, had tried to act like he didn’t know too much about it, but Leah could see the helpless smile of delight on her father’s face. Since they all knew who was who and what was what, it was best they keep quiet now and allow the courting process to take over.