The Redemption of Sarah Cain (7 page)

‘‘And this is stated precisely in Ivy’s will?’’

‘‘I drafted the will myself’’ was the less-than-cordial reply.

Considering everything, she felt overwhelming hostility toward Ivy, who—even from the grave—was still trying in her overzealous way to connect. The audacity, Ivy insisting that Sarah summon whatever maternal instincts she possessed to take charge of five nieces and nephews!

Such a decision would thoroughly complicate Sarah’s lavish life-style.

Yet she was torn emotionally over her dilemma.
Are the children
being cared for properly?
she wondered.
Are they frightened at
the loss of their mother?

Quickly, she dismissed such thoughts. None of this was her responsibility.

She simply wouldn’t accept guardianship for Ivy’s children. Her sister would not have the last word—again!

She recalled a letter Ivy had written to her weeks prior to Thanksgiving.
If I should fail to recover from this affliction, if the
Lord God should choose to call me home, I’ll need someone to care
for my dear children. . . .

Sarah had ignored the comment, disinterested in volunteering her services in the event of her sister’s death. Instead, she encouraged Ivy to take care of herself.
Why don’t you see a good
cardiologist? Please don’t put it off any longer
, she’d written in a letter, knowing, most likely, that bullheaded Ivy would not heed her advice. No, Mrs. Cottrell was deep into herbal home remedies— the original Earth Mother. That Sarah’s sister had breathed her last, trusting the ‘‘Great Physician,’’ as Ivy liked to refer to God, yet failing to follow a doctor’s strict recommendations, was another thorn in Sarah’s side.

The fact remained, Sarah had ceased corresponding with her sister after that final letter, and because of this and for other reasons, she was puzzled why Ivy hadn’t considered one of her Plain friends as a guardian. Someone like the amiable Susie Lapp or Emma Flaud or any number of other women whose names frequented Ivy’s letters. Someone
similar
to Ivy herself, perhaps, who had birthed a number of children, who was comfortable around little ones.

Someone . . .
anyone
else.

The attorney’s voice pierced the cloud of her musing. ‘‘I need to know if you plan to come, Ms. Cain.’’

Cradling the cell phone in her hand, she felt cornered. Literally. It never entered her mind that she had an indisputable choice. And there was no need to contemplate her Day-Timer. Her schedule was solidly booked weeks ahead. ‘‘I’ll phone my niece Lydia tonight . . . check in with her,’’ she said. The truth was, she scarcely knew
of
her sister’s children, let alone felt comfortable dialing the phone and chatting
with
one of them.

‘‘These matters simply cannot wait another week.’’

These matters . . .

She shivered despite the sun’s fading rays, grateful that Mr. Eberley had not inquired as to why she hadn’t attended Ivy’s funeral. No need for him to probe the issue. He’d probably sized her up accurately—self-assured, wealthy younger sister, caught up in her own world. No doubt, this was his impression of her.

Gripping the steering wheel, she wished the nightmare away, selfishly wanting her sister well again. She’d wanted Ivy out of her life, of course. But not
this
way—with Ivy dead and the awesome intrusion facing Sarah head on.

The well-spoken attorney had not a clue as to the nature of her disheartening relationship with her sister. How
could
he? It was impracticable to undertake an explanation of why she had not immediately flown to Grasshopper Level—or wherever the location of her sister’s children—and gathered them up in her figurative arms. No words could rationalize her behavior.

‘‘I’ll make travel arrangements tonight,’’ she heard herself say as if in a dense fog. Impenetrable.

‘‘
When
may I expect you?’’

He was pinning her down. There was no escape.

‘‘Tomorrow, early evening, if at all possible.’’ Sarah’s world orbited crazily, tipping off its axis. Sighing, she backed out of the parking spot and sped back to the real estate office.

Chapter Five

S
aturday evening, and still no sign of Aunt Sarah. And nobody but nobody in the Amish community wanted local authorities aware of the Cottrell children’s ‘‘in limbo’’ status, waiting for validated adult supervision, so to speak. Not after the dreadful thing that had happened with the Glick family in Northumberland County a while back.

‘‘Outrageous.’’ That’s what Lancaster Amish folk were still saying of the whole mess. In silent, stoic terror, seven young Amish brothers had been removed from their home and placed in English homes, of all things. Two of the younger children— five-year-old twins—didn’t even speak a word of English yet. So for sure and for certain, that was prob’ly one of the reasons the Lapps and Flauds had come so often to look in on them.

