Abram's Daughters 01 The Covenant (19 page)

Leah was torn between her sister's obvious grief and her own curiosity over the letter still clasped in sleeping Sadie's hand. So ... Sadie hadn't ended her relationship with the English beau earlier, as Leah had hoped. No matter, it was over now. And though she felt terribly sorry for Sadie, she was mighty glad that Derry was gone once and for all. He'd broken things off in such a spineless manner! Well, the boy wasn't worthy of anyone's affections, let alone her sister's.

Leah purposely stayed awake, shifting her thoughts to Jonas. She had no reason to ever expect a coward's letter from him, now that she had proof of his keen interest in her, in his plan to court her. One year from now their wedding plans would be published in church, and by Thanksgiving Day they would be wed, probably. Jah, the year ahead would be the best

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lone of her whole life ... if Dat came to see the light, that is.

I Smithy Gid, too.

I Sighing, she rose to pull up a lightweight quilt over her

Igistcr. Leah hoped and prayed that Sadie might enjoy the

I Biimc depth of happiness she herself had found in dearest

Nonas, only this time with a nice Plain boy.

i But she worried, unable to sleep. Had Sadie's reputation

In-en tarnished by the grapevine amongst the community of

iIk" People?

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'U.

C- &W

D.

Lverek Schwartz talked his brother into going out for a night on the town, to Harrisburg, thirty-eight miles away. Robert was a wet blanket when it came to having fun, particularly this Friday night, and Derek accused him in so many words as they drove to a downtown soda shop called The Niche.

After a near-silent supper they headed to the YMCA, where a bevy qI girls were eager to dance to a live local band, ;md a Sinatra wannabe was crooning onstage and making lime with the microphone. Derek was more than happy to oblige and danced with four different blondes before noticing Robert sitting over on the sidelines. This annoyed him, but lie decided to keep his yap shut this time. Poor, miserable big brother, suffering the aftershock of war. Shouldn't he be content having survived Normandy's invasion with all his limbs ;ind mental faculties? Some of the young guys his age had come back with a hook for a hand or worse, in body bags. I lis father had told Derek in a whisper one night in the hallway connecting the small medical clinic to the house, "Your

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brother will need patience from all of us ... time to adjust to civilian life again."

Even so, Derek could not muster up a trace of sympathy for Robert tonight. Why should he waste his dance-floor energy having to twist Robert's arm when the atmosphere was charged with pure exhilaration, perfumed and coiffed girls, and great music? Didn't the ex-GI know it was time to celebrate? He was alive, for pete's sake!

By the time they were back in the car and driving home, Derek was proud to have collected four phone numbers, all from blue-eyed blondes. One, a deep-dimpled girl, could have easily passed herself off as Helen O'Connell, sweet canary of Jimmy Dorsey's swing band. Yeah, the phone numbers were long-distance ones, but he didn't have to dial up all of them within the space of a week ... or even a month. One thing was settled in his mind he was ready for a new girl. Harrisburg, York, Reading, he didn't care. The fling with Sadie Ebersol had gone on way too long. He could kick himself for leading her on as he had, letting her believe he would keep in touch with her as an enlisted man. Or that he loved her at all. What got his goat was how innocent she had been . . . too trusting, too. He bristled now, recalling their furtive trysts in the woods. Memories of the past two months haunted him the risks he'd taken dragging off to work, too tired to pull his fair share.

Wisely, and in the nick of time, he had rid himself of Sadie with a tidy and to-the-point letter, which her cute

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I uihl quite cheerful younger sister had promised to deliver. Hy now, knowing Sadie as he did, she would have cried hernell m sleep more than two nights in a row. Soon, though, she would he out flirting again, finding herself a good-looking but rowdy Plain boy, most likely, now that she was a bona fide member of that back-woodsy church. He made a mental note in he more discreet with his sugarcoated doublespeak in the Inline, having made empty promises repeatedly. His best move so far had been cutting things off before something happened to tie him down to her.

Robert broke the silence, intruding into Derek's reverie. "I low can they do it?"

"Huh?"

