The Redemption of Sarah Cain (26 page)
P
reacher Esh asked me to teach at the Amish school where my sisters and brothers attend,’’ Lydia said as she sat in the front seat of Aunt Sarah’s rental car on the way to Susie Lapp’s quilting frolic.
‘‘Is that why he came to visit?’’
She felt a bit sheepish to answer. ‘‘Jah, ’tis.’’
‘‘How is it that someone your age is qualified to teach?’’
Lydia understood a little of her aunt’s wariness. English schools were run by highly educated folk. Amish schools, on the other hand, were operated by the community. The bishops and the People themselves had the final say. ‘‘Any girl who goes through all eight grades in an Amish school—usually the ones who had the best grades—can teach in our schools. We’re allowed to teach till we marry.’’
‘‘Oh? And when would that be?’’
Lydia thought she knew why her aunt was so interested. ‘‘Anywhere from age fifteen or sixteen, up to nineteen. Most girls are married by age twenty ’round here.’’
‘‘Well, in my opinion, that’s entirely too young to settle down and marry.’’
‘‘Did
you
ever think of . . . marryin’?’’ Lydia ventured, eager to know.
Aunt Sarah responded more quickly than Lydia had intended. ‘‘I dated a couple of young men in college.’’
‘‘Either of them propose?’’
‘‘Why do you ask?’’
‘‘It’s just that Mamma told me you were more interested in music and other things in high school, but that you had one special beau in college.’’
‘‘Your Mamma and I were writing letters during those days, so I guess she should know.’’
Lydia thought on that. ‘‘I’d like to hear about your life from
you
.’’
Aunt Sarah glanced at her, then turned back to face the road ahead, hands gripping the steering wheel. ‘‘What would you like to know?’’ She seemed a bit uneasy.
‘‘You didn’t marry, like Mamma did. How come?’’
Aunt Sarah was still.
Lydia wondered if she’d pried too much. ‘‘Sorry, I s’pose it wasn’t polite to ask,’’ she said quickly.
The woman said nothing.
‘‘You must’ve
liked
children, ’cause you were a schoolteacher yourself once.’’
‘‘As a matter of fact, I was. But only for a short time.’’
‘‘Mamma told me ’bout it . . . before she died.’’
Aunt Sarah turned to look at her again. ‘‘What did she tell you?’’
‘‘That something awful sad happened to you. Something that
made
you quit teachin’.’’
Aunt Sarah did a surprising thing just then. She signaled and brought the car to a stop on the side of the deserted road. ‘‘What else did your mother tell you?’’
‘‘Well, uh . . . she didn’t ever really
tell
me more than what I already said just now. But the other night, while I was readin’ one of her diaries, I came across something.’’ She was breathless, almost afraid to go on, ’cause Aunt Sarah was starin’ hard at her.
‘‘Go ahead, Lydia. I’m listening.’’
Lydia took a breath and wondered if she was doin’ the right thing by Mamma. ’Course, then again, Aunt Sarah was readin’ Mamma’s writings, too. ‘‘I don’t honestly know a thing ’bout this, but in Mamma’s 1998 journal, for the month of December, she wrote that there’d been an accident of some kind.’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘It . . . well, that accident must’ve been awful bad. Mamma wrote that it claimed your spirit, or suchlike.’’
Instantly her aunt’s face drooped, and she was shakin’ her head back and forth, unable to speak.
‘‘I’m so sorry,’’ Lydia offered, genuinely contrite. ‘‘I shouldn’t have brought up such a sad rememberin’.’’
Opening her leather pocketbook, Aunt Sarah fished ’round inside and pulled out a tissue. She leaned up to the rearview mirror, dabbing ever so carefully at her eyes, prob’ly so she wouldn’t smudge the makeup, positioning the mirror once again when she was finished. Then, without another word, she looked back over her left shoulder and slowly steered the car onto the road again.
In all her days, Lydia had never seen a woman’s face turn so completely ashen and drawn—like Lydia had somehow had the power to make her mamma’s sister age awful fast in just five minutes!
The quilting at Susie Lapp’s drew fifteen Plain women from their church district, a bigger turnout than Sarah ever expected for such a cold, wintry day. She was also surprised by the number of women
her
age present. She had presumed such get-togethers were predominantly attended by older women in the community. But on this particular day, the eldest woman sitting at the large quilt frame was Mammi Elizabeth.
‘‘In all of Strasburg and Paradise, Mammi Elizabeth sews the tiniest stitches of anybody,’’ Lydia whispered as they hung up their coats in the little mud room adjacent to the kitchen.
Observing Elizabeth, her face deeply wrinkled with the years, her white hair tucked neatly under a cap, Sarah wondered how the woman managed to quilt without glasses. That old adage about eating plenty of carrots—was it true? The Amish certainly consumed their share of vegetables. In fact, now that she thought of it, not a single woman gathered at the quilting frame was wearing glasses.
‘‘There’ll be thousands of stitches in this quilt when it’s finished. We call it the Diamond in the Square, one of our most popular patterns,’’ Lydia said, pulling a chair up for Sarah at the edge of the quilt. ‘‘We can use your help.’’
