Hannah smiled as they sat at Dottie’s kitchen table.
“You look awful gut, sister. I didn’t want to come over too soon, not with school just out ’n’ all. Thought you might need a week or so to catch your breath, prob’ly.”
“That’s considerate of you, but I’m always glad to see you.”
Mary Ruth poured lemonade for them both and settled into their contented chitchat. “How’s Lizzie’s cottage in the woods working out for the four of you?” she asked.
“Just fine for now, but”—and here Hannah paused—“there’s gonna be five of us in a little while.”
“Another baby to love! How wonderful.”
Hannah’s face clouded over. “Come December,” she said. “My next baby’s due at Christmas, same as young Abe’s birthday.”
Mary Ruth reached over and squeezed her hand.
“Now, you mustn’t worry. You’re many years younger than Mamma was with Abe, and the circumstances of his birth were highly unusual.”
“Poor Mamma,” Hannah whispered, sniffling. “She loved Abe ever so much.”
“She loved us all.” Mary Ruth observed Hannah, wondering if this was the right time to say more. They fell silent for a moment, and then she said, “And . . .
Mamma loved the Lord Jesus, too. She opened her heart wide to His love and forgiveness.”
Waiting to continue, she hoped Hannah might not turn away. Thankfully this time she did not get up and leave the table as she often did when Mary Ruth spoke either of Mamma’s or her own spiritual perspective. “The decision to walk with Jesus is not so much a mental one as it is a yielding of the heart . . . to God’s plan for our lives.” She thought she might break down with emotion, so strongly she felt about this.
Hannah bobbed her head and fought her own tears. “I wish to goodness I’d asked Mamma certain things before she died,” she admitted. “I waited much too long.”
Mary Ruth’s heart was tender toward her. “I had a private talk with Mamma not too long before she died . . . after Dat kicked me out of the house. She said she, too, was a believer, though a silent one, following Jesus and living out her days as best she could, considering the Ordnung . . . and Dat.”
“Mamma?”
“Jah, and it’s easy to see, too, isn’t it? She had such a long-suffering, joyful way ’bout her, ya know. Mamma could forgive at the drop of a hat; a sure sign of her deep faith, I’d have to say.”
“I miss her terribly.” Hannah looked across the table and out the window beyond. For the longest time she sat there still as could be; then she whispered, “I’ve always been frightened of death. . . . Always.”
“Oh, sister. Truly, there’s no need to be.” She rose and hurried to Hannah’s side. Stroking her back, she said, “When she was nearing the end, Mamma wasn’t afraid to pass over Jordan’s banks to Glory. Leah said as much.”
“Jah, I remember hearing that.” Hannah sighed. “But when Mammi Ebersol died and we were just thirteen, honestly that was ’bout all I could think of—day in, day out. Such a worrywart I was then.”
“And not now?
” Hannah smiled through tears, hugging her hard.
“Sure, I worry too much. Gid, bless his heart; he’s tryin’ to help me with that.”
“Smithy Gid’s a fine man. I see it clearly in his eyes when he looks at you and your girls.”
Hannah nodded in agreement. “You just don’t know how wonderful-gut he is to me. Being his wife, I’ve experienced a lightness, an odd sort of peace.”
“Then we’re both happy, seems to me.”
“Very happy,” Hannah echoed.
“Who would have guessed I’d end up being courted by a Mennonite preacher—a doctor’s son, at that.”
“Your eyes sparkle with this path you’ve chosen, Mary Ruth. Truly, I’d always hoped you’d come back and be Amish with me, but it seems you’ve found something more befittin’ you.”
She smiled, thinking how dear it was of Hannah to say such a thing; despite their very different lives, her twin’s heart was still warm toward her. “It’s a good thing I didn’t join church with you and then left, or we wouldn’t be enjoying such close fellowship today.” She got up and poured more lemonade for them.
“Do you ever think of our big sister?” Hannah asked.
“Oh, every day.”
“Honestly, I worry ’bout Leah, having lost her close-in-age sister for life.”
Mary Ruth sipped her lemonade. “I can’t imagine us growing old and not knowing something about her. It’s painful to consider.”
