The Sacrifice

by Beverly Lewis

  Henry had been soundly stunned to see Derek arrive home the day before Christmas Eve, in time to select a tree. The boy had nearly frightened Lorraine to death as he stomped his army boots up the snowy front walk and burst into the house unannounced, wearing a pressed uniform and tossing his hat onto the coat-tree in the foyer as if he owned the place.

  For months, Henry had written letters requesting, nearly pleading, for Derek to return home for the holidays. Your presence would cheer your mother greatly, he had penned in his most recent note. It appeared his persuasive efforts had paid off famously; their wayward son was seated at his mother’s Christmas table of lace and fine china as Henry said a traditional grace, offering thanks for the bounty with which they had been blessed this year.

  When Henry raised his head, he noticed Derek had neither closed his eyes nor bowed his head, and his hand held the fork, poised to dig in.

  Has he learned nothing from his time in the military? Henry wondered. For a moment he wished he might have saved his time, ink, and stationery. But as the day wore on, things seemed to lighten up and Henry had a change of heart and mind, especially as he observed Lorraine smiling and even laughing from time to time, less in her hostess mode than usual and more relaxed overall. In fact, Henry observed, the day almost seemed as pleasant as many Christmases before it—this as they sat together exchanging gifts in the shadow of the fine Christmas tree ablaze with lights. From the radio, Bing Crosby crooned “Here Comes Santa Claus,” backed up by the Andrews Sisters.

  After gifts were opened and bows and wrapping paper lay scattered on the floor, Lorraine spoke softly, saying she wished to share a short reading. “From the New Testament . . . Luke’s account of the birth of my Lord and Savior.”

  Henry happened to catch Derek’s dismayed look. The boy stood abruptly and, without excusing himself, left the room. Heavy footsteps were heard echoing from the hall, and when the back door slammed, Lorraine jumped.

  Robert pulled out a pocket Testament from his sports coat. “Here, Mother,” he said. “Don’t worry over Derek . . . I have an idea the Lord is at work where his heart’s concerned.”

  More ill at ease than he had been in some years, Henry braced himself for the Scripture verses Lorraine appeared determined to share.

  Until this moment, Mary Ruth wouldn’t have admitted to missing her parents and sisters dreadfully during the past weeks, but she felt an overwhelming sadness as she helped redd up the kitchen for Dottie. She felt sluggish this Christmas Day, slow to gather up scraps of wrapping paper and odds and ends of boxes from the front room. “I’d be happy to take the trash out,” she called to Dottie, who was putting Carl down for his afternoon nap.

  Meanwhile, Dan was out back gathering up dry cut wood from the timber box to add to the embers in the front room fireplace as Mary Ruth headed for the front door. Scarcely had she tossed the rubbish and closed the top on the trash receptacle than she heard a pounding of feet on the road. Looking up, she noticed a darkheaded young man running in a military uniform of some sort, though she couldn’t be sure, as she’d never before seen a soldier.

  She wouldn’t have stood there watching, but the young man’s angry movements caught her attention— the fierce way he swung his arms as he ran, as if ready for a fighting match.

  Mary Ruth felt so curious beholding this peculiar sight, she didn’t catch the sneeze that crept up on her, calling attention to her, and for that she was perturbed.

  Immediately the stranger halted in his tracks, his dark, dark eyes inching together as he frowned hard. When he spoke, she instinctively stepped back. “Hey . . . I know you, don’t I?” The frown faded and a smile took its place. “Aren’t you Sadie’s little sister?”

  At once she was no longer startled, because she recognized him as the boy who’d stopped by the vegetable and fruit stand years back; this same fancy fellow with the handsome features had handed her a letter for Sadie on that day. Just why was he carrying on like a madman out there on the road, and on Christmas Day yet?

  “Jah, I’m Mary Ruth.” She took a step forward to show her confidence. “And who are you?”

  He blinked his eyes, holding her gaze. “An old friend of Sadie’s.”

  She shook her head. “If you say your name, I might just recognize it.”

  “Name’s not important. Truth is, I’m home for the holidays—a wounded soldier.” Here he leaned down and began to roll up his left pant leg. “Let me show you—” “No, no, I believe you.” She noticed his short hair cut on the side above his ears, beneath his uniformstyle hat, so what he’d said was probably true. “Sorry you got yourself hurt.”

