The Redemption of Sarah Cain (8 page)

Lydia straightened her apron and sat on an oak bench, facing her family. ‘‘Are we ready for a story now?’’ she asked again.

Anna Mae’s head came up at last, and she gave a rare nod— the go-ahead. The others sat with upturned faces, eager for the evening’s entertainment.

‘‘A long, long time ago, an old man lived deep in the woods,’’ she began. It had been quite some time since she had first heard this story. Mamma’s friend Susie had told it to the women one day as they gathered over at the Lapps’ farmhouse to put the cotton backing on an old quilt.

Lydia had been sitting all quietlike under the giant quilt frame with two other little girls, listening in. . . .

‘‘Jacob was an Amish widower with nary a hope of snaggin’ a bride for himself—mostly to do his washing and whatnot ’round the house. The reason he wasn’t such a good catch for a mate was ’cause he was known to be downright deceitful on occasion.

‘‘Oh, he was hardworkin’ enough, got up at the crack of dawn to do the laundry chores all by himself. But he was never so happy ’bout it, wishin’ he had a wife to do the womanly chores.

‘‘Well, it got so there was a whole bunch of Plain women up and down the same road as the old man, and the full lot of them started up havin’ a bit of competition. They made a game of it, seein’ who was first to hang out Monday mornin’ wash and get it dry.

‘‘So they each started gettin’ up early—very early—in the morning. Each week, nigh unto another whole hour earlier than the last, till the lot of ’em was gettin’ up in the dark to hang out their laundry, hopin’ to be the winner for the week.

‘‘Now, all the elderly folk in the community testify up and down that this next part of the story about Washday Competition is one hundred percent accurate and true. They declare that the old man outsmarted those neighborly women friends of his at their own game.

‘‘He devised an unbeatable system, proving that he’d gotten up the earliest in the morning. And he didn’t have to say a single word ’bout it, neither, to prove that it was so. He simply went to his closet and took and hung a whole string of clean and dry trousers and shirts on his clothesline.

‘‘When the womenfolk noticed his laundry a-flappin’ on the clothesline ’bout the time theirs was just gettin’ hung out, well, they
knew
he was the winner.’’

Lydia grinned at the children as she folded her hands in her lap. ‘‘Now, what do you think of that?’’

The children clapped their hands, begging for more. ‘‘Surely that story isn’t true,’’ Caleb said, still grinning.

‘‘Well, I know what you’re thinking, ’cause I hardly believed it when first I heard it myself,’’ she replied. ‘‘But that just goes to show what some folk’ll do to win, jah?’’

Josiah kept a-lookin’ up at her. ‘‘Mamma would say that’s lyin’,’’ he said. ‘‘Plain and simple.’’

‘‘Jah, right deceitful it is,’’ Caleb concluded.

Lydia waited for Anna Mae to say something, but she looked as if she were in a daze. And Hannah was gettin’ mighty sleepy.

‘‘I think we best turn in for the night.’’ She motioned for Caleb to get the Bible down.

Anna Mae surprised everyone by saying, ‘‘Let’s have the English Bible tonight for evenin’ prayers.’’

‘‘Jah,’’ Hannah said with a smile.

‘‘S’pose it’s a gut idea,’’ Lydia said. ‘‘We oughta get used to it, maybe.’’

’Specially if—and when—Aunt Sarah ever comes
, she thought.

‘‘Why’s that such a gut idea, Lyddie?’’ Josiah asked.

She didn’t want to end the evening on a sour note. Her dear little brother didn’t need to be hearing ’bout her fears or her frustration over their aunt’s obvious reluctance to accept her rightful place in the family.

‘‘Well, now,’’ she said at last, ‘‘Dat always wanted us to read from both the German
and
the English.’’

Just then she felt every bit as deceitful as old Jacob in the clothes-washin’ story she’d just told.

‘‘Please get Bill on the line,’’ Sarah called to Heidi as she rushed into the front entrance to Alexander’s Realty. ‘‘I need a last-minute favor from the boss.’’

‘‘Uh-oh,’’ Heidi muttered, her eyebrows rising.

‘‘Yeah, isn’t
that
the truth,’’ Sarah whispered, marching down the hallway to her office.

Bill Alexander would have every reason to be irritated when she told him what she wanted to do. But she had given her word to a Mennonite attorney. She
had
to fly to Pennsylvania, if only for a few days. There was no alternative.

Choices, it seemed, had suddenly become a thing of the past.

Chapter Six

S
arah did not take time to mull over her day
this
morning while sitting in bed. Her trip took precedence, and she was literally too busy to meet Bryan for their casual breakfast date.

Picking up the cell phone, she scanned the data for his number. She located it quickly, then hesitated. Could she spare the extra half hour, or whatever it took, to meet with him?

She recalled their excruciating final date as college sweethearts. Stubbornly, they had argued their individual positions long into the night. To think that she and Bryan could have moved from that one tumultuous moment and reemerged as friends still boggled her mind.

Putting down the cell phone, she decided against calling. She had hurt him too much already to cancel their casual brunch date. Besides, Bryan might not forgive her if she didn’t follow through on their spontaneous rendezvous. She couldn’t afford to lose his friendship, even if he was a bit overbearing, this much she knew. So she scurried about the room, preparing to shower and dress.

It took her precisely forty-five minutes. She knew what she would wear, had thought it through the night before, prior to falling asleep. She wouldn’t spend an inordinate amount of time on her hair or makeup, though. She let her hair hang free and easy, less of the buttoned-up look. Of course, she would do her best to look nice but would lean more toward her usual classy, but professional, style. After all, it wasn’t her goal to impress Bryan. She must have accomplished that years ago.

‘‘It’s only breakfast,’’ she whispered mockingly at the mirror. She brushed her honey blond locks away from her oval face, flipping her head forward and leaning over to shake her hair to encourage extra bounce. One of her many morning rituals.

Head erect, she sprayed her hair lightly, recalling the time Mother had observed Ivy combing Sarah’s hair. Ivy had been a teenager, around fifteen or so. Sarah, only nine . . .

‘‘You’ve got natural curls,’’ Sarah had said to Ivy, watching her play with her own strawberry blond mane.

‘‘Don’t ever say that!’’ Ivy shot back.

‘‘You should be happy about it,’’ Sarah replied, determined to stand her ground.

Ivy stopped brushing, a stubborn look on her face. ‘‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’’ she seethed.

‘‘Now, girls,’’ Mother said in the doorway of the girls’ bedroom. ‘‘Let’s try to be kinder to each other.’’

Ivy waved her brush in Sarah’s little face. ‘‘Tell
her
that!’’

Mother shook her head, a hand on her nearly nonexistent hip. ‘‘Might be a good idea if the two of you separate for a while.’’ She wagged her finger at Sarah. ‘‘Come along now. No need to stir up your sister’s wrath.’’

‘‘I was only telling the truth.’’ Sarah turned when Mother wasn’t looking and stuck out her tongue at her sister. ‘‘Ivy’s hair is
so
naturally curly,’’ she said defiantly.

Mother, wiser than either of them, put in not a word of defense of her older daughter. She took Sarah by the hand and led her out of the room and down the stairs. ‘‘It’s time you stop poking fun at your big sister,’’ Mother said, making her sit in the corner of the living room. ‘‘You must learn to show respect to your elders.’’

But in Sarah’s mind, ‘‘elders’’ were much older folk. People in their twenties or more. Not rotten teenage sisters who were half-blind when it came to hair.
Her
hair, after all, was stick straight. And she wished it was anything
but
.

Thinking back, Sarah wondered if that had been the initial reason for their lifelong dissension? Did Ivy really and truly despise her own curls? Did she secretly wish for different hair?

Sarah checked her makeup once again, though she’d promised herself not to obsess over her appearance. Quickly, she sprayed her favorite perfume, the most expensive fragrance she owned—
Eternal
—wondering if Bryan would remember the scent. Then, standing before the floor mirror, she scrutinized herself from head to toe, especially noting the heather gray pant outfit and soft pink scarf at her neck.

Fabulous
, she thought, hoping she’d made the right decision by agreeing to see him again.

Lydia was perty sure Mamma would’ve joined the Old Order Amish if Dat had wanted to years ago. But her parents had chosen the assurance of salvation with the New Order Amish Church over the rigid, tradition-based community of the Old Order.

Truth be told, she was glad they’d favored the way of redemption through God’s grace. ’Specially since with it came the belief that modern electricity and telephones were not as wicked as some brethren had originally thought.
This
doctrine she wholeheartedly embraced, along with the modern conveniences. Yet, she was content to be submissive to the bishop and the rulings of the People of their own church district.

Lydia honestly enjoyed being Plain. For her, it was the only way to be. Maybe ’cause she’d had some experience with the modern world to compare to the Amish life-style—the first five years of her life.

Sarah stood in the alcove of the anteroom. She scanned the specialty cafe
and looked for Bryan, spotting him at the same moment he recognized her, his eyes softening instantly.