The Redemption of Sarah Cain (27 page)
‘‘Jah, that’s right, I hope to start teachin’ school next Monday,’’ Lydia told Ada King, Levi’s mamma, after lunch, when the work had resumed on the red, purple, and green quilt.
‘‘Seems to me I heard something ’bout that,’’ Ada said, a twinkle of discernment in her gray blue eyes.
Lydia was thankful her beau’s mother had been discreet ’bout not sayin’ where she’d heard the news. Surely, Levi had mentioned something in passing at mealtime ’bout Lydia’s hope to teach. Besides, now the whole community had prob’ly heard, ’least they would’ve if Preacher Esh had talked it ’round, like she was perty sure he had.
Fannie grinned at Lydia across the quilt. She, too, prob’ly suspected there was much more than met the eye between Levi King and Lydia Cottrell. In that affectionate exchange of glances, Lydia thought of Levi and honestly wished she could’ve given him something more to go on, that she had said she
would
marry him, just not run off with him . . . elope. Even if Aunt Sarah took Lydia and her family away from here, there wasn’t anything that said the young lovers couldn’t correspond by mail, to keep their affection alive, till such time as they could be wed.
Why she was thinkin’ like this, she didn’t rightly know. But ofttimes such knotty problems actually had a chance to be mentally solved durin’ the process of a quilting.
‘‘There’s a healing that often comes from creating an heirloom,’’
Mamma used to say.
Mammi Elizabeth, too, was a believer in the notion that each and every quilt had pieced into it stitches of the quilters’ lives. In fact, Lydia was surprised no one was doin’ any storytelling today. Were they bein’ extra cautious because of Aunt Sarah?
There was only one way to find out. So she asked, ‘‘Does anybody know what happened to Redbeet John’s Abe’s Susannah’s center-diamond quilt?’’ she asked, referring to the ancestral line, as was the People’s way.
‘‘Ach, that’s one of the saddest things I ever did hear,’’ Emma Flaud spoke up, takin’ the bait.
Sarah listened with interest to Mrs. Flaud’s account of the Amishwoman whose garden shed, where an array of homemade quilts and samplers and other crafts were displayed and sold, had been broken into by way of a window in back of the small outbuilding. ‘‘Prob’ly nobody could see what the robber was doin’,’’ Mammi Elizabeth interjected at one point. ‘‘Sneaky fella, he was.’’
‘‘That’s right, and, sadly enough, many of Susannah’s beautiful quilts were taken in the wink of an eye—several thousand dollars’ worth.’’
The quilters
oohed
softly in unison.
Most interesting to Sarah was the manner in which Emma Flaud had characterized the deplorable situation. The poor woman’s quilts had been stolen, but the ‘‘robber couldn’t steal Susannah’s joy from her.’’
Young Fannie spoke up, ‘‘No, and she went on to make even pertier quilts after that. I know it’s true, ’cause two of her quilts are on my bed . . . and two in my hope chest.’’ Fannie and her mother traded endearing looks, then settled back to the quilting at hand.
Lydia was puzzled at the strange turn of events at the Lapp quilting. Never once did Miriam Esh open her mouth for a Tellin’—didn’t seem like she wanted to be there quiltin’, even.
Honest to goodness, she couldn’t ever remember Miriam actin’ so peculiar. It wondered her. Just what had Preacher told Miriam, anyways?
On the drive home after the quiltin’, Aunt Sarah said, ‘‘I had hoped to speak with Miriam Esh today, but there never seemed to be an opportune time.’’
‘‘I know. I felt the same way.’’ She went on to say how awkward things had been with Miriam. ‘‘Something’s up with her.’’
‘‘Is she normally friendly . . . outgoing?’’
‘‘Jah.’’
‘‘I don’t mean to second-guess her, but do you think she was upset because I was present?’’
Lydia thought her aunt might be right. ‘‘Hard to say, really.
We’ll just have to wait and see what can be done.’’ She was hopin’ that Preacher might be able to talk to Miriam, get her to rethink things, maybe.
‘‘Is there anyone else Amish in the neighborhood who could be foster parents?’’
‘‘No one who’d be apt to take all five of us,’’ she replied. ‘‘Mamma would turn over in her grave if—’’
‘‘I guess you’re right,’’ interrupted Aunt Sarah.
They rode in silence for less than a mile. Darkness began to settle ’round them like gray kittens tiptoein’ into the warm haymow for the long night ahead.
Lydia was itchin’ to share something with her aunt. She didn’t know why exactly, but she felt she wanted to all the same. ‘‘That boy you saw me with in the kitchen? Well, his mamma was there at Susie’s frolic,’’ she said softly.
‘‘Which woman?’’
‘‘Ada King . . . and Mammi Elizabeth’s his great-grandmother.’’
Aunt Sarah kept her eyes on the road as she drove. ‘‘Does your young man have a name
today
?’’
‘‘Jah, it’s Levi King.’’
The road was a bumpy snow-white ribbon, barren of traffic except for two teams. Aunt Sarah passed them slowly, giving the horse and carriage wide girth so as not to spook the animals.
Lydia was ever so glad of that. Seemed to her that Aunt Sarah was at least tryin’ to show some respect for the People.
‘‘Thank you for the quilting experience,’’ Sarah said as the car turned into their lane.
‘‘Well, at first, I honestly wondered how things would be.’’ Lydia didn’t want to spoil things and say something out of turn.