  “Maybe you could help me . . . so I won’t have to go all the way down the road to visit Sadie, after all.” He pushed his trouser leg back down where it belonged and leaned hard on the other good leg, his right hand on his hip now.

  “Just what did you have in mind?” She stood her ground, no longer frightened by him, though she still wondered what business he had with Sadie.

  “I’ve been thinking . . . wondering how she’s doing. That’s all. Is she well?”

  His question sounded strange. How would I know? “My sister’s not ill, far as I know.” The words popped right off her tongue. Besides, if Sadie were still living here in Gobbler’s Knob, what would she want with a fancy Englisher . . . and on Christmas?

  “Well, I haven’t seen her in a while. Thought I might catch her outdoors milking cows, maybe . . . present myself to her as a sort of surprise.”

  She sighed. “Oh, well, if it’s my sister you’re after, you best be savin’ your steps, ’cause she’s married out in Ohio.”

  He ran his hand straight down the middle of his hat, smiling at her in a way that suddenly made her feel uncomfortable. “Isn’t that a pity. She was the prettiest Amish girl I ever laid eyes on.” Then, stepping back, he added, “But now that I’m here talking to you, I think you’ve got my Sadie beat all to pieces.”

  My Sadie . . .

  Something sprang up in her that instant, and she felt she best return to the house. “I oughta be goin’ now.” She turned to leave.

  But he followed on her heels. “Wait! No need to be afraid. Don’t you know who I am, Mary Ruth?”

  She stopped walking and turned around and looked him over. Now that she was beginning to put two and two together, this was probably the boy who’d put her big sister in the family way—the young father of Sadie’s dead baby.

  He limped toward her a bit. “You mean to say she never told you about me?”

  Her mind leaped to a final conclusion. “So . . . you must be . . . ?”

  “That’s right. I’m the old man, and I mean to lay eyes on my son or daughter.” He breathed in and rubbed his knuckles against his chest, displaying a sickening conceit. “Boy or girl, which is it?”

  Silently she prayed; she felt she needed God’s help lest this man standing before her begin to thrash his arms yet again, directing his anger toward her. And, come to think of it, his limping was downright deceitful, because she had seen him running to beat the band before she’d ever let out her sneeze. “I take it . . . you must not know what happened. Oh, it’s awful sad, really.”

  “Well . . . what?

  ” Filling her lungs with air, she told him. “Sadie’s baby died ’fore it ever had a chance to live.”

  “Stillborn, you say?” To this he appeared rather stunned, but gradually his surprise turned to obvious relief. Without so much as a good-bye, he walked away, leaving Mary Ruth standing there.

  Ach, what a wretched soul! How on earth did Sadie ever fall in love with such a boy? she wondered. She could not comprehend in the slightest. Encountering him as she had, she hoped and prayed the Lord had heard her sister’s cries of repentance. Surely by now dear Sadie had called out to God for help and forgiveness. Dear Lord Jesus, please be near and dear to my Ohio sister this day, Mary Ruth prayed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The day following Christmas, Leah insisted on Mamma resting af
ter the big noon meal. Even though their close neighbors, the Peacheys, along with Adah and husband Sam, had come to share the feast, Mamma excused herself at Leah’s urging and went to lie down.

  Leah followed her to the upstairs bedroom, watching as she sat on the bed. “Here, let me help you,” Leah said, getting a blanket out of the chest at the foot of the bed. “Are ya in need of more warmth?”

  “No, no . . . I’m just fine now, denki.” Mamma leaned back and sighed, closing her eyes. “Will ya see to our guests while I nap?”

  Leah nodded. “Of course. You have nothin’ to worry ’bout.” She leaned down and kissed Mamma’s cheek, then quietly slipped out the door.

  Downstairs, she found Miriam and Aunt Lizzie playing a game of checkers while Dat, Smithy, and Sam sat around the wood stove, rocking slowly and talking low. Adah was playing peekaboo with Lydiann, and Hannah and Dorcas were visiting quietly in the corner of the kitchen.

