The Redemption of Sarah Cain (32 page)
Peeking, Lydia located Levi’s bowed head quickly enough, watching him during the men’s prayer. When the blessing was done, his eyes fluttered open, and he looked across the room at her, as if he’d known where she was standin’ all along. His smile was ever so cautious, but it made Lydia’s heart sing just the same.
T
he Peach Lane School had been standing smack dab in the middle of Peach Lane since the late 1830s, a few years after the Public School Law was decreed in Pennsylvania.
Lydia arrived at six-thirty on Monday morning and, for the first time, noticed the many rounded and crumblin’ bricks. More than a century and a half of wind, rain, and snow had gnawed away at the old schoolhouse. The little white porch dipped and creaked under her snow boots; so did the wood floor inside. The walls sagged a bit, too, marked by patches of new brick here and there, and the student desks wore obvious signs of ink stains, chipped edges, and carved initials. Near the teacher’s desk, an immense wood stove also bore years of wear.
How odd
, thought Lydia. She’d never noticed any of this before today. But then, she had never been appointed to the task of schoolteacher in the red brick school, either. Now she was the teacher solely responsible for eight grades and thirty-six students— four of them her own brothers and sisters.
Just now the room was bone-chillin’ cold, and she had only two hours to tend the fire, make the room cozy but not
too
warm for busy minds and active bodies. There was a fine line between too snug and too cool, she recalled from her own years as a pupil here. Part of being a good teacher was to heed that line, so her pupils would neither doze off nor shiver in their boots.
She quickly reviewed the schedule for the day, eager to pull on the heavy rope at the back of the classroom when it was time. Only once in her life as a student had she ever been allowed to ring the old bell that hung in the wooden belfry above the schoolhouse. Today began a series of days, weeks, and hopefully months of pealing the bell, alerting the children that school was in session. Hard work with little pay. Yet the People had given her the honor of molding the lives of their future preachers, bishops, farmers’ wives, and mothers of a growing Amish community. She hoped her assignment as Peach Lane schoolmistress might also help certain children —’specially too-curious teenagers— remain true to the covenant community and not wander away into the world.
Sarah had managed to come downstairs to oversee the children’s breakfast, but it seemed that Lydia had covered all the bases—notes left in prominent places for Anna Mae and little Hannah, advising them as to what foods to offer their brothers. She was scarcely needed today and was rather glad of it, since her fever had broken in the wee hours, leaving her quite weak. Wishing for a long warm bath, she greeted the children, keeping her distance as they ate scrambled eggs and bacon cooked by Anna Mae.
Josiah was the one to inquire of her health. ‘‘Are you some better today?’’
‘‘She
looks
better,’’ volunteered little Hannah, smiling from the table.
‘‘Well, thank you, dear.’’
‘‘Guess Aunt Sarah won’t be walkin’ us to school today,’’ Anna Mae said, referring to her as though she were not in the room.
She spoke up quickly. ‘‘I’ll walk with you again in a few days.’’
At that, Josiah and Hannah spun around. ‘‘Then you’ll be stayin’ longer . . . with us?’’ Josiah asked, his face earnest.
‘‘For a while longer, I guess.’’ She had not begun to think through the logistics, however.
‘‘I’m glad you’re gonna be our half-mamma, at least,’’ Hannah remarked.
‘‘Me too!’’ Josiah agreed.
Caleb poured another glass of milk, and Anna Mae reached for a second piece of buttered toast. ‘‘Would you be able to help us out and fold some of the clothes?’’ Anna Mae ventured timidly. ‘‘Lyddie hung them out this morning awful early, so they’re dry already. Right stiff, really, so they’re warming up in the front room.’’
‘‘I’d be glad to help with that,’’ Sarah replied. She wondered how Lydia had managed to do so much at home and still rush off to teach school. Resolving to take much of the domestic load off her niece’s shoulders, Sarah would begin by cooking and baking today.
‘‘Just what’s a half-mamma, anyways?’’ Josiah said, a piece of bacon hanging off his chin.
‘‘Don’t know, really,’’ Hannah said. ‘‘But that’s kinda what Aunt Sarah is, ain’t so?’’
‘‘Best not say ‘ain’t’ today at school,’’ Caleb warned.
‘‘Jah,’’ Anna Mae piped up. ‘‘It’s Lyddie’s first day teachin’, ya know.’’
‘‘Best be on your gut behavior,’’ Caleb said. ‘‘I doubt Lyddie’s gonna put up with much from her own brothers and sisters.’’
‘‘No . . . prob’ly not,’’ Anna Mae said, looking rather worried. Sarah stood in the doorway, leaning against the wide wood molding, listening to the children’s comments, finding humor in their apparent oblivion to her.
Suddenly Josiah got up and went to wash his hands and face at the sink. ‘‘Does Lyddie know you’re stayin’ on longer?’’ he asked, his gaze fixed on her.
‘‘She’ll know soon enough,’’ Sarah replied.
Hannah jumped off the wooden bench. ‘‘Can I tell her at mornin’ recess?’’
‘‘No . . . no, I want to!’’ Josiah insisted.
