The Redemption of Sarah Cain (18 page)
Time stood still, at least for a few moments, before she gathered her wits and dried her eyes. Sitting up, she flicked on the car blinker and pulled away from the edge of the road. How very different, surreal most things were here. Even the color of the sky over Strasburg was a distinct cerulean.
But young children—her nieces and nephews included—had similar needs, no matter where they lived or attended school. She had gleaned this from college studies and the numerous inservice classes taken as a teacher, as well as the few years of actual teaching. Every child required, even craved, love and security in order to thrive.
Hard as she tried, Sarah could not dispel the vision of joyful young students issuing forth from the little white-washed school building.
F
annie, it’s awful nice to see you!’’ Lydia hugged her slender brunette friend, then set about taking Fannie’s coat, scarf, and mittens and hanging them up back in the utility room. ‘‘You must be freezin’-cold. Here, let me make you some hot cocoa.’’
Fannie Flaud rubbed her hands together, standing near the stove where a large pot of stew was simmering. She laughed at herself, looking down at the black pot. ‘‘I daresay, I forget you don’t have a wood stove like my Mammi Susie does in her kitchen.’’
Lydia hugged her dear friend again. ‘‘I’ll get you warmed up in no time.’’ And she scurried about, fixing a mug of hot chocolate.
‘‘Aw, don’t go to any bother,’’ Fannie insisted, blowing her breath into her hands.
‘‘It’s no trouble.’’ She stirred the cocoa thoroughly before giving the mug to Fannie. ‘‘I’m so glad you stopped by, ’specially
this
day.’’ Glancing outside, she checked to see if Aunt Sarah was back yet.
‘‘What do ya mean?’’
‘‘You prob’ly heard by now that our English relative is stayin’ here under our roof.’’
‘‘Jah, we heard.’’ Fannie’s hazel eyes squinted a little, like she might be sensing the quandary Lydia was in.
‘‘Aunt Sarah’s nice enough, don’t get me wrong.’’
‘‘Will she be takin’ you and your brothers and sisters away from the People?’’
Lydia couldn’t help but notice the worry lines on her friend’s face. ‘‘Things are up in the air just now. That’s all I best say.’’ She didn’t tell Fannie that Aunt Sarah was caught up with worldly things, shoppin’ and spending her money on clothes and suchlike. ’Twasn’t her place to condemn, though she thought it
en Sin un e Schand
—a sin and a shame. Sighing, she bowed her head.
‘‘You can tell
me
what you’re afraid of, Lyddie.’’ Setting the hot cocoa on the table, Fannie rose and came over, reaching out to take Lydia’s hands in both of hers. ‘‘Whatever I can do, I’ll do it.’’
‘‘You’re a gut friend, but I wouldn’t want you to be worryin’ over us, truly not.’’
‘‘ ‘Two heads are better’n one,’ Mamma always says.’’ Fannie put her forehead to Lydia’s.
‘‘Your mamma and mine, both.’’ She was moved by her friend’s compassion and concern, and the two girls went and sat on the wooden bench. She filled Fannie in on what Aunt Sarah had said earlier today—’bout hoping to find a family to take them in.
‘‘But, Lyddie,
I
thought—’’
‘‘Jah, I know . . . I did, too,’’ Lydia interjected. ‘‘But we shouldn’t be casting blame on Mamma’s sister, really. Aunt Sarah’s behavin’ the way any fancy woman would, mind you.’’
Fannie was still for a bit. Then, hemmin’ and hawin’ like she wasn’t sure if she oughta be askin’ such a question, Fannie said, ‘‘Um . . . what
does
your mamma’s will say anyways . . . do you even know?’’
Lydia shook her head. ‘‘Never saw it. But, honestly, I do think we can trust Mr. Eberley, Mamma’s lawyer. He’s a nice Christian man. Mamma told me so before she died. She said,
‘That Mr. Eberley’s a prayerful Mennonite man, so you don’t hafta
worry one bit.’ ’’
Fannie looked mighty skeptical all of a sudden. ‘‘Well, he may be God-fearin’ and all, but I just don’t know. . . .’’ She scratched the back of her head under the veiling. ‘‘Seems to me we oughta think up something right quick to make sure all of you get to stay together . . . and right here around Grasshopper Level, too!’’