  Meanwhile, Gid sat on the floor near the wood stove, reading The Budget, pausing to chuckle every so often at one humorous story or another. “Listen to this.” He held up the paper, and Dat and Gid’s father both leaned in to hear better. “Some folk over in New Holland had a letter the other day sayin’ they were gonna be getting a buggy full of company for supper, but it says right here they don’t have any idea who it’ll be.” Gid looked up, a grin on his face. “So they’re lookin’ forward to seein’ just who’s coming . . . and wonderin’ if their guess is correct.”

  “That is funny,” Dat agreed.

  Smithy Peachey nodded, rocking harder now. “Seems to me whoever wrote oughta have had the courtesy to say who they was!”

  “You’d think so, ain’t?” Dat glanced at Leah, a quick frown on his brow. He motioned for her to come over, and Leah was glad to tell him Mamma was resting. “She’s all right now. Don’t worry.”

  She went and sat on the floor on a round braided rug next to Gid as he read silently from the Sugarcreek, Ohio, newspaper. After a time he whispered, “Here, Leah, read this.” He pointed to a report from Lititz.

  I went downtown and got myself a nice haircut last Tuesday, the Amish scribe had written. That afternoon Barbara Zimmerman and myself answered jah to several questions asked us by our old bishop. Then, quick as a wink, he changed Barbara’s name from Zimmerman to Wert. I’m awful glad she said yes, and she’s ever so glad I got me a haircut!

  Leah couldn’t help but think next year around this time her name would be Leah Peachey. When she glanced at Gid, he smiled and winked at her. Leah’s cheeks flushed and her heart did a little flip-flop, and she wondered if he might give her his Christmas gift outside. Gid was pretty good at thinking of reasons to take her outdoors today. Still, Dat was the only one who knew anything of their engagement, except maybe the smithy and Adah. Neither Mamma nor Hannah suspected anything, she didn’t think, though she could be wrong.

  Aunt Lizzie looked her way and Leah ducked her head, hiding behind The Budget, hoping Lizzie wouldn’t see what was probably written all over her face. Truth was, Leah was awfully fond of Gid and was enjoying herself this sweet Christmastide.

  “Best be headin’ out for milkin’,” Gid said just loud enough for the two fathers’ benefit.

  That was Leah’s cue to get up and go along with him. After all, there was no need for Dat to leave his best friend and nephew, nor the warmth of Mamma’s kitchen, anytime soon. This, then, was her gift to her father . . . so Gid could present his to her.

  After Mamma’s long nap and once Leah and Gid had finished the milking, they all sat down again for a light supper of leftovers. Mamma kept her hand on the meat platter, ready to dish up well before anyone might request seconds. That was Mamma, Leah thought, always eager to serve her family and others.

  The meal over, Aunt Lizzie, Hannah, and Dorcas cleared off the table while Mamma and Miriam settled into chairs near the wood stove and Sam and Adah bundled up and went out for a walk, like newlyweds so often do.

  Dat and Smithy headed outside to get the toboggans out of the barn and ready for some snow fun. Gid and his sister Dorcas and Leah and Hannah carried the sleds back behind the barn, to the banked bridge connecting the lower level to the upper. Gid and Dorcas were the first to go flying down the slope amidst squeals of delight from the girls.

  With Leah at the helm, Leah and Hannah piled on the second toboggan, and they had themselves a turn. In nothing flat, Gid got the idea to race the sleds down the hill. They did that three times, with Gid and his sister winning each run.

  “Ach, it ain’t fair. You’ve got more weight with Gid on.” Leah pointed out the reason.

  “Jah, that’s why,” Dorcas said, smiling at Leah.

  “Try it with Gid alone,” Hannah suggested, “and the three of us girls.”

  “If all of us can even fit on one,” Leah said, laughing.

  In the end, the girls beat Gid soundly. And when a stiff wind blew up out of the north, Dorcas and Hannah said they were cold and headed for the house, leaving Gid and Leah alone once again.

  “I wanted to tell you, Leah . . . you’ve made this the best Christmas for me.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek.

  She reached up and hugged his neck, but he didn’t let her go quickly; he held her close, his rough cheek against her cold face. “Next year we’ll be husband and wife,” he said. “Lord willin’.”

  “A blessed Christmas to you, Gid,” she replied, happy to be nestled in his strong arms, grateful for his present—a pretty wall hanging of a special calendar that could be used over and over, the days marked in with a calligraphy pen. She could hardly wait to start filling it in.

