Abram's Daughters 01 The Covenant (30 page)

mamma's new baby comin' along in a few weeks now. How

will that set with our Sadie?"

"Only the dear Lord knows. . . ." Leah felt there was little

more to discuss. "But we can pray for God's help, ain't so,

Auntie?"

"Jah, 'tis the very best we can do for now."

With that Leah felt a calm reassurance and thanked Lizzie

lor letting her bend an ear. "1 best be getting home to help

with supper." She kissed her aunt good-bye and hurried down

the long hill toward the Ebersol Cottage.

One morning, after Dat gave his okay on the German shepherd pup, the girls were taking turns coming up with names. "Let's think of one that's not so common," Leah said. She knew by the markings that this was a special dog indeed. The way Smithy Gid handled the pet when he brought him over told her just kow important this pup was.

The whole family was ever so glad to have a little watchdog in training nestled out in the barn in a box lined with sweet hay. And the girls each vied for the puppy's attention, taking turns feeding him milk from a bottle.

"1 think he looks like a fuzzy peach," Mary Ruth spoke up. "Call him Peachy."

Hannah looked up, smiling, holding her sewing needle in midair. "You could name him Giddy Gid," to which they all broke out laughing. Even Mamma.

But none of the girls said why that was so funny. Still,

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Leah caught it and hoped that by accepting Gideon's puppy dog she wasn't sending the wrong message. Surely not.

"You could name him King," said Mamma. "Since he's fluonly male round here besides Dat ... so far."

"Jah, it's a wonderful-gut doggie name." So Leah took Mamma's suggestion, and King it was.

From time to time Sadie left the house and went walking down the narrow main road, beyond Dat's land and the adjoining acres belonging to Smithy Peachey. Sometimes ever farther . . . over toward the welding shop, a mile and ;i half from home, where she turned and headed past Naomi Kauffman's house. Of course, her friend Naomi was busy with her mamma and sisters, probably, so she wouldn't have seen Sadie wandering along, looking down in the mouth. Sadie didn't care how solemn she appeared these days. She was desperate for solitude, enduring her great loss in silence, for she dared not grieve openly. She made an effort to get outside every day or so, breathing in the fresh springtime air.

One afternoon she was out walking the same route, enjoying the fragrance of flowering trees and shrubs. The dogwoods were early this spring and so were the azaleas, the whole month of April having been much warmer than usual. She found it ever so amazing that this sliver of countryside was so pleasant, so out of the way, and yet speckled with interesting sights. And she'd never cared to notice before today that the road was winding in places, but best of all, it was free of summertime tourists who drove up and down Georgetown Road, hoping to catch a glimpse of a head covering or horse and buggy.

Oh, how she craved this time alone. Needed it desper-

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si rely. Leah was getting on her nerves, asking questions and lishing to know how Sadie was coping her arms empty and all. Of course, Leah was only trying to be kind, Sadie knew. Yet she resented her sister. Things had changed; tables were turned. She wished now for Leah's happy carefree life, since her own was in shambles. Too many church boys had heard from Naomi, more than likely that Sadie, too, had been awful wild during the years prior to church baptism. Such word, though whispered rumors, found its way to courting-age boys who might want to have a gut time for a while, but when it came to settling down and doing some serious courting, well, they much preferred someone innocent. Someone like Leah, who had two young men interested in her, of all things.

Sadie rejected Leah's repeated invitations to go to singings with her and Adah Peachey. If she went, she'd have to ride home with Jonas and Leah, which wasn't any fun for either of them, and certainly not for her. So Sadie had no one at all, not even her baby. God had taken away her precious infant son, allowing him to die before he could ever draw his first breath, before he could ever see the love in his young mamma's eyes. Sfte wept bitter tears as she walked aimlessly along the road, feeling ever so light without her baby growing inside her, as if a wind might come up out of the north and simply blow her away.

Ach, how fair was it that Derry's life could just move forward, unfettered? Hers had come to a dead halt, beginning the night Derry suggested discarding their baby's life. She felt cut off from all that had previously meant anything to her, spending more time out on the road than round the house as the days grew longer, heading toward planting season. Soon they'd be knee-deep in vegetable gardens, including rows of

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celery to be served at Leah's wedding, and sowing early corn with Dat in the field. And soon a newborn baby would be living in the house, yearning for loving care, except Sadie wouldn't be its mamma.

