Abram's Daughters 01 The Covenant (6 page)

I1 ik I hem gingerly"by their white shoestrings the way Dat held

li-:ul mice he found in the barn by their tails. So peculiar li iking they were. Ach, she felt almost sinful just touching

1111*111, studying the fancy shoes with disdain, knowing who hail walked in them, and wondering all of a sudden who niight've worn them even before Sadie. The cotton blouse

nil smelled of cologne and the forest. The skirt was a light

11 isset color, cut with a flair at the hem. Not so worn that she inlght've suspected someone else of having owned the garnient before Sadie. Not the blouse, either. So then, did this mean Sadie had actually gone into an English dress shop

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somewhere and purchased these clothes? And if not, how had the fancy outfit landed in her possession? Through one of Sadie's former high school chums, maybe?

She thought of Sadie's Plain girlfriends, those who were testing the waters, having their one and only chance to experience the outside world before deciding whether or not to become a full-fledged member of the Amish church. There were any number of girls who might influence Sadie in such a manner. Or, then again, maybe it was Sadie who was influencing them. Come to think of it, that was probably more likely . . . Sadie being the stubborn sort she was. Sometimes Leah felt sorry for her.

Leah recalled the time when Sadie had wanted to stay home and nurse a sick puppy back to health, missing Preaching service to do so. Mamma had said "Nothing doin'," but in the end, Sadie got her way. Leah, at the time, wasn't at all so sure her sister was actually going to sit at home and care for their new puppy dog. She had a feeling what Sadie really wanted was to hop in the pony cart and take herself out to the far meadow, spending time gathering wild daisies on the Lord's Day, yet. And Leah was perty sure that's just what Sadie had done, too, because she found a clump of limp buttercups in Sadie's top drawer later on. Besides all that, the sick puppy died that night. Hadn't been tended to at all.

Put out with herself, Leah honestly didn't know why she was thinking such things just now. She oughta be on her knees, praying for her willful sister, she knew, asking God to spare His judgment on dear Sadie.

Stuffing the defiled clothing and shoes back into Sadie's hope chest, she sighed, breathing a prayer, knowing it would take more than a few whispers sent heavenward to save her

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sister from sinful pleasures. Sadly, she hadn't the slightest idea how to rescue someone from the swift undercurrent of I he world, especially when there was no sign of flailing arms or calling for help. Surely Sadie wouldn't just let herself go under without a struggle.

Leah shuddered to think that by keeping her sister's secret, she just might be helping Sadie drown. Dear Lord, am I making a terrible mistake?

Henry Schwartz had absolutely no success talking to his youngest son. First of all, Derek had made himself unavailable lor the longest time, upstairs shaving. Then when Derek telephoned his friend Melvin Warner, he was interrupted several limes by Mrs. Ferguson, who wanted to gab to her newly married daughter. But Derek put her off, tying up the party line they shared with twelve other families. Once his son did hnish the phone call, Lorraine was signaling them to the dining room for breakfast.

Finally Derek had come dragging to the table, where Lorraine and Robert were engaged in a lengthy conversation, discussing such heartrending topics as "friendly fire," which had killed so many Allied soldiers, two hundred at sea alone. Robert had been only eighteen at the time of his enlistment, promptly being taken off to basic training in early 1944, just as the war was heating up, during the increasing attacks on Berlin.

Sitting quietly, watching his family down their breakfast, Henry wondered if it was such a good idea to confront Derek

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today regarding his most recent woodland excursion. His son was in a hurry, obvious by the way he wiped his mouth on his napkin and crumpled it onto the plate, then muttered "excuse me" and exited the room with little eye contact. His footsteps on the stairs were swift, as well, and Henry assumed he was rushing off to work at the Mast farm.

Recalling that his attempts to rein in this son had always failed in the past, he realized anew that Derek was a boy whom he had never been able to truly influence or oversee. Not at all like conscientious and honorable Robert, but to a certain extent similar to Henry himself, who had been rather reckless in his youth. No one, not even his father, the Reverend Schwartz, could manage him in those days.

