Abram's Daughters 04 The Prodigal (8 page)

"Why'd he want to drink something so awful?" asked Abe.

To this Leah said nothing, enjoying the innocent exchange as she hopped down from the buggy and fell in step with Sadie.

"It's beyond me why," said Lydiann. "But you can ask Carl 'bout it when we see him on New Year's Eve."

Lydiann may be sadly disappointed, thought Leah, fairly sure that even if they were invited to the Nolts' place for a meal, Dat would decline.

Sadie noticed Uncle Jesse's face light up when he came to the back door and saw who was there. Her uncle grabbed Dat and slapped him on the back, mighty glad indeed to see his younger brother. And right away she spotted Miriam Peachey

76 77 C/i e

over in ihe table, whispering to Aunt Mary Ebersol, pointing their way. Perhaps they've come to celebrate Abe's birthday, too,flniii^hi Sadie.

I Siulie's guess turned out to be true when Aunt Mary Brought out a bowl of butterscotch pudding, as well as a rich chocolate pie, hermits, and pecan drops. Sadie helped Aunt p1uiy and Miriam set out a stack of plates and the necessary Ijlciisils, but when it came time to serve the desserts, only Lydiann, Abe, and Adah's boys, along with the women folk, in down to eat. The men Uncle Jesse, Dat, Smitty, and mm- nil stood around the wood stove talking Dutch. Sadie Hiiln'l wish to eavesdrop, but she couldn't help but hear Dat In viI ing Uncle Jesse and Cousin Sam to join in Saturday's iceinhing outing.

I Sadie couldn't see what was so appealing about that. K'/iur'.s the point of sitting outside and freezing yourself for a coupleIfjish?

I Miriam slid in next to her on the wooden bench, reaching In I lie butterscotch pudding. "Your mamma loved her pudIllngs," Miriam said, glancing at Sadie but then looking over

I1 Lydiann and A be, across the table.

I "Did she have a favorite?" asked Abe.

Miriam paused and frowned a moment. "Well, now, I'll

li'l your big sister Sadie might know that."

I Sadie smiled, recalling many happy hours making a variety

If aistards and puddings in Mamma's big kitchen. "She loved

Ihc smell of chocolate pudding, that's for sure. But a favorite?

I guess I'd have to say either graham-cracker or date pudding."

I "Oh jah," added Miriam. "Your mamma loved her date

ludding, she did."

I Lydiann had both her elbows on the table now as she

77

Tfr~

-,-f-78

stared across at Miriam. "Our first mamma was your best friend, ain't so?" she said.

Miriam blushed all shades of red. "Well, I'd have to say I thought of her as my closest friend, jah."

"And I'd have to say my best friend's a boy," Lydiann piped up in response. "A Mennonite boy!"

Abe clapped his hand over his mouth, looking at Lydiann, who must have realized how she'd sounded. "Best be eatin' more and talkin' less," he said, repeating one of Dawdi's sayings as he poked her in the ribs.

Adah's little boys were busy with their bowls of pudding and too small to have caught the embarrassing banter between Abe and Lydiann. But Miriam hadn't missed it, not one iota; Sadie knew this because she'd heard a gasp escape Miriam's lips.

"Are ya havin' a happy birthday, Abe?" Miriam asked, her voice pitched higher than usual.

Sadie felt as though she might lose her composure and start laughing, although she was ever so sure such an outburst might not be the wisest thing for a widow in mourning. Besides that, Miriam was sitting only a few inches away from her. What would she say if she also knew of Sadie's reluctance to return Leah's letter and make a heartfelt apology?

Thoughts of the rigid period, penance for her sins, calmed her quickly, and she sat back and became an observer, immersing herself in the cheerful chatter, especially between the birthday boy and his next-oldest sister. Sadie's gaze drifted to Leah. To think she had, all those long, sad years, assumed Sadie had been married to Jonas, yet she showed Sadie not a hint of past bitterness now. Today especially, Sadie found herself wishing for a tongue-lashing from her sister, if not worse.

79

ihily, Leah exemplified a forgiving spirit, just as Mamma had l|l lief day-, 111 it surely there were limits even for someone like

f There, in the midst of the laughter and the celebrating, Indie fell ;is sad as could be, missing both her husband and piithef. She'd thought she would have a lifetime with Harvey, fiul here she was a widow. Had she taken their wedded hapnllii'NM for granted? She felt torn between longing for Harvey Ifid believing she'd squandered Mamma's final years, yet had [In *i'nyed put in Gobbler's Knob with Mamma, she never L'uiil have met and fallen in love with her Harvey. Oh, ji iineilines there was just no sorting through emotions so raw Id' I unnerving.

