The Redemption of Sarah Cain (31 page)
As for Lydia’s plea for a chat, she would put it off for as long as possible. Perhaps the girl would forget, though it was rather unlikely. Sarah did not relish the thought of divulging her conversation with the Amish minister. How humiliating for Lydia to hear from her aunt’s lips that Sarah had questioned the girl’s choice of a life partner.
Preacher Esh had certainly been resolute. Young Levi King was, in his opinion, ideal husband material for Lydia. An upstanding, chaste young man.
Sarah was chagrined to recall the questions she had posed to a complete stranger. Why had she felt the necessity to probe?
She gazed about the bedroom, looking hard at the simple furnishings, the barren windows, the lone chair near the bed. But it was the row of wooden pegs along the opposite wall that summoned her attention. There, her various purchases from last Monday’s visit to the outlet stores hung neatly. Yet the thrill of the hunt, the ecstasy of possessing the lovely new garments, had faded sometime during the week. Precisely when, she did not know.
D
uring the Sunday morning ride to the meetinghouse, Lydia thought ahead to summer and berry-pickin’ days. She could scarcely wait for the warm days of runnin’ barefoot through the meadow out back. And she figured by the time summer came, things just might be worked out with Aunt Sarah. There was another reason for her daydreamin’, though. Levi King.
Surely by June or July—ach, she hoped so—they’d be back on better terms, maybe even long before then. She secretly wished there might be a chance to see him at church today after the common meal to be held in the meetinghouse basement. With her whole heart, she prayed Levi might speak to her, let her know there were no hard feelings between them. Yet she couldn’t blame him for thinkin’ so, if he did. Not after the way she’d put him off right after his heartfelt marriage proposal and all.
If only he would think back to their kiss, how she’d
let
him pull her close, didn’t push away from him one iota, allowed him to snuggle with her much longer than ever before. If he did, he’d most surely know that she loved him ev’ry bit as much as he loved her.
‘‘Whatcha think’s come over Aunt Sarah?’’ Caleb said unexpectedly as ol’ Dobbin waited calmly for the light just one block from the meetinghouse.
‘‘What do you mean?’’ Lydia replied.
‘‘She’s different somehow,’’ Caleb said. ‘‘Not nearly so vexed as when she first came.’’
Josiah laughed. ‘‘Well, now, she’s
sick
, ain’t she?’’
‘‘That’s not what I’m sayin’,’’ Caleb spoke up. ‘‘Mamma’s sister isn’t the same as when she came here a week ago, I tell ya.’’
Lydia listened, moved by what her brothers had observed. What
she
herself had also noticed.
Little Hannah tugged on Lydia’s coat sleeve. ‘‘She’s even startin’ to look more like Mamma, seems to me.’’
‘‘No one looks like Mamma ’cept Lyddie,’’ Josiah insisted, grinning at her.
Lydia felt she oughta say something. ‘‘Well, now, haven’t we been prayin’ for our aunt?’’
‘‘To stay with us for always?’’ Hannah asked.
‘‘No, to find what she’s searchin’ for,’’ Lydia said.
‘‘And just what might that be?’’ Anna Mae said at last.
Lydia turned to face her younger sisters behind her in the backseat of the carriage. ‘‘Why do
you
think Aunt Sarah came here?’’
‘‘ ’Cause Mamma wanted her to?’’ little Hannah asked.
‘‘Maybe that’s it.’’
Anna Mae frowned and shrugged. ‘‘Seems to me she’s here to find love.’’
‘‘And not just
any
kind,’’ Josiah said.
‘‘It’s God’s love she’s after, prob’ly,’’ Caleb said softly.
Lydia smiled back at her sisters, then turned to face the road. ‘‘Jah, I’m thinkin’ all of you are right, most likely.’’
Sarah spent the morning drinking several glasses of water and dozing off and on. She had given in to taking an aspirin every four hours to control the fever she knew she had. Along about noon, she put on her bathrobe and slippers and plodded down the long staircase to the kitchen, where she found a note from Lydia directing her to a large plastic container of leftover chicken soup.
P.S. Heat up what you want to eat. We’ll be back from
Preaching service in time for afternoon milking. Hope you’re feeling
better soon.
—Lydia
Her spirits were lifted by the cheerful note, and after a half cup of the hearty soup, she felt even better. Still a bit weak, she made herself some herbal tea and headed back to bed. There, she nursed her symptoms by nestling down with several more of Ivy’s journals.
Halfway through a diary marked, ‘‘In the Year of our Lord, 1993,’’ Sarah came upon an interesting account. A mutually shared recollection between herself and Ivy. The entry was untitled and there was nothing to characterize it or set this writing apart from any other day in the life of an Amishwoman. It was merely the retelling of an extraordinary afternoon that happened so long ago Sarah had nearly forgotten. . . .
August 22, 1993
Today, while sorting through my dresser drawer, I came
across an old letter from Dad.
It was odd, really, how I stumbled onto it. The children and
I had just returned from an afternoon picnic in the daisy-filled
meadow out behind the barn. I had the urge to ret out some old
papers and things. That’s when I discovered the letter. For some
reason, Dad had felt a need to remind me of one particular day
along the shores of Watch Hill, years back.
