The Redemption of Sarah Cain (20 page)

Instead of giving in to tears, though, she read the prayer Mamma had written once again. So, most likely, Mamma had known well before Christmas that she was going to die. The realization did not bother Lydia as much as something else. She had never heard of any mention made of an accident involving Aunt Sarah. What exactly had Mamma meant:
the accident that
claimed her spirit
?

Lydia slid Mamma’s journal onto the bedside table but thought she heard someone up. Quietly, she went down the hall to check on her brothers and sisters.

Caleb and Josiah were sound asleep in their room, but the light was on in the girls’ room.

‘‘Five-thirty comes awful soon,’’ she reminded Anna Mae gently but firmly. The same tone of voice Mamma often used when one of them was lax.

Anna Mae looked mighty sheepish, perched there in her bed. She glanced meekly at the single bed next to hers, where little Hannah lay curled up, fast asleep. ‘‘I’m bein’ quiet as a mouse.’’

‘‘Mice can be downright noisy sometimes,’’ Lydia reminded.

‘‘Sorry, Lyddie.’’ Anna Mae’s lips started moving again, silently.

Lydia sat on the edge of the bed. ‘‘Are you still talkin’ to yourself?’’

Anna Mae shrugged.

‘‘I
know
you are.’’ She placed a hand on the long lumps under the quilts that were Anna Mae’s legs. ‘‘Forever mumblin’ won’t make things better.’’

‘‘Ya mean it won’t make Mamma come back alive?’’

‘‘I didn’t say that,’’ she whispered.

‘‘But it’s what you meant, ain’t so?’’

Lydia was still. Then—‘‘I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea . . . that I’m reprimandin’ you. I’m just—’’

‘‘Worried that I’m
ab im Kopp
—off in the head?’’

‘‘Well . . . honestly, I wonder that sometimes ’bout myself. ’Specially here lately.’’

‘‘
You
, Lyddie?’’ Anna Mae frowned. ‘‘That’s awful hard to believe.’’

‘‘I’m not sayin’ you shouldn’t grieve for Mamma. Just be careful how you do it, jah?’’

Anna Mae smiled a fainthearted smile, her red braids dangling over her pudgy shoulders. ‘‘I won’t let Aunt Sarah catch me talkin’ to myself, if that’s what you’re worried ’bout.’’

It wasn’t. Not really. Anna Mae had misunderstood a bit. Still, Lydia was glad they’d had this nighttime chat. ‘‘You’re a gut girl. Now, sweet dreams.’’ She got up and turned out the light.

Before she tiptoed to the door, Anna Mae whispered into the dark. ‘‘Is Miriam gonna be our mamma?’’

Lydia froze. ‘‘Miriam Esh will
never
be our mamma. No one will ever be that to us,’’ she insisted.

‘‘But I overheard you and Aunt Sarah talkin’. Sounded like Miriam might be comin’ here to live with us instead of Aunt Sarah.’’

‘‘That’s yet to be decided. But livin’ here won’t make Miriam our mother. You know that.’’ She had said all she wanted to on the subject. She closed the door without chiding Anna Mae on her eavesdropping.

Dat always liked to say a Pennsylvania Dutch proverb ’bout folks who listened in on another’s conversation. She had memorized the old adage straight from her father’s lips.
Wer lauert an
die Wand, heert sei eegni Schand
—‘‘He who eavesdrops by the wall will hear that which shames himself.’’

Lydia crept back to her bedroom, wondering ’bout reading through Mamma’s journals and a handful of Aunt Sarah’s letters. Was
that
‘‘eavesdropping,’’ too?

She was ashamed, deeply so, but knew not what to do ’bout it.

Chapter Seventeen

I
t was past midnight when Lydia awoke to the sound of a team driving in the lane. Quickly, she rose and threw on her long white bed robe, peering out the window. By the light of a partial moon, she made out the dark figure of a young man tying a horse, black and glistening, to the snowy fence post out in the barnyard, the open carriage parked nearby.

Levi?

She ran her fingers down one of her thick, waist-length braids, waiting for his flashlight to shine through her window, to cast its expectant glow onto her bedroom wall. Going to the bureau, she removed a tiny mirror and studied her face. Jah, she looked awake enough for a visit just now.

A flickering light appeared on the wall opposite her bed, and she knew Levi had come—during the veil of night, in secret— to see her. She dared not hope, nay, not even wish, that this could be the night of nights.

