The Redemption of Sarah Cain (29 page)
‘‘You said your ABCs very well.’’
‘‘Teacher said so, too.’’ Hannah came closer, sitting on the wood bench next to her. ‘‘I’m gonna be readin’ in a few weeks.’’
‘‘You’ll read soon enough, all right,’’ Josiah said, coming into the kitchen. ‘‘Once Lydia starts teachin’ us, you’ll pick up speed with your learnin’, you’ll see.’’
Sarah hadn’t thought to ask Lydia when it was that she planned to begin her assignment at the Amish school, so after Caleb and Anna Mae left to go to the barn, she asked Hannah and Josiah. ‘‘When does Lydia start as your teacher?’’
‘‘Come Monday.’’ Josiah’s blue eyes danced with glee. ‘‘And if you ask me, I think it’s a right gut thing our sister’s comin’ to school. She’ll keep order, that’s for sure.’’
The boy’s remark bothered Sarah. ‘‘What do you mean by that, Josiah?’’
He shrugged a bit, rolled his eyes, and grinned. ‘‘Well, I best not say.’’
Hannah shook her pointer finger at her brother. ‘‘Now, you oughtn’t be tellin’ on yourself.’’
Sarah observed the banter between the two children, recalling her own experience with an older sibling. Sure, Josiah teased, but there was none of the cutting sarcasm she had endured as a youngster. ‘‘What happened, Josiah?’’ she asked.
‘‘Today or yesterday?’’
‘‘So you’ve been in trouble more than once this week?’’
‘‘Nothin’ much to worry ’bout,’’ the boy replied.
Hannah shook her head. ‘‘He’s a rascal, is all.’’
Sarah didn’t press the matter. ‘‘Is your teacher attentive to
each
of you?’’
Josiah turned, frowning quizzically. ‘‘Ach, she’s always watchin’ over us.’’
‘‘Jah, she is,’’ Hannah confirmed it.
‘‘Didja think differently?’’ Josiah asked.
Sarah shrugged off the question, saying no more. She was relieved to hear that their teacher had been vigilant and hoped young Lydia would be the same.
Getting up, she went to make the hot cocoa Lydia would have already prepared and served by now had she been here.
Lydia waited patiently while Miriam set a dessert plate in front of her, eager to get on with the reason why she’d come.
‘‘Something’s a-botherin’ you, child. I can see it all over your face,’’ Miriam said, sitting across from her at the table.
Lydia had come for a completely different purpose—not to confide her concerns ’bout Levi’s and her courtship or lack thereof. ‘‘I’ve heard . . . well, there’s talk that you know something—’ bout Mamma’s plans for our future,’’ she began.
Miriam poured a glass of milk, raising her eyebrows and making a great heaving sound as she sighed. ‘‘Before we go any further, I must say that your dear mamma had some strong opinions ’bout what she wanted for you and your sisters and brothers, come her death.’’
Lydia listened, eager for more. ‘‘She talked to you ’bout that?’’
‘‘Jah, she did.’’
That was a surprise. Why hadn’t Mamma confided in her closest friend, Susie Lapp? This made no sense at all.
‘‘You may not know much ’bout your mamma’s last wishes,’’ Miriam continued.
‘‘I know she loved us with all her heart.’’
The older woman nodded, her eyes blinkin’ to beat the band.
‘‘Jah, so there’s a gut reason why she wanted her fancy sister to come to Amish country.’’
‘‘Maybe so Aunt Sarah would go Plain on her own accord, ain’t so?’’
Chuckling, Miriam placed a hand on her ample bosom. ‘‘Oh my, no. I’d say that was the
last
thing on your mamma’s mind.’’
Seemed to Lydia that the woman was talkin’ in circles—riddles, really. ‘‘I don’t understand,’’ she said softly.
A mysterious, almost angelic look passed over Miriam’s face. ‘‘Sometimes it’s best if we sit back and let the Good Lord work in His own way and time.’’
Well, Lydia wasn’t one to argue with that. She’d heard it aplenty from Mamma. Had seen for herself God’s hand at work when a good portion of patience was applied to a situation.
The smooth, creamy texture of Miriam’s pie felt wonderful on her tongue. ‘‘Mm-m, this is awful gut,’’ Lydia said, changing the subject.
‘‘Glad ya like it. Take some home with you—for the others.’’
She finished up her dessert and milk, sayin’ a quick good-bye and headed out to the horse and buggy, several pieces of pie in tow. All the while she wondered what it was that Mamma had confided in tight-lipped Miriam. And what did the Lord have to work out anyhow?
L
ong after evening prayers and Bible reading, Sarah sat in her room, concocting an appropriate reply to Bryan’s morning email. She had deliberately refrained from dashing off a quick response. Had learned from past business mistakes to think through every point before committing the conclusion to paper—or computer screen, as the case may be.
Bryan,
Good to hear from you.
I’ve thought about your most recent message all day, and I
really don’t know how to respond. I guess I hope this is just one
of your many one-liners . . . or was it two?
I’ll give you a call when you’re rational.
Sarah
Feeling dreadful, as if she might be coming down with a sore throat or worse, Sarah took a warm bath and rubbed her neck and chest with Vicks VapoRub, hoping to soothe her symptoms. Lydia had insisted that she try some chamomile tea after supper. But Sarah was adamant about doing things her way.
By Saturday morning, Sarah’s throat was swollen and her temperature had soared. She wouldn’t be traveling home anytime
this
weekend. Besides, there was the matter of acquiring foster parents for her sister’s children. Certainly, she could not leave here until she accomplished what she had come to do.
Sarah succumbed to Lydia’s pleas and sipped the herbal brew her niece brought on a tray first thing in the morning.
‘‘I’m praying you’ll feel better soon,’’ Lydia said, standing near the doorway. ‘‘I can bring you more tea when you’re ready . . . more water, too.’’
She nodded, unable to squeak out a reply of thanks. This was what she got for walking with the children in the bitter wind three days ago. Sampling the tea again, she took a longer drink this time, wondering how Ivy had gotten hooked up with herbs.
Their dad had been big on them, enjoyed growing several different varieties in a small garden plot just off the back porch. But his interest had flourished long after Ivy married and moved to Bridgeport. Was there a connection? Had Ivy written as many letters to Mother and Dad as she had to Sarah?
Ivy and Dad had always been close. They shared a rapport she had never experienced with either her father or her mother. Ivy drew people to herself. She was a magnet of appealing looks and personality. People had always said the same of Sarah, yet the results had been far different.
Leaning back on the pillow, she breathed in the peppermint vapor exuding from the small humidifier Lydia had set up in the room. Oddly enough, she felt well cared for—almost pampered— like a young girl looked after by an attentive mother.
Lydia was nursing
her
back to health. Ironically, the intended roles were completely reversed.
Sarah dragged herself out of bed before noon to write and send another email message. This one to the real estate broker in Portland, her boss, Bill Alexander.
Bill,
Due to an unexpected illness, I will have to postpone my return
for a few days. Would it be too much trouble for you to
handle my scheduled closings for the upcoming week? Heidi can
easily help you with the necessary info. If you need more clarification,
feel free to phone me at: 717–555–0239.
Thanks a million!
Later,
Sarah
‘‘When you’re well, would it be all right if we talk ’bout your conversation with Preacher Esh?’’ Lydia asked, her eyes imploring.
Sarah nodded. ‘‘Sure.’’
‘‘These are for you,’’ Lydia said, offering Sarah two homemade cards. One was from Caleb, the other from Josiah.
‘‘Your brothers must be the artists in the family,’’ she rasped, studying the rather crude drawings of farm animals, birds, and trees.
‘‘They just wanted to do something nice for you, since they won’t be servin’ you tea or toast or whatnot.’’
Sarah understood suddenly what her niece was saying. Of course, her nephews wouldn’t think of stepping foot in the bedroom of a woman. After visiting in a conservative community for nearly a week, she should have known.
‘‘Please thank them for me,’’ she said in a weak voice.
‘‘I will.’’ Lydia smiled. ‘‘Is there anything else I can get for you?’’
Sarah pointed to Ivy’s diary. ‘‘I’m finished with that one,’’ she whispered. ‘‘May I have another?’’
‘‘I’ll be more than happy to bring
all
of Mamma’s journals for you. And . . . I doubt Mamma would mind one little bit.’’
Sipping the last half of her third cup of herbal tea, Sarah found it remarkable that Lydia seemed quite content to share her mother’s diary with an English relative.
Today
, that is.
What had changed the girl’s mind?
