The Sacrifice

by Beverly Lewis

  Such a time to bury someone . . . in the cold and miserable ground, he thought, lamenting that his wife had to pass away so near Christmas. Too near . . .

  For all his remaining days on the earth, Abram would regret not having insisted on calling for the Hexedokder. Any hex doctor would have known what to do to turn the baby within Ida; the awful bleeding could have been stopped, no matter how far his wife had slipped away. But Ida had made her most holy choice, her final stand—she who had rejected the powwow practices all their married life. Even unto death, he’d wrongly let her have her say.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Piercing cold temperatures lingered through January. Roads became miserably icy and snow-packed as one blizzard followed another, with grooves from horsedrawn sleighs and the occasional buggy becoming deeper and harder to avoid as the days wore on. Power lines up and down White Oak Road were weighed down by thick ice, causing power outages for Englishers in a radius of several miles. But the lack of electricity did not affect Leah and her family, nor their surrounding Amish neighbors.

  Leah was thankful for Dat’s unexpected willingness to allow Mary Ruth a weekly visit on Saturday mornings, since it gave her opportunity to continue working at Dr. Schwartz’s clinic once a week. The doctor reacted kindly when Leah shared her predicament, wholeheartedly approving the hours best suited for her. “We don’t want to lose you,” he told her, to which Lorraine agreed emphatically.

  “If you’re ever in a jam, you can always bring the little ones here,” she’d said. “I’ll gladly entertain them.”

  Harder than juggling her life with its added responsibilities was the gnawing within—the intense knowing that it was imperative for her to find some sensible resolution to the problem of her promise to Mamma . . . and her betrothal to Gid. She had been somewhat relieved that he had seemed to understand how important her vow to Mamma was—how critical it would be day to day and year by year.

  With that in mind, she agreed to talk privately with him when Gid knocked on the kitchen door one afternoon. Cordially they talked things out every which way in the stillness of the barn, only for Gid to conclude they must go their separate ways, releasing her from her betrothal promise.

  Such a hopeless situation. Gid’s right about this, Leah thought, dread filling her soul. Yet she knew for sure her husband would have felt terribly trapped, surrounded by an extended family he had no say about and having to kowtow to Dat on a daily basis.

  In the very place where they had spent so many hours working together, tending to the farm animals’ needs, Gid removed his black hat and reached for her hand. Struggling to speak, he said softly, “ ’Tis such a hard thing . . . I’m ever so sorry. Truly, I am.” His eyes were intent on hers. “One thing’s sure.” His voice grew stronger. “You have my truest friendship, Leah—for as long as ya live.”

  “And you have mine, too. For always.” She choked back tears. “We’ll . . . see each . . . other, jah?” she sputtered, realizing how awkward it would be to occasionally bump into him.

  “As good friends . . . you can count on that.”

  She felt ever so blue as they parted, and then again a few hours later, when the finality of his decision and their good-byes struck her anew as she stood at the window and saw him crossing the barnyard, heading for home. He caught her eye and waved to her, but she couldn’t mistake the look of despair on his face.

  Then and there, she believed the best thing to ward off further misery for them both was not to interact at all, though it wouldn’t be easy, since Gid was still working part-time for Dat. The winter season while the ground was resting would be the simplest time to maintain a distance. The spring and summer plowing and planting, along with the fall harvest, would be much more awkward, since Gid would be quite visible on the property.

  So the dismal expression on Gid’s usually cheerful face made Leah want to turn away. Yet it wasn’t anyone’s fault what had become of them, really. After all, she couldn’t help that she had been the one Mamma asked to raise her babies; it was for Leah to accept her lot with a smile. Truly, she couldn’t imagine otherwise . . . for the sake of the children.

  Gid kept his hands busy every day except the Lord’s Day so his loss of Leah wouldn’t overtake him. He spent each waking minute shoeing horses or clearing out the fencerow of small trees. Diligently tending to another new litter of German shepherd pups also took plenty of time, as did pruning his father’s grapevines, keeping up with chores for Abram, and doing whatever Dawdi Mathias needed done over at his place.