Again, she went to the window and looked out. Her heart leaped at the sight of him on the ground below, his thick bangs peekin’ out from under his black felt hat. His were such sturdy, squared shoulders for a tall and lean fella. Lanky he was, really, but she didn’t mind. His face was upturned, gazing at her in the window high above, and she signaled for him to meet her downstairs.

As quietly as possible, Lydia tiptoed down the steps, hopin’ she wouldn’t disturb the sleeping household. The encounter with Levi must be kept private, between just the two of them. The People’s way.

She scurried silently to the back door, through the utility room and screened-in porch. There stood Levi on the stoop, hands hooked into both his pockets, grinning from ear to ear.

‘‘Hullo, Lyddie.’’

She felt both abundant joy and awkwardness, all mixed together. Then, noticing that Levi seemed to be shivering, she remembered her manners. ‘‘Do come inside and get warm.’’ She opened the door wider.

When he was inside, she closed the door silently and led him past a maze of work boots and overshoes, lined up in order from Caleb’s big galoshes down to tiny Hannah’s rubber overshoes. In the kitchen she turned on the small light over the sink, and when she turned around, she saw that he’d removed his widebrimmed hat already.

Without speaking, they sat side by side on the wooden bench near the table. They stayed that way for a bit, Lydia fully aware of his closeness, his coat sleeve brushing against her arm. She was ever so glad she’d finished sewing the new bathrobe she wore tonight.

When Levi spoke at last, his voice was confident, yet soft enough not to waken the upstairs sleepers. ‘‘I missed ya at Singing last night.’’

‘‘I just couldn’t get away. Es dutt mir leed—I am sorry.’’ Silence again.

Then Lydia spoke up, eager to share her news. ‘‘Fannie was over for a visit today. She says Preacher Esh might be comin’ to ask if I’d be the teacher at the school down the hill.’’

‘‘Peach Lane School?’’

‘‘Jah, and I’m hopin’ it’ll work out.’’

‘‘Sounds like it just might.’’

Her heart pounded, having shared her happy news and wonderin’ what Levi had on his mind just now. ‘‘I didn’t mean to speak out of turn,’’ she said softly.

‘‘No . . . no, that’s nice to know.’’ He reached for her hand and held it for a moment before speaking again. ‘‘I came here to say somethin’ important, Lyddie.’’

She suspected why he’d come but waited quietly, submissively, waiting for this wonderful-gut young man to speak his mind. Or his heart. One of the two.

‘‘I’ve been thinkin’ on this ever so long now.’’

She held her breath. Could this be the moment Levi had chosen to reveal his intentions? Would he say that he loved her? That he wanted to marry her, spend all his days together with her and her alone?

Levi turned and looked deep into her eyes. ‘‘I hope you won’t be leavin’ here,’’ he said, gaze strong and true. ‘‘We could run away an’ get married . . . right quick, if that would help.’’

She listened with all eagerness.

‘‘We could sneak away some weekend, maybe run over to Hickory Hollow, see if Bishop John Beiler might not tie the knot for us.’’ Both his hands had found hers now. ‘‘That way you could stay with me, for always.’’

‘‘Oh, Levi . . .’’ She thought of the endless possibilities for love and living—
here
—as Levi’s bride and the mother of his children.

His hands stroked hers tenderly, eyes searching hers, pleading for her sweet answer. ‘‘Lyddie? Will you be my wife?’’

Oh, to belong to Levi! She wanted to sing for joy, wanted to whisper back, ‘‘Jah, ever so much, I do.’’

Yet the promise she’d made to her dying mamma held her fast. Truth be told, she didn’t trust Aunt Sarah, couldn’t hand over the guardianship of her brothers and sisters to an outsider.

She pulled away a bit.

‘‘What . . . what is it?’’ His brow was creased with more than worry.

‘‘I love you, Levi. I surely do. But runnin’ away might not be the best thing, really.’’

‘‘What’ll happen to us if your aunt takes you away?’’ Dread cloaked his solemn voice.

‘‘I’d never want to hurt you, Levi. But maybe . . .’’ Her voice trailed off. ‘‘If things worked out for someone to live with us, then my siblings would be looked after, and you and I could be wed next fall, durin’ wedding season. I’ve already said something to Aunt Sarah ’bout Miriam.’’

‘‘Miriam Esh?’’