Sarah didn’t wish to cause a scene nor reject the sincere offer on the part of her niece. She assumed Lydia was merely being polite, because looking over the wide girth of the enormous frame and the intricate work already underway, she was fairly certain she could not do what these women were doing. Furthermore, she didn’t want to ruin the lovely quilt for its soon-to-be owner.
Lydia must have sensed her reticence and proceeded to show Sarah how to hold the needle, where to put her free hand. ‘‘It’s all in the wrist,’’ the girl said. ‘‘Here, watch me.’’
‘‘Maybe I should
just
watch for a while,’’ she said softly, hoping Lydia would back off a bit.
‘‘Either that, or you can practice on a remnant. Lots of new quilters do just that.’’
What Sarah truly wanted was to blend into the woodwork, but being the only Englischer in the room made blending rather difficult. Looking around, she tried to pick out which woman was Miriam Esh.
Lydia said something about going in search of scraps and got up to look. She wasn’t giving up anytime soon, reminding Sarah once again of the unyielding aspects of Ivy’s personality. Lydia, indeed, had something of her mother’s temperament. The fact was becoming more evident to Sarah as each day progressed.
‘‘We oughta be sayin’ who we are, for Lydia’s aunt’s sake,’’ the eldest quilter, Elizabeth, spoke up.
‘‘Jah, by all means,’’ Susie Lapp agreed, glancing at Sarah and offering a pleasant grin. ‘‘I’m sure she remembers me.’’
‘‘Yes, hello again,’’ Sarah said quickly, offering a quick smile.
‘‘Oh, by the way, my husband said he saw you out on the road with the Cottrell children yesterday mornin’.’’ As quickly as Susie had spoken, she put her head down, careful to keep an eye on her own nimble fingers guiding the needle up and down through the fabric and batting.
Sarah listened as eleven women told her their names, noting several Marys and Beckys. Fannie Flaud and her mother, Emma, also introduced themselves. But there was only one quilter present by the name of Miriam Esh. Sarah had
not
been able to identify her before the introductions, although she stood out—unfortunately, because she needed a bath!
‘‘I’m one of Preacher’s first cousins,’’ the black-haired woman said without cracking the slightest smile, though the others chuckled. She avoided making eye contact with either Sarah or Lydia, which puzzled Sarah greatly.
She also observed that Miriam appeared to be older than her midthirties, as Lydia had told her earlier. The Amishwoman wore a green cape dress, the same hue and styling as several other women at the quilting. Her black cape was attached to a long black apron, as well. By the smile lines around her full lips, Sarah guessed the soft-spoken woman was apparently fun-loving, at least on occasion. At the present, however, it was hard to determine just how happy a person Miriam Esh might be.
After several hours, the quilters had themselves a lunch break. Aunt Sarah seemed willing to sample most everything set before them, including the pickled eggs. And when they bowed their heads for the silent prayer, she did, too, which pleased Lydia to no end.
She’s tryin’ real hard
, Lydia thought, glad things had worked out for her aunt to come along. Glad, too, that she was makin’ an attempt to sew practice stitches on three or four small scraps of fabric. And Aunt Sarah was joinin’ in the chatter every now and then, and asking questions, too.
Truth be told, Lydia had a sneakin’ suspicion that Mamma’s sister was actually enjoying herself, if only a little, for the first time since she’d come here last Sunday. ’Course, then, she wouldn’t go so far as to get her hopes up ’bout that.
It was Miriam’s almost curt response that set Lydia back a bit, left her unsure of herself. No, it actually spoilt the rest of the afternoon for her altogether.
‘‘I was hopin’ you and I could have a talk,’’ she said, seekin’ Miriam out at the long table and sitting down next to her.
‘‘Oh?’’
Lydia held her breath, trying for the life of her not to breathe in Miriam’s offensive body odor. ‘‘Jah, there’s something I think you might be interested in doin’—for Mamma.’’
‘‘And what would that be?’’
Lydia’s heart sank. Dare she go on? ‘‘Can you stop by our house this-after, maybe?’’
‘‘Well, I’d planned to stay ’n help till the work’s done on the quilt, ya know.’’
From past experience, Lydia knew the expert quilters would finish off things with the final stitches in a rapid show of energized motivation to ‘‘get the quilt out’’ before nightfall. That’s how it was done. So she couldn’t blame Miriam for wantin’ to stay. After all, the woman had an empty house to greet her—no husband waitin’, and no children, either.
Thinking on the topic burnin’ inside her, she honestly wondered if maybe Preacher’s cousin just might not want to keep things the way they were. Her bein’ an old maid and all. Some folk seemed more cut out for a solitary life. Maybe Miriam was one of ’em.
But how could Lydia stand by and not ask, at least? She just couldn’t, not with her own future and the future of her sisters and brothers at stake. She’d seen the struggle Aunt Sarah had over makin’ her stitches, tryin’ to fit in ’round the Plain women this mornin’. ’Twas no easy task for a fancy Englischer.
Truly, she felt sorry for Mamma’s sister, havin’ to come to Lancaster like this. Prob’ly against her will.
‘‘Trust the Lord God for His timing. . . .’’
Preacher Esh’s words were more than a comfort to her just now.
