The Redemption of Sarah Cain (22 page)

The day had started out wrong—not much of a morning. She was not so interested in what Martha Yoder or Nancy Bontrager or any number of other Amish ‘‘scribes’’ had written in what seemed to be a column-type rendition of a backwoodsy paper.

Wishing she was anywhere else in the world but here, Sarah rose from the spot on the threadbare sofa and went to the window to look out. There was bread to be made and a soup stock to be boiled and turned into a stew for lunch, but since Lydia was upstairs sulking, having a pity party alone, Sarah decided to take a moment to reflect.

A cold mist stole across the meadow to the east, and the sky seemed to sink even lower as she watched. A northern thin strip of woodland was in tatters, and a heavy snow had fallen in the night. She saw the imprint of boots where Caleb, Anna Mae, Josiah, and Hannah had walked along the roadside.

‘‘What
am
I doing here?’’ she whispered.

Lydia brushed away tears, sitting on the straight-backed chair near her bed. She fought hard the bitterness that came near to takin’ her over.
I’ll be ever so glad when Aunt Sarah goes home!
For sure and for certain, she and her sisters and brothers wouldn’t be needin’ their aunt if Lydia could get Miriam Esh to live with them.

But how?

Far as Lydia was concerned, ’twasn’t necessary to hope and pray Sarah Cain would stay, after all. The Children and Youth Agency would
not
have to be called in—wouldn’t need to split them up at all—if Sarah could appoint Miriam somehow. Simple as A-B-C. Still, she worried ’bout making her case for Preacher’s cousin.

She washed her face and smoothed her apron, then headed downstairs to call Miriam Esh right quick.

‘‘Hullo?’’ the woman answered on the second ring.

‘‘It’s Lydia Cottrell,’’ she said, a bit weak in the knees. ‘‘I was wonderin’ if we—
I
—could come visit you today.’’ She didn’t want to give Miriam time to say no right off. ‘‘I’d be beholden to you if—’’

Miriam’s answer came all too swiftly, interrupted her, really. ‘‘I’m awful sorry, Lyddie. Just won’t suit today. A batch of dough is a-starin’ me in the face, and the house needs cleanin’ and whatnot all.’’

If Lydia hadn’t known better, she might’ve thought Miriam was puttin’ her off but good. She thanked her, said she hoped to see her at the quiltin’ at Susie Lapp’s later this week.

Miriam replied, ‘‘All right, then.’’ And they hung up.

Downright disappointed, Lydia went to knead a great handful of dough for her own bread-making. Her brothers and sisters had eaten down the remaining loaf to less than half, so she knew she mustn’t dally. Not one little bit.

Grateful that Aunt Sarah had washed the dishes and swept the floor, Lydia set about preparing three loaf pans for baking. She was also glad her aunt was nowhere ’round.

Best this way, ’least for the time bein’
, she thought, remembering how she’d fled from the room in tears earlier. Now that she thought on it, prob’ly was a good idea Aunt Sarah was upstairs doin’ whatever she was doin’. Lydia needed to put some space between herself and the woman who called herself Mamma’s sister but didn’t seem to fit in anywhere at all. Not for the life of her, she didn’t!

Lydia turned her attention to Miriam Esh.
What’s ailin’ her?
she wondered. Surely the word hadn’t already gotten out that Aunt Sarah hoped to find a family for them. Even so, if Miriam
had
heard such a thing, why would she act like that on the phone? Just wasn’t becomin’ to the usually gracious woman. Unless maybe Miriam simply wasn’t interested in bein’ asked to be a substitute mamma. Was
that
the reason why Preacher’s cousin had been in such a hurry to end their telephone chat?

Sliding the loaf pans into the hot oven, Lydia heard a buggy rattle into the barnyard. She went to the back window and saw Preacher Esh unhitching his horse from the carriage, then leading the sorrel mare to the barn for water, prob’ly.

Preacher must be plannin’ to stay for a bit
, she thought, glad her aunt had gone upstairs to ret up her room. She could only hope that Aunt Sarah might stay put, ’specially if Preacher’s visit had anything to do with her bein’ the one to fill the opening at the Amish school. She sure didn’t want Sarah blurting out anything ’bout Levi coming over here last night!

