“If there’s ever any doubt, Hannah, you’ll let me know ’bout Leah, jah?” asked Adah, clearly still devoted after all these years.
Adah, precious friend to Leah—always thinking of others, just as Leah was known to. And that nearly to a fault, Hannah thought. Sometimes my sister is better to others than to herself.
While Gid waited to shoe his next horse, he set about redding up. Suddenly thirsty, he finished sweeping the floor and ran to the house for some cold lemonade. Oddly enough, the kitchen, fragrant with the scent of freshly baked muffins, was empty. He walked to the window and stood watching for his customer, glad for the solitude. Gulping down a tall glass, he returned to the icebox and poured another. He then went and perched himself on the long bench next to the table, sitting there with his glass in hand.
All the while he daydreamed of pretty Hannah.
There was something about the way she looked at him that made him think she was not just pretty but truly lovely. She’s very young, he thought, realizing anew how peculiar it had seemed—but only at first—to meet up with fair Hannah Ebersol at a Sunday singing, though he’d seen and talked to her plenty of times out in Abram’s barn. More than hesitant that particular night, he soon found his voice and discovered her to be nearly as easy to talk to as Leah, if not more so. Attentive and sweet, Hannah had won his heart in a matter of a few buggy rides home.
Right this minute he wondered if the Lord God might’ve had all this planned from the foundations of the earth, giving back the years he’d lost while waiting for Leah. Was it heresy to think about the heavenly Father that way? Gid had no intention of deliberating the notion, but it was true that Hannah, at only eighteen, had a good many childbearing years ahead of her as his loving wife. They would have themselves a wonderful-good time raising their brood, and if their babies looked anything like Hannah, he would be a very blessed and happy man.
He removed his straw hat and scratched his head. The Almighty certainly worked in extraordinary ways, seemed to him. Downright mystifying it was.
The clatter of carriage wheels brought him to his feet, and he left his glass half full on the table as he hurried outside to greet both horse and client.
It was on the ride home from Adah’s that Leah and Hannah got to talking heart to heart. Weary from being on her feet for much of the day, Leah was content to sit back and relax, let Hannah rein down the horse to a slow walk, and, of all things, do much of the talking. She was getting to be nearly as chatty as Mary Ruth. Nice to see her coming out of her shell little by little, Leah thought, listening to her prattle about this and that.
They were coming up on the corner where a left-hand turnoff would lead to Naomi’s parents’ farmhouse when Hannah stopped talking and began humming a hymn from the Ausbund.
Smithy Gid came to mind and Leah said, “I think you and Gid are a right nice match.”
“Oh?”
“Both of you enjoy music so.”
“Jah, he plays his harmonica all the time.” She paused, blushing a little.
“Not all the time, I hope.”
“Oh, Leah . . . you know what I mean.” At this they began to giggle.
Just then two old codgers rode toward them, their white beards as long as any Leah had ever seen. They were leaning back against the seat, downright relaxed, just taking their sweet time. “Like there’s no tomorrow,” she whispered to Hannah.
The presence of another carriage made them quickly gather their wits and stop the tittering, since the men were within earshot. Once they’d passed, Hannah resumed their conversation. “If you feel comfortable ’bout it, I’d like you to be one of my bridesmaids, Leah.”
“That’s awful nice of you,” Leah replied, meaning it.
“So you’ll stand up with me?”
“ ’Course I will.”
“ ’Tis awful sad Mary Ruth has no chance of being my bridesmaid.”
Leah felt sorry, too. “Jah, but I wouldn’t think of askin’ Dat’s permission on that. I can imagine what he’d say.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
“Be glad Mary Ruth will at least be in attendance,” Leah reminded Hannah.
“Jah, that I am.”
Leah, eager to cheer her sister, continued on a positive note. “Just think how happy Mamma would be over your upcoming marriage,” she said. “She always liked Gid, ya know.”
Hannah sighed. “We’ll all miss her at the wedding, ain’t so?”
Leah agreed and closed her eyes, thinking of dear Mamma.
