Sarah's Orphans (39 page)

“Can't say I do.”

“If water can get through it, so can a goat.”

Andy laughed.

Paul said, “Maybe we should go to town and get some fencing to put along the bottom, over there, on the west side.”

“
Gut
idea. But only if you let me buy. You already gave us the goats.”

“Deal.”

An hour later they were in town at the feed store. It was cheaper to buy a large roll of the fencing. Andy relented and allowed Paul to pay for half. “My pigs are so big, I think they could lean against our fencing and knock it over. This will work to slow them down a little.”

As they were leaving, Paul spied potted flowers outside the front door of the feed store.

“Maybe we should buy flowers.”

“Flowers?”

“Could get you out of the doghouse with Emma, and they might cheer Sarah up.”

Andy started to say something, bit it back, and stooped to pick up a tray of pink ones.

“What are they?”

“I have no idea. What's Sarah's favorite color?”

“I don't know.”

“She's your sister.”

“Well, you're the one who is sweet on her!” Andy waited, as if daring him to deny it.

But why bother? Paul imagined everyone was aware of his feelings for Sarah. Everyone except Sarah.

He selected a tray with half yellow, half purple blooms and changed the subject to goat feed.

He didn't have time to stop by the Yoder place, so he let Andy off at the end of the lane. “I'll be over tomorrow. Can't leave the pigs for too long or they get into trouble.”

“How much trouble can a pig get into?”

“You'd be surprised. Good luck with the flowers.”

“I could give these to Sarah, and you could take yours to Emma.”

“Which wouldn't help your situation one bit.” Paul whistled as he drove the tractor home. He set the flowers next to the barn and went to check on the pigs. By the time he returned, they were looking a bit wilted, so he took them out of the flat and placed them in an old iron pot. He didn't look in the pot first. Instead, he fetched a pail of water, soaked them, and went inside to prepare his dinner.

His cooking wasn't getting any better, but he had started cleaning his dishes each night. Not that Sarah had been back over, but she might.

The next day he waited until lunch, until he thought Mia would be down for a nap.

“They actually look kind of nice in that old pot,” he muttered. Picking it up, he set it on the floor of the tractor and drove next door.

When he knocked on the door, Sarah answered, but she didn't invite him in. He thought she looked tired, and it crossed his mind that she might be sick. Surely if she was,
Mammi
would have noticed.

“I brought you something.”

“More goats?”

“Um, no.”

She stepped out onto the porch and crossed her arms. “Does it need to be fed or looked after?”

His surprise must have shown, because she hurried to explain. “That sounded ungrateful. It's only that, well, I feel I have my hands full at the moment.”

“You don't have to feed this, unless watering counts.”

He wanted to reach for her hand, but she remained standing there, her arms crossed. Finally, she shrugged her shoulders and followed him around to the tractor.

The surprise on her face was enough for Paul.

The smile was a bonus.

“They're beautiful.” She leaned forward to touch the petals, and then she leaned down to smell them.

And that was when a snake stuck its head out of the pot.

Sarah screamed and fell backward. He caught her before she hit the ground, but he couldn't hold her. She was gone, racing up the porch steps faster than raindrops fall.

“Paul Byler! You take those back right now!”

He wanted to laugh, wanted to tell her that it was only a harmless rat snake that must have been in the bottom of the pot before he set the flowers there.

Before he had a chance to explain, though, she'd turned and fled into the house. So much for cheering her up. He set the flowers on the front porch, carried the pot to the nearest field and released the snake, and then placed the empty pot back on the floor of the tractor. Perhaps she'd accept his gift if she could see there were no reptiles included.

And although the flower situation hadn't worked out as he hoped, he was grateful because for a moment the melancholy look had left her face.

CHAPTER 71

S
arah thanked the Lord with every report of Brian's recovery. He was moved from ICU, then released to rehab, and finally allowed to go home.

But her fear remained—every time she passed the accident site, when one of the children was late coming home, every time someone had a cough or sniffle.

Becca's little stack of Bible cards didn't immediately restore her faith, but Sarah did what she promised. She pulled one out each morning and read it as dawn broke on the horizon.

The L
ORD
is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love.

Blessed are all who take refuge in him.

In Your presence is fullness of joy.

The words weren't new to her. She'd heard the Psalms since she was a small child on her mother's lap. Somehow, though, the words had stopped reaching her heart.

But she had promised her friend, so she continued to read one card each day.

The first week passed much as the one before it. The second week, she found her appetite slowly returning. And by the third week, she heard an unusual sound and realized it was laughter, coming from her, as Mia stood before her, covered in mud, proclaiming, “I'm dirty.”

“You need to wash up.”

“Why?”

“Because of the mud.”

“Why?”

Her laughter had bubbled over then. Mia honestly saw nothing wrong with playing in the mud. Apparently, she'd been pretending she was a frog.

“Let's just take you to the bathtub.”

“Okay.” Mia skipped toward the bathroom.

“Don't touch anything.”

“Why?”

Caring for a small child had its good and bad moments, but always there was joy to be shared. That joy struggled against Sarah's mood. On one level, she realized she had let fear take root in her heart. On another level, that fear seemed justified.

But joy was waiting around every corner—in the bloom of a flower, in the love of her family, in news that Becca's daughter was born healthy and weighing almost eight pounds.

