The Redemption of Sarah Cain (28 page)

Blessings to you
, he had signed off.

She frowned at the screen, blown away. What could have happened? This was the first she had ever heard of a religious quest on the part of her longtime friend.

Brushing her hair, she stared at the mirror, only to turn away in frustration.

First Ivy, now Bryan . . .

Was there no sanity, no reason left in the world?

Everywhere Lydia went all day—to market, to the bank, and over to Miriam’s—
everywhere
—she kept runnin’ into Levi King. First time, she saw him on the road, drivin’ his new open courting buggy with his spirited mare, Bess. She wasn’t sure, but it seemed almost that he looked away, not wantin’ to catch her eye.

He’s worried ’bout what Aunt Sarah saw
, Lydia guessed.
He
doesn’t trust her, either
.

The second time she spotted him, Levi was in line at the bank, closer to the teller than she was. When he turned ’round, she was downright
sure
he purposely walked right past her without a glance.

What’s happenin’?
she wondered, looking behind her to see if there were other Plain folk in line. None were. So what was Levi up to?

By the third encounter, he ignored her altogether. By now, she was feelin’ a bit angry, wonderin’ if she oughta put a bug in one of his sisters’ ears, tellin’ Levi she’d changed her mind. ’Course she wouldn’t go on to say just what she had changed her mind ’bout. Anybody knows
that
would be a big mistake, blabbing his marriage proposal ’round! Next thing, the whole church district would know she and Levi were—
had been
—a couple. She couldn’t risk lettin’ that happen, not if she hoped to have a second chance with him.

The sun had come out a whit stronger by the time she arrived at Miriam’s house. Getting out of the carriage, she tied Dobbin to the fence post, glancing over at the house and wonderin’ if anybody was home. Surely Miriam would be home on a Friday afternoon, ’specially after such a long quilting yesterday.

A shelter of trees—a whole lineup of sycamores—banked the northeast side of the large property. In comparison to the farmland that surrounded it, the white clapboard house was mighty small.

Lydia had been a wee thing the first time she’d come here with Mamma for a visit. They’d come to pick up a basket of mending from Miriam, who needed the extra money, and since Mamma needed help with patchin’ some of Dat’s and Caleb’s trousers, the arrangement worked out fine and dandy.

At the time, Mamma was expectin’ Anna Mae, she recalled, which would’ve made Lydia about six years old. Despite her young age, she remembered Miriam’s big spread of land, the emerald green level of grassland and alfalfa fields stretchin’ out to meet the blue, blue sky. She thought then—
and
now—if ever she was so blessed to own such acreage of land, she would know God had truly shone His kindness down upon her.

Just now, waitin’ for Miriam to come to the door, she realized that what Dat and Mamma had given her and her brothers and sisters, by their untimely deaths, was every bit as wonderful-gut as a spread like Miriam’s.

‘‘Well, hullo . . . again,’’ Miriam said at the door.

‘‘Hope you don’t mind me comin’ unannounced.’’

Miriam didn’t move aside or open the door wider. ‘‘What’s on your mind, Lyddie?’’ Miriam was as cold as a dead fish.

‘‘I can’t stay long, really,’’ Lydia said. ‘‘But I wonder if I could talk to you for a bit.’’

Miriam eyed her curiously. ‘‘Well, now that you’re here, I ’spect you might as well make it worth your while.’’ She opened the door, inviting Lydia inside.

Following Miriam into the kitchen, Lydia sat down at the kitchen table.

‘‘I’ve got some pumpkin pie a-coolin’. Care for a piece?’’

Lydia knew she ought to be polite and agree to have some, but she also knew that Aunt Sarah was at home, prob’ly wonderin’ where she’d gotten to. ‘‘I’ll have some pie if I may use your telephone first.’’

Miriam, smelling a smidgen better than her usual, pointed Lydia in the direction of the phone, around the corner from the kitchen, in the large front room. ‘‘Help yourself.’’

Dialing her home phone number, she hoped Aunt Sarah would answer and not just let it ring. Turned out the line was busy, so she waited, counting to twenty nice and slow, then tried again. This time it rang.

Aunt Sarah picked it up on the first ring. ‘‘Cottrell residence,’’ she said, a deep rasp in her throat.

‘‘It’s Lydia callin’. Just wanted to tell you I’ll be on my way home soon.’’

‘‘Where are you?’’

Should she say? Would it bother Aunt Sarah to know she’d come to Miriam’s today, alone . . . without her?

‘‘Lydia, are you all right?’’ Aunt Sarah asked.

‘‘Jah, I’m over visitin’ Miriam Esh. I won’t be too long . . . just long enough to taste some of her pumpkin pie.’’

‘‘While you were gone, I called your preacher, and we had a nice chat.’’

Aunt Sarah’s words struck terror to her heart. ‘‘You did?’’

‘‘I found his number in the little address book next to the phone. I hope that’s all right.’’

‘‘Jah.’’ Lydia wondered what her aunt wanted with the preacher.

‘‘Well, I’ll see you when you get here.’’ Aunt Sarah started to cough.

‘‘You don’t sound well. Are you?’’

‘‘My throat is sore. I’ll get some cough drops if you don’t have any.’’

‘‘Mamma always said drinkin’ chamomile tea with raw honey was the best way to cure a sore throat.’’

Aunt Sarah chuckled a little. ‘‘I must confess that I’m not much for tea.’’

‘‘Well, it works, so why not give it a try?’’