Lydia stopped her speculatin’ and went to the kitchen sink to wash her hands. ‘‘Who wants pumpkin pie and ice cream?’’ she called.

From all over the house, her brothers and sisters came running. ‘‘
Geb’s mir
—give me some!’’ Josiah called, slipping on the checkered linoleum and nearly losing his balance.

‘‘Careful, now, and say ‘please,’ ’’ she scolded gently.

‘‘
Sei so gut
—please.’’ Her youngest brother grinned from ear to ear.

Lydia gave him a spontaneous hug. ‘‘You’re somethin’, now, aren’t you?’’

‘‘Jah, he
is
,’’ little Hannah said, wagging her pointer finger. ‘‘Guess what I seen Josiah doin’.’’

‘‘What you
saw
him do,’’ Lydia corrected her wee sister, seeing the smudges of chocolate in the corners of Josiah’s smile.

‘‘And I do believe I’m a-spyin’ right this minute what Hannah’s talkin’ about.’’

Turning back to the sink, she ran the cold water, then proceeded to wash Josiah’s face clean with the flap of her apron.

‘‘There, now, much
besser
.’’

With his white shirttail hanging out of his trousers, Josiah stood there lookin’ at her. ‘‘Can I have two dips of ice cream?’’

‘‘Don’tcha mean
may
I?’’

Hannah smiled, showin’ the gaps where her front baby teeth had been. ‘‘Lyddie would make a gut schoolteacher someday, jah?’’ she lisped.

Lydia hadn’t thought of it, not recently, anyways. What with the months of Mamma bein’ so awful sick and doublin’ up on chores and whatnot all.

Josiah asked more politely this time. ‘‘
May
I have three dips of ice cream with my pie, please?’’

She had to laugh. ‘‘Looks like the amount of sweets goes up with the askin’, ain’t so?’’

Caleb unfolded his long lanky legs beneath the kitchen table, nodding his head in agreement. ‘‘Josiah gets his sweet tooth from Dat,’’ he said, waiting his turn for a hefty slice of pumpkin pie.

Lydia was mighty glad she’d made three pies this morning, after everybody left for school. Scooping up homemade ice cream, she turned her thoughts to Mr. Eberley’s phone call. She wasn’t sure if she liked the idea of him callin’ when she was home by herself. A man’s voice over the phone sometimes made her downright jittery. Sure, he was Mennonite and all—awful nice of Mamma to pick someone sympathetic to their ways. Still, her toes curled in her black high-top shoes, hearing Mamma’s lawyer say, ‘‘Your aunt lives a long ways from here, you know.’’ This, his explanation for Aunt Sarah staying away this long.

But Lydia was no fool. She knew Mamma’s sister lived far away. She just didn’t understand the holdup. Why on earth had Mamma picked such a woman for their caretaker anyways? ’Specially if this fancy lady wasn’t gonna budge an inch and get a move on?

I will fear no evil: for thou art with me. . . .

Lydia stopped her stewin’ and took two long, deep breaths.
‘‘Fillin’ the lungs with air is wonderful-gut for the soul, too, don’tcha
forget,’’
Mamma would say if a body was out of sorts. Lydia often had to do such as that, tryin’ her best to keep herself calmed down over one thing or another.

‘‘Tell us a story, won’tcha?’’ Josiah asked from the table, his eyes blinking to beat the band.

‘‘First, I want you to take two deep breaths,’’ she told her youngest brother. ‘‘Try ’n relax now, jah? Your eyelids are nearly blinkin’ off.’’

Caleb grinned silently, keeping his peace.

She looked down both sides of the table. Caleb, at the head of the table where Dat used to sit, kept an eye on spunky Josiah to his left. The girls—tiny Hannah and redheaded Anna Mae— sat together to Lydia’s left.

What with the pie-eatin’, the kitchen quieted down right nice, ’least for the time it took to gobble down dessert.

‘‘I’ll tell y’all a story when sticky fingers are clean,’’ she said, repeating Mamma’s constant bidding.

Hannah and Josiah licked their gooey hands. And without being asked, Caleb reprimanded Josiah and Hannah. ‘‘Licking your fingers clean is
not
what Lyddie had in mind, I daresay.’’

Josiah, his blunt-cut hair all rumpled up and blue eyes downright sincere, volunteered an apology. ‘‘Sorry, Lyddie,’’ he said.

