The Redemption of Sarah Cain (16 page)
More than anything, Lydia wanted to tell Aunt Sarah the story of the old Amishman who lived in the woods. But now wasn’t the time. There was much work to do, ’specially out here in the cold with her fingers turnin’ ever so numb. She wished she’d thought to wear Mamma’s old fur-lined gloves. Even though there was a rip between the thumb and pointer finger, they’d be much better than this bone-chilling cold.
She looked over her shoulder, shocked, really, to see Aunt Sarah workin’ alongside Anne Mae in the sub-zero-degree weather. Seemed to her their fancy Oregon relative would’ve wanted to stay indoors and keep warm.
‘‘You really don’t have to stay and help,’’ she said again, feeling a little sorry for Aunt Sarah, who prob’ly wasn’t used to workin’ outside much. ‘‘Anna Mae and I do this every Monday mornin’—cold or not. I’m sure we could almost do it blindfolded.’’ ‘‘Jah, that’s the truth,’’ Anna Mae shot back.
‘‘Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll skip the blindfold,’’ Sarah added.
Lydia was downright befuddled by this unexpected glimpse of humor but said nothing. Her mother’s sister was a hard one to figure.
When will I meet Susie Lapp?
Sarah wondered while Lydia and the other children milked the cows, doing whatever they did in that big barn. The sooner the better, she decided, determined to make a connection with a possible replacement for her services as guardian.
She ran her bath water upstairs, sprinkling soothing salts into the rather small tub, telling herself she could put up with such inconveniences for a mere week. This being the only upstairs bathroom in the farmhouse, she was grateful that her sister and brother-in-law had purchased a home with
indoor
plumbing.
It was one positive note in the otherwise primitive surroundings.
Her bath was warm and pleasant, and the sweet fragrance of her own soap, which she had brought from home, offered a few moments of luxury.
What inexplicable circumstances had brought her to this place? She cared not to relive the initial phone call from Lydia, the summons that had kicked off this extraordinary chain of events, nor her procrastination that followed.
While brushing her damp hair later, Sarah enjoyed the feel of her thick and sumptuous terry cloth robe as never before. She plugged in her hair dryer and longed for the rest of the modern conveniences back home.
Her cell phone rang, and she saw that it was Bryan Ford.
He’s
up early
, she thought, smiling as she clicked the Talk button. ‘‘You must have meetings this morning,’’ she said into the small mouthpiece.
‘‘Well, hello to you, too,’’ he mocked. ‘‘I thought I’d try to catch you before you rushed out to milk the cows.’’
She chuckled, actually glad to hear his voice. ‘‘The cows are being milked today without my assistance.’’
‘‘I understand.’’
‘‘I doubt it.’’
‘‘So . . . how’s life in Amish country?’’
She wouldn’t go there, wouldn’t give him the blow-by-blow he was probably eager to hear. ‘‘You’re into computers, not journalism. Shall we keep it that way?’’
‘‘Okay, I’ll rephrase. How are
you
holding up, Sarah?’’
‘‘I’m fine.’’
‘‘And I’m Mahatma Gandhi.’’
She sighed. ‘‘There’s running water in the house and electricity. What else do you want to know?’’
‘‘How’re you handling . . . everything?’’
What he really wanted to know was how she was dealing with the children. She knew him too well. ‘‘My nieces and nephews are busy little bees. You’d like them, Bryan. They’re model children, straight out of the nineteenth century—no piercings or tattoos, no serious attitude problems, either.’’ Then she recalled Anna Mae’s momentary outburst, mild as it was. ‘‘Well, there may be
one
child who needs a shrink.’’
‘‘Tell me more.’’
‘‘Another time.’’ She heard commotion below. ‘‘I think I’d better get downstairs and help with breakfast.’’
‘‘When can I see you again?’’
‘‘Must you always ask?’’
