The Redemption of Sarah Cain (37 page)
‘‘For me, neither.’’
He switched his hat from one hand to the other. ‘‘I’m still hopin’ you think of me as a friend, at least.’’
She felt weak in the knees, so she sat down at her desk. ‘‘Jah, at least . . .’’ She didn’t want to say much more. Didn’t want to spoil the chance of hearin’ whatever Levi wanted to say to her.
‘‘Has your aunt Sarah made up her mind ’bout staying on here or not?’’ He sounded more bold just now.
‘‘I have a feelin’ we may not be leaving, if that’s what you’re askin’.’’
‘‘Ach, that’s gut news!’’
‘‘She’s hopin’ to find someone to take us in, and between you and me, I’m thinkin’ it’s Miriam Esh. But you won’t say anything, will you?’’
He promised not to. ‘‘I’ve prayed awful hard ’bout us, Lyddie.’’ ‘‘I have, too. Ever so much.’’
Just then, he came ’round the desk and pulled her to her feet. ‘‘I never stopped lovin’ you. Not even when you put me off.’’
Honestly, she tried to say something dear back to him, but he had her in his arms, holding her tight as she’d ever been hugged by a boy or a relative, neither one. ‘‘Levi, I . . .’’
‘‘Don’t say nothin’, please, Lyddie. Don’t say nothin’ but what I want to hear.’’
She leaned her head against his chest, listening to the quick pounding of his heart. ‘‘I won’t ever hurt you again,’’ she whispered. ‘‘Then you
will
marry me?’’
She sighed, looking into his face. ‘‘Come the wedding season, jah, I will.’’
‘‘You’ll make me the happiest Amishman in Lancaster County!’’ He leaned down close to her face, kissing her forehead, then his lips brushed hers lightly.
She gave in to his embrace, returning his kiss. With all her heart, she did.
S
earching through Ivy’s journals, Sarah found—at long last—the one entry she had been anxious to read.
Pentecost Sunday, 1991
It’s truly hard to say, but I do believe, as I think on it, that
my father’s love for God and all of creation was one of the reasons
I turned to the Lord when I did. Looking back, Gilbert, too,
was hungry for what his heart was missing. One night, the two
of us sat down together, opened up Dad’s old Bible, and read the
passages in John’s Gospel. We clasped hands and prayed the sinner’s
prayer found written in the flyleaf of his well-worn Good
Book.
Daddy would’ve been mighty happy if he were alive to know
what happened that wonderful-gut night. Honestly, I felt clean
inside. Gone was the tension of sin, along with my need to dominate
those around me, especially Sarah. I’ve set my mind to
sharing this experience with her, though it may not be well received.
My sister has every right to be put out with me. Goodness’
sake, I kept her under my thumb for so long. No wonder
she as much as renounced our sisterhood. Still, I won’t give up
on trying to reach her
.
Sarah and Lydia cleaned the kitchen together after supper. Lydia seemed especially eager to share more stories of her first days of teaching. Then suddenly, she asked, ‘‘Did you teach all the subjects when you were a schoolteacher?’’ asked Lydia.
‘‘Only the curriculum the public school system required for second grade,’’ Sarah replied.
Lydia turned to face her, leaning against the counter. ‘‘Then you had
just
second-grade pupils in your classroom?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘Did you ever wish you had older children in the room to help the younger ones?’’
‘‘The way the school was set up, we had occasional teachers’ aides come several times each week. But older students never assisted.’’
Lydia described the process by which the Amish schools were generally run, sharing their philosophy of education. Pupils’ studies were based on the belief that the future generation must be preserved for the church by semi-isolation, essential for the devout practice of their faith.
‘‘The beliefs of Amish children must be protected, it sounds to me,’’ Sarah said.
‘‘Jah, so much so that parents sometimes go to extreme measures to make sure of it.’’
When the dishes were washed, dried, and put away, Sarah and Lydia sat at the table again. ‘‘Days ago, you asked me a question, Lydia—about an accident your mother referred to in her journal. I want to give you a satisfactory answer . . . now.’’ Anxious to open up to her sister’s daughter, Sarah felt the urgency ignite within.
‘‘Don’t feel you
have
to share with me, Aunt Sarah.’’
She shook her head. ‘‘No, it’s time I told you. . . .’’
Lydia nodded, her face earnest.
‘‘The day of the school accident, the weather was exceptionally cold,’’ she began. ‘‘I remember dreading having to fulfill my recess duty. There was snow and even a few icy patches on the playground, too, which most schools now use as a measure against having outdoor recess.’’
She continued on, reciting the details of the day of Megan Holmes’ accident. Then she felt she should tell Lydia about Meggie herself. ‘‘She was such a needy little girl, and she trusted me implicitly. I must admit, I loved Meggie dearly—even as I might have loved my own child. But I made a dreadful error in judgment that day. It cost Megan her life. . . .’’ Her voice trailed away.