Lydia was secretly glad her friend had come to this conclusion on her own. ‘‘I’m all ears. What’re you thinkin’?’’
Fannie reached for her cup of hot cocoa. Then she tilted her head, like she was ponderin’ real hard. ‘‘You know, there’s always Preacher Esh’s unmarried cousin down the way. Miriam Esh just might be someone who could come and live here with you.’’
Lydia had never even thought of
en alt Maed
like Miriam. ‘‘That’s a wonderful-gut idea, uh . . . except that Miriam, well, you know, she . . .’’ She paused, hesitating to say.
‘‘I know just what you’re gonna say. Sometimes I can hardly say ‘hullo’ to her at the meetinghouse, she smells so awful bad.’’ Fannie started to giggle. ‘‘Maybe you could
educate
her on takin’ a bath once in a while.’’
‘‘Well, now, aren’t you
kalwerich
—silly.’’ Lydia was glad for a gut laugh. It had been too long since she’d wrapped up her troubles in a smile. ‘‘I’m glad you brought up Miriam, though. Truly, I am.’’
‘‘I have no doubt she’ll clean up right nice . . .’ least for a day or so.’’
‘‘Long enough for me to take Aunt Sarah over for a visit, ’cause I know—for sure and for certain—your Mammi or anyone else ’round here couldn’t begin to think of takin’ in all five of us.’’
Fannie was frowning again. ‘‘What’s this about my grandmother?’’
‘‘Oh,’’ Lydia said, waving her hand nonchalantly, ‘‘Aunt Sarah’s got it in her mind that Susie might be a gut choice to be our second mother.’’
‘‘Well, how on earth does she even know her?’’
‘‘It’s ’cause Mamma and Aunt Sarah wrote letters for many years, that’s how.’’
‘‘Does your aunt have any idea how old Mammi Susie is?’’ Fannie said, leaning forward.
‘‘S’pose not, though it’s possible she does.’’
‘‘Well, my mammi has her hands full with her
own
grown children and grandchildren, and her little craft shop, besides. So I think you’re right about Miriam Esh bein’ the best bet.’’
Lydia didn’t know how to tell her best friend what she was thinking. Wasn’t sure
if
she should say anything at all. Slowly, she breathed in before speaking in a near whisper. ‘‘Nobody knows this, Fannie, but I made a promise to Mamma before she died.’’
‘‘Aw, Lyddie.’’ Fannie reached over and touched her hand. ‘‘You don’t hafta say, honest ya don’t.’’
‘‘No . . . no, I
want
to tell you.’’ She paused, covering Fannie’s hand with her own. ‘‘I gave Mamma my word. I promised her, while she lay dyin’, that I’d keep the family together. And I will!’’
Fannie’s eyes glistened. ‘‘I would do the same for my own mamma if . . .’’ Her voice trailed away, and the girls fell into each other’s arms. ‘‘Oh, Lyddie, I’m awful sorry ’bout your terrible loss. I do love you so!’’
Lydia’s throat went dry, too dry to voice the same words of affection back to her friend, but she clung to Fannie all the same.
When they’d dried their tears, Fannie said, ‘‘You know, I heard my brother talkin’ in the barn this morning. Seems there’s goin’ to be a need for a schoolteacher real soon here at the schoolhouse over on Peach Lane.’’
‘‘You don’t say!’’ Lydia’s heart did a little flip-flop.
‘‘And . . . there’s talk that you’d be a gut choice, since you got nearly straight A’s in school, and you’re still single and all.’’
Lydia felt her face blushing to beat the band.
‘‘Wouldja be interested?’’
‘‘I’d be more than happy to teach if the People want me. But I s’pose I oughtn’t to say I will, not till we know what’s goin’ to happen to us.’’ Lydia got up and went to stir the thick beef stew, noticing that the baby onions and carrots were cookin’ up gut and tender. ‘‘You know, I’ve often wondered if the Good Lord might not open the door for me to teach school someday. But why just now, when things are so unsettled ’bout my own future?’’