Hannah stirred her back to the present. “I wish with all of my heart one certain sister could be on hand to witness my marriage, too.”
Drowsily Leah reached over and patted Hannah’s hand. “I know, dear sister. I know.”
They rode quietly now, surrounded by the twitter of birds and the scent of new-mown hay and early harvest apples ripening in orchards. Leah found herself wondering how many more times she might be asked to be a bridesmaid. Naturally, as time went on, she would be passed over; no bride in her right mind would invite an old maidel to stand up with her. Maybe this would be the last time, which was quite all right. What with both Sadie and Mary Ruth having flown the nest, she could be Hannah’s supportive and gentle right hand.
Knowing her, dear Hannah would need a close sisterfriend on her wedding day.
Evident in Hannah’s eyes was her deep fondness for Smithy Gid. Leah was fully aware how much in love her sister and Gid were. The love they share is the kind Jonas and I had together, she thought. The kind both Gid and Hannah deserve.
While she had cared a great deal for Gid, lately she had come to the realization her love for him had not been the same as her love for Jonas. She had made this conscious discovery simply by watching Hannah’s face when she spoke of Gid, and, on one occasion, by observing them from afar as they held hands and walked together, Hannah leaning her head against Gid’s strong arm. The adoring way they seemed to bend toward each other, even as they walked and talked, brought back a rush of memories. So like the way Jonas and I always did. . . .
Upon their return home, Leah let Hannah unhitch the horse and lead him to water in the barn, as she had so kindly offered to do. Leah tried to swallow the lump in her throat but did not succeed. Hastily she headed to the house, more eager than ever to hold Lydiann and Abe—her little ones—close to her heart.
Part Two
There is no greatness where there is no simplicity, goodness and truth.
—Leo Tolstoy
Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again.
—William Cullen Bryant
Chapter Twenty-Six
Spring 1956
The month of May arrived in misty splendor. Yellow daffodils, along with purple and red tulips, raised their radiant heads to the sky. Creeks were swollen and burbling, and it seemed to Leah every song sparrow, robin, and meadowlark must be joining in the springtime chorus.
She stood out near the hen house, watching Lydiann scatter feed, talking soft and low to the chickens and the solitary rooster. The way I always did, she thought, smiling. Leah was glad school doors were closed for summer vacation, the last day having been Friday, the eighteenth, one day following Lydiann’s ninth birthday.
Tall for her age, Lydiann reminded Leah of Sadie as a child. Though rather lanky like Leah, the energetic youngster had outgrown her topsy-turvy tendency to fall over not only herself but also occasional buckets of fresh milk, half-gallon pails of shelled peas, and whatnot. Both Dat and Leah were thankful for Lydiann’s zeal for assisting with outdoor chores, what with Hannah busy mothering two small girls—Ida Mae, named for Mamma, and baby Katie Ann. Smithy Gid and Hannah lived snug and contented in Aunt Lizzie’s former log house, while Lizzie had moved down to the Dawdi Haus to care for Dawdi John after Gid and Hannah had tied the knot at a late autumn wedding four and a half years ago.
Cheerful and hardworking, Abe was almost six and a half and his father’s shadow. Leah felt truly blessed to witness the close father-son rela
tionship unfolding daily.
“That rooster’s poutin’, ain’t so, Mamma Leah?”
Lydiann said, frowning.
“I daresay you could be right ’bout that.”
“He’s mighty pushy, too . . . whatever’s botherin’ him?”
She went to stand near Lydiann. “Seems to me he wants some attention.”
“From one of the hens . . . or from me?” Lydiann’s sweet voice still retained its childlike appeal.
Leah smiled. “All the hens, prob’ly.”
Laughing, Lydiann grinned at her. “Ach, Mamma, you’re pullin’ my leg. He don’t want all them hens a-lookin’ at him preenin’, does he?”
“Well, maybe not.” She put her hand on Lydiann’s slender shoulder. They stood rooted to the spot, watching the chickens peck and scrap over their dinner, amused at their antics.
