Abram's Daughters 01 The Covenant (3 page)

Sadie cast a wary look at him, the first time he had sensed any hint of alarm from her all evening. "Must we go thataway?" she asked.

"Trust me. I know the forest like the back of my hand." He opened the car door and helped her out.

"Aw, Sadie, are you sure?" the other Amish girl asked, sitting next to Melvin in the front seat, leaning toward them now, seemingly very concerned. "You know what they say . . . you might never find your way out again."

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Derry nodded his assurance. "We'll be fine."

"Don't worry, Naomi." Sadie flung a small knapsack bundle through the open window and into her friend's lap. "Here, take care of this for me. I'll pick it up from you tomorrow."

Once the Jeep station wagon had rumbled down the road, Derry turned and offered Sadie a hand, helping her over the ditch that ran along the roadside, then through the underbrush that led to the knoll. "So you've never gone walking out here?" he asked, turning to look at her in the moonlight.

"Not on this side of the woods," she said. "I've visited . . . uh, the woman who lives in the log house at the far edge of the forest, though. I've gone there with my sisters, by way of the dirt road, over where the foxgloves grow."

He didn't know so well the flower-strewn side of the hillock. But on several occasions he had seen the woman Sadie mentioned, as well as the No Trespassing signs posted around the perimeter to alert hunters of her five-acre property. Smiling to himself, he thought, Sadie must think I'm thickheaded. . . . That woman is Amish. He remembered having seen her working in the flower gardens around the log cabin. "Is the woman a friend of yours?"

"Jah . . . er, yes." Sadie frowned for a moment, then turned to look at him, smiling. "Do you know Lizzie Brenneman?"

He shook his head. "I haven't met her formally, if that's what you mean."

"She likes living alone, always has. Loves that side of the woods . . . and the little critters that wander 'bout the forest."

"And she can't be too old," he said.

"Thirty-four, she is," replied Sadie, though it seemed she was holding back information, that maybe the woman was in

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nil m nuility a relative, maybe even Sadie's aunt. But he didn't Bfet<:-' i ho issue. He had other more important things on his Hftiml

I \VV'// be sure to avoid the area of the log cabin, he thought, "glnd Sadie had warned him, in so many words. He knew precisely where this late-night walk should take them. Nowhere nenr Aunt Lizzie, he'd see to that.

Sadie's inviting smile and the false air of innocence she Nccined all too eager to exude spurred him on. "Ever kiss a buy on the first date?" he asked wryly.

I I it warm and exuberant giggle was his delight. He knew he'd met his match. Hand in hand they ran deep into the seclusion of the dark timberland, where the light of the moon wus thwarted, obscured by age-old trees, and the night was cloudless and still.

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Iw Ince she was a little girl, Hannah, the older of the Ebersol [twins -by twenty-three minutes sometimes contemplated Lli-iilh, wondering what it would be like to leave this world ilirliind for the next. Such thoughts stuck in her head, espeplnlly when she was alone and tending the family's fruit-andjjrcm'rable roadside stand. That is, if the minutes lagged Between customers, and rearranging the table and checking Mm the money box were not enough to keep her mind truly [occupied. *

I The plight of having only a handful of customers of a Iriitirning was not so common, really, once the decorative [gourds and pumpkins and whatnot started gracing the long [wooden stand in nice, even rows. Their bright harvest yel[lnws ;ind oranges caught the eye of a good many folks who [would stop and purchase produce, enjoying the encounter Hvitli a young Plain girl. But this was August, and the baby [currofs, spinach, and early bush beans were the big attraction, [llnng with heads of lettuce and rhubarb. [ Shy as a shadow, Hannah could hardly wait till the

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Englischers made their selection of strawberries, radishes, or tomatoes and then skedaddled on back to their cars and were on their way. Jah, that's just how she felt, nearly too bashful to tend the roadside stand by herself. She figured, though, this was probably the reason she had been chosen to watch over the myriad of fruits and vegetables, because, as Mamma would say, "The more you do something, Hannah, the better you'll get at it."

Well, that might be true for some folk, Hannah often thought, but Mamma must have never had her knees go weak on her, her breath come in short little gasps at the thought of having to make small talk, in English of all things, with outsiders . . . strangers. She felt the same way about attending the one-room public school all these years, too. Thank goodness, Mary Ruth was her constant companion; otherwise, book learning away from home wouldn't have been pleasant at all.