He wrote that Sarah had been seven and I thirteen the day
the most amazing thing happened. We had been strolling along
the beach, tagging along with Dad as he inspected one seashell
after another, when out of nowhere a beautiful long-necked swan
came up out of the water, heading straight for us.
Of course, I remembered the incident ever so clearly . . .
how the graceful creature seemed eager to make friends with us.
Dad fished around in his pockets and found small packages of
crackers he often carried with him to feed the sea ducklings. We’d
never seen such an enormous swan, and what a neighborly one,
at that!
The more crumbs Dad tossed, the closer he came. Soon he
was eating directly out of Dad’s hand. Other folks who observed
the situation from the dock must’ve thought it somewhat miraculous,
too. Three fishing boats shut down their motors and
drifted toward the shoreline to snap pictures. Dad waved to them,
all the while talking softly to the swan, who seemed to trust us
completely.
At one point, Dad, Sarah, and I sat on a long piece of driftwood,
fully expecting the enormous bird to turn and swim back
into the broad inlet. Yet he remained.
I was brave enough to extend my hand with a piece of
cracker in my palm. Sarah was too afraid to try, and even after
Daddy encouraged her to ‘‘keep your hand flat as can be,’’ she
refused.
The encounter with the swan was truly a special gift. Dad
believed almighty God wanted to give us a ‘‘one-and-only moment
in time.’’ The lesson we gleaned from the experience was
the incredible knowing that the swan met us in our world, making
our place his. Making one world between us.
I wonder if Sarah remembers that afternoon . . .
Reluctant to move past this particular entry, Sarah closed the journal, keeping her finger between the pages. She reveled in the memory, so aptly penned by Ivy, who, not more than a few months before the swan event, had entered her teen years.
A one-and-only moment in time
, Dad had referred to the rare episode.
The sun had shone its diamond-shaped brilliance on the shore as seagulls seemed to hang in the air above the water. Children scoured the seacoast for shells and other tokens washed up by the tide. And that day Sarah had found her first and only double-sunrise shell and offered it to Daddy. He swept her up in his arms and carried her home, more than pleased for both the shell gift and the personal rendezvous with a swan. Best of all, neither Ivy nor Dad had criticized Sarah for being afraid to feed the bird, she now recalled.
Holding the journal close, she whispered into the stillness, ‘‘Yes, Ivy, I do remember.’’
After the Preaching service, Susannah’s mother caught up with Lydia and gave her their New York address. ‘‘Susannah wanted you to have this.’’
‘‘I promised her I’d be writing,’’ she told Nancy Stoltzfus.
‘‘Just give us a little time to get moved and settled before you do,’’ Nancy said with a broad smile.
‘‘Oh, I will.’’ Lydia collected her sisters, allowing Caleb and Josiah to head outdoors with the men, while the women set the long tables in the basement of the meetinghouse. She made note that Levi King and his three brothers were also in attendance, and once she caught him lookin’ her way, if only briefly.
‘‘Too bad Aunt Sarah had to be sick today,’’ little Hannah said as they helped by turning the plastic plates right side up on the tables.
‘‘Jah, ’tis,’’ Lydia said.
‘‘She’s missin’ out on the common meal,’’ Hannah said innocently. ‘‘Lookee, all kinds of gut food.’’
‘‘What makes you think Aunt Sarah would enjoy eatin’ with us Plain folk?’’
Anna Mae had an answer. ‘‘Ach, she might like it just fine, if she ever decided to become one of us.’’
‘‘I doubt that’ll happen . . . ever.’’ Lydia straightened her apron and went to help the older women with the serving platters. ‘‘You best not hold your breath hopin’ for it, hear?’’
‘‘You don’t know for sure, now, do ya?’’ Anna Mae had followed her, insisting on continuing the conversation.
‘‘We’ll talk ’bout this later.’’
When we’re not bein’ overheard or
observed
, she thought.
‘‘I have a gut mind to ask Aunt Sarah right out . . . what she’s planning to do ’bout us,’’ Anna Mae blurted.
‘‘Please, not now,’’ Lydia said, glancing ’round to see if anyone was listening.
‘‘Maybe it’s a gut thing she
did
get sick.’’ Anna Mae spun on her heels, nearly bumping into Miriam Esh.
What an awful thing to say
, thought Lydia.
‘‘Hullo, Anna Mae,’’ Miriam said with a smile. She wrapped her arms ’round Anna Mae, whose face turned a blazing pink and whose wide eyes told Lydia just how awful bad the plump woman must be smellin’. ‘‘How’s everyone at your house?’’
Lydia went on over to chat with Miriam, rescuing Anna Mae from the woman’s clutches. ‘‘Aunt Sarah’s down with a sore throat and strong fever.’’
‘‘Is she drinkin’ lotsa chamomile tea and honey?’’
Lydia had to chuckle. ‘‘
Now
she is.’’
The men and boys were beginning to file in, ready to be served cold cuts and Jell-O salads. Lydia was actually glad when Miriam turned around, the woman’s body blocking Lydia a bit during the silent prayer, which Preacher Esh and Bishop Joseph signaled with a few coughs. Then came the hushed silence.