About the time the man of God knocked on the door, she’d washed and dried her hands, ready to greet him. ‘‘Willkomm,
Breddicher
—Preacher!’’

‘‘And hullo to you, Lyddie.’’ His hat was off almost before he was inside, and she smelled wood smoke on his heavy black
Wamus
—coat.

She waited for him to maneuver his long arms out of the woolen winter outer garment. ‘‘I’ll hang it up for you.’’

‘‘Denki, ’tis kind of you.’’

How embarrassed she was not to have baked goods, warm from the oven, ready to offer at a minute’s notice, as Mamma always had. Not wanting to confess to bein’ lazy—and she wasn’t—she just wished with all her might that she wasn’t so awful distracted. Because of Aunt Sarah bein’ here. ’Course, she wouldn’t go tellin’ Preacher Esh any of that. He was here to ask her ’bout teaching school. Sure as anything.

‘‘If you had come after lunch, I would’ve had plenty of fresh bread on hand,’’ she explained.

‘‘Ach, that’s just fine, Lyddie.’’ He patted his round stomach. ‘‘I’ve got me a gut cook at home.’’

She laughed along with him. ‘‘A blessing, ain’t?’’

‘‘A plump wife and a big barn never did a man any harm,’’ he said with a wink. Then, settling down in a rocker nearby, he pulled it up close to the stove, as if forgettin’ that this wasn’t a wood stove. Just the way Fannie had yesterday. ‘‘I’m here to ask a favor of you.’’ He leaned back, his gray head bumping the back of the hickory rocker.

She wouldn’t think of jumpin’ ahead of him, even though she was perty sure what was on his mind.

‘‘Wouldja be willin’ to teach the schoolchildren . . .’least till the end of May?’’

He hadn’t wasted any time gettin’ right to the point. She was overjoyed. ‘‘I’d do it in a minute. There’s only one thing that might keep me from teachin’.’’ She went on to tell him but it turned out he already knew. ‘‘Then you’ve heard ’bout Aunt Sarah Cain comin’?’’

He nodded his head a little jerkily, like he was thinkin’ hard on something. ‘‘Word’s going ’round fast here lately, I’d hafta say.’’

‘‘Do you think it’s a gut idea for me to start teachin’, then?’’

‘‘ ’Tis an honest question, Lyddie.’’ He scratched his long beard. Then a sly smile spread across his face. ‘‘Maybe it would serve you well to start teachin’ right away—next Monday.’’

Just what she’d been thinking. ‘‘Denki for askin’ me.’’

‘‘You’ll do a right fine job for the People. And we’ll just hope you can stay till school’s end . . . at least.’’

This minute, with the homey smell of yeast and dough mingling together, she wished she had the nerve to ask if it was displeasin’ to the Lord God heavenly Father, her reading through Mamma’s journals and all.

Instead, she said, ‘‘What would you think of your cousin comin’ to live with us, ’least till little Hannah is grown?’’

‘‘Which cousin do ya mean?’’

‘‘Miriam, down the road a piece.’’

Something akin to opposition rippled over his brow and settled in his eyes, striking fear to Lydia’s heart.

‘‘Have you talked to her lately?’’ He scratched his head where his hat had been.

‘‘Just this mornin’, by telephone.’’

He nodded. ‘‘Best go on down to Susie Lapp’s quiltin’ frolic this Thursday. Far as I know, Miriam will be goin’, too.’’

‘‘I’d thought of that, but how do I get her off alone so I can talk to her?’’

‘‘Trust the Lord God for His timing in all things, Lyddie.’’

Mamma had said those words to her often enough. She shouldn’t have been surprised that the preacher was reminding her now.

‘‘And what’ll I do with Aunt Sarah during the quiltin’ bee? Wouldn’t be right to leave her home alone,’’ she said, lowering her voice.

‘‘Take your mamma’s sister along with you. Surely she can be taught to make stitches, ain’t?’’

Lydia hadn’t thought of that. She had no idea, really, what her aunt could or couldn’t do with a needle and thread. Guess she’d just have to find out.