‘‘Best to keep disappointments unspoken,’’
Mamma had often counseled. ‘‘Things are always different when outsiders are present.’’
‘‘I understand,’’ said Aunt Sarah.
Lydia had a powerful-strong feeling she did.
‘‘What am I to do ’bout Miriam Esh?’’ Lydia asked Fannie on the phone that night.
‘‘If I were you, I’d go ’n talk to her at her house.’’
‘‘Without Aunt Sarah?’’
‘‘What’ve you got to lose?’’
‘‘Do you think Miriam’s troubled over something? She didn’t seem to have much of a gut time today.’’
‘‘I’m
sure
she’s bothered, all right’’ came Fannie’s less than evasive reply.
Lydia felt her friend knew more than she was lettin’ on. ‘‘Tell me what you’ve heard,
please
?’’
‘‘Right now, on the telephone? Do ya think it’s such a gut idea, Lyddie?’’
‘‘Well, everyone’s asleep here. How ’bout you?’’
‘‘Same thing.’’
‘‘Then go ahead and tell what you know. C’mon, Fannie.’’
‘‘You won’t say where you heard this, promise?’’
‘‘Won’t say a word.’’
‘‘Seems it’s all over Grasshopper Level that Miriam Esh has no intention of bein’ your foster mother. It’s the last thing she wants.’’
‘‘Well, why on earth not?’’
‘‘I’ll tell you why. She’s got it in her head that we—all the People—oughta be honorin’ your mamma’s last wishes, followin’ every jot and tittle of her will.’’
Lydia didn’t understand what Fannie was gettin’ at. ‘‘What do you mean?’’
‘‘It’s just that Miriam doesn’t wanna take over the duties your mamma
’specially
chose for your Aunt Sarah to do.’’
‘‘I don’t get it. How could Miriam even
know
what Mamma was thinkin’?’’
‘‘Hard to say, really. Maybe she and your mamma talked a while back before Ivy died. I’m thinkin’—and my mamma says so, too—it’s possible there’s some reason why Ivy wanted her sister to stay ’round here.’’
Lydia listened intently. The reason was beyond
her
.
‘‘If’n your aunt stays, it may not be the best years of her life, Lyddie. But who’s to say they won’t be the most important?’’
Maybe Fannie had something there.
‘‘Knowin’ Aunt Sarah for this short of time, I can’t see how her stayin’ will do any of us much gut.’’ Lydia sighed, skippin’ ahead in her mind. ‘‘If she doesn’t have ideas ’bout taking us back to Oregon with her, then I
will
get to start teachin’ school.
That, in itself, would be a blessing in more ways than one.’’
‘‘It’s what you always wanted,’’ Fannie said. ‘‘I’m happy for you if it works out.’’
Lydia said her good-byes to her dear friend, wonderin’ how such talk had spread ’round so awful fast. She was worried now, more than ever, that Aunt Sarah might just up and parcel them out to more than one family, since Miriam was makin’ such a stand against helping out. ’Course now, she hadn’t heard anything lately ’bout that from her aunt. But it was awful hard to predict just what was twirling ’round in that fancy head of hers.
Oh, she wished she could run on over to Miriam Esh’s house this minute. Just what did Miriam know about Mamma’s wishes anyhow?
S
arah read all of Ivy’s 1989 journal until her tired eyes would no longer stay open. She ended with:
Dad always liked to talk in riddles. After he surrendered his
heart to the Almighty, he said his shell-seeking had more to do
with knowing God than finding himself.
Clearly, I remember one time when he said, ‘‘The outside of
one’s life is their shell. It can guide one to find the ultimate answer
. . . within.’’ Then he looked at me and said, ‘‘Ivy, a person is
always free to change his shell at any time.’’
I don’t know for sure, but maybe Dad was the one who first
planted the seed for change in me. For Gil and me to become
followers of Jesus . . . and, later, Plain
.
This entry stood out as being rather profound, and it took Sarah back to her own reluctant walks with Dad on the shores of Watch Hill. Still, she found it difficult to believe that Ivy and her husband had gotten the notion to join the Amish from him.
But it was her sister’s prayer that her children would ‘‘live their lives to the fullest measure, even if I should die prematurely’’ that struck Sarah as most significant. How could Ivy have known she would be dead within ten years from the time of this writing?
Sarah laid her head on Ivy’s pillow, still wishing she were back home in Portland, relaxing in her own lovely bedroom.
From her vantage point she glanced around, noting the light from the moon cascading in through the windows. Her gaze roamed over the simple furnishings to the mirror over the washstand, where the tiny decorative pins adorned a smooth linen towel.
Ivy’s room was not nearly as offensive to her as it had been that first night, and she fell asleep with the concluding words of her sister in mind.
God is sovereign, in all, over all, and above all.
I do put my faith and hope in Him!
The next morning, seconds before the rooster crowed, Sarah was out of bed and in the shower. She checked her email messages as soon as she was dressed and was delighted to discover another note from Bryan.
Sarah,
Hope things are much better for you there!
I don’t know how to tell you this, but my spiritual search is
over. Don’t laugh—I’ve found God. Or, better put, He’s found
me.
When can we talk?
Blessings to you,
Bryan
Sarah shook her head. Was this some sort of nightmare? No, she was very much awake.
Rereading Bryan’s message, she was inclined to pick up the phone, wake him out of his stupor, set him straight about this God business.