He laughed, obviously misunderstanding her comment. ‘‘So I can just show up . . . don’t need to make a date of it?’’
‘‘You know better than that.’’
‘‘I have an idea,’’ he said, his voice growing softer. ‘‘Why don’t
you
call
me
when you want to chat?’’
‘‘Deal.’’
‘‘Have fun on the farm.’’
‘‘Right.’’ She couldn’t help herself. She grinned at the cell phone, switching it off with a flair.
F
retting over the lateness of the hour, Lydia tried to get Josiah to stop dawdling over his hot cocoa. Hannah was out in the utility room fussin’ about not being able to find her snow boots. Caleb had disappeared upstairs again for the third time—for something he said he needed for school. Anna Mae was the only calm sibling, sitting near the back door, arms crossed over her chest, like she was awful close to surrenderin’ her patience.
‘‘Ach, it’s just never like this, of a mornin’.’’ Lydia glanced at Aunt Sarah, who was busying herself with washing dishes.
‘‘With so many children to get ready, I’d expect it would be this way
every
morning.’’
Lydia forced a smile. ‘‘They’re goin’ to be late if they don’t hurry, that’s for sure.’’
Aunt Sarah stopped what she was doing, turned, and dried her hands on the towel hanging over the counter. ‘‘How can I help expedite things?’’
Expedite?
Lydia made sure she didn’t laugh at this peculiar English word. But she knew if her brothers and sisters didn’t leave in the next minute or two, they most certainly would be tardy. And tardiness was not tolerated at Amish schools. Lydia herself knew better than to foster or excuse any such slowpoke behavior in her siblings. Especially if she was to help oversee the household till Aunt Sarah caught on to what was needed.
Truth was, if you were consistently late to school, you might also fall into the bad habit of bein’ tardy for most anything in life. Bishop Joseph and the elders knew it to be true. And often Preacher Esh’s sermons tolled the folly of such neglectful deportment.
So it behooved them to heed the Scriptural warnings. Besides that, Dat used to quote Benjamin Franklin while sweeping out the barn or pitchin’ hay to the horses:
‘‘ ‘He that riseth late
must trot all day, and shall scarce overtake his business at night.’ ’’
Lydia knew the passage well, for she often took great pleasure in memorizing most everything her father said by way of special phrases and recitations. ’Specially from the time she finished up the eighth grade and began to stay at home with Mamma, helpin’ clean, cook, sew and mend, and raise a vegetable garden, among other things.
‘‘How can I help you get the children off to school?’’ Aunt Sarah said again.
‘‘You could see if Caleb’s comin’ down. Just call up the steps to him, why don’tcha? I’ll put a bee in Hannah’s bonnet and rouse Josiah away from the table.’’ She was surprised to see Aunt Sarah drop the towel and scurry off to the bottom of the stairs.
‘‘Look, Lyddie. My boots were right where I left ’em,’’ little Hannah was sayin’.
‘‘I’m not surprised at that.’’ She pulled Hannah’s warmest coat and scarf off the wooden pegs and handed them to her. ‘‘
Kumm mit!
’’ she called.
And the children came. Anna Mae led the way out the door, but not before the younger girl hugged Lydia good-bye. ‘‘Maybe Aunt Sarah will help ya bring in the clean wash later.’’
‘‘Don’t you worry none.’’
Anna Mae’s eyes twinkled. ‘‘Aunt Sarah could use another lesson on hanging out the clothes, jah?’’
Lydia shooed her off, grinning as she did.
Hannah asked her to feel if the bump was ‘‘all gone.’’ Lydia found the spot on her little sister’s head. ‘‘Ach, it’s so much better. Now go!’’
Soon all the children had hugged her and marched off into the white wonderland outside.
‘‘Do they ever cancel school for snow?’’ Aunt Sarah asked, peering out the window with Lydia.