“I wonder if she has more than the one child we’d heard she was expecting . . . back years ago.”
Mary Ruth often wondered the same. “Let’s hope she has a houseful by now. For our sister’s sake—Jonas’s too—being cut off from family as they are.”
“Speakin’ of wee ones, I best be thinkin’ of returning home here perty soon. Lizzie’s got her hands full.”
“So does Leah,” Mary Ruth said. “I’m going to help her as much as I can this summer. Such a cute little sister and brother we have. God was so good to Dat, don’t you agree?”
Hannah wore a brighter smile now. “Such joy they bring to our wounded sister, too.”
“The children do seem to comfort her. Leah’s been known to keep things bottled up inside her, ya know.”
She followed Hannah through the back door and outside, at once missing her horse-and-buggy days as Hannah got herself situated into Gid’s fine gray family carriage. “The Lord be with you,” she called.
“And with you!” came the familiar reply.
Mary Ruth was grateful for her sister’s unexpected receptiveness to her words today. She would continue sowing seeds of the gospel into Hannah’s precious heart. “Fertile soil,” as Robert liked to say.
Robert. He had secretly admired her long before they’d ever actually gone on a real date. Then he had patiently waited to court her while she finished up her teaching certificate. Because he had been so patient, she had been able to focus on her studies, made possible, in the long run, by Hannah, who’d helped her out of a financial bind, surprising her with a secret hankie savings fund—a humbling gift, to say the least.
Because of this gesture of kindness, Mary Ruth had been able to complete her college education with nary a debt, boarding with the Nolts and working for them several evenings a week, as well as waiting on tables at a Strasburg restaurant on the weekend. Hannah, in the end, had refused any talk of repayment.
The Lord had worked all things together for good, giving Mary Ruth the desire of her heart, teaching young children—the passion of her heart, really. She hoped to continue at the rural elementary school for English children. Her first calling, for now.
She stood in the yard, giving Hannah one long wave as the horse pulled the buggy out of their lane and onto the narrow road.
Hannah’s fingertips felt numb from picking, shelling, and canning peas the day following her visit to Mary Ruth. She, Leah, and Lydiann would be doing the same again tomorrow while Aunt Lizzie again kept a watchful eye on Hannah’s daughters. Peas took time and tallied up ever so slowly, but the work, though tedious, meant time spent with her sisters.
Now that evening had come, she and Gid stood alone on the back porch, looking up at the stars. “ ’Tis the best time of the day . . . right now,” he whispered in her ear.
“Jah, just the two of us. The way it all started out, ain’t?”
With the girls sound asleep, she was eager for his warm embrace and fervent kisses. But he seemed to want to talk, and she was willing to listen. “Just so ya know, our horse has the strangles, and we’ll have to borrow one of Abram’s for a while.”
She breathed in the smell of the night as she leaned against the porch rail, Gid’s arm around her waist. “Hope you and Dat can cure it soon enough.”
“The disease is right contagious, so we’ll have to isolate this one horse, for sure. ’Tis best to let the infection run its course, though
.”
“Isn’t there something you can do?” she asked.
“Penicillin shots will only lengthen the disease, but Abram’s goin’ to give his drivin’ horses shots to prevent it.” Gid continued, talking of making hay all day and how he, Dat, and Sam Ebersol would be working together tomorrow. “Pop is best stayin’ with shodding horses, I’m a-thinkin’. It gets harder and harder for him to make hay or fill silo every year that goes by. I’m just glad to be able to help him. Sam is, too.”
“I’m afraid the same goes for Dat.”
Gid nodded. “ ’Cept the difference ’tween my father and yours is Abram’s battlin’ hard growing old . . . wants to stay as young as he can for Lydiann and Abe’s sake, prob’ly.”
“I see the fight in him, too.”
“On the other hand, my pop’s back keeps goin’ out on him. Don’t know how much longer he’ll be able to do his blacksmithing duties, really.”
“What’ll happen then?” She’d worried some about this off and on the past year.
“Right now, Sam is gut ’bout helping, so let’s not cross that bridge ’fore we have to, dear.”