But looking after the produce stand was even worse, really. The sight of a car coming down the road, slowing up a bit, non-Amish folk gawking and sometimes even pointing. Were they just curious about her long cape dress and black apron . . . her prayer cap, the way she parted her hair down the middle . . . was that why they chose to stop? And then the car pulling up smack-dab in front of the stand. Ach, it wasn't so bad if her twin hadn't any chores to tend to and came along with Hannah. Working the produce stand was easily tolerated at such times, if not enjoyed.

Tonight, though, she lay in bed next to Mary Ruth, aware of the even, deep breathing of her sister, thinking once again about heaven, since sleep seemed to escape her. She wondered what it was like when their grandmother on Dat's

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aide iirossmammi Ebersol had breathed her last, six titoiiilis ago now. Dat had not been present at his mamma's

-beilsule the night of her passing, but several of the womenfolk h(ul been, Mamma and three aunts, Dat's sisters. The corntYicni had been made that Mammi's passing had been a peace(ill duo whatever that meant. Hannah wished she knew. She couldn't quite understand how leaving your body behind Wlul lotting go of your spirit that part of you that's supposed In live on and on through eternity how that could be a l>lr;is;int experience. Not when just the opposite seemed to he i rue at the start of one's life, when you came hollering and hissing into the world. She'd witnessed enough home births in know that was true, for sure and for certain.

So she didn't know if saying someone's death had been a peaceful passing was quite the best way to describe such an event. Of course, now, she hadn't attended the death of anynue, not yet anyway. "You just haven't lived long enough,

I daughter," Mamma had said recently, when Hannah finally (-;<>!: up the nerve to say just how curious she was about the whole business of dying.

"Himmel heavens, Hannah," Mary Ruth had repri-

| niiinded her over a bowl of snow peas, "don'tcha believe that the Lord God sends His angels to come and carry you over River Jordan . . . when the time comes? The Good Book says

Ml.

Hannah had kept still from then on, not bringing up the .subject again. Must be not everyone thought secretly about I heir own deaths the way she did. Maybe she was mistaken to just assume it all along.

Now, lying in the bed she shared with Mary Ruth, she couldn't help but wonder if her twin was just too cheerful for

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her own good. Jah, maybe that was the big difference between the two of them. Mary Ruth was unruffled, while Hannah looked at life through serious, worry-filled eyes. For as long as she could remember, that was how it was. Of course, they shared nearly everything, sometimes even finished each other's sentences Dat got a laugh out of that if it happened at the dinner table. Same color hair, similar hankerings for food, and some of the same boys had caught both her and Mary Ruth's eye. Even though the two of them wouldn't be expected to start showing up at Sunday night singings for another three years it wasn't proper for nice girls to do so before age sixteen there were plenty of cute boys at Preaching service of a Sunday morning. Especially the Stoltzfus brothers Ezra and Elias close enough in age to almost pass for twins, though Ezra was the older by fourteen months. She had confessed in private to Mary Ruth that she wondered if some of those boys might not be thinking some of the same romantic thoughts about her and Mary Ruth. The laughter that had spilled out of Mary Ruth at the time was ever so warm, even comforting, when she admitted that she, too, had entertained notions about some of the same young men as Hannah. Mary Ruth answered, with a twinkle in her blue eyes, "We ain't too young to start filling up our hope chests, you know."

Hannah knew that, all right. She and Mary Ruth had spent many evening hours embroidering pillowcases and crocheting doilies. Hannah especially liked to embroider with the lazy-daisy stitch tiny colored flowers or a butterfly in the corners of simple square handkerchiefs Mamma bought over in Strasburg. Sometimes Hannah marked them "For Sale"

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[mil on the roadside stand, but mostly she enjoyed giving tin-in away as gifts.