"People act like things are fine. Don't those girls at the 'Y' know there's been a war? Our guys were blown to smithereens and they you . . . everyone acts like nothing happened."

Derek turned and looked at his brother. Robert was gripping the steering wheel with both hands, at ten o'clock and i wo, just as their father had taught them.

"How can things be the same here at home?"

In the four months since his brother's return, Derek had never heard him speak of his war experiences. He hadn't heard the edge of frustration, the intense anger in Robert's voice. "Maybe it's because some of us weren't there to see people get blown to kingdom come . . . that's how," Derek shot back, not sure why he felt so angry now himself.

Robert fell suddenly silent again, which made Derek uneasy. His brother's face was often as white as the sheets I heir father used to drape over a corpse from time to time. Robert proudly wore the mask of unwitting demise, which

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bothered Derek. It was as if this young war veteran had to experience death vicariously, here and now after the fact to somehow justify what his slaughtered best buddies had faced and lost. And now Robert was driving much too slowly on the highway as the turn-off for Strasburg came into view. What was really wrong? Derek wondered. Why was Robert driving like there was no need to get somewhere? Ever? Like he was in no hurry to arrive home, to crawl into bed and sleep in the safety of their father's home instead of a foxhole. Was he afraid he might endure the nightmarish dreams of the Normandy beaches all over again?

When the good doctor heard the knocking on the side door, he was slow to get up out of his comfortable chair to see who it was. The boys should be back soon, was his first thought. Maybe they'd forgotten the house key. But, no, when he opened the door he was met by the tear-streaked face of a young Amishwoman. "I'm ever so sorry to bother you," she said softly. "I was wonderin' ... is Derry home?"

"Derek? You wish to see my son?" ,

"Jah, if that's all right."

He glanced around her, expecting to see a horse and buggy parked in the lane. "Did you come on foot?"

She nodded. " Tis important."

"Well, Derek isn't home," he said quickly, aware of her eyes in the porch light. Lovely, sad, faded blue eyes. "I wouldn't know when to expect him."

"I'd be willin' to wait."

Raking his hand through his hair, he wondered what he ought to say or do, wondering what was best for Derek. "Let

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you home. I can't say how late it might be before

I "Denki, but no. I must see Derry tonight."

I She knows his nickname? What sort of relationship does this

|j/rf have with my boy? he worried.

I Suddenly, he felt he must encourage her to visit tomor-

Iruw, or another day. But no amount of persuading could

It i mvince the girl that she should not sit outside on the porch

I'.ic p waiting, and she insisted on doing so. And now here

r\\.i.\ Lorraine, in her bathrobe, coming to see what all the

lt,i >mmotion was, asking why Henry hadn't invited the poor

Itli'ur inside.

I "No . . . no, I can't do that," the girl said. "I wouldn't

Itliink of imposin' on you."

I "But it's nothing," his wife insisted. "Please, do come in."

I The girl, who gave her name simply as Sadie, was more

iHiuhborn than the two of them. She turned and planted her-

Im'II on the second step of the side porch, determined to wait

lloi Derek.

I At last Herary closed the door on the girl, turning to

I Lorraine. "Why must you be so hospitable at this hour, when

!wi% don't even know the young woman?" he said, checking

himself. It wouldn't do to protest ... to make a mountain out

dl :i simple molehill, most likely.

"She's surely a neighbor, Henry," his kind and compas'

Nlonate wife said. "We have lots of Plain folk living up and

ilnwn the road; you know that."

"But ... an Amish girl asking for Derry?" He forced a

i buckle. "How ordinary is that?"

The tension was ultimately diffused by their laughter,

though he found himself checking out the window every

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fifteen minutes to see if the girl was still there, hoping for Derek's sake she might change her mind and walk back home. Where she belonged.

The highway was dark, the headlights the only source of light on the narrow road hemmed in by cornfields on all sides. Robert surprised Derry by breaking the silence. "Did Dad ever warn you about women?" Robert asked.

"Nope."

"Before I left for the war ... at the train station, Dad said certain things."

Derek shook his head. "What're you getting at?"