The Lord God had dealt bitterly with her. Yet broken covenants required blood sacrifice. Dat's old German Biewel illustrated such truths, and Preacher Yoder was forever reminding them, especially the young people, what happened to people who broke their vows to God and the church.

Obey or die. . . .

She was reaping what she'd sown. Her world had cornpletely collapsed. Losing her baby to death ... it was the worst punishment any young woman could ever endure.

After lunch Hannah slipped off to her room and took out her writing notebook her diary while Mary Ruth sat at the kitchen table and wrote a letter back to her pen pal in Willow Street, and Mamma napped a bit.

April 23, 1947 Dear Diary,

I'm leery of putting my thoughts on paper today, lest they be read at some later time and be misunderstood. But I'd have to say (if asked) that Sadie is becoming ever so surly, distant to all of us. Even worse than a year ago. Mamma doesn't seem to know what to do about her, either. I can tell by the way our mother sighs and shrugs her shoulders. What with plowing and preparing the soil for planting, Dat isn't indoors all that much, except to eat, so he's not too aware of Sadie's behavior. If I didn't know better, I'd think she had been jilted by a beau, but just who that was or is none of us knows. And if Leah does, she ain't talking.

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Putting down her pen, Hannah thought that even Leah's happiness seemed a bit tainted. But that was probably because Jonas Mast was leaving for Ohio next Monday. Right perplexing it was, the similarity between Sadie and Leah these days.

And Hannah couldn't begin to understand what was causing such a feeling of calamity whenever Sadie walked into a room. She'd shared this with Mary Ruth privately, but her I win, not so sullen, had other things on her mind excelling in mathematics, for one, saying that Miss Riehl was ever so proud of her accomplishments. Extra work completed and turned in for grading, too. Yet Mary Ruth seemed oblivious lo the goings-on in the house. Ever typical, Hannah was the worried one, sensing the troubles of others.

Hannah was awful sure her twin was definitely on the path heading right out of Dat's house and away from the Amish community. If Mary Ruth kept up her thirst for learning, she most certainly would be. All the while, sisterly love prompted Hannah to sew more and more handkerchiefs, saving every nickel and dime toward making just such a dream come true for their^someday schoolteacher.

While her girls assumed she was resting, Ida pulled a chair near the window, where the sun spilled in and the sky was dotted with high cloudiness. Sure enough, her little one began kicking and poking the moment Ida sat down. She smiled a bit, her gaze roaming over the barn roof, out past the windmill and toward the woods. It was then she noticed Sadie walking barefoot, up toward Lizzie's cabin. Ach, she'd been wondering a lot here lately, praying, too, for her eldest. Something just didn't sit right. Grouchy and aloof, Sadie had lost her smile; her confidence was all but gone. And, oddly

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enough, Lizzie seemed downright mum about it all.

And Ida had tried to talk with Sadie, too, on various occasions, but each time her daughter brushed her off, disinterested in any meaningful conversation, it seemed. No, everything was hipperdiglipp slapdash and almost hostile coming from Sadie these days.

Ida had voiced her concerns to Abram just last night. "What could be wrong with Sadie, do you think?" she had asked, fearing the worst.

"Now, what do you mean, dear?"

Well, if Abram hadn't noticed anything off-beam, then who was she to say anything and get him all stirred up? So she shrugged off the question and decided to look after her own needs for now. Though she wondered if Lizzie might know something and just wasn't saying. She'd seen Sadie out walking a lot this week, sometimes up the mule path between their barnyard and Lizzie's log cabin. Of course, she wouldn't press things with either Sadie or Lizzie. Time to think of the new little one, soon to be her babe-in-arms.

Aunt Lizzie's house was a one-level cabin that looked

more like a perty cottage, one found in the pages of a magazine, at least inside it was. Set back amidst tall, budding trees and protected by flowering shrubs lilac bushes and forsythin this time of year the cozy place held a special, nearly sacred spot in Sadie's heart. Her darling baby had been born in Aunt Lizzie's spare room, yet the actual happenings that night were still so hazy in her mind.