I M;unma would often tuck one of Hannah's perty handkerlelilds up the sleeve of her dress. It came in handy for erasing [ nploich of dirt from a young child's face any number of lipplu-ws and nieces who came to visit or just simply nose [blowing for herself. One of the handkerchiefs Hannah had If nilnoidered featured a row of six tiny people in the corner, luiu- lor each of her immediate family. That one happened to j|i(* both Leah's and Mamma's favorite, but Mamma usually Jwiii i out having it in her pocket or wherever. I M itch of what was already folded away in Hannah's pine |lio|n' chest could also be found in Mary Ruth's matching [lilink. What one sister created, the other usually did, too. I Just now, turning in bed, Hannah stared into the serene jliiri' of her twin. Mary Ruth's eyelids were twitching rapidly. I\v7uit sort of dream is my sister having tonight? she wondered. I She wished she might be so relaxed as to sleep through [the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. Was it Sadie |i oining home afterjhidnight again? Hannah actually thought [ol slipping out of bed to catch her in the act of tiptoeing back [to (he bedroom. But, no, best not. Who knows what hand[some and interesting Amish boy might catch her eye someday,

111 she ever broke out of her timid shell, that is. Who knows [what risks she might take to spend time with a beau once she [turned courting age.

[ Restless, with a hundred thoughts of her own future and [that of her dear sisters, she rolled over and stared up wide[eyed at the dim ceiling, hearing Mary Ruth sigh tenderly in [her sleep, utterly free from care.

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Leah knew it was probably wrong to pretend to be asleep, when she was as wide awake as an owl and very much aware of Sadie's swift movements just now. Not to mention the loud getup her sister was wearing. Yet she trusted the dear Lord to forgive her for not sitting up right then and there, causing a scene in their quiet house.

Sadie had come silently into their room, moved quickly to the wooden chest at the base of the double bed, lifted the lid and secured it, then immediately removed her billowy, too-short skirt, then the sheer blouse and white ankle-length socks and saddle shoes.

Leah couldn't see now, and didn't try to, but she was fairly sure by the sound of it that Sadie was pushing the English clothes down into the depths of the trunk.

The rich, damp smell of the woods filled the room, that and a sprinkling of hyacinth, some cheap bottled cologne, maybe. Where on earth had Sadie found such clothes, not to mention the idea for the arrangement of her hair? It seemed that Sadie had become a frustrated artist and her golden locks, the canvas. Nearly every time she returned home late at night, her hairdo was different. Leah had no idea you could change your hair so many ways.

Saturdays were not so different from any other choring day amongst the People. Ida did notice, though, that Sadie

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seemed ever so sluggish this morning, lacking her usual vitalii y. Sadie's eyes were a watery gray. Gone the bright blue, and uch, such dark circles there were beneath her eyes. Was it possible her eldest had tossed and turned all night long? And il that was true, whatever could've plagued her dear girl's mind to torment her so? Was she ill?

"You seem all-in," she said as Sadie rolled out the pastry lor pies. "Trouble sleeping maybe?"

Sadie was silent. Then she said something about maybe, jah, that could be, that she'd had herself a fitful sleep. "I'll hafta make up for it sooner or later, I 'spect."

"Anything I can do for you?" Ida replied quickly, thinking a nice warm herbal tea might help relax Sadie come bedtime tonight.

But Sadie seemed to bristle at the remark. "No need to worry, Mamma" came the unexpected retort.

"All right, then." Ida went about her kitchen work, sweeping and washing the floor. She began cooking the noon meal for Abram and the girls, knowing how awful hungry her husband, and Leah, too, would be when they came in from the barn around^leven'thirty or so, eager for a nice meal. Today it was meatball chowder, homemade bread and butter, cottage cheese salad, and chocolate revel bars, Abram's favorite dessert.

There was much work to be done in the house plenty of weeding in the vegetable garden out back, too more chores than Sadie seemed to have the energy for on this already muggy day. True, maybe her firstborn had merely suffered a poor night's sleep. But why on earth did she seem so nervous, almost jumpy? Didn't add up. Come to think of it, maybe Leah might know what was bothering Sadie, but Ida hadn't

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seen hide nor hair of the girl since Leah had gotten up with the chickens and gone out to milk cows with Abram before sunup. Besides, it was like pulling teeth to get Leah to share much of anything about Sadie or the twins. No, if Ida truly wanted to know why Sadie wore that everlasting half grin on her face, she'd have to wait till Sadie herself came confiding in her, which could be a mighty long time. Probably never.