‘‘
Es dutt mir leed
—I am sorry,’’ Hannah squeaked, brown braids wrapped ’round her head.

Anna Mae had remained silent all during dessert. Supper, too, for that matter. Lydia had hesitated to speak too pointedly to her sister since Mamma’s passing. The girl could turn on the shyness at will, it seemed. ’Specially so in the past seven days.

‘‘Emma Flaud is makin’ some suey stew and bringing it over for supper tomorrow night,’’ Lydia said.

‘‘Ach, now, I like the sound of that,’’ Caleb replied.

‘‘Jah, I ’spect you do.’’

Anna Mae didn’t so much as raise her eyes.

‘‘I’m thinkin’ Fannie’s the nicest friend you’ve got, Lyddie,’’ Josiah said, nodding his head. ‘‘Her sisters and brothers are awful nice, too.’’

Lydia agreed. ‘‘The whole Flaud and Lapp family are nice.’’

‘‘Doesn’t make ’em kin,’’ said Anna Mae, speaking up for the first time.

‘‘No, but that doesn’t seem to matter to God, now, does it?’’ She hoped that might squelch her sister’s negative attitude for once. ‘‘
Does
it?’’ she said again.

Anna Mae lowered her head, looking mighty repentant.

Lydia’s heart went out to her. ‘‘It’s all right, Anna Mae. Honest, ’tis.’’

But Anna Mae kept her peace, sayin’ nary another word.

Josiah plopped himself down on the rag rug made by Lydia, Mamma, and Anna Mae last winter. Soon the towheaded youngster was surrounded by smiling Hannah and sour-faced Anna Mae. A slight distance behind them, Caleb sat cross-legged, waiting with expectation.

‘‘Time for a Tellin’,’’ Lydia said, recalling a humorous but supposedly true tale she’d heard years ago at a quiltin’ bee. Back when the Cottrells had first come here to ‘‘God’s country,’’ as Dat always liked to call Lancaster County.

‘‘What’s it gonna be tonight?’’ Hannah asked, but she was quickly shushed by Anna Mae, whose expression wasn’t all so unhappy-lookin’ as it was rankled.

‘‘Anna Mae?’’ Lydia said softly. ‘‘You all right?’’

Shaking her head slowly, Anna Mae folded her arms across her round chest. ‘‘Nothin’s wrong.’’ But she was pouting, makin’ her answer less convincing.

Lydia put on a smile for her sister. ‘‘Aw, somethin’s ailing you.’’ She could see the problem a-frettin’ on Anna Mae’s freckled face. Yet she wouldn’t push too hard with
this
sister. She would show more kindness than insistence.

Just then Josiah stood up and cupped his hands over his mouth, like he wanted to share a secret. ‘‘Bend down to me, Lyddie,’’ he said, eyes still a-blinkin’.

‘‘S’not nice to whisper in front of others,’’ she chided.

But Josiah’s eyes pleaded, and she gave in to the request. Before she could lean over and hear what Josiah wanted, Hannah blurted, ‘‘Anna Mae threw up before supper.’’

With that revelation, Anna Mae’s face turned ashen. ‘‘I ain’t sick,’’ she declared. ‘‘I don’t need no cod-liver oil, honest I don’t!’’

Lydia motioned for Josiah to sit back down. ‘‘I s’pose we’ve all felt sick this week, in one way or other.’’

Hannah and Josiah were nodding their heads. Caleb had his eyes fixed on her, in one accord with what she was sayin’. Anna Mae was the only one peerin’ down into her lap.

‘‘It’s all right to feel sad,’’ Lydia continued. ‘‘Our bodies hafta give way to our feelings . . . lotsa times they do.’’ She remembered feeling sick to her stomach after hearing ’bout Dat’s farm accident. The details were awful bad, but it was thinkin’ how he must’ve suffered—him lying on the ground, his blood oozing into the soil—that made her feel even worse.

‘‘Lyddie’s right,’’ Caleb spoke up. ‘‘It’s gonna take a long time for any of us to feel all right after losin’ Mamma.’’

She was shocked to hear her brother go on. A young man of few words, Caleb’s approach to things was similar to the way Anna Mae thought and acted. It was a good thing, too, for Anna Mae’s sake, ’cause Lydia sure didn’t have much in common with her sullen younger sister. Caleb’s occasional coolness she could easily tolerate because he also had a hearty laugh and a jovial spirit. Anna Mae was something else altogether.