By the time they attended the school picnic the second Friday in May, she felt more like herself than she had since Brian's accident, or maybe before. Possibly this malaise had been building up since Mateo and Mia were taken, since her own mother had left, since the death of her father.

Mammi
never pushed. She baked and fried and roasted. She was a rock in Sarah's storm with her patience, wisdom, and silver-wrapped chocolates.

The end-of-the-year picnic was held in the school yard, and Brian was able to attend, though he still wasn't able to teach. His broken leg had given him more trouble than the internal injuries. He had graduated from a wheelchair to a walker and finally to a cane.

“Just like you, Levi,” he joked.

And that, Brian's ability to laugh at himself, did more to heal Sarah's spirit than any other single thing. How could she live her life paralyzed by a fear of what
might
happen when Brian was living victoriously in the face of what
had
happened?

She'd seen him at church, but she hadn't spoken to him yet. When she walked over to where he sat and welcomed him back, he pointed to the bench next to him.

“Actually, I wanted to thank you.”

“Me?”

Brian didn't answer immediately. His expression took on a faraway look. She thought that perhaps he had forgotten what he was going to say, or maybe he was too tired to visit. She stood to leave, and he pulled his gaze back toward her. The look in his eyes practically caused her knees to buckle.

“It's hard to look away from them. Don't you agree? The children? Whether it's my daughter or my son or one of my students, they're such a miracle. I think I had forgotten that before my accident. I was happy enough, but sort of…taking things for granted.”

She nodded as if she understood, but she didn't. She had no idea what he was trying to say or why he was saying it to her.

“I have you to thank along with Mateo and Isaac.”

“But—”

“If you hadn't taken on the responsibility of your siblings, Isaac wouldn't have been at school that afternoon. Perhaps he would have moved off to a distant relative or ended up in the foster system.” He held up his hand to stay her protests. “I know. It's rare, but it does happen, even in Amish families. Any family can be broken and scattered, Sarah—whether Amish or
Englisch
.”

“I suppose.”

“And Mateo? If Mateo hadn't been here, if you hadn't taken in those two children, then Isaac wouldn't have stayed late. It was because they were together and there that I'm alive today.”

“They care about you very much.”

“And I care about them. But don't you see, Sarah? I met my destiny that Friday. The boys thought I stayed late because of them. They felt a little guilty about that.” He paused at the look of surprise on her face. “I guess they haven't told you that, but they both came to me—separately—at our last church meeting. They said it was their fault. I told them what I'm telling you. If it hadn't been for Mateo and Isaac I would have bled out on the side of the road in Cody's Creek, Oklahoma.”

Sarah wanted to say how glad she was that he hadn't. She wanted to assure him that someone would have come along, but in truth how did she know that?

“They bandaged my wound, ran for help, and returned to stay with me until the paramedics arrived. I owe them my life, which means that I owe you the same.” He laughed. “You look a little shocked.”

“
Ya
, I am.”

“Don't be. I know that
Gotte
put you all in the right place at the right time, but you chose to do the right thing—and for me, it has made all the difference.”

Katie arrived then, bringing Brian a little of the picnic food and chattering about something their daughter had done. Sarah managed to slip away.

The children were playing baseball, volleyball, and a dozen other games that she remembered from her childhood. The end-of-the-year school picnic was always a big event, but this year everyone had turned out—even those without children in school. They'd come together as a community to minister to Brian, and now they were joining together to celebrate his recovery.

She walked to the back of the playground, leaned against a live oak tree, and simply watched the scene around her, allowing it to bless her soul.

“Beautiful site,
ya
?” Bishop Levi offered her a piece of gum.

“Nein. Danki.”

“It's
gut
to see Brian back today. The Lord has provided, Sarah.”

She wanted to ask about those who had died on the side of the road. It seemed every week there was another news story about a buggy accident in some other Amish community. Had God forsaken those who didn't make it? What of the ones who were hungry or lonely or abandoned?

But she didn't ask any of those questions. Instead, she nodded slightly as if she were agreeing with him.

“I was an inquisitive youngster. I must have driven my parents to distraction, questioning everything. But never once did they become angry.” Levi scratched at his jawline. “They were human though, and I remember a few days when I caused my mother to reach the end of her patience.” He laughed. “She once told me I could only ask three questions a day. Any more, and I'd be given additional chores. I wasn't any bigger than Mateo.”

Sarah had no idea why he was telling her this. First Brian and now the bishop. Did everyone suddenly feel an overwhelming desire to bare their soul to her? Would it be Paul next? She'd been avoiding him all day because she couldn't stand to see the concern in his eyes.

“They may have become exasperated at times, but my parents understood that I was made perfectly as I was. Our heavenly Father understands too. And I'm pretty sure He allows us more than three questions a day.”

With a wink, the bishop limped away, leaving Sarah befuddled and wondering if the entire world had lost its mind. But she wasn't dense. Later that night, she sat in the front porch rocker, Mia sleeping in her lap, and watched the stars appear.

She had been questioning God, and certainly more than three times a day. She'd been questioning every single thing she didn't understand. Somewhere along the way, she'd decided God was untrustworthy, but what was the psalm she had read that morning?