Davey's Daughter (9 page)

It was clearly Ashley, Sarah realized. Why hadn’t she returned her wave?

Like a bolt, the memory of Levi describing the car he had seen the night of their fire came back to her. He had described the taillights as being low, like a Volkswagen’s, and this car was certainly a Volkswagen, and light-colored as well.

Was there a connection? Was Ashley involved in these fires somehow? Sarah thought of the girl’s fright, her frequent questions. She didn’t even hear Lydia ask her a question.

“Hello, Sarah?” Lydia laughed.

“Oh, sorry, Lydia. I just thought I knew the girl in that car, but she obviously didn’t see me.”

“Well, you probably don’t want to hear about my boring, messed up life, anyway.”

“Stop it. Please do continue.”

“Well, I was just saying that it’s hard for me to accept all this. Soon after I married Aaron, I learned life is easier if you kept blaming yourself when things…stuff, you know, goes wrong. That way, you don’t see all the bad in the other person. Do you understand?”

“Well, not really. How can you place the blame on yourself for something you didn’t do?”

“Well, I could. I wasn’t a good wife.”

“You weren’t?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Oh, there were lots of things. I don’t think Aaron would have lost his temper so easily if I would have tried harder to keep things going smoothly. Sometimes I just gave up and didn’t try, figuring it would make no difference, and that was wrong.”

Sarah shrugged. “I don’t understand.”

“Maybe I’m not saying this right. When the barn burned, I blamed myself. I figured I must have done something wrong, and God was chastening me for my wrongdoing. You know we can bring a curse on our own heads for not having enough fear of God in our hearts, don’t you? Sometimes I feel cursed, Sarah. The night I no longer wanted to live
—
that was only the easy way out. Not easy, but the only way. A life of wrongdoing, then Aaron’s suffering and death, the bills, the children crying, my baby so thin and sickly, never enough money, then the barn, and always, I felt cursed. It’s as if God placed a special accountability on my head, and I literally had to pay here on earth for every one of my missteps, known or unknown.”

Sarah sat on the wooden rocking chair, her thoughts slowly clicking into place, a typewritten message, easily deciphered. Here were the two opposite sides of Christianity.

The message was drummed into Sarah’s mind, and she grasped it eagerly, greedily. The truth was a thing she could hold and cradle and care for with a genuine and sound mind.

There was Matthew on one side, aloof, with great quantities of redemption given to him, but so sadly unaware of the great gift he could not obtain because of his exalted, prideful state.

Lydia, on the other hand, was cowering in fear of her own wrongs, feeling cursed, unable to lift her head and accept as much as one ounce of forgiveness. She was not even able to believe. And both of them were missing Jesus’s greatest gift.

Love. The love of their parents, their neighbors and friends, their church. They were missing it all as they grasped for the truth of Jesus. Hadn’t He dwelt among sinners and shown His love to all?

With sadness in her heart, Sarah told Lydia the details about Matthew’s leaving, revealing that it wasn’t what Elam and Hannah thought it was.

Lydia listened, her eyes soft and luminous with sympathy, as Sarah poured out all the misery of the time since Matthew had left.

“He’s not coming back?” she questioned softly.

“I am still hoping.”

“Why are these revival meeting so
fa-fearish
(misleading)?” Lydia asked.

“I think they are misleading only to the Amish. I don’t think the basic content is wrong. It just leads us away from what we have been taught.”

“We can’t judge others, I know.”

“Absolutely not.”

“But Matthew is not honoring his parents.”

“No.”

“Surely that must bother him.”

“I doubt if it does. He feels free. He has Jesus now.”

Lydia nodded, understanding.

“I would say he’d have more of Jesus by loving and obeying his parents and remaining humble, esteeming others above himself.”

Sarah nodded, then asked bluntly, “Are you born again?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t talk about that. The fruit of the Spirit is the only way we know. Isn’t that what we believe? And I couldn’t say I have any fruits at all, or…or all this bad stuff wouldn’t have happened.”

Sarah laughed softly.

“Well, Lydia, I’d say Matthew is floating somewhere close to the moon, but you’re tunneling below the surface of the earth.”

“
Ach
, I know. My counselors say I’m getting somewhere, though.”

At that moment, Omar appeared, his face lined with fatigue, his shoulders rounded with the weight of responsibility far above his years, a tired smile lighting up his face.

“Hi, Sarah!”

“Hello, yourself. Hard day?”

“Sort of. Trying to do too much during the daylight hours, I guess. I don’t know what I’d do without Lee Glick. He’s over here every chance he gets. Did you know he’s helping me get started raising these Belgians? He claims that with the cows’ income and the farming, we can turn a profit. Sometimes though, when I’m tired, like now, I just want to go work for him. By the hour. Less worry. Less responsibility.”

He looked around.

“Where’s Priscilla?”

“Levi wanted her to stay home.”

“Oh.”

Omar was clearly disappointed, but he said nothing further. He just smiled and let himself through the door to the kitchen. Anna Mae followed him, clearly idolizing her older brother.

The soft, velvety darkness gently folded its curtains across Lancaster County. The two women sat side by side on the front porch of the old farmhouse, united by the shared calamities they had experienced, coupled with troubles of entirely different kinds. Their personal heartaches brought them together in ways they could never before have imagined.

Lydia was a member of the same church district as Sarah, but she had only been a slight acquaintance, someone Sarah had spoken to only occasionally. Now, however, she had shared her deep and personal secret about Matthew and had lent a sympathetic ear when Lydia shared hers. What a rare and appreciated treasure!