Subsequently, like father like son. For Henry to acknowledge the fact was one thing; living with it on a daily basis was quite another. So he would wait for a more opportune time to sit down with Derek. If that moment presented itself at all.

It was the custom of the People to gather for Preaching at nine o'clock sharp on a Sunday morning. The day before, the menfolk removed the partitions that divided the front room from the big kitchen, creating an enormous space, enough for as many as one hundred fifty, give or take a few. Throw rugs were removed, decorative china washed and spotless. Furniture downstairs was rearranged and stoves polished and blackened. In the barn the manure had been cleared out and, in general, the stables cleaned up. Preaching service usually lasted three hours, ending in the common meal at noon and a time of visiting afterward. A day of great anticipation, to be sure.

Ida sat on the backless bench between Lizzie on her left

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iind Leah on her right. Sadie and the twins sat squarely in liont of them, and Ida was taken yet again by the striking beauty of the girls' hair color, so similar to her own growing up. Hannah and Mary Ruth could scarcely be told apart when viewing them from this angle; the curve of their slender necks was nearly identical. Sadie, just a bit taller, was similar in build lo her twin sisters, still mighty thin for being this close to the end of her teen years. Even so, Ida admired her girls lined up nil in a row, when she should've been entering into an attiHide of prayer in preparation for being a hearer of the Word.

She recalled that Leah had been much quieter than usual nil the walk down their long lane and out to the road. As usual, Mary Ruth had been the one doing most of the talking, i hough Sadie had mentioned how awful perty the clouds were ihis morning. "All fluttery, they are," she'd said, which made Kla wonder what was really on her firstborn's mind, seeing as how she'd bumped into Sadie coming in the kitchen door at nearly one o'clock this morning. Ida had gone downstairs, Milfering from an upset stomach. She didn't know why, really hadn't eaten anything out of the ordinary. She was pouring herself seme milk and nearly dropped the glass, stari led to hear someone opening the back door at such an hour.

When she turned to see who it was, she gasped. "Sadie, nch, is that you?"

"Jah, Mamma. I'm home" was all Sadie said.

"Out all hours," Mamma said reprovingly.

Sadie was silent.

Now was as good a time as any to remind her daughter what the Scriptures taught. " 'What fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? And what communion hath light with darkness?' "

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"Still . . . it's my rumschpringe," Sadie muttered, then skittered past and hurried up the steps.

A faint timberland scent mingled with a fragrance Ida couldn't quite place as Sadie nearly fled from the kitchen. Ach, if only Abram had gotten their eldest a domestic permit, keeping Sadie home from the wiles of public high school after she finished eighth grade. Both Ida and Abram had erred and were paying for it dearly, exposing Sadie to higher education, her consorting with worldly teachers and students and all. After Sadie they'd gotten wise, requesting a permit for Leah to keep Abram's farmhand separated from the world once she turned fifteen.

Though, hard as it was not to rush after willful Sadie, Ida had just let things be. Her mother heart longed to interfere, if only for Sadie's well-being. Yet it wasn't the People's way. Better for her eldest to experience a bit of the world now, before her baptism, than to be curious about it afterward. So she didn't persist on the night before Preaching. No, the house was dark and still, and should remain so, even though she'd feared Sadie had been out wandering through the woods that late at night. And not alone, more than likely.

Then, of all things, Sadie had commented on the sky and the clouds as they'd strolled to church. Ida couldn't remember having heard her eldest talk thataway, as if she had suddenly come to appreciate the handiwork of Creator-God after all these years. No, it wasn't like her Sadie to pay the heavens any mind; she never had been as conscious of nature as either Leah or Lizzie.

Since the church meeting was just next door, so to speak, she and Lizzie, along with the girls, had all walked down the road together. Ida had taken her hamper of food over to the

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I'cftcheys last evening in the carriage, so her hands were free.

I'.irly this morning, after milking and a hearty breakfast,

Abnim had gone to help the smithy with last-minute details.

Here they sat, the women and young children on the left

u\c of the room, waiting to sing the first long hymn, while upstairs the ministers counseled amongst themselves, planning who would preach the Anfang the introductory sermon, Es schwere Deel the main sermon, and Zeugniss the M'Htimonies.