  “Once we’re published at the Preaching service next year, I’ll show you the pine chest I plan to make for you—an engagement gift soon to come.”

  She was overjoyed. What a happy day of days!

  Gentle snowflakes fell as Leah took Hannah along to deliver the birthday quilt to Elias’s mother after supper. She had been hoping for this chance to take the one-horse sleigh down the snow-packed road, to get all bundled up again in earmuffs and mittens, hot bricks at her feet.

  Hannah was more talkative tonight than usual, perhaps because she missed Mary Ruth something fierce.

  They stopped in at the Stoltzfus family’s, staying longer than planned because the deacon’s wife wanted to warm them up with hot chocolate topped with whipped cream, also offering a plateful of oatmeal-raisin cookies for them to nibble during the ride home. “Share the rest with your whole family,” she insisted.

  There are fewer of us Ebersols all the time, Leah thought while standing with her back to the wood stove, sipping cocoa. She glanced at Hannah, noting her sister seemed rather aloof, her face too pale. Soon enough Leah understood as she spotted Ezra . . . his back to them at the kitchen table. He never even turned round when we came in, she thought, suspecting something was terribly wrong between him and Hannah. But she said nothing, waiting for Hannah to mention his peculiar behavior later on the ride home—if at all.

  “I have an idea,” Leah said now, hurrying the horse just a bit. “Let’s stop by and wish Mary Ruth a happy Christmas. What would ya say to that?”

  “Oh, sister, could we?” Hannah’s eyes glistened in the moonlight.

  “We can . . . and we will!”

  She wanted Hannah to end the day happily, and seeing Mary Ruth was sure to put a smile on her face. Besides, Leah was lonesome for Mary Ruth . . . as was Mamma—possibly the reason their mother had looked so gray around the eyes and all washed out earlier. If only Dat had been more patient, even merciful toward Mary Ruth, Christmas could have been far less somber this year. Mamma would’ve had her spirits up, for sure and for certain.

  With this in mind, Leah strained to see the bend in the road and the corner lot where the Nolts lived . . . where Mary Ruth now resided, a boarder to Englishers, of all things.

  Hannah choked back sad tears, downright grateful to be with Leah tonight, though the evening was freezing to the bones. She’d actually thought sh
e might become ill back there in Ezra’s mamma’s kitchen.

  Ezra. What on earth had made him change so? His brother’s death—could it be? Was he so angry at God he was taking his rage out on her?

  She had no idea what to think. Ezra was downright standoffish and hadn’t been showing his face at recent singings. Was he staying away to avoid seeing her? She hoped not. For her, it was hardly worth going to the barn singings anymore—a waste of time to ask Lizzie to take her and drop her off. There was only one reason to go at all: in hopes of being asked to ride home with Ezra in his courting buggy.

  Deliberately Hannah turned her attention to seeing Mary Ruth again, though she also felt a bit distanced herself when it came to her twin. It wondered her, as she and Leah rode in the sleigh, what Leah might make—if she knew—of the things spoken about at the Quarryville church that had added fuel to the fire for Mary Ruth. Her recent switch to the Mennonites, along with her renewed determination to get an English education, had set things off the beam between Dat and her twin.

  Sighing, Hannah felt her breath literally freeze in midair. To think their father would send Mary Ruth away because of her stubbornness—and during rumschpringe, no less, when Amish parents typically let their youth run free, if not wild. It made not a bit of sense. Has to be more than that, thought Hannah. Dat’s ire is up about Mary Ruth going to high school!

  She settled against the buggy seat, reflecting on this day—the love and the laughter of the earlier time with family and the Peacheys—wishing she had brought along the embroidered pillowcases she’d sewn for Mary Ruth. She felt strangely empty, like a tall glass half full.

  The lights from a Christmas tree brightened the window at the Nolts’ house as the horse pulled the sleigh into their driveway. “Ach, is it such a gut idea to stop so late like this?” she asked Leah.

  “Mary Ruth’s bound to be homesick tonight,” Leah answered. “C’mon, a visit will do us all good.” She paused. “But we best not tell ’bout the fun we had tobogganing with Peacheys, jah?”