Caleb and Anna Mae exchanged somber glances, saying nothing, sitting motionless.
‘‘Lydia will hear the news from me when she comes home.’’
Sarah turned toward the stairs.
I’ll stay only long enough to locate
a foster parent
, she thought.
‘‘Can’t we say nothin’ at school ’bout it?’’ Josiah called from the kitchen.
Sarah turned to face them, feeling rather breathless. ‘‘That’s right, you can’t say
anything
at school.’’
He grinned back at her. ‘‘You were a teacher once, too, ain’t?’’
She smiled. ‘‘Who told you that?’’
‘‘Mamma did,’’ Hannah said, coming toward her.
‘‘Better not get too close,’’ she said. ‘‘I want all of you to stay healthy.’’
‘‘Honestly, you
do
?’’ Hannah asked.
‘‘Of course I do.’’
‘‘Aunt Sarah’s a wonderful-gut half-mamma,’’ Josiah said, tugging on Hannah’s apron.
Sarah chuckled a little, bursting out with it so fast she couldn’t stop it.
Well after the children had left for school, Sarah’s cell phone rang. ‘‘Hello?’’ she answered.
‘‘Hi, Sarah. Are you ignoring your email messages?’’ It was Bryan.
‘‘Oh, sorry. I haven’t even checked lately. I’ve been sick in bed.’’
‘‘Allergic to farm work?’’
‘‘I’m fighting off the flu.’’
‘‘Who’s winning?’’
‘‘Let’s put it this way. I’ve guzzled enough chamomile tea to relaunch the Boston Tea Party.’’
‘‘Boston, hmm, nice place.’’
‘‘So . . . what’s on your mind?’’ She had no intention of addressing the issue of his strange pronouncement—that he’d found God.
‘‘I’ve been thinking a lot about you.’’
She was silent and wouldn’t admit to having thought about him, too.
‘‘Still hanging out in Amish country?’’
‘‘I plan to be here a few more days . . . or so.’’
‘‘May I drop by for a visit sometime this week?’’
‘‘That’s not necessary, Bryan.’’
‘‘But I
want
to talk to you.’’ His voice was sweet. Too sweet.
‘‘Not about this religious kick you’re on, I hope.’’ She shuddered, pulling her bathrobe snugly around her shoulders. ‘‘You have me worried.’’
‘‘We have some catching up to do, and since I’m in Harrisburg . . . less than an hour away, I couldn’t resist calling.’’
She thought about the prospect of seeing him. ‘‘How long will you be in the area?’’
‘‘Two days, then I fly home.’’ He was silent, then—‘‘It’s important that I see you again, Sarah.’’
An inner voice urged her on. Yet the feeling was foreign, this feeling of
wanting
to be with him. ‘‘Give me another day to beat this bug. I’ll call you tomorrow night.’’
‘‘Okay . . . I’ll wait for your call.’’
They said hurried good-byes and hung up.
She had to get well and see Bryan, possibly on Wednesday, and somewhere between now and then, she and Lydia must have a heart-to-heart talk, as well.
Sarah reached for an aspirin and a cup of chamomile and drank it straight down.
The morning was going along wonderful-gut for her first day, and Lydia was pleased. ‘‘Time to tidy up for lunch,’’ she told the children at noon.
Josiah raised his hand as he sat at his student desk. ‘‘I forgot my lunch bucket.’’
‘‘Ach, you did?’’
‘‘Jah, and it was ’cause you weren’t home this mornin’ to remind me,’’ he said, solemn faced.
Little Hannah and two other first-grade girls cupped their hands over their mouths.
‘‘What ’bout Anna Mae, your sister?’’ Lydia replied. ‘‘Didn’t
she
remind you to bring your lunch bucket?’’
Josiah raised his hand again.
‘‘What is it?’’ she asked, beginning to feel uneasy, bringing family matters into the school day.
‘‘Can I come whisper somethin’ to you?’’
‘‘
May
I whisper . . .’’
‘‘Jah, that’s what I meant.’’
She motioned for her second-grade brother to approach her desk. ‘‘What’s on your mind?’’
He leaned over and whispered in her ear, ‘‘We got to talkin’ to Aunt Sarah, that’s why I forgot my lunch bucket.’’
‘‘You can share some of my sandwich. Maybe Caleb and Anna Mae will share with you, too. We won’t let you go hungry.’’ He wasn’t finished whispering by the looks of it. ‘‘Aunt Sarah’s got something to tell you when you get home.’’
Lydia was all ears. ‘‘Why do you say that?’’
‘‘She told us so . . .’’ His voice trailed off. ‘‘But I best let
her
tell you.’’
Motioning to his desk, she said, ‘‘And you best take your seat.’’
Josiah’s words played tag in her head all through the lunch hour and throughout recess time. After playing hard outside, several of the older girls stood at the back of the classroom and helped rebraid the hair of the younger ones, standing one in front of the other. In a few minutes, many sets of braids had been smoothed and tucked back into tightly wound buns. Boys, meanwhile, ran broken and bent combs through their own tousled hair, putting it in order.