Abe came hollering out of the barn, running toward them. “Mamma! Lydiann! You’s must come have a look-see!”
“What on earth?” Leah hurried to follow him back to the barn, with Lydiann close behind.
Abe made haste, climbing as fast as his short legs would take him, up the ladder to the hayloft. Getting to the top, he set about catching one of many cats. When he’d done so, he held it up by the nape of its neck and pointed to its hind end. “See, she’s missin’ her tail!”
Leah didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at such a sorry sight.
Lydiann spoke up first. “She got it cut off during the harvest last year’s my guess.”
“Either that or the fellas got her on a lark—durin’ a pest hunt,” volunteered Abe.
Leah flinched. Abe was much too young to be aware of such things; he was just out of first grade, for goodness’ sake! Truth was, some of the young men in the community were a bit too rowdy for her liking. They chose up sides nearly every night during harvest, giving themselves points for snuffing out the life of farm pests, a practice that kept teenage boys in the midst of rumschpringe busy in Gobbler’s Knob instead of out smoking or chasing after worldly girls in Lancaster. Each side collected heads and tails for points, everything from rats and sparrows, to hawks and starlings. The group with the most points was rewarded with a baked-ham dinner.
“Does it hurt anything for a cat not to have a tail?” asked Lydiann.
“Makes it hard to keep the flies off her, I’d think,” Abe spoke up, his dark blue eyes twinkling, framed by long thick lashes.
“Why did a cat get picked as a pest, I wonder?”
Lydiann peered closely at the spot where the tail had been severed.
“Too many kitties can be looked on as a problem by some folk,” Leah answered, wishing to switch to another subject. She’d known of farmers who drowned or shot their excess feline population, but if she had her way, there’d be a house cat or two living inside the Ebersol Cottage. Mamma never cared much for indoor pets, though, and neither did most of the women folk in the community, for that matter. These days, Dat had better things to do than argue for or against having a favorite cat, and Leah had decided not to pursue the matter.
“This one must’ve wandered over to the Peachey farm last fall, ain’t?” Abe said, eyes still wide.
“Sad to say.” Leah turned to head toward the ladder, hoping the children would follow and leave the subject of the poor cat be.
“I heard from brother Gid that Smitty asked for a pest hunt.” Abe put the cat down and shuffled across the haymow. “Too many sparrows were diggin’ holes in the straw stacks and roostin’ in there. Them boys sewed some big ol’ blankets together and trapped the birds inside the stacks. Once they got too hot or stopped breathing, the fellas just went in and cut off their heads.”
Lydiann shrieked. “Mamma, make him stop talkin’ ’bout that!”
Leah waited for Abe to bound down from the ladder, then placed a firm but gentle hand on his head. She stroked his blond hair, the color of the straw stacks he’d just described. “Best not be wishin’ your youth away, young man,” she said. “There’s plenty of time for goin’ on a lark with the boys.”
“I s’pose” was all he said, and they headed back outside.
Lydiann tugged on her brother’s black suspenders. “Lookee up there,” she said, pointing at the sky. “Now that’s a sight worth talking ’bout.”
And it surely was. Leah noticed sunbeams threading a pathway through a wispy patch of clouds, thankful for Lydiann’s keen interest in the more pleasant side of nature. Abe, of course, was all boy with an ongoing appetite for food and otherwise and far louder than any of Abram’s daughters had ever been, full of pep and broad grins. He was always mighty eager to find the first bumblebees come spring, which meant it was finally time to shed shoes and run barefoot. He also loved to take his fishing pole to the nearby creek or Blackbird Pond, sometimes joined by both Gid and Dat, but mostly—Leah knew this all too well—taking off to his favorite fishing hole without ever telling a soul where he was headed.
Just now he looked downright ornery with his front tooth missing—a true disheveled schoolboy with cropped hair. Scarcely, though, did Abe ever wear the straw hat expected to be worn by all men and boys starting at age two. Hat or not, he’s ever so dear, she thought, wishing Mamma might have lived to see this day. These precious beautiful children were having the best time of their young lives, soaking up summertime.