‘‘Jah.’’

‘‘How on earth are you gonna talk Preacher’s cousin into such a thing? She’s mighty set in her ways, I hear.’’

Lydia hadn’t given much thought to Miriam’s disposition.

Levi was right. ’Twould be an obstacle, all right.

‘‘What ’bout your aunt?’’ he continued. ‘‘I thought
she
was in charge of your family now.’’

‘‘Such a long story it is. I know you prob’ly don’t want to hear me goin’ on and on.’’

‘‘But I do!’’

Because she knew his heart, she did her best to share with him—that Aunt Sarah had no intention of stayin’ put, as

Mamma had requested in her will. ‘‘Sarah Cain is English, for pity’s sake. She doesn’t know the first thing ’bout Amish ways.’’

‘‘But she’s your flesh-and-blood aunt, ain’t so?’’

Sure seemed like a good question, comin’ from Levi. But just now she was beginning to feel mighty exhausted, worn out from thinkin’, really. ‘‘Maybe we’d best not plan anything now,’’ she heard herself say. ‘‘Not till something’s decided, with or without Miriam Esh.’’

Levi was silent again, though he’d moved a bit closer to her. She almost expected him to put his arm ’round her shoulder and maybe even draw her near, same as he’d done last month in his open buggy on the way back from a Singing over in SummerHill.

Instead, he seemed to stiffen. ‘‘I’d do anything in the world, Lyddie, anything to make you mine.’’

‘‘I’m awful sorry, truly I am’’ was all she could think to say.

‘‘Please don’t turn me away.’’ His breath was warm on her cheek. ‘‘I love you so.’’

‘‘I daresn’t give you false hopes, Levi. It wouldn’t be fair to you.’’ She wouldn’t let herself cry in front of him. Not here in the house Dat had chosen for them, where Mamma’s dreams and hopes for the future were bein’ shattered nearly every other day, it seemed. Where the only boy Lydia had ever loved had just proposed marriage. And what had she done? Put him off.

‘‘My dear Lyddie,’’ he said, gathering her close.

She hesitated, trembling in his arms, and he took her off guard. His lips found hers, and as much as she knew she prob’ly ought to resist, she let him kiss her. One little kiss wouldn’t hurt nothin’, but his lips were ever so fervent.

She pulled away and not anytime too soon.

The light overhead burst into their eyes. Lydia turned, and there was Aunt Sarah standing across the floor. ‘‘What’s going on here?’’ she demanded.

Levi stood up. ‘‘I best be goin’,’’ he said, nearly running out of the kitchen.

Lydia started after him, then heard the back storm door slam shut. Her wonderful-gut night was over all too abruptly.

‘‘Lydia?’’ came Aunt Sarah’s stern voice.

Standing in the middle of the dimly lit kitchen, face-to-face with her mamma’s sister, Lydia was speechless. How could she possibly make her aunt, so unfamiliar with Amish ways, understand that Levi had meant no ill?

She waited for her niece’s response. The girl’s bottom lip quivered uncontrollably, and by the wide-eyed expression on her face, it looked as if Lydia might burst into tears.

What
were
her niece and that Amish boy doing alone together in the kitchen in the middle of the night? It certainly seemed that Lydia had taken advantage of the quiet house; of Sarah’s trust, as well.

‘‘I . . . I . . .’’ stammered Lydia. ‘‘I don’t know what to say.’’

Sarah wondered if her sister would have allowed such uncomely behavior by Lydia. Hardly. ‘‘Who was that young man?’’

Sarah asked, the tension building between herself and the young woman standing like a statue before her.

Lydia sniffled. ‘‘He’s a . . . gut friend.’’

‘‘Does the young man have a name?’’

Lydia, head bowed, shook her head. ‘‘I can’t . . .
shouldn’t
say anything, really not. It’s the People’s way . . . we . . . this is the way Amish have been courtin’ for over three hundred years.’’

Sarah pondered the incredulous reply. ‘‘You’re expected to sneak around at night?’’

‘‘Most dating is done in secret, till the wedding is published at a Preachin’ two weeks before’’ came the explanation.

‘‘Published . . . as in the newspaper?’’

Lydia shook her head. ‘‘No, it’s the bishop who
announces
the wedding date at the end of a church gathering.’’

Aghast, Sarah asked, ‘‘Are you being courted? Engaged to be married?’’