I When the dishes were cleared away, washed, and dried, Pud it? sat in the front room with Miriam, glad to be alone f\\\\ Mamma's bosom friend. "How are ya feelin' this week, it win' Christmas and all?" asked Miriam, touching the back of lidio's hand.

I "Well, it's not the happiest Christmas I've ever had," she liliniiied. "But it's wunderbaar'gut being back home in Goblin'1, Knob. ^'ve been enjoying the fun with Lydiann and

khf."

E NIiriam nodded, her eyes intent on Sadie. "But ya must be unking 'bout your loss, too."

I 'i;idie looked down at her black apron, so much a part of Li daily attire. It was cut from the same bolt of fabric as her huiirning dress, making it difficult to tell where one began Bid I lie other ended. "Some days I think I might wear black |ii iesi of my life." For all the deaths ... She didn't say what In was really thinking, because she'd confided only in Leah pyiinling the many stillbirths.

79

fFFf'fffl80ci_- eusis

" 'Course you'd be thinkin' thataway," Miriam said, sighing. "Harvey's passing is still fresh in your mind."

"He was a good man," Sadie said. "He never lost his temper that I know of, not once. He spoke kindly of everyone, and he got along famously with all his siblings."

Miriam listened, her gaze not straying from Sadie's. "How many brothers and sisters?"

"Five brothers and three sisters." Lest Miriam wonder why Harvey's siblings hadn't invited her to live with one of them, Sadie explained that, after his death, she had felt the Lord God was calling her home to Lancaster County.

"Oh, such a blessed thing to hear, Sadie! Does our bishop know of this?"

"No ... I said not a word." She wouldn't reveal she cared not one whit for Bishop Bontrager, not as far as she was into the Proving now. If he knew the full truth about her, would he consider even this punishment too slight? Surely he would, but Sadie couldn't bear much more, most days wishing she could simply blend into the mopboards.

"I'm thinkin' he oughta know," Miriam was saying. " Tis high time."

"Please, no. . . . Let's just keep that between us... and my family. No need to tell the bishop." She felt so strongly about this, tears sprang up.

"Ach, Sadie, I'm ever so sorry I said a word." Miriam leaned forward. "I'm just awful glad you're back with us, and I'm sure your father feels the same."

All Sadie could do was nod, her heart heavy under a weight of her own making. ,

8G

'If81

c/7

vn-4- e-is I &1*

a^n-

Th

1 here was a special quietude at the midafternoon hour Lorniine Schwartz had always taken pleasure in, especially in summertime when the heat of the day required a catnap or, at least, a rest from the fierce sun. This Friday, though, was not to be compared in the slightest with the dog days of late July or August. The old year was dying fast, and she had drawn rhe curtains and curled up by the roaring fire Henry had kindly built for her in the handsome tiled fireplace not too many feet from her easy chair. With a cup of chamomile tea in hand, she had been reading the Scriptures until the telephone's ringing prompted her to rise and pick up the black receiver.

"Schwartz residence. Lorraine speaking."

"Hello, Lorraine. It's Dottie Nolt."

"Oh, how are you today?"

"We're just fine, thanks. How was your Christmas?"

"Quiet. . . but very nice. You?"

Dottie shared how she and Dan had enjoyed watching Carl unwrap his presents and that their son had been especially

81

MBu82

la J2t

pleased at receiving a new sled. "But the reason I'm calling is to invite you and Henry for supper on New Year's Eve."

"Well, how thoughtful of you." Lorraine knew they had no plans whatsoever. "I'll check with my husband, but I think it's safe to say we'll accept. Thank you, Dottie. What can I bring?"

"Just yourselves. This is Dan's and my treat. We're inviting several neighbors, and Mary Ruth will be here, as well, so please extend the invitation to your son Robert."

"I will indeed."

"We also plan to invite Mary Ruth's family."

"That'll be nice to get better acquainted," said Lorraine.

Minutes later, when Henry came in from the clinic, she shared with him Dottie's kind invitation.

He stiffened visibly. "You didn't accept, did you?"

"Well, yes, I did." She was puzzled by his response.

Henry shook his head. "Call back and decline . . . say we have other plans."

"But we don't, dear. We would simply be alone on New Year's Eve, unless, of course, Robert should decide to stay home and not spend the evening with Mary Ruth. But I hardly think he'll want to do that."

Again Henry shook his head, frowning deeply. "Please call Dottie back, Lorraine."

His words reached her ears, but it was her memory that served her best. Henry was resistant, most likely, because the Nolts were mainly responsible for her renewed interest in church.

It was Robert's arrival at the front door that brought the conversation to a quick end, for which Lorraine was grateful. And when the first thing out of his mouth was "Dottie Nolt's

83h e -t r o d I cj a I

\nii' ;i New Year's Eve dinner party, and we're all invited,"

- w;i:, M-t-rctly relieved.

I li;ii said, Henry dropped his opposition.

(ii mi/, she thought, no need for me to embarrass myself with, n'turu j'hone call to Dottle. Robert obviously had more influi mi e over Henry than she ever would.

< iid paced the floor in the front room of the log house,

< 'I'pinj; now and then to keep Ida Mae and Katie Ann occu-

i" (I witli their toys. He was nearly tempted to stand with his

ii in I be door of the birthing room, where he felt sure Han-

ii ill was in the final throes of labor. Against his mother's

i .lies, lie had summoned one of the men hex doctors, who

'i nui hut a few yards from him on a rocking chair, watching

llic ijirls play. Hannah had been disappointed to discover that

i Hil I ;uly Henner, the most powerful Amish doctor in the

Mien, no longer made house visits, so they'd had to settle for

T11in solemn-looking man.

.Af (Past he's someone to talk to, he thought, carrying The /liii/iyr over and offering a section of the newspaper to the i ill lei~ man. "Got any relatives out in Ohio?" he asked, hoping |n niiike small talk.

"Two cousins." :

"Ever go V visit?"

"Nope."

Not so keen on conversing with a brick wall, Gid wanil. n-d to the kitchen, poured himself a tall glass of water, and .i"oil af the back door, staring out at the open woods, deprived now of leaves. The sky had opened up some, and he

84

"I1!

was grateful for the light, conscious as he was at this moment of the seasonal rhythms of his own life.

This waiting was difficult, a good test of his patience, and he contemplated the Old Ways: the father-to-be hiding behind a newspaper, uninvolved, or pacing the floor somewhere in the house. Hannah had once told him there were some women who simply slipped behind a bush of a summer and had their wee babes unattended. He flinched at the thought of darling Hannah having to birth her babies that way. Not as long as he could ride for a midwife and, in this case, the hex doctor, too would his wife give birth alone. Leah had planned on being on hand, as well, but hearing of Hannah's insistence on having the hex doctor come, Leah had hastily changed her mind, to Hannah's disappointment.

When the cries of a newborn pierced the air, he felt strangely relieved that the midwife had managed to deliver his son or daughter without the help of the man in the sitting room.

Hurrying to the bedroom door, Gid waited for word to come from the midwife. When it did, he was told he and Hannah had a third daughter. "She's a rosy one," the midwife said, motioning for him to enter the room.

He made a beeline for his wife, leaning down to kiss Hannah's brow, then cupping her chin in his hand. "Ich lieb dich, Hannah." He pushed back a wispy strand of her strawberryblond hair.

"Oh, Gid, I love you." She held up his new daughter, now wrapped in a thin blanket. "Awful perty, she is."

"Have ya thought of a name?"

Hannah smiled up at him sweetly from the bed. "I think it's your turn."

84

iM85J r c, d L

He had been pondering this and asked what Hannah I liought of Miriam, after his mother. "We could call her Mimi lor short."

Nodding, Hannah said it was a wonderful-good name. "I like it."

So it was settled, and although he'd hoped for a son this I ime around with the name Mathias all picked out to honor Oawdi Byler Gid was most grateful Hannah and the baby were all right. Truth be told, he was altogether ready to thank I lie hex doctor for his time and send him on his way.

Leah was overjoyed at the news, heralded by Gid himself, of the birth of little Mimi Peachey, and by Saturday morning Leah had held Hannah's darling baby several times already. Now she sat in the kitchen near the wood stove with Aunt Lizzie while Dat, Abe, and a group of men headed over to Blackbird Pond for a morning of ice fishing. She had cautioned Dat, privately, to keep his eye on adventuresome Abe, this being the Boy's first such wintertime experience.

"Oh, he'll be just fine," Aunt Lizzie had said when Leah told her of her concern.