Her concerns had run away with her yet again. No need to get Gid thinking too hard on that—the People took care of their own. Mamma would have said that when the time came, the Lord God heavenly Father would give them the strength and the grace they needed—just as it had been for Aunt Lizzie tending to Dawdi John and Leah caring so lovingly for Lydiann and Abe. She hoped it was true.
“You all right, Hannah?”
“Just thinkin’, is all.” She leaned against Gid’s sturdy arm.
“Counting your blessings, jah?”
She nodded, not wanting her husband to wonder if her fears were taking her over once again. “Ever so many blessings,” she managed to say.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sure is wet for July,” Dawdi John said at midday. Leah, along with Lydiann and Abe, sat taking a quick breather in Dawdi’s front room.
“It’s July the twelfth,” insisted Abe.
“What’s the date matter?” Lydiann piped up.
“Matters to me,” said Abe.
“Goodness,” said Leah. “Aren’t you lippy today.”
Her boy nodded. “I’m getting myself ready for school here ’fore too long, fixin’ to surprise my teacher.”
“How’s that?” Dawdi asked.
“ ’Cause I can make heads ’n’ tails of the calendar,” Abe replied.
Leah ruffled his hair, taken once again by Abe’s clever remarks. “That’s not all she’ll be pleased ’bout, I daresay. You’ve been workin’ your arithmetic this summer . . . with some help from Lydiann and Dat.”
Dawdi nodded his head, twitching his nose. “Right smart ya both are. Take after your mamma.”
Abe’s eyes lit up. “Mamma Leah?
” Dawdi leaned back with laughter. “Well, now, she’s a bright one, too.”
Lydiann was too quiet, Leah happened to notice. “Everything all right, Lyddie?”
She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears.
“Well, now, honey, what’s wrong?” Dawdi asked.
“I . . . can’t remember what my first mamma looked like no more.”
Abe was quick to speak. “Me neither, Lyddie. But that don’t mean I have to go ’n’ cry ’bout it.”
“Aw, now, Abe . . . don’t act so,” Dawdi John said. “Come here and sit on my knee.” He put down his cane and Abe hopped up on his lap. “Let me tell you ’bout your mother who birthed ya.”
“Your daughter, ain’t?” Abe said.
Dawdi nodded. “She had the pertiest blue eyes I ever did see. Just look at your sister over there; she has your mother’s eyes.”
“What did I get of Mamma’s?”
Somewhat comically, Dawdi scrutinized Abe. “Let me see . . .” He pulled on his long beard, frowning; then a smile spread across his wrinkled face. “I know. You have her spunk. I see it in your eyes—awful mischievous they are. And—” “It’s in his voice, too.” Lydiann smiled at her brother.
“And what else?” Abe asked.
Leah felt compelled to speak up. “If ya ask me, you both have Mamma’s pretty hair. Light as the color of wheat . . . even blonder than your aunt—” She almost said “Sadie” but stopped herself.
“What were you gonna say?” asked Abe.
Dawdi must have surmised her thoughts and intervened. “There are plenty-a light-headed relatives in the family, young man.”
“So Abe’s got Mamma’s hair and eyes and her spunk,” Lydiann said, looking right at her brother. “That oughta keep ya quiet for now.”
Leah had to smile. Ach, how they love to bicker. Just as she and Sadie had as girls; same as Hannah and Mary Ruth, too. They’ll grow out of it one day, she thought.
Dawdi began to tell a humorous story from his boyhood, quickly getting the children’s attention by describing how rainy and muddy it had been one longago summer. “My boot got stuck on the mule road over in Hickory Hollow, where I lived in an old farmhouse with my parents, your young mamma, Aunt Lizzie, and a whole bunch of your great-aunts and great-uncles. Well, I pulled and pulled and could not get my boot out.”
Lydiann grinned from ear to ear. “What’d ya do, Dawdi?”
“I decided I’d best just pull my foot out and leave my boot stuck there.”
“You did, really?” Abe said.
“Jah, and I walked all the way down the road in the mud to the well, pumped out some water, and rinsed off my sock and foot. And that was that.”
“What happened to your boot?” asked Lydiann.
“It stayed right there overnight till we got more rain, which turned the mud into stew . . . and I lugged the boot out.”
This brought a round of giggles, egging Dawdi on but good.
Leah’s mind wandered while the storytelling continued, back to early days when she, Sadie, Hannah, and Mary Ruth would sit at their father’s knee, listening to him read The Budget. Aunt Lizzie and Mamma, ever near, would sit inches away doing their knitting or crocheting. Now and then, Mamma would make a little sound, and Dat would look her way, smile, and return to reading. It was as if they were connected by a fine and loving thread that wove the family together, night after night, day after day.
How she missed those times! Still, she wouldn’t think of going back, even if she could—not with the children needing her so. Yet if she had to live her youthful days over again, she might choose to return to autumn hayrides and the snipe hunts she and Jonas, along with all their siblings, enjoyed so much. Back then she had been the age Lydiann was now; such an innocent, happy time.
The best part of those autumns had been the bright blue weather, warm and wistful during the days with a nip to the night air. Once she’d sat all alone out behind the barn in the high meadow just staring at the night sky, gazing at the big harvest moon, counting the stars, and wondering about her future—whom she might marry when she grew up . . . and how many little ones she and her husband would have one day.
The children’s laughter, mingled with Dawdi John’s, brought her back to the business at hand. “Best finish cookin’ supper,” she said, getting up.
Lydiann and Abe followed, giving Dawdi a hug before they left. “We’ll see ya at the table soon,” Lydiann said with a mischievous smile. “Mamma and I are makin’ a surprise for everyone.”
Leah lifted her finger to her lips. “Now, Lydiann, don’t spoil things by sayin’ too much.”
“Ach, girls can’t keep no secrets,” Abe spouted off.
Dawdi chuckled and Leah shooed the children toward the connecting door, back to the main house.
Leah glanced out the window, making note of the fine summer day as she and the family, except for Aunt Lizzie and Dawdi John, all sat down to breakfast.
Immediately following the silent prayer, Abe announced too loudly, “Today’s Friday the thirteenth!”
Dat quickly linked the date to superstition. “So ’tis best to be extra aler
t and careful, ’least till sundown.”
Mamma would not have approved of Dat saying such a thing, yet he joked about it anyway, though he surely knew better. Good thing Aunt Lizzie hadn’t joined them for eggs and pancakes. She would’ve spoken up but quick, putting an end to the nonsense talk. Lizzie had been cut from the same mold as Mamma, and for this Leah was glad.
Once Dat was finished eating, he left the table for the barn. It was then Leah told Lydiann and Abe both there was nothing to worry about. “Don’t worry yourself about the date. We’re not so superstitious, really— never have been.”
Abe looked puzzled, glancing over his shoulder toward the back door. “But Dat said—”
“I know what your father said.” She was struggling, not sure how to preserve respect for Dat while teaching the children what she knew to be true—what she knew her mamma and Aunt Lizzie would have said. She didn’t want to out-and-out discredit her father, but she felt troubled deep in her soul each time Dat talked about such dark things.
Just last week he had suggested the hex doctor come take a look at Lydiann when she’d gotten bit up by mosquitoes and welts had come out all over her legs. Had it not been for Aunt Lizzie prevailing, Leah would have been at a loss to handle things. Dat, after all, was Lydiann’s father. She, on the other hand, was merely a substitute mother with little say—at least it seemed so at times like this.
“Do you remember where we’re goin’ today?” she asked Lydiann and Abe, changing the subject as gracefully as possible.
“To see the doctor!” Lydiann said merrily. She liked having her “ticker checked,” as Dr. Schwartz called it when he listened to the children’s hearts with his stethoscope. “In one hour we must leave,” she told them, pointing for Lydiann to clear the dirty dishes from the table, and then directing Abe toward the back door to go and offer Dat some help in the barn.
“Dawdi John was mighty happy with our supper surprise last night,” Lydiann said, getting up from the table.
Abe smacked his lips. “So was I. Dawdi and Dat both liked your pineapple upside-down cake, Mamma.”
The Sacrifice Page 23