Lydia’s eyes were more serious now. She leaned her elbows hard on the table.
‘‘The recess bell rang, signaling the end of play. Meggie, who was impatient to line up with the other children, stood shivering at the end of the line, jumping around, trying to keep warm. She must have known she would have to stand there for a long time, being the last child to wait for the school doors to open.’’ Bowing her head, Sarah inhaled deeply. ‘‘Meggie was always fidgety.’’
Lydia touched her hand. ‘‘There’s no need to grieve yourself more, Aunt Sarah.’’
‘‘I
need
to tell you what happened.’’ She forged ahead with her sorrowful story. ‘‘Meggie pleaded with me repeatedly to run back to the playground and go down the slide. ‘Just once more, Miss Cain? Please,
please
?’
‘‘Judging by the crowd of children at the door, I assumed she had plenty of time. Reluctantly, I gave my permission—‘Be very careful,’ I cautioned her.
‘‘I lost track of the moments—perhaps they were only seconds, I don’t know—but when I heard a child’s scream, I turned to see Meggie lying on the ground only a few yards behind me.’’
Lydia gasped, covering her mouth. ‘‘
Himmel
,’’ she whispered.
Choking back tears, Sarah continued. ‘‘Meggie—my precious Meggie—must have slipped on a ladder rung near the top of the slide. Falling, she had torn her coat as her little hands groped for safety. In one horrifying moment, Meggie fell, hitting her head on the frozen ground. She died instantly.’’
Lydia wiped her eyes. ‘‘No one could save her?’’
‘‘Oh, I tried to revive her, but there was no pulse.’’
A ghastly silence invaded the kitchen. Then Lydia said in a near whisper, ‘‘Was that why you quit teaching and moved to Oregon?’’
Sarah let out a long sigh. ‘‘What followed the accident was an ongoing
living
nightmare. Meggie’s parents acquired an attorney and threatened to sue the school for negligence. There was lots of talk, a growing swell, that I, the playground teacher in charge, should be suspended. Empathy from a handful of people in the school community grew to a frenzied rage. In the end, I resigned.’’
Leaning back in the chair, Lydia crossed her arms. ‘‘After Mamma died, I didn’t understand why you took so long to come here. Now I think I do . . . a little.’’
‘‘I was frightened to be around children,’’ she confessed.
‘‘No wonder . . .’’
Sarah looked into the face of Ivy’s firstborn. ‘‘But my visit here with you has helped to change all that, Lydia. Truly it has.’’
Miriam Esh answered the phone on the first ring the next morning. ‘‘Hello, Miriam. It’s Sarah Cain.’’
‘‘Well, Sarah, what can I do for
you
?’’
‘‘I was wondering—may I stop by for a quick visit?’’
‘‘Come right over. We’ll drink some coffee and sit a spell.’’
‘‘Thank you, Miriam,’’ she said before they hung up.
Ever so much
, she thought, with a smile.
Sarah was eager to get right to the subject, but Miriam was more interested in how she and the children were getting along. ‘‘Don’t you just get a chuckle over the young man Josiah? My, my, he’s the funniest little fella.’’
‘‘All the children are delightful,’’ she replied. ‘‘They really are.’’
‘‘Sounds to me like you’ve come a long way in just two weeks.’’ Miriam stirred two lumps of sugar into her coffee.
Sarah drank hers black. She was grateful to be able to immerse herself in its aroma, blocking out some of the offensive odor exuding from Miriam. ‘‘It’s important that I do the best thing for my nieces and nephews. They must stay here in the Amish community. I certainly don’t fit in with the Plain customs and ways—never will.’’ She paused, then continued. ‘‘You, Miriam, are the best answer for Ivy’s children staying together as a unit.’’
‘‘Well, now, Ivy had
other
ideas, you know.’’
‘‘If my sister had thought things through more carefully— perhaps if she hadn’t been so ill—I’m sure she would have named you their legal guardian in the first place.’’
‘‘Well, I don’t know, really.’’ Miriam sipped her coffee, then said, ‘‘But it seems you’ve made up your mind ’bout all this.’’
‘‘As fond as I am of Lydia and her brothers and sisters, I believe they’ll be far better off with someone Amish. Someone kind and loving, too, like you.’’
‘‘Since you seem sincere ’bout this, I must be tellin’ you something.’’ Miriam’s eyes glimmered. ‘‘Ivy came to me a few weeks before she died and asked if I’d make sure her children stayed together. She said to me,
‘If things don’t work out with
Sarah, will you raise my children?’ ’’
‘‘Then you
were
Ivy’s backup plan?’’
Miriam chortled, lashes fluttering. ‘‘I guess you could say that.’’
‘‘Well, I’m relieved, to say the least. When can you move in with the children?’’
‘‘I could start moving things over this weekend.’’