  He could not be angry with Abram for wanting to raise his own children. It just wasn’t in him. Leah was doing the right thing by her little sister and brother . . . the right thing by Ida, too. Under God, Gid couldn’t fault her or Abram, neither one, although he suspected Abram no longer felt an urgency for Leah to marry, not with a healthy baby boy growing up under the Ebersol roof. Once Abe reached the age of five, he would be out helping his father. Wouldn’t be but a few short years and Abram’s little boy would find the fieldwork he was meant for.

  Still, Leah was the kind of girl Gid had always wanted to marry—someone who loved the soil and didn’t mind getting her fingernails dirty, who even helped with plowing and planting some if need be. If he hadn’t had his heart so set on her since youth, this setback wouldn’t be as devastating. He suspected Leah had never quite committed herself to him—not as she had to Jonas so long ago.

  He was in love with a girl he could never have. Quite stuck, he had marked time for much too long and was now nearing the limit on age for attending Sunday night singings—too late to ever hope to find a Leah replacement, if that were even possible.

  So Gid toiled long and hard, hoping to lose himself in his labor, burying his lifelong wish to take Leah as his beloved wife.

  Now and again Abram insisted on helping with some of the baby-related chores, things he knew Leah was altogether surprised about, such as holding out the towel and drying off his baby son after a warm bath. Once Abe was dressed for the night in his miniature white nightclothes, Abram put his face down right close and talked to him. He told his infant boy all about his deceased mamma as the sleepy bundle lay quietly in his arms, whispering, too, what Abe’s new mamma had given up to care for him and Lydiann. He figured since Ida was gone, the least he could do was spend plenty of after-supper time with Lydiann and Abe, which was a most pleasant task. Fact was, he wished now he’d done the same with his older daughters when they were small.

  One such evening following a meal of pork chops and savory rice, he took Abe from Leah while she and Hannah did the dishes. Dawdi John and Lizzie were with him around the wood stove while he balanced both youngsters on his lap.

  Lydiann giggled when he tickled her nose with the length of his soft beard.

  “Do it to Abe,” Lydiann said playfully.

  When he did, his beard made Abe, who was lying in the length of his lap, sneeze.

  “Do it again!” Lydiann said, her eyes bright, even mischievous. For a fleeting moment he seemed to be looking into Sadie’s little-girl eyes. “Dat . . . will ya?”

  Sighing, he was more careful to be gentle this time and held the back of his infant son’s hand up to his own face. Then, moving his head slightly, he tickled Abe, much to Lydiann’s delight—and to his own.

  It was as Abram chuckled and played with his wee ones that he caught Leah’s eye across the kitchen. For the first time in many weeks, his heart was full, gladdened beyond words.

  As the winter days wore on, Leah and Hannah took turns caring for the babies, trading off working outside with Dat to grease and mend the harnesses. Smithy Gid and Thomas Ebersol were out slaughtering meat animals at both the Peachey and Jesse Ebersol farms, which meant Leah felt more at ease to go about her chores. Knowing she wouldn’t run into Gid made her feel at once relieved and as blue as could be.

  The occasional sound of red-winged blackbirds reminded her of previous rambles to visit her “piece of earth” and the rare thornless honey
locust tree growing deep in the forest behind Aunt Lizzie’s log house. But she dared not return there lest she be reminded of her first love and the many letters written to him.

  The excitement of upcoming March farm sales brought plenty of chatter from Dat and Dawdi John, especially at mealtime. Even Hannah seemed happy about going along this year, one of the first times Leah remembered her younger sister being interested in such community events. Leah would miss seeing what machinery, cattle, household items, and odds and ends were up for sale, as well as the occasional entire farm on the auction block. Men, women, and children attended, and sometimes the schools closed for the day. It was a wonderful-good time to see dozens of cousins and lifelong friends and anticipate the coming spring, but this year Leah knew her place was snug at home with Lydiann and Abe. Truth be known, she much preferred to be with them than spending all day at a farm sale, anyway.