‘‘Not that I remember. We don’t miss school for nasty weather. You just watch. Somebody’ll come along with a horse and sleigh an’ pick up my brothers and sisters and take them off to school. That’s perty much the way it goes ’round Grasshopper Level.’’
Aunt Sarah said nothing in reply.
Lydia would’ve liked to know what her aunt was thinking. Just now, she would’ve given her far more than a penny for her thoughts.
Arms loaded down with freshly ironed Sunday shirts and trousers for the boys, dresses and aprons for the girls, Lydia went depositin’ the clothes in the correct bedrooms upstairs.
‘‘Looks to me like you could use a breather,’’ Aunt Sarah said when Lydia came back downstairs. She was sitting in the kitchen, near the window, sipping her third cup of coffee.
‘‘Mamma always said,
‘A man works from sun to sun, a
woman’s work is never done.’
It’s just the way things are.’’ She lifted her shoulders, spreading her hands. ‘‘The men work outside this time of year, removin’ the big stones out in the fields, and they go off to farm auctions and whatnot all, too. The women have the responsibility of the indoor chores—cooking, cleaning, washing clothes, and mending
all
year long—but just now it’s the season for quiltin’.’’
Aunt Sarah’s eyes opened wide. ‘‘You mean you don’t quilt the entire year?’’
‘‘In the winter the farm families quilt, while the soil is restin’, ya know, waiting to be worked over, plowed, and planted again.
Some of our womenfolk do run quiltin’ businesses in Strasburg or other places, so they must sew off and on all year.’’
‘‘I see.’’
‘‘More and more, though, the women are going out and settin’ up craft stores and whatnot. Some rent or lease a small space along the streets of Intercourse or Bird-in-Hand. Other folks just set up shop in a shed behind their houses.’’ She would’ve liked to, but she dared not sit down and sip tea or cocoa with Aunt Sarah. If she did she might not get up and get goin’ again. And there was work to be done.
Aunt Sarah seemed a bit restless this morning. Not that she hadn’t seemed fidgety last evening, too. But there was something unsettled about her, and Lydia thought she might know what it was.
‘‘Are you thinkin’ of finding a home for us?’’ she said, biting her lip once she’d asked.
Sarah’s eyelids fluttered suddenly, and she looked downright disappointed, like Lydia might’ve guessed her secret. When she spoke, her words were guarded, and Lydia saw a mirrored reaction of her own mamma yet again.
‘‘I wouldn’t lie to you. So, yes, finding a good Amish family to take you in is the best choice I can make on your behalf, Lydia—yours and your siblings.’’
She hadn’t heard her given name said like
that
for a long, long time. She was Lyddie, through and through. Not since before Dat died had someone called her
Lydia
. But she felt comforted by Aunt Sarah’s respectful approach, and she listened.
‘‘I do believe your mother felt she could rely on me to make family decisions for all of you,’’ the fancy woman said.
Lydia tried not to frown, but she felt her muscles tensing up. ‘‘What if you can’t do that—find a home for us, I mean? Will you take us back with you to Oregon?’’
‘‘We’ll have to cross that bridge when we come to it. Your mother wanted her children raised Plain, I’m fairly certain. She didn’t have to spell things out for me to know that. I’m only here to help expedite her last wishes.’’
Lydia flinched.
Expedite
—there was that word again! She was beginning to think that Aunt Sarah was here on a business transaction. She saw no compassion in her aunt’s eyes, not even during this morning’s Bible reading and prayers when Hannah shined up to her English auntie, sliding over next to Sarah on the sofa. No, there wasn’t a speck of tenderness in those eyes. Not in her English heart, neither.
‘‘I’m going to Lancaster to meet with Mr. Eberley, your mother’s attorney, this afternoon. On the way back from town, I hope to do some shopping at one of the outlet malls.’’
Lydia said nothing.
‘‘Are
you
allowed to shop, uh, outside the Amish community?’’ Aunt Sarah asked unexpectedly.
‘‘I may shop wherever I choose.’’