All the while Ida couldn't keep her eyes off the back of

adie's dear head the strings of her white prayer cap hanging loose over her graceful shoulders. Soon, jah, very soon

11 oped and prayed her eldest would tread lightly the path of Hirnschpringe, not follow its fickle corridors as far as Lizzie !i*id, Ach, there was ever so much more than met the eye to i he late teen years. For some it was the devil's playground wild parties and whatnot. "A sin and a shame," Preacher Voder often said-in his Sunday sermons, admonishing the young people to "stay in Jesus." She must see to it that Sadie hnlshed instructional classes for baptism and obeyed the Lord In that most sacred ordinance come September.

Lizzie gave Miriam Peachey and her daughter, Adah, a li.uul with preparations for the picnic on the grounds. She

11id several other women worked in Miriam's kitchen, arranging great platters of cold cuts, cheeses, and slices of homemade bread, all the while conscious of the growing number of young people milling about the barnyard; many were coming

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into the age of courting and their running-round years. She was a practical woman who had learned early on to curtail any lofty expectations for the youth of the church, not put hopes too high on certain ones in particular, knowing what she did. Keenly aware of human frailty, she'd stopped focusing too much on the future, rather concentrating on the present. The here and now. After all, what you did today, you had to live with tomorrow. Ach, she knew that truth all too well.

Silently she observed girls like Sadie and that buddy of hers, Naomi Kauffman. Lizzie could tell them a thing or two if they'd but listen. Yet they would pay her no mind. Not now. They were basking in the giddy blush of youth, along with many others, delighting in their youthful heyday. Oh, how she remembered having narrowly survived those years herself. And sadly, after those disturbing days, nothing had turned out the way she'd ever hoped. Goodness knows, she'd dreamed of marrying and having at least a handful of children by this time. Instead, the prospect of her own family was fading with every passing year.

Yet, in spite of it all, Lizzie was the last person to dwell on disappointments. She tried to live cheerfully, bringing as much joy into the lives of others as she possibly could. Take Ida's quartet of girls, for instance. Now, there was a right happy group of young women, especially round the dinner table when she was invited, which she was quite often. She wouldn't think of turning down a chance to spend time at her sister's place. Oh, how they laughed and told stories on each other, Ida in particular, recalling their girlhood days, growing up with a batch of siblings one sister over in Hickory Hollow, who at the age of thirty-eight already had ten children and another on the way.

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Sometimes Lizzie wished all her siblings had settled closer In Gobbler's Knob, where from her midteen years on she liml such wonderful'gut recollections. Memories of dewy jjl'ccn Aprils and gingery Octobers, though such memories mum became entwined with painful ones, the way quilting

11 trends of jade, sapphire, and cranberry interlock with strands nl ebony and ash gray.

I kit on such a perty day as today, what with the sky the i >lor of Dresden blue, Lizzie pasted a smile on her face, made I iff way outside, down the steps, and out to the long back , .nil, where picnic blankets were already being spread out in ilif shade of the linden tree, its thick heart-shaped leaves i i.ickling in the heat of the day.

She refused to waste a speck more energy on feeling sorry lur herself. Time to call the menfolk indoors to dish up, then i he women and girls to follow soon after. She'd sit down on ibt* large Ebersol blanket and eat lunch with Ida, Leah, and I lannah, too, while Mary Ruth ate and played with the little < lilldren, and Sadie and some of the older girls sat in a clotsirrcd cluster a stone's throw away, clapping out their botching i;,iine. She would enjoy the fellowship, such a merry time, suri minded by so many folk who managed to be happy, come what may. . v -:

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I he i rain that ran between Quarryville and Atglen could Mt'ily In- heard this far away from Route 372. Occasionally, y^lUU|,;li, in the dark morning hours, before the birds began Heir i-ni husiastic refrain at first light, its rumblings along the H i I. iniveled deep through the terrain, across the miles to H|nh ;is she rose out of bed, stepping onto the wooden floor' ^Bniilv She heard the faintest whistle, ever so distant and just ^vv ulinost eerie, as the air was particularly still, with nary a Htc/r Id speak ofr