  How things had changed. She contemplated the fact while peeling potatoes on a Wednesday afternoon at the end of February, recalling the many years she’d rushed out to milk the cows each day at four o’clock, before suppertime. Today she glanced at the day clock, thinking ahead to Dat bringing the cows home. What a cozy, even warm spot the barn was with the animals all inside, waiting for their supper of silage and grain. Even on a bitter cold day like today, Leah missed tending to the animals, their breath warming the air. The Lord God had certainly handpicked a pleasant place for His Son to be born.

  On a Saturday in mid-March Leah went on foot to the clinic, having arranged for Mary Ruth to spend a full day baby-sitting Abe and Lydiann. Walking up the sidewalk to the front entrance, she noticed a small white handkerchief. When she stooped to pick it up, she was surprised to see Sadie’s butterfly handkerchief, the one with the embroidered cutwork. “What on earth?” she muttered, carrying it inside.

  Dr. Schwartz was shuffling through paper work when she arrived at eight-thirty that morning, so she set to work sweeping and washing the floors, dusting, and then shaking out all the rugs, deciding not to bother him just yet. But around nine-fifteen, before the few Saturday patients were scheduled to arrive, she knocked on his open office door.

  He looked up, smiled, and waved her inside. “Pull up a chair, Leah.”

  She removed the handkerchief from her pocket. “I found this lying on the walk. It belonged to my older sister.”

  His smile faded quickly, and he was silent for a long awkward moment. When he spoke, his voice sounded low and somewhat strained. “Are you sure of this?”

  “Completely,” she replied. “This is the hankie my sister placed over her dead baby’s face the night you delivered him.” She paused a moment to breathe. Then she added, “I’m sure you remember, Dr. Schwartz, because, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so, it was your grandson born—and died—that April night, ain’t?” She found his expression odd—so peculiar, in fact, that she felt queasy. “It’s the only handkerchief Hannah ever made like this. A special one indeed.”

  “Well, if it’s Sadie’s, as you say, I wonder how it found its way to the ground,” he said rather defensively.

  “I thought you might’ve tucked it in with the dead . . . baby—whatever it is a doctor does with a blue baby born too early.” Right then, in a rush of memory, Sadie’s heartbreaking labor and delivery came to her and caught her off guard. Leah couldn’t go on—not this close to Mamma’s death. Her heart felt suddenly cold, her nerves shot. She didn’t know how she would manage the cleaning tasks ahead of her. “I’m sorry,” she said at last. “That awful night still pains me so.”

  Dr. Schwartz reached out his hand, as though attempting to comfort her from where he sat. “Leah, you are correct about your sister’s baby being mine and Lorraine’s grandson, though my wife knows nothing of it.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “You . . . never told her?”

  He shook his head, hands now firmly clasped on the desk. “The news would have caused her tremendous sadness . . . even embarrassment. I saw no need for that.”

  The thought came to her. He trusts me not to tell. “You must have kept my sister’s special handkerchief, then . . . somewhere safe, in case she returned from Ohio?”

  “No doubt, I should have given it back,” he confessed, sighing loudly. “Now you have it in your possession. I suppose it’s too late to send it off to Sadie.”

  “We have no way of contacting her.” Then she found herself opening up, sharing her deep sense of loss over both Sadie’s severe shunning and Mamma’s death.

  The doctor listened, removing his glasses and seeming to pay exceptionally close attention. When she was nearly spent, he admitted to her, “I did not keep the handkerchief in a safe place, as you suppose. I guess that’s of little consolation to you, and I’m sorry.”

  Leah’s mind was in a whirl. How could a warm and caring doctor overlook such a sensitive thing?

  At home later—with the lovely hankie in her safekeeping—Leah realized she could neither show Hannah nor tell her, as Hannah might ask questions about the night Sadie had birthed her baby. While Mamma had told both Hannah and Mary Ruth of Sadie’s wild running-around days, making the twins privy to everything, the fact remained that Leah did not care to reveal the story from her viewpoint. Besides, it wasn’t necessary for Hannah to know all Sadie had experienced that night.

  In the privacy of her room, she caressed the emerald-and-gold butterfly hankie and noticed not a single bloodstain. Dr. Schwartz must have washed it thoroughly in cold water following the birth. Folding it carefully, she placed the delicate item deep in her hope chest, deciding that was the best place for it.

  Moved to tears, she knelt beside the bed and asked the Lord to calm her nerves, then offered thanksgiving for the discovery of the handkerchief—the one truly important item of Sadie’s she had in her care. She also prayed for God’s protection and grace on her wayward sister, “Wherever she might be.”

  That done, she headed downstairs and turned her attention to Lydiann and Abe, who were in the kitchen being supervised by Mary Ruth. I must put on a cheerful face, she thought. Please, Lord, help me.

  “Did it go well at the clinic?” asked Mary Ruth, warming a bottle for Abe while Lydiann sat at the table trying to string up a dozen or more empty spools.

  “Jah, just fine.”

  Mary Ruth seemed anxious to talk about her schooling—what subjects she enjoyed most and how she’d dillydallied about joining the glee club, missing the auditions by a single day. Leah listened halfheartedly, her mind on Sadie and the little one, gone to heaven.

  Mamma is tending now to her own precious grandson! she realized suddenly. This thought comforted her greatly as Mary Ruth chattered on.

  During a lull in conversation, Leah went and took Abe from Mary Ruth and held him close. She looked into the tiny face of Mamma’s handsome little boy— hair the color of sheaves of grain and those shining blue eyes—and battled both her own quivering lip and the tears that threatened to spill.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Almost before Leah could comprehend it, a full year had passed, taking flight on wings of love. Her hands found plenty to do, and she did it with all her might— kneading and baking daily loaves of bread, scrubbing floors, washing diapers, and helping with the canning. When the after-supper hours rolled around, she often spent time playing with Mamma’s babies.

  Gradually her keen affection for Smithy Gid began to fade as she became more and more caught up in the routine of caring for a now four-year-old and an eighteen-month-old. Busier days she had never known.

  Aunt Lizzie helped some, regularly looking in on Dawdi John due to his age. Dawdi was slowing down quite a lot and hadn’t shown any interest in getting out in the fields for plowing or planting this year. Still more telling, he no longer cared for sitting outdoors once the warm days crept up. Truth was, he had become almost as much a homebody as Leah, and she enjoyed his company, taking the little ones next door quite often.

  Dawdi had quit his fussing about wanting to return to H
ickory Hollow to live there, what with Mary Ruth’s frequent visits. Since Aunt Lizzie continued to dote on him like he was a child, Dawdi John had himself a right nice setup. There were even times when Gid and the smithy came over to chew the fat with him, especially now that warmer weather was upon them. All around, the Ebersol Cottage had somehow managed to get back on an even keel without Mamma’s pleasant disposition and her wonderful-good pies, though Leah was mighty glad to have caught up on nearly all of both Mamma’s and Aunt Lizzie’s recipe files. Gid and his family often benefited from this, as well, since Hannah liked to take an extra pie or two over to the Peachey farm from time to time; a blessing from Leah’s hand to her former beau and his kin is the way she thought of it—the least she could do to bring a smile to Smithy Gid’s kind face.

  Abram asked Leah if she thought Lydiann was old enough to go with him to market and was right surprised to be given the go-ahead. All the way to Strasburg, Lydiann chattered beside him, sitting with her little hands folded in her lap. “I wanna be a gut cook like Mamma Leah,” she said, eyes alight as she shared a list of recipes she wanted to learn.

  He had to chuckle, but not so loudly she might mistakenly think he was making fun. “You follow your big sister round, and not only will ya be a fine cook but also a careful gardener, plower, sower, and harvester.”

  “Mamma can do all them things?”

  He nodded. “All that and more.”

  Lydiann ducked her chin a bit, like she was taking it all in and rather amazed at the talents of her mother figure.

  “Someday I’m sure Leah will teach you how to milk a cow,” he volunteered.

  Lydiann looked up at him, eyes blinking. “She already did. Just the other morning she sat me down on a stool, smack-dab under Ol’ Rosie.”

  “Did she, now?”

  “Jah, and it was the funniest thing.” Lydiann sighed, unfolding her hands and adjusting her small bonnet. “Mamma Leah says I’ll be out milking every mornin’ once I turn six.”