The Redemption of Sarah Cain (38 page)
‘‘Tomorrow?’’
Miriam nodded.
‘‘I’ll tell the children. I’m sure they’ll be happy with this news.’’ Sarah paused, measuring her words. ‘‘I want to do whatever I can to make the transition smooth for you.’’
Miriam said she would plan to have some of the brethren come and move her things, store some of her furnishings in the farmhouse cellar, and rent out her little house to someone in the community. It was settled, rather effortlessly, in a matter of a half hour.
Sarah felt better than she had in years, having cleared the air with Lydia the night before, telling her why she had dragged her feet about coming in the first place. And she had done Ivy’s highest bidding by contacting Miriam, keeping the Cottrell family intact. What’s more, she had found a portion of peace she might have missed had she not come to Lancaster County.
On the drive back to the farmhouse, she felt the urge to pull the car over to the side of the road. Getting out, she surveyed the sweep of land—acres of the richest, most fertile soil in all of America—stretching out for miles in every direction. Ivy had often referred to the area as ‘‘God’s country.’’ Their father, too, had said the same of New England, especially his seaside haven in Rhode Island.
Sarah stared in wonderment at the beauty around her as the sun made its gradual ascent toward the loftiest spot in the sky. Far as her eyes could behold, she embraced the miracle of God’s creation.
Is this what drew my father to the divine Creator?
she wondered.
She amazed herself and began to talk to God. ‘‘I’ve resisted you all these years,’’ she began, her tears falling freely. ‘‘If it’s not too late . . . for me, I want to entrust my life—my future—to your safekeeping.’’
The cry of her heart was directed to the master Creator of shell homes for millions of tiny sea creatures—the Lord Jesus, mender of broken hearts and Savior of mankind. A great peace, a calmness settled on her, and deep within she knew and understood that she, too, was one of God’s beloved treasures. For the first time, she heard the still, small voice. Unmistakably so.
T
he minute she returned to the house, Sarah phoned Bryan. ‘‘I’m sorry to call you at work.’’
‘‘No problem. What’s up?’’
‘‘I . . . well, I think I understand what you meant when you were here.’’
‘‘Please tell me about it.’’ His voice, his compassionate response, gave her nerve to continue.
‘‘I talked to God today, Bryan. I know now about the still, small voice. I guess you could say . . . I’m a Christian.’’
‘‘Oh, Sarah, I’m so happy for you. I prayed this would happen.’’ They talked animatedly about getting together for another visit. ‘‘Sometime soon,’’ she said.
Bryan agreed. ‘‘I’ll call you tonight. We’ll talk more then.’’
She wanted to tell him she loved him. After all these years. But words so dear were better said face-to-face.
Sarah decided to wait until after supper to talk with the children. Josiah and Hannah were a bit upset about the possibility of a coming snowstorm. ‘‘It ain’t springtime yet, after all,’’ Josiah piped up.
‘‘Ach, we’re gonna be stuck with more cold weather,’’ Hannah said. ‘‘Lots of it!’’
‘‘That’s ’cause the groundhog had to go and see his shadow,’’ Lydia teased.
‘‘Seems to me he sees it
ev’ry
year!’’ Anna Mae remarked. ‘‘I think it’s the dumbest thing anyone ever thought up.’’
Sarah was glad to see Anna Mae entering into the table chatter. She observed her throughout the meal, hoping that the decision she had come to wouldn’t set the girl back emotionally. Miriam was a wonderful woman, a
good
woman—though she needed to bathe more often—but maybe her becoming responsible for a family might cause her to change her habits of hygiene. For the children’s sake. And, too, Sarah would be checking in on all of them from time to time. She had already assumed she would fly in and visit often.
Lydia and Anna Mae got up to clear the table, bringing over an angel food cake for dessert. ‘‘Anna Mae baked this just for you, Aunt Sarah,’’ Lydia said.
Anna Mae stood at Sarah’s side, close enough to touch. ‘‘I want you to have the first piece.’’ The girl grinned, showing her gums slightly.
‘‘How nice of you,’’ Sarah said, holding her plate while Anna Mae cut into the spongy white dessert.
Without another word, Anna Mae scooted onto the bench next to Sarah. ‘‘Hannah’s always the one sittin’ beside you,’’ she said softly. ‘‘Is it all right if
I
do?’’
‘‘Of course, dear,’’ she said, taking a bite of the cake.
‘‘How’s it taste?’’ asked Anna Mae, watching her every move.
‘‘Delicious. Absolutely melts in my mouth!’’
Anna Mae leaned her head on Sarah’s arm. ‘‘I’m ever so happy.’’
Sarah fought the lump in her throat and folded the young girl in her warm embrace.
‘‘She likes huggin’,’’ Josiah said, chuckling.
‘‘Lots of hugs,’’ Lydia added.
‘‘We all need a nice long one every so often,’’ Sarah said, dreading the revelation of the news she must give. Tomorrow, Miriam Esh would begin moving in. All hugging aside, Ivy’s children had to be told the truth.
‘‘Somebody saw Levi King drivin’ his fastest horse down to the school this-after,’’ Josiah said, looking mighty sheepish.
‘‘Aw, that somebody must’ve been seein’ things,’’ Lydia said.
Caleb was grinning now. ‘‘Oh, they saw a-plenty.’’
Lydia would never let on. Her get-together with Levi was no one’s business but her own. Caleb and anybody else could just think what they wanted. Come next fall, everyone would know. She would be published to marry Levi by late October.