Only time would disclose the real nature of Matthew’s spiritual adventure, which is exactly what it was, Sarah decided as she walked home through the mild, dew-laden evening. She walked with her head bowed, her thoughts wandering as she sifted through new information. Was it okay for Matthew to do what he was doing, in God’s eyes? Did his parents’ pleas and broken hearts mean nothing at all? Who was right and who was wrong? Were they both wrong?

And there was the poor Widow Lydia, unable to lift her head, so burdened by her own shortcomings.

Well, Sarah wasn’t going to figure it out in one night, and, very likely, she didn’t have to. All she needed to do was allow Jesus to carry her yoke, and she’d be just fine.

That was why she was humming when she walked past Elam’s house. For once, the pain wasn’t quite as blinding even though she knew Matthew was not upstairs in his room. He was somewhere on God’s earth, and where there was life, there was hope.

But there was still one other thing. What was that frightened Ashley doing in a cream-colored Volkswagen driving past Lydia’s farm? As Melvin would say, “The plot thickens,” she thought and chuckled.

S
arah shifted her weight, pulled up her knees, and braced them against the seat ahead of her. She was searching for a measure of comfort to grab a few minutes of sleep before arriving at the market in New Jersey.

“Hey!” Ruthann reached behind her head to tap Sarah’s knees.

“Relax. I’m not disturbing you.”

With a snuffling sound, Ruthann slouched down and went back to sleep.

Sarah was cold, but she didn’t have the nerve to ask the driver to turn the air conditioning off. He was overweight and was drinking his coffee in great, hot slurps, so he probably needed the cool air to stay comfortable. Meanwhile, the group of young passengers was freezing, many of them huddled under the small, fuzzy blankets they’d brought from home.

Sarah couldn’t find her blanket that morning. She had scrambled wildly about her room looking for it as the van’s headlights sliced through the darkness of the early summer morning. Priscilla had probably borrowed it again. She was always too lazy to go to the cedar chest to get a blanket of her own.

Sarah managed to doze fitfully, but she was glad when the vanload of workers reached their destination. She was happy to jump down out of the van, stretch, and start her day after a quick trip to the restroom to fix her hair and pin on her freshly ironed covering.

She had dark circles lurking beneath her green eyes, and the pasty beige color she was wearing did nothing for her complexion. There was a coffee stain on the front of her white apron, but dabbing at it with a towel only made it worse, so she gave up and went to work, greeting her employers and fellow workers with half-hearted attempts at imitating her usual cheerfulness. Everyone knew Matthew was still away, so they shrugged their shoulders and left her alone.

Sarah measured ingredients and turned on mixers but kept her eyes averted, sending a clear signal for everyone to leave her to her thoughts. As the morning wore on, however, she became steadily caught up in the grinding work of the bakery. Her thoughts were occupied completely by her ability to turn out enough fresh cinnamon rolls, bread, dinner rolls, and sandwich rolls. She also helped out with any other pastries as needed.

An hour after her usual break time, she was exhausted, hungry, and completely fed up with her job. She felt as if no one cared whether she had a break at all. She figured that all the other girls probably had had theirs by this time, but because she was stuck back with the dough mixers, who would even care if she got one or not?

Fighting the waves of self-pity that threatened her, she looked up to find her boss, Emma Glick, handing her a ten-dollar bill and saying Sarah was always the last to go for her break. She said to take an extra long one, and here, use this.

“You’re doing an excellent job,” she said, patting Sarah’s shoulder.

Lifted from her pit of despair, Sarah gratefully accepted the money and thanked Emma. She went and bought the largest sandwich she could find and settled herself into a booth, not caring whether she saw Rose or not.

It was pure bliss
—
the homemade hoagie roll, browned and crisp from the oven, layers of ham and cheese toasted and melted with mayonnaise. The sandwich was then filled generously with shredded lettuce and onion with fresh red tomatoes peeking out from underneath.

She munched happily, wiped the mayonnaise from her lips, then smiled at Rose when she approached her table.

“Hey, stranger!”

“You hungry?”

“Not anymore.”

Their small talk was just that
—
very small. In fact, it was ridiculous the way they circled around the subject of Matthew.

Sarah finally realized it was only her pride that was coming between them. Swallowing that pride, she slowly revealed to Rose the agony of her heart, knowing she just couldn’t hold it in much longer. Rose completely caught Sarah off guard with her gentle sympathy as she lowered her face into a used napkin, smearing mayonnaise across her nose and leaving a thin shred of lettuce dangling from one eyelash. Rose laughed hysterically when Sarah told her and reached to remove the lettuce.

Rose then filled in Sarah about Lee Glick, how much fun they had hanging out together, and how her heart skipped about seventy beats last Sunday evening at the singing, when he loitered around their buggy. She thought sure he was going to ask her.

Rummaging in her purse, she found a small mirror, checked her appearance, batted her perfect eyelashes, and smiled at Sarah.

“I wouldn’t get too miserable about Matthew. Lee is much better for me.”

“What does that mean?” Sarah asked sourly.

“Well, you’ll get over him. Find someone better.”

“It’s not that easy, Rose. I have always loved Matthew.”

“You never told me.”

“You knew.”

“Not really.”

Sarah had no answer for Rose’s denial, so she sighed and changed the subject. She told Rose about the vehicle going past Lydia’s house.

“You go hang out with that Lydia? She’s mentally off, isn’t she? She gives me the shivers. I don’t know how you do it, helping her.”

Sarah was surprised at her friend’s lack of empathy.

“She’s so pitiful, Rose. You have no idea.”

“Whatever. I think it’s creepy to spend time with her.”

There was nothing to say in response. Wanting to show her disapproval, Sarah left the booth hurriedly, leaving Rose staring after her.

Sarah was seