The Sacrifice

by Beverly Lewis

“I’ll drop by again. I ’spect it’ll be soon.”

  Sadie needs us now, he thought. Surely she’ll abide by the Ordnung this time.

  He watched as the bishop made his way toward his buggy, wondering how to go about telling Leah, when it was time. I have some fences to mend, he thought ruefully.

  Leah sat down in the kitchen with Dat, who had come in from the barn midafternoon, removed his straw hat, and placed it slowly on the table. “I have some news for ya, Leah.” Breathing deeply, he sat next to her on the wooden bench. “Your sister’s comin’ home with the bishop’s blessing. She says she wants to repent.”

  “My sister?” Her heart leaped up. Sadie’s returning to us!

  Dat continued, explaining the letter and visit of a week ago, the bishop’s follow-up—all of it. Leah hung on every word, yet wondered why her father’s somber face did not match his joyful words. “What’s wrong, Dat? Why are ya sad?”

  He faltered just then, staring long at the floor. When he looked up, the color had drained from his face. “Truth is, she’s comin’ back a widow.”

  The thorny words narrowly stuck in her mind. My sister, a widow?

  She studied Dat, struggling with the meaning of this. So Jonas must be dead.

  Dat was talking again, but she scarcely heard a word. Something that had been buried so long ago broke free within her. Years of innocent pretense, of hoping and striving . . . wanting to forgive Sadie and praying it was so. All of it simmered to the surface in that moment, and no longer could she hold back the tide. She put her head down and sobbed on her arm.

  Dat reached out to comfort her. “There, there, my lamb,” he said, the way Mamma always had. “This, too, shall pass.”

  Powerless to think of anything but her own loss of Jonas, she raised her head, eyes clouded with tears. “Nee—no!” she sobbed. “My sister took my beau . . . my beloved. Don’t you see? She stole the years that were meant for me—for Jonas and me! Now he’s dead, gone forever!”

  Dat’s face fell, plainly dumbfounded at her outburst. “Leah. . . ?” His eyes were intent on her, a concerned frown on his face.

  Beneath his gaze, she felt as foolish as a young child. Yet she was crushed to near despair.

  Abram, taken aback by Leah’s outburst, had never seen her so distraught, neither so outspoken. Promptly he stopped trying to calm her, feeling inadequate to do so. I should’ve asked Lizzie to be on hand, he thought.

  Never had he felt comfortable when it came to a weeping woman. Here Leah was, unable to dry her tears, beside herself with fresh grief over Sadie’s betrayal. Just when he had been so sure she was long past her anger and sadness.

  He wondered how to make things better, how to place the ultimate blame where it belonged. He contemplated telling her of his conversation with Jonas, the two of them hidden away in the cornfield the day of Leah’s and Jonas’s baptisms. Such a confession might redirect Leah’s resentment—and rightly so.

  He rose to stretch his legs and move about the kitchen, to give himself a chance to think how he ought to reveal his deception, beginning with his furtive phone call to David Mellinger clear back when Jonas first began courting Leah, when she was merely sixteen. And . . . ending with Peter Mast’s visit over a year later, when Abram had spoken half-truths, not putting to rest the rumor that there was something more than innocent friendship between Gid and Leah. All of his subtle scheming to keep Jonas away—far removed from Leah. For what purpose? So Smithy Gid could have his chance, nothing more. Clearly from Leah’s apparent anguish, he had been decidedly wrong on all counts.

  Inhaling slowly, he felt he must open up to her, to confess at least in part. “There’s something you oughta know. I should’ve told ya, oh, so long ago.”

  She looked at him, visibly puzzled, eyes red.

  “I’m mighty sorry,” he began again. “From the deep of my heart, I am.”

  She remained silent.

  “Jonas marrying your sister was partly my fault,” he said.

  “Your fault? How can that be?”

  He was pacing now. I regret the day I ever meddled with her future, he thought. Leah’s a maidel now because of me.

  “Dat? What is it?” Leah asked, her pretty brow lined with deep concern.

  “Narr,” he began. “I was a fool. . . .”

  A bewildered look crossed her face, yet it was evident she wanted to understand, to hear him out. “Whatever do ya mean, Dat?”

  He stood near the wood stove, feeling mighty chilled; he didn’t dare consider sitting at the table any longer, so far from the slow fire in the belly of the stove. No, he needed the warmth. As it was, he could barely relax the muscles in his jaw enough to speak, to make his mouth form the words that must finally be said.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Not only was Leah perplexed at the idea of Sadie’s returning home, she was dismayed to think Dat had created feelings of doubt in Jonas regarding her faithfulness to him, shedding more than a little suspicion on Leah’s companionable association with Gid!

  She recalled the alarming letter Jonas had sent so long ago, asking her pointed questions about Smithy Gid. Poor Jonas had gotten his doubts about her from Dat, of all people. Still, what part had Sadie played in this? Leah had not fully understood the ins and outs of Peter Mast’s visit here that autumn day as described by Dat, and she wondered if her father was holding back other things he’d rather not say; she could only imagine what they might be.

  Nevertheless, Sadie was soon to be traveling home, and Leah needed to make some necessary sleeping arrangements. She asked Dat if he’d mind moving downstairs to the spare bedroom off the front room, and he agreed immediately, giving up the largest of the bedrooms to Leah and Lydiann, who didn’t mind sharing the room over the kitchen, the warmest in the house. Even if Sadie had more than one or two children to bed down, in no way did Leah feel comfortable handing over Dat and Mamma’s bedroom to their disobedient daughter and her offspring. Jonas and Sadie’s little ones . . .

  Hannah and Mary Ruth’s former bedroom would become Sadie and her children’s, since it was the farthest removed from Leah’s new bedroom—a good idea, she thought. Abe, bless his heart, would have Leah’s old room, with its lovely view of the barnyard and the woods.

  So it was decided, and she was glad Dat never questioned her one iota. Each of them would have a place to call his or her own, and Leah would still be near enough to Lydiann and Abe, to look after them a bit.

  Lizzie helped her wash down the walls and redd up the spare room for Dat, and he promptly moved his clothing and personal items the next day. When all the changes had been made and the rooms were ready on Saturday, Leah put a pot of chicken corn soup on the stove for supper, then asked Lydiann to watch and stir it every so often.

  She noticed a whole flock of wild turkeys—two dozen or more—strutting around the barnyard and even more of them in the cornfield, finding leftovers from the harvest, as she headed up to the woods to visit Hannah. Once there, she was happy to see petite and sweet Ida Mae who, at almost three, was as chatty and fair as Mary Ruth had always been. “She even looks like your twin when she was tiny!” Leah said, to which Hannah agreed.

  Katie Ann, the other wee dishwasher in the making, was said to be napping. “She does so twice a day now, which is right nice,” Hannah said, pushing back a loose strand of strawberry blond hair.

  Leah got down on the floor and played with Ida Mae, who was talking to the knitted-sock hand puppet Hannah had made. It was one Leah had used through the years to soothe hurt or ailing children at Dr. Schwartz’s medical clinic.

  “Should we plan something special for our lost sister when she returns?” Hannah asked.

  She would not share with Hannah how despairing she felt about Sadie. “Maybe so” was all she said.

  “Wouldn’t it be fun? A right nice welcome home.”

  Leah rose and headed for the door, struggling with the lump in her throat.

  “You just got here,” Hannah called to her. “What’
s your hurry?”

  “I thought of walking in the woods, that’s all.” She didn’t say she needed some time alone, that she felt all this pressure in her chest might cause her to suffocate.

  “Aw, Leah, come back. Are ya sad over Preacher Yoder’s passing?”

  “I . . . I’ll see ya later.” Right then she felt sorry about being short with Hannah, but she couldn’t stay a minute longer, not if she didn’t want to be seen weeping.

  Hurrying out the back door, she rushed past the stone wall and gardens, noticing that the recent killing frost had put an end to Hannah’s late-summer flowers. But Leah didn’t dare stop to sit there and try to calm herself. She hastened on, trying in vain to locate her cherished honey locust tree, but too many years had come and gone since the bliss-filled hours spent beneath its trunk.

  She pressed on, looking anxiously for her favorite tree, aware of geese overhead, honking their way south for the winter. Eventually unable to find her way to her former piece of earth, she headed up a ways to the crest of the hillock, to the old hunter’s shanty, surprised it was still standing—though barely that.

  Deciding against going inside, she wandered around and looked for a place to sit where she could be alone with the towering trees and the dense foliage, soaking up the peace here. She found a cluster of boulders, recalling this to be the spot where Smithy Gid had found her the day she’d wandered here and gotten herself lost. Not worried that such a thing would occur again, she sat herself down. So Hannah wants to have a party, but Sadie deserves no such thing.

  A scampering squirrel stopped to look at her, his tiny head slightly cocked as if to say, Hullo, lonely Leah. What’re you doing here in my woods?

  She realized she still had an imagination, probably thanks to the strong influence of the children—her children. How she loved them! Cheerful yet outspoken Lydiann . . . and Abe, who was always caring, eager, and confident. Both seemed mighty glad to have her as a mamma and often said so.

  But she best not think on such prideful things; she didn’t need the children’s reassurance. She just needed to simmer down like the kettle full of soup at home.

  I’ve lost Jonas twice. She let the harsh truth seep into her bones. Once to Sadie and now to death, both in the space of nine years.

  She felt she’d aged in just a few days of grieving Jonas’s death. Holding her slender hands out before her, she peered at small veins protruding through pale skin. It’s a good thing Smithy Gid woke up and married Hannah, she thought, feeling at once sorry for herself, yet knowing what a happy couple Gid and Hannah were.

  Looking up, she tried to see the sky, but only the tiniest dots of light shone through the canopy. She was taken anew by the quietude and suddenly missed her youth, gone with the years.

  When she heard whistling, she turned to see where the sound hailed from, and there was Aunt Lizzie tramping toward her. “Hullo, honey-girl!”

  “Out for an afternoon walk?” she asked, glad to see her.

  “Been trampin’ through these woods for a gut many years now; don’t ’spect I’ll quit anytime soon.” Lizzie came and sat next to her on the boulder. “I daresay you aren’t walkin’ so much as thinkin’.”

  She knows me through and through.

  “Your sister’s comin’ home and you’re beside yourself, ain’t?”

  “That’d be one way of puttin’ it.”

  “Well, best get it out of your system before she arrives.” Lizzie mopped her brow with the palm of her hand.

  “How would ya say I oughta go ’bout that?”

  Lizzie straightened a bit, pushing her work shoes down deep into the leaves and vines. “Lean hard on the Lord, honey-girl.”

  Wondering, she voiced the question aloud. “Does God truly know how I’m feelin’ just now?”

  Lizzie started a little and looked Leah full in the face. “He knows this time of suffering you’re goin’ through . . . that it’s awful hard. But this must be His plan for you, as difficult as that is to understand. Life ain’t a bed of roses; it’s downright painful at times. But I ’spect if ya get your eyes off yourself and look at your sister, you’ll see she’s in need of our love now more than ever. A widow and not even thirty yet, for pity’s sake.”

  “I do love her,” Leah said softly. “I’ve prayed for her all these years. But now I just don’t know how I can . . .” She stopped because she simply couldn’t go on.

  “Sooner or later, you’ll have to forgive her, Leah. The path of unforgiveness is a thorny one.” Aunt Lizzie had known all along what it was eating away at her.

  “I wish I didn’t have to go to the membership meeting, witness my sister kneelin’ before the Lord God and the brethren, confessing aloud her past sins.” All this time she’d yearned for this very thing for Sadie’s sake; yet here it was nearly the eve of such a meeting, and all she wanted to do was run far from it. She didn’t care to hear the words of repentance that would ultimately lift the Bann from Sadie. The shunned one would be welcomed back, profoundly so, into the warmth of Dat’s home, her refuge.

  “I see now I can’t begin to think of voting to accept her back into the fellowship. I just can’t, Lizzie.” She wept sad tears in her birth mother’s arms.

  “There, there, you go ’n’ cry it out. Then, when you’re through, we’ll head on home for supper. We’ll see this through together, you ’n’ me.”

  Leah wept good and long. When she’d had her cry, she wiped her face dry with the edge of Lizzie’s apron, startlingly aware of the bitterness within—sorrowful remnants of the past.

  Somewhere along the way, they had silently agreed not to talk while milking cows, which was exactly how it was Monday morning. Leah felt she had little to say to Dat.

  They finished the milking, and while her father carried away the cans of fresh milk to the milk house, Leah headed back to her indoor chores. From now on, she decided, Abe, or Sadie—once she arrived—could help with the milking. She, on the other hand, was in charge of the house and by no means ready to give up her place of responsibility and authority, under God and Dat, to her elder sister. Sadie did not deserve that place of honor. She’d abandoned this family to have her own will and way with her life. And now, if she was to come home, Leah felt strongly about making sure Sadie knew where things stood—certainly no longer could she hold the honored place of Abram’s eldest daughter. No, Sadie had forfeited that standing, no two ways about it.

  Late in the afternoon Adah surprised Leah by stopping by, once all her wash had been dried and folded. She came alone, all smiles, with a “wonderful-gut idea. Let’s have a card shower for your sister.” Her eyes were bright with the suggestion. “If ya want, I could help out with some cold cuts and whatnot, turn it into a coming-home party and invite as many of the women folk who’d wanna come.” She offered, as well, to spread the news.

  “Well, since we don’t know exactly when she’s comin’, why not wait to see if she actually does.”

  Adah frowned quickly. “Do ya mean to say she might change her mind?”

  Leah shrugged her shoulders. “How should I know? It’s been a long time. . . .”

  Nodding, Adah patted her arm. “We’ll bide our time, if that’s what you want to do.”

  Leah didn’t have the heart to say much more, and she couldn’t help but wonder how Mamma would expect her to treat Sadie after all this time. Sooner or later, like Aunt Lizzie had said, Leah knew she would have to unearth the merciless and bitter root deep within and look at it for what it was. Whatever pain may come of this, for Mamma’s sake, I must choose to be kind.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Leah spied her first—Sadie plodding up the long lane, carrying only a tan suitcase. She looked smaller somehow, weighed down by the cares of life and her bulky luggage. Her dress hung too loosely, as if she’d lost weight suddenly, and her hair was blonder than Leah remembered, the gleam of it peeking out from beneath her prayer veiling. But then again, maybe it was simply the light cast by the sun at high noon.

>   Leah paused where she was, standing nearly like a statue, bewildered to witness this moment alone. Where’s Dat? she wondered, thinking she ought to call for him and Dawdi John or Aunt Lizzie—all of them, really.

  But she felt the sound of her own voice would have heightened the peculiarity of the moment, making her feel weak, even powerless. She battled against her own reluctance but could not call out even a welcome to her sister; instead, she managed to raise a hand in a feeble wave. Here was the sister she had thought she’d forgiven. Good thing Sadie hadn’t looked up right then, noticed her standing there in her old brown choring dress and apron, wearing a pair of Mamma’s worn-out shoes. Good thing, because she’d probably be wondering why Leah wasn’t tearing down the path, throwing her arms around her, saying over and again, “Oh, I missed ya ever so much, I did. Wonderful-gut to have you home. . . .”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and wondered where Sadie’s children were, or at least the one. Had she left them behind in Indiana with close church friends or Jonas’s family, maybe? If so, did this mean she was merely coming for a visit, nothing more? Surprised at the sense of calm that came over her at the latter thought, Leah inhaled deeply and willed herself to move forward.

  One step at a time, she made her way down the lane, her legs as stiff as solid planks.

  Sadie, seeing her now for the first time, hesitated, then dropped her suitcase and hurried forward. Her arms were outstretched like those of a doll, and her eyes glistened as her embrace found Leah. The bittersweet moment nearly overtook her, so fervently did Sadie enfold her.

  “I missed ya so, Leah . . . oh, you just don’t know.”

  “It’s been . . . a long . . . time” was the best Leah could muster. To mimic the tender words that came from Sadie’s lips would have been false and ever so wrong.

  Sadie stepped back and, drying her tears, asked, “Where’s Smithy Gid?”

  A bit surprised, Leah said, “Oh, he’s fillin’ silo with Sam Ebersol—you remember our uncle Jesse’s youngest boy? Sam and Adah Peachey are married now.”