‘‘I’m a captive to coffee.’’

‘‘Mamma liked hers black as can be, but when she was startin’ to come down with somethin’, she always drank her chamomile tea. That, and lots of water.’’

‘‘Thank you for the suggestion,’’ Aunt Sarah said, as though she had no intention of doin’ anything that resembled her sister’s approach. ’Least that’s how it came across over the phone.

So Aunt Sarah called the preacher
, thought Lydia, finding no humor in it whatsoever. Truth was, she was perty sure her aunt had asked him ’bout Amish courting customs, checkin’ up on Lydia’s account of things, and in the process, prob’ly revealed too much ’bout Levi King. If so—and if Preacher’s wife had overheard the conversation—the whole of their community would know by dark.

Sarah hung up, staring at the black receiver in its matching cradle—certainly the most archaic-looking telephone she had seen in recent years. She wondered where her sister had unearthed such a relic.

Dismissing the rhetorical question, she analyzed her earlier phone conversation with the Amish minister, the somewhat engaging farmer, blacksmith, and preacher all in one—Mr. Esh— of whom she had inquired about a certain young man. Namely, Levi King, Lydia’s romantic interest. Never having been one to pry, Sarah had chosen her words carefully, asking only those questions necessary to acquire the pertinent information from someone in the Amish community. A man of the cloth, preferably. Someone who knew Lydia’s boyfriend well. Someone who could be trusted to keep such a conversation confidential.

Having had opportunity to further evaluate Ivy’s closest friend, Susie Lapp, Sarah was clearly not impressed. And neither would she have been so brazen as to contact any of the other women who had attended the recent quilting. It was Preacher Esh or no one at all. So she had begun: ‘‘Is Levi a good prospect for Lydia . . . as far as a marriage partner?’’ she had asked.

‘‘Jah, I do believe he is that.’’

‘‘Is he honest?’’

‘‘Ever so truthful, he is.’’

‘‘Trustworthy?’’ She didn’t clarify her meaning, but she
had
seen the passion with which the boy’s lips had found Lydia’s, holding her niece in his arms with obvious experience.

Again, Mr. Esh had answered in the affirmative. So she had felt some better about the courtship between her niece and the King boy.

‘‘Is there anything else you want to know?’’ the minister had asked.

Cautiously, she quizzed him on the various dating customs Lydia had mentioned. The older man confirmed the details of Amish courtship. He also mentioned that Lancaster Amish no longer embraced the eighteenthand nineteenth-century practice of bundling. A prospective suitor—under the covering of night and because houses were cold—was invited to a young girl’s bedroom to spend time with her, fully clothed, in the warmest place the house had to offer. Her bed.

‘‘There are Plain communities outside Lancaster where the custom is retained to this day,’’ continued Preacher Esh, ‘‘mostly due to the lack of central heating in farmhouses. ’Course, in circles where bundling continues, the young people are taught not to engage in sexual intimacies. They’re instructed to remain pure before marriage.’’

Sarah was taken aback by the discourse. He had told her far more than she cared to know. She was, however, relieved to know that ‘‘bed courtship’’ was a dead issue in Lydia’s community. One less worry, at least.

Preacher Esh sighed. ‘‘Bundling is discouraged, in part, by keepin’ kitchens and front rooms warm nowadays.’’

‘‘I understand.’’

‘‘We also teach our young people to save the full declarations of physical love for the marriage union. Both women and men are admonished to do this. And,’’ he paused briefly, ‘‘I am certain our Lyddie would not choose to be courted by a young man who did not share her stand in this.’’

‘‘Well, I certainly appreciate your time,’’ she said, eager to conclude their chat.

‘‘Will that be all?’’

‘‘Yes, thank you.’’

‘‘Then I’ll be sayin’, ‘God be with you, Sarah Cain.’ ’’ Hearing her name spoken with such respect touched a chord somewhere in her heart. The reverend’s soft-spoken mannerism reminded her of her beachcomber father, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered if Ivy might not have thought so, as well.

The children arrived home before Lydia returned from Miriam’s. At first, Sarah was reticent about greeting them, or if she should welcome them home at all. What was her place here?

Caleb and Anna Mae seemed pensive, hardly smiling as she opened the door for them. Josiah and Hannah, on the other hand, grinned at her, seemingly glad to see her.

Josiah broke the ice. ‘‘Teacher had to wash my hair outside right quick at the pump today.’’

‘‘Jah, that’s ’cause ya fell headfirst in the snow and mud during recess,’’ Hannah tattled.

Sarah wondered aloud, ‘‘Did you sit in class all afternoon with wet hair?’’

‘‘Ach, no!’’ Josiah explained. ‘‘I sat by the wood stove for a spell . . . didn’t take too awful long to dry.’’

Little Hannah snickered, trying to hide her smile behind her hands. ‘‘He looked right funny sittin’ there, too, drenched as a cat caught in a rainstorm.’’

‘‘Aw, go on!’’ Josiah said, hanging up his coat.

Sarah sighed. ‘‘Sounds like an interesting afternoon.’’

‘‘Do ya
think
so?’’ Hannah said. ‘‘Well, I stood up and recited my ABCs in front of the whole class.’’

‘‘With four other pupils, ya did,’’ Josiah called from the utility room. ‘‘Don’t let her pull the wool over your eyes!’’

Sitting down, Sarah listened as the girl practiced reciting the entire alphabet. When Hannah finished, Sarah nodded, smiling.