The Redemption of Sarah Cain (24 page)
Bryan, psychology nut that he was, would have a field day with this if he came and
if
she decided to divulge any aspect of her discovery.
And there was Anna Mae, poor thing. Sarah felt helpless to interfere, but the child needed professional help, of this she was nearly certain.
She placed the diary written by her late sister under the pillow next to her and turned out the light.
Lydia had just begun to doze off when she was aware of someone in her room. She sat up, peering into the darkness.
‘‘Lyddie, it’s me . . . Anna Mae. I’m awful scared.’’
She lifted the covers so Anna Mae could slip into bed with her. Wrapping her arms around the younger girl’s round little body, she asked, ‘‘Why are you frightened, sister?’’
‘‘Aunt Sarah scares me.’’
Lydia probed no further. She was content to hold Anna Mae near, wondering if Mamma had ever done the same for her little sister when young Sarah was alarmed. Maybe, though, Mamma and Aunt Sarah had never been chummy enough to share their fears or worries. She suspected that was the case. Well, Lydia could
not
imagine growin’ up like that.
She would cradle Anna Mae till she was fast asleep, maybe even longer. Maybe she’d let Anna Mae share a spot in her bed all night long.
Mamma would be pleased if she knew. Jah, ever so pleased.
Softly humming a hymn, Lydia thought of Levi again, wonderin’ if he might consider taking in Anna Mae and the others once he and Lydia were married.
If
they ever wed, that is.
But, no . . . the more she thought on it, ’twasn’t fair to expect such a thing. If their courtship ever
did
get back on track, she shouldn’t be askin’ Levi King to be her sisters’ and brothers’ stepfather. Besides, he might be entirely opposed to the notion. She didn’t know for sure, really. This was a right touchy situation!
Looking over at Anna Mae next to her, she felt helpless to meet the youngster’s emotional needs. Aunt Sarah was the one best suited, Lydia was nearly certain. Jah, for some reason, she felt Aunt Sarah knew better ’bout whatever it was Anna Mae was goin’ through than most anyone.
F
ive o’clock . . .
Sarah heard footsteps in the hallway and on the stairs. So soon? Rambunctious chirping of birds outside the window further irritated her. In the distance the steady
clip-clopping
of horses’ hooves tramped down the snow-packed road.
Why was everyone up already? Then she remembered—in Pennsylvania Amish country, everyone rose before dawn.
Sarah groaned and turned over. How was it that each day should be precisely the same as the day before, varied solely by the work that occupied every minute, every hour of every day from the rising of the sun until after dark?
Plumping the feather pillow, she lay there a few moments longer and gazed at the picture of Megan Holmes in the dim light. Dreaded memories flooded her mind, and she leaned up and reached for the frame. She held it in both hands. ‘‘I won’t let it happen again . . . ever,’’ she whispered, promising herself. How many times had she said the same words to the smiling face? At least a thousand.
Returning the picture to the small table, she grasped for a ray of hope, something to carry through the day. She recalled the message she had sent to Bryan via email. Had he replied?
She bounded out of bed to check. Turning on her laptop computer, she found herself eager to hear something from the modern world. The
real
world, the world filled with sensible decision-making and logical-thinking people. None of these archaic notions and rituals.
It was while she waited for her computer to boot up that she settled on the best discipline for Lydia’s impropriety, maybe the
only
beneficial restriction: not permitting her niece to attend the quilting bee tomorrow at Susie Lapp’s home. Not only did she think it was a good idea to deprive Lydia of the social event, but staying home herself would make it possible for her to avoid another uncomfortable encounter with Ivy’s ‘‘true’’ sister.
‘‘You’ve got mail,’’ stated the computerized voice.
Clicking on the appropriate spot, she read:
Sarah,
Impossible to get away. Sorry.
Later,
Bryan
She was taken aback by his brief note, so unlike his usual jocularity coupled with an eagerness to communicate. That was always Bryan’s style when either sending electronic messages or phoning.
Shrugging her dubious thoughts aside, Sarah prepared to bathe and dress for the day. She had survived any number of stressful situations without him. Why should she care if Bryan was busy
this
time?
A boisterous rooster crowed as Sarah uncovered her sister’s journal from one of the bed pillows. She turned to the beginning, to the first entry, and began to read Ivy’s words.
New Year’s Day, 1989
My lap was full of fabric nearly all day, what with it being
the dead of winter and all. While Lyddie was at school, young
Caleb was a good little helper, keeping one-year-old Anna Mae
happy in her playpen nearby. I must’ve embroidered five or more
pillowcases and worked on two different samplers.