" 'Stick to your own kind' that's just what Dad said, slapping my back while the train chugged into view. And he seemed to feel strongly about it ... even wrote letters warning me to keep my nose clean when it came to European girls. Dad said women were trouble."

"Not all women," Derry said. "Dad got lucky with Mom."

"Well, I didn't listen to him. I fell for a German girl named Verena." Robert stopped talking, having to cough several times.

"What happened?"

"She died in an explosion." His brother paused again. "Thank God she was asleep ... it happened in the middle of the night . . . she never knew what hit her." Robert signaled and pulled over, then turned off the ignition and opened the window.

"Yeah? That's rough."

They sat there for the longest time, listening to the motor ticking.

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Soon Derry was the one coughing. "Are we ever going

I...me?"

Then Robert turned to face him, as if he were going to "Iline about the war some more. "This might sound weird to \' >ii, but I made a promise to God over there. When everyone inuind me was drowning or getting blown to bits ... I prayed

11 i.it if I got out of that hellish place alive, I'd give my life to < hii.sr somehow. Do something big for Him."

"I.ike what?"

Breathing in audibly, Robert leaned his arm on the open

iiulow. "What would you think if I became a minister, like

1 irniulpa Schwartz?"

I terry felt like laughing, but this wasn't the time or place. "I Icy, it's your life. Mess it up if you want to."

"But . . . you didn't see how bloody how unspeakably I'i ill ill the war was. Don't you understand I shouldn't be alive i"iliiy? You should have a brother buried six feet under. . . ." I'liluM-f's voice trailed off to nothing.

"Well, don't let me be the one to tell you how stupid it ' i uikl be to break a vow, or whatever, to God." Derry was sick ,ii u I i ired of all this talk from his big brother. All this religious i. 11 k . . .

I1 was time for Robert to quit spilling his guts and drive IniiiK'. That's what. And when Derry said so, Robert stared I'.u'k at him for a moment, then straightened and turned on ilit- ignition, saying no more.

Silting on the porch, having just met Derry's parents I >i. I lenry Schwartz and his friendly wife Sadie waited for ilieir son, thinking back to her childhood years here in GobI'let's Knob. For the longest time, she'd had a carefree, happy

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life . . . obeying the Ordnung and trying to do right. Dat and Mamma had brought her up in the ways of the Lord, no doubt of that. Yet here she was perched on the steps of strangers, really, their grandchild forming beneath her frightened heart.

Ach, she'd had to tell Leah something. After all, Leah had been by her side to comfort her after Derry's unexpected letter had clear knocked the wind out of her. She hadn't

breathed a word about expecting a baby, though. Didn't want to share that news just yet, not with anyone. Only Derry should know. She had told Leah she wouldn't be seeing her English beau any longer but guarded the letter and didn't offer to share it.

Unable to slip away from the house, she'd waited all week to walk down the road a half mile or so because she didn't

dare risk trying to hitch up the driving horse to the family buggy. Not at this hour. And now that she was here, Sadie felt even worse about the things Derry had written her. And awful sad it was, finding out he wasn't home tonight. She had hoped he might've stayed home, sorrowfully pondering the many days and weeks of their love. But now his being gone made her wonder if he had ever loved her at all, to be out having himself a nice time while she was still crying over him over what might've been.

Or, now that she thought on it, what could still be. Did she dare tell him what was brewing in her mind ... in her heart?

Henry wondered now if he might've been too hasty with the young barefooted woman. Why hadn't he invited her inside, welcoming her with the usual gracious bedside manner he was known for? Yet he was a man of his own opinions, and

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he pushed back alarm at the thought of a tear-streaked Amish tfirl on their doorstep.

He walked back to the front room, ears alert to what might unfold. The hour was late. Robert and Derek would surely be home any minute, and his second son was quite ndept at handling things, whatever the girl's issue might be. Tliis was not his concern, nor Lorraine's, yet he stood to peer out the window as Robert's car pulled into the lane.

Derek spotted Sadie instantly, hunched over on the porch step, as if she could fool him and not be noticed. Nevertheless, she was there, brazenly waiting for him. "What's she doing here?" he snapped.