Right now she had her mind on other things. She wondered if Aunt Sarah had made her decision ’bout staying. She had a strong feeling their aunt was goin’ to tell them something important tonight. She was perty sure, ’cause Aunt Sarah had that same expectant look on her face that Mamma often got.
It was all well and good, the children teasing Lydia about Levi King in their roundabout, good-natured way. But as each of the children finished his or her dessert, Sarah realized that what she must do could no longer be delayed. Time was of the essence. They—
all
of them—would need time this evening, while they were still together with Sarah, to talk things out. Little Hannah would cry; Josiah might, as well. Caleb would sulk in silence, and Anna Mae might rush upstairs to her room. Lydia, bless her heart, would be strong for her brothers and sisters; possibly even give Sarah moral support out of her genuine need to nurture. Lydia was a true gem of a girl.
‘‘There is something we must talk about tonight, children,’’ she began. ‘‘I’ve made a difficult decision. . . .’’
Josiah’s eyes were big as saucers, but he said nothing. Hannah put down her fork and wiped her mouth on the napkin. Caleb coughed softly, as if signaling their silent after-the-meal prayer.
Lydia sighed audibly.
Anna Mae grabbed Sarah’s arm and squeezed. ‘‘Don’t say that you’re leavin’ us,’’ the girl at her side said breathlessly. ‘‘Please don’t let that be your decision.’’
Sarah’s eyes began to cloud up the way they had at her father’s funeral. Her contacts slid annoyingly.
‘‘We love you, Aunt Sarah. Honest, we do.’’ Hannah began to cry.
Caleb got up from the table and shuffled outside, head down. Josiah, too, stood up, mimicking his older brother, but he paused behind the bench, resting one knee on it. ‘‘Seems to me, Mamma made a mighty big mistake askin’ you to come here.’’
Her vision blurred completely, but she heard the tears in the boy’s voice and the feeling of heaviness in the room. She remembered at that moment her mother telling her something so long ago she wondered if, possibly, she had dreamed it.
‘‘When
you were born, you looked like a Sarah to me. That’s why I gave you
the name. Sarah means ‘princess,’ after all.’’
Never again had Mother repeated herself.
Sarah with an
h, she thought.
What an excellent choice
.
Mother had empowered her twenty-eight years ago by bestowing such a name on her young life. Stupidity and heartache had kept her from receiving the name-gift her parents had so graciously given.
Until this moment, she had never felt like royalty. Lonely and searching, she’d had little connection with family. Tonight, as she composed herself and was eventually able to look into the faces of her sister’s beautiful children—her own flesh-and-blood family—a deep serenity filled her spirit.
‘‘No, Josiah,’’ she said, finding her voice, ‘‘your mamma was a very wise woman. She did
not
make a mistake. . . .’’
S
ometimes, I s’pose a person must look through someone else’s eyes to see the truth—the goodness, too—that is in front of them all along. That’s what must’ve happened to our aunt Sarah, ’bout herself
and
the way she viewed Mamma. Both.
On the day Miriam Esh came over to stay with us, Aunt Sarah made a phone call to her boss, tellin’ him she’d be flying back to Oregon, but only to pack, put her house up for sale, and drive ’cross country with her own car. ‘‘I’m going to live in Amish country with my family,’’ I heard her say with a ring in her voice.
So Miriam
did
come and stay for a couple-a weeks, and Josiah gave her some of Mamma’s homemade soap. Not so surprisingly, she took the hint!
When Aunt Sarah returned, Miriam was ever so glad to step aside and go back to her little house on the big spread. I figured out why Mamma had confided in Miriam and not Susie Lapp. Mamma knew Miriam could easily substitute for Sarah. Susie, a busy grandmother and older woman, wouldn’t have been a right good choice, considerin’ everything.
Before Aunt Sarah flew to Oregon, preparing to be our fulltime stepmamma, she asked me to take her up to see Mamma’s grave. There, she and I stood alone together on Glendorn Hill, silent as the sky, looking down at the spot where Mamma lay buried. ‘‘I’m so glad we came here . . . together,’’ Aunt Sarah said. After drying our tears, we hugged each other close, staying a while longer, as we looked over the valley below, acres of farmland widening out to the horizon. Truly, ’twas a promising sight. And Aunt Sarah said so, too.
Spring finally came to Grasshopper Level, and along ’bout the time the locust trees out behind the barn blossomed, in early May, all of us skipped barefoot through the daisy-filled meadow and had us a sunny wedding day. With the help of an English minister, Uncle Bryan married Aunt Sarah beneath the bluest sky I’ve ever seen. Hannah, Anna Mae, and I made a yellow-and-white daisy-chain for Aunt Sarah’s head covering. It was one of the happiest days of my life, for sure and for certain.
Not for the longest time have I seen the picture of Meggie on display in Uncle Bryan and Aunt Sarah’s bedroom. Truth be told, I believe Aunt Sarah’s forgiven herself, with a lot of help from on high. She and Uncle Bryan take turns reading the Bible to us of a mornin’. At nighttime, too.
I still catch Anna Mae mumblin’ to herself, but not near like she used to. She and Aunt Sarah are like two peas in a pod most of the time, a-huggin’ and talkin’. I even caught them napping once together, Aunt Sarah’s arm flung over my sister. I wouldn’t be one bit surprised if Anna Mae—all of us, really—are God’s second chance for Aunt Sarah.