In just a short time, I’ve learned that a wise woman is content
with sewing, knitting, and embroidering. Crocheting is a bit
tricky yet for me, but I’m doing my best to get the knack of it.
When my hands are busy pushing a needle gently through folds of
fabric, well, it brings such a deep kind of joy to me, a freedom
from the cares of life. Sometimes I actually feel a part of the material
I’m sewing, and it’s a wonderful-gut feeling, to be sure.
Susie Lapp surprised me with a big pot of Chilly Day Stew
near lunchtime. It hit the spot, and my children seemed to like it,
too. All of us, Gil included, are still getting used to the enormous
amount of vegetables used in cooking here in the Amish community,
everything from potato rivvel soup to zucchini squash cake.
I think we’re already healthier, too.
I sent a letter to Sarah, put it out in the morning mail. It’s
been weeks since I’ve had a letter from her. Still, I won’t give up
sharing the things we’re learning here. The People have taught Gil
and me not to dwell on the visible things so much, but on the
coming world—God’s blessed kingdom. Oh, if only my sister
could see the change in me!
Lydia watched in amazement as Aunt Sarah trudged through the snow a few strides behind little Hannah, sporting the fanciest brass-colored boots she’d ever seen. The worldly getup didn’t mix well with the farmland on either side of the road; not the Plain attire the children wore, either. Marching single file, they were stairsteps—Caleb in the lead, Aunt Sarah bringing up the tail end, the fancy caboose.
A chuckle escaped her lips, and she wondered what had prompted their English relative to follow the children to school, for goodness’ sake!
Lydia stood in the window, observing the peculiar sight till she could see them no longer. ’Bout that time, she wondered how it would be goin’ off to school herself next week. A teacher at last.
Tomorrow, for sure and for certain, she
must
talk to Miriam Esh. Honestly, she wondered if maybe by now Preacher Esh had already put a bug in the woman’s ear. She could only hope and pray he might be able to soften Miriam up a bit. ’Cause without Preacher’s cousin, all was lost. Not only would Lydia miss her chance to teach school, she might also lose out on bein’ Levi’s wife!
If asked, Sarah could not have logically pinpointed the reason, but she found herself hiking through ankle-deep snow with four of her nieces and nephews on their way to school. Perhaps the perplexed expression on Anna Mae’s freckled face at breakfast had prompted her somewhat impulsive decision. Part of her wanted to extend something of herself to the girl, yet she knew not how or what to say. Another side of her wanted to book a flight out of here tomorrow!
Yesterday she had tried to soothe Anna Mae, clearly wounded and unsteady of mind, but the girl had become terribly frightened. Sarah had seen the terror on the girl’s face.
So it was that she walked in the midst of a bitter cold day, single file, along a snow-covered roadside that Caleb said led to the Amish schoolhouse. ‘‘Someone might come along and give us a sleigh ride,’’ he said, a glint of hope in his eyes.
‘‘Noah Lapp might,’’ Josiah piped up. ‘‘He’s the nicest man alive.’’
Sarah’s ears perked up at that, and she wished Josiah might turn around and offer her his perpetual grin. Asked her opinion, she would have said it was the younger of the two Cottrell boys—Josiah—who most favored his deceased father. But this many years removed, she found it difficult to evaluate. The reality was that she had not seen either Gilbert or Ivy since their move from Bridgeport, Connecticut, to Lancaster County nearly twelve years ago.
Little Hannah seemed to purposely slow her pace, waiting for Sarah to match her stride. Together, they made their way through the snow, side by side, for quite a long way before Hannah said, ‘‘Mamma sometimes walked to school with us, too.’’
Anna Mae was quick to correct her little sister. ‘‘Mamma only walked with us on the warmest days.’’
‘‘
Always
in the springtime,’’ Caleb added. ‘‘Early May was Mamma’s favorite time of the year.’’
Sarah’s thoughts flew to the passage in Ivy’s journal.
If only
my sister could see the change in me
. So Ivy’s life
had
changed radically. She must have delighted in her and Gilbert’s existence here with the Plain people of the Lancaster area, loved it enough to give birth to five discerning children; children with whom Ivy enjoyed walking to school and soaking up warm breezes along the way.
‘‘Mamma loved the locust trees,’’ Josiah said.
Caleb nodded. ‘‘Remember, she used to say that Susie Lapp was never allowed to go barefoot back then—when she was little— not till the white flowers started a-danglin’ from the locust trees. By then, everyone knew summer was here to stay.’’