God doeth all things well. . . .
She and Lydiann headed into the house. Without being told, Lydiann scrubbed her hands, and then set the table while Leah took the roasted chicken, stuffed with bread dressing, out of the oven.
Thinking again of Mamma, she asked Lydiann if she’d like to take a long walk after dinner. Bobbing her blond head, Lydiann said she would. Abe would be going over to Smithy Gid’s grandfather’s place with Dat this afternoon because Mathias Byler, Miriam Peachey’s father, needed a hand with transplanting young tobacco plants into the field. Abe especially liked to go to “Dawdi Byler’s,” as Gid encouraged him to address the older gentleman, since young Abe got a kick out of hearing both Gid and Gid’s grandfather play their harmonicas together.
After dishes were washed and dried, she and Lydiann made their way down the long lane toward the road, heading past the Peachey farm, clear out to the turnoff to the Kauffmans’.
Down the road a ways, they turned and climbed over a vine-filled ditch and then up a slight embankment, heading to the Amish cemetery protected by giant shade trees.
“Dat’s parents are buried here somewhere,” Leah said softly.
“They passed on before I was born, ain’t?”
She nodded, looking down at Lydiann. “You would’ve loved Dawdi and Mammi Ebersol . . . a lot.”
“What were they like?”
“Dawdi was kind and fun loving, yet he had his own ideas, I guess you could say.”
“Bullheaded, ya mean?” Lydiann surprised her by saying.
“Ach, that doesn’t become you, child.”
“Es dutt mir leed.” Lydiann hung her head.
“You best be sorry,” Leah was quick to say, reminding herself of Mamma, who had never approved of her daughters speaking out of turn, calling folk names.
“Mammi Ebersol was sweet as cherry pie . . . never said an unkind word ’bout anyone. Not her whole life.”
“I could be that sweet—even as honey,” Lydiann said, looking up at her with innocent, yet spirited eyes.
“Jah, that you can certainly be.” When you want to, she thought.
With that Lydiann reached for her hand, and they walked for a while amidst the headstones and trees. Leah was aware, once again, of the birds’ exhilarating song. “Did you ever hear this verse from the Good Book? ‘The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come . . .’?”
“Can’t say I have. Where’d you hear it?”
“Mamma told it to me once. She loved to listen to the birds, ’specially early in the morning.”
Lydiann’s eyes suddenly looked bluer. “What else did Mamma love?”
“Aunt Lizzie does that, too, ain’t so?”
“Maybe more than all of us.”
“Even more than Mamma did?”
She hugged Lydiann close. “Each sister had certain things she enjoyed about God’s green earth. For Mamma it was the birds and the way the sky could paint itself all kinds of colors. She saw the Lord God clearly in all of His creation, just as Aunt Lizzie does.
Lizzie especially likes trampin’ through the hillock up behind the house where Hannah and Gid live now.”
“That’s awful gut of Aunt Lizzie, givin’ up her house and moving in with Dawdi.”
“I should say, but it’s the way of the People, ya know.” She rose and looked around, wishing she could walk straight to Mamma’s grave, without getting lost as she had the previous time. It had been months since her last visit, as she had rejected the inclination to visit the graveyard during the frost and cold of winter—such a severe time to think of dearest Mamma lying cold in the ground. She was ever so glad that six feet under wasn’t the end of things. According to Aunt Lizzie, Mamma’s spirit was with the Lord Jesus. Her body was simply the unique shell of her, housing her spirit.
Leah located the small white marker with the few words etched in its stone:
Ida Brenneman Ebersol
B. September 2, 1904
D. December 27, 1949
“Will we ever see Mamma again?” Lydiann asked.
Leah was a bit taken aback by Lydiann’s question. Truly, she did not wish to step on Dat’s toes, because Lydiann was his daughter. “Jah, I happen to believe we will someday,” she said hesitantly, longing to share the eternal truth as she understood it.
The Sacrifice Page 21