‘‘About Aunt Sarah . . . uh, she’s busy upstairs,’’ Lydia said, hoping the preacher wouldn’t ask to meet her aunt today.

‘‘Sorry, I can’t stay too awful long,’’ he replied. ‘‘Would be nice to meet your mamma’s sister sometime soon, her bein’ your temporary caretaker and all.’’

‘‘Oh, you’ll prob’ly meet her here ’fore too long.’’

‘‘Jah.’’ Preacher Esh got up out of the rocking chair and moseyed toward the back door. ‘‘Blessings on ya, Lyddie.’’

As she bade him good-bye, she could hardly stand still, thinkin’ that come next Monday, she had herself a fine job as a schoolteacher. With all her heart—and with the help of God— she would do her very best.

Now if she could just get Miriam to be more agreeable.

Chapter Nineteen

S
usie Lapp showed up in a hurry ’round noon, just in time for homemade noodle and beef soup, melted cheese sandwiches, chowchow, and pickled beets. Their talk ’round the table flitted from the weather—which was s’posed to turn even colder, with ‘‘more snow and wind on its way,’’ said Susie, eyeing Aunt Sarah—to the quiltin’ bee come Thursday.

‘‘You’ll be comin’, too, won’t you?’’ Lydia said quickly, addressing her aunt.

‘‘Jah,
do
,’’ Susie insisted, her gray eyes lighting up. ‘‘You’ll have a gut chance to look us over once.’’

Aunt Sarah blinked, appearing to be ever so shaken at Susie’s off-the-cuff remark. ‘‘Excuse me?’’ she said.

‘‘Ach, you Englischers are all the same,’’ Susie said, shakin’ her head and chuckling. ‘‘We know you’re lookin’ us over, so go ahead ’n get it over with.’’

In the worst way, Lydia wanted to change the subject. Susie seemed downright
gretzich
—cranky. Right outspoken, too. Just why, she didn’t know.

‘‘Was Ivy also curious when she and her husband first came here?’’ Aunt Sarah’s offhand question made Lydia squirm.

‘‘Well, forevermore,’’ murmured Susie. ‘‘Whatever gave you that notion?’’

‘‘English are all alike,’’ parroted Aunt Sarah.

Dismayed, Lydia could no longer sit by and witness the barbed exchange. ‘‘Anybody hankerin’ for pie?’’ she asked, forcing a cheerful air.

Susie seemed a bit cool, like she hadn’t heard. Aunt Sarah, on the other hand, was leaning forward, her elbows on the table.

It looked as if they were goin’ to go at it here and now!

‘‘Jah, I’ll have a piece,’’ Susie said ’bout the time the silence was so thick you could’ve sliced it in two. ‘‘And while you’re up, Lyddie, give your aunt some, too.’’

Lydia’s face burned as she dipped her knife into the pumpkin pie. Both her mamma’s sister and her mamma’s best friend were actin’ like children, of all things! What was the matter with them?

‘‘It’s beyond me why Ivy wanted an English woman to pick up the pieces for her family,’’ Susie huffed.

Aunt Sarah said nothing, but her face went white as the snow on the front stoop.

Lydia cleared her throat and brought two dessert plates filled with generous portions of pie and ice cream. She set the plates in front of Aunt Sarah, then Susie Lapp. ‘‘We best talk ’bout other things,’’ she said, fully aware that she was speakin’ out of turn, ’specially in the presence of her elders. Still, she felt she
had
to put an end to this prattle.

‘‘Lydia’s right.’’ Aunt Sarah caught her eye, then turned her attention toward the pie in front of her.

Several minutes passed before Susie spoke again, her gaze on her dessert. ‘‘I shouldn’t have said what I did, Sarah. It was wrong of me.’’

She didn’t go on to offer a clear apology, which Lydia thought was necessary. Still, the remark did seem to clear the air a bit. ’Least enough to get through their coffee-drinkin’ and, later, sorting through Mamma’s clothes and personal things.

Hours after Susie Lapp had hitched her horse to the carriage and carried off several armloads of Mamma’s dresses, aprons, and prayer veilings, Lydia set more hot cocoa to simmerin’ on the stove.