Fannie’s eyes grew serious. ‘‘You’re thinking ’bout Levi, ain’t so?’’
No need to share fanciful secrets just yet. ‘‘I’m more worried ’bout Aunt Sarah and where we’ll end up.’’
‘‘You must hurry ’n take her to meet Miriam.’’
Lydia could only hope and pray that things worked out with Preacher’s cousin. It was their best chance.
‘‘Well, I’ll be prayin’ for you, that’s for sure.’’ Fannie’s smile spread wide across her delicate face. She seemed to have warmed up at last, ’bout the time she wanted to be headin’ on home.
‘‘God be with you,’’ they said, kissing each other’s cheeks, before Fannie hurried out the back door.
Standing in the doorway, Lydia watched her dearest friend pick her way over the ice and snow to the waiting carriage. She was ever so glad Aunt Sarah must’ve decided to dawdle comin’ back from the outlet stores. Overjoyed, as well, that Fannie had come to visit by herself, with neither her mamma or Grandmammi along.
Jah, Fannie’s visit was surely providential. In more than one way, it was just what Lydia needed to fill the afternoon with hope. She could hardly wait to hear what Preacher Esh had to say ’bout her future as a teacher!
Secretly, she wished she might run into Levi King soon. Levi would be mighty pleased to hear the news. That is, if he didn’t know ’bout it already.
T
here is no dispute over either this house or the land—everything will remain in your immediate family,’’ Sarah explained, eager to put away her many purchases, including a pair of brandnew leather boots. ‘‘You and your brothers and sisters will inherit all assets, including farm animals, indoor furnishings, and personal effects.’’
Lydia caught up with her at the top of the stairs, and Sarah hurried to the row of wooden wall pegs, impatient to hang up the smart new teal suit, two woolen skirts and vests to match, a chic sienna pantsuit, and several silk blouses, noting that Lydia had not followed her into the room. Like a shadow, the girl stood humbly in the doorway.
‘‘Mr. Eberley and I are working together now. You have nothing to worry about.’’ Sarah proceeded to put away her new purchases, then turned to the highboy, opening the bottom drawer. Noticing it was completely empty, she said, ‘‘Well, it appears there’s some extra room here.’’
‘‘Jah, Mamma stored her journals there,’’ Lydia said softly, on the verge of tears.
‘‘My sister kept a diary?’’ She found it amazing, though true, recalling how Ivy as a teenager often had her nose in a spiralbound notebook, writing feverishly.
‘‘I don’t know just how many,’’ Lydia mumbled.
‘‘But . . . you saw her writing?’’
‘‘Now and again.’’ The girl’s answers seemed painfully vague. No longer did Lydia stand erect but leaned against the wide doorjamb as if her legs might not hold her up.
‘‘Your mother always tried to encourage
me
to keep a diary,’’ Sarah said, hoping to brighten things. ‘‘She was never successful.’’ ‘‘Oh?’’ Lydia seemed interested.
‘‘I wasn’t one for scribbling down my feelings.’’
‘‘Twice a day,
I
keep a journal, or at least try to.’’
Lydia had been influenced by her mother, no doubt. ‘‘Journal-keeping is a good discipline, for those who are so inclined.’’
‘‘Jah,’’ Lydia agreed. ‘‘Sometimes I wonder what people will think when I pass on . . . like Mamma, you know. What will my loved ones say ’bout me if they read my most secret thoughts and dreams?’’
‘‘Risky, to be sure’’ was all Sarah could think to say.
‘‘But the writing does help some folk get through life, I guess.’’
‘‘Certain temperaments find solace in journal-keeping, but I’m certainly not that type of person.’’
Smiling faintly, Lydia replied, ‘‘But you
did
write letters to Mamma.’’
‘‘Oh,’’—Sarah dismissed the observation with an airy wave of her hand—‘‘mine were always at least one-third shorter than hers.’’
‘‘Was that because Mamma turned Amish on you?’’ Lydia spoke too quietly.
Sarah wasn’t sure if she had heard correctly. ‘‘I beg your pardon?’’
‘‘Oh . . . nothin’.’’ Lydia’s half-whispered comments ceased abruptly. She left without Sarah knowing the precise moment when she had.