"Come right in and make yourself to home," Lizzie said, meeting her at the back door.

"I shouldn't stay so long." But Sadie went in and sat down

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ri^ht away, feeling awful weak suddenly.

"Well, why not catch your breath at least?" To this, Lizzie huighed softly. "You're here, Sadie. Might as well make it worthwhile. What can I get you to drink?"

"Oh, nothin' at all."

"Well, one look at you and I can see ya need something wet. What'll it be?"

Her aunt meant to coddle her, and she could certainly use some compassion today. Just as she'd needed Lizzie's listening rnr the week after her baby son had been born, when she'd crept up here yearning to talk with someone. "All right then, I'll have what you like best . . . some Postum, maybe."

Aunt Lizzie must've seen right through her. "You never think Postum, Sadie. How 'bout some nice cold lemonade instead?"

Too helpless to squabble, she nodded her head.

"I'll be right back. Now, don't go away, hear?" And with that Lizzie headed out to the kitchen.

Sadie shed her sweater and draped it over the back of the i'hair. From outside she heard the call of birds within the foxtail grass, way out "past the stone wall surrounding the cabin. Getting up, she went to stand in the window, staring out at a mass of red-winged blackbirds, tussling for their territory. Who'd win? Would the strongest, biggest birds claim their spot?

She let her eyes go misty, daydreaming. And just who had won between Derry and herself? The boy going off to Uncle Sam had, no question. He'd gotten what he'd set out for, then up and left her. But now she was all the wiser for it.

Lizzie hadn't meant to startle her niece as she returned carrying a tray with two glasses of lemonade and a plate of

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oatmeal cookies. "Here we are. We'll have us a nice chat . . . a snack, too."

They sipped their drinks silently for a time, then ever so slowly Sadie opened up and asked the question that continually weighed on her heart. "Tell me again . . . didja see my baby after. . . ?" Unable to continue, she put her head down, fighting back tears.

"Aw, Sadie dear." Aunt Lizzie came and placed her hand on Sadie's back, saying her name over again.

"I just wish I knew what he looked like." She wept into her hands.

Lizzie tried to console her, saying, "It's all right to cry, truly it is."

And Sadie did cry. She sobbed till Lizzie thought the girl's heart might nearly dry up and break.

Then sitting back, Sadie began to talk in sputters. "Oh, 1 wish ... I might've at least held him . . . just for a moment . . . before the doctor took him away."

"Jah. Still, some things are best as is."

"I shouldn't have let Dr. Schwartz leave so quick, prob'ly."

"What else could you do?" Aunt Lizzie sat down nearby. She was ever so uneasy about her niece, who needed such care at the present time, both physically and emotionally.

"All this just pains me something awful," Sadie said.

"Still, it's no surprise to see you distraught over such a loss."

Sadie nodded. "There are nights when I dream of nothing else but my baby, Auntie . . . that I still have him safe inside me. Then the nightmare starts all over again. . . ."

"Well, maybe a little time away might help get you back

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on your feet again. A change of scenery can help a lot somelimes."

"But where could I go?" Sadie asked, sitting up a bit .straighten

"Most any place, really. Your mamma and I have cousins in Indiana and even up in New York State. Some kinfolk out in Ohio, too."

"How would I get there?"

"I have some money tucked away for emergencies. I could put you on a bus, maybe. How would that be?"

All this every bit of it seemed like music to Sadie's cars. And they spent the better part of an hour talking over t he possibility of her living with a young family, cousins with :i batch of children to look after, out in Millersburg, Ohio.

Lizzie made it clear that Sadie must go for only a short time, because to leave behind the church of her baptism for good would mean certain shunning. And so would being found out . . . about unrepentant sin. "What will your parents have to say about such a visit?" Lizzie asked. "Isn't it time you shared something with your mamma at least?"

"No, I'd rathe* not just now. Maybe never. . ."

Oh, how Lizzie wished Sadie would openly share with her parents. Both Ida and Abram were right kind and caring folk, without a doubt. Was the dear girl afraid of being found out by the church elders? Well, if that were the case, Lizzie could attest to having seen the People rally round a wayward member. And once a wrongdoer repented, well, the arms of the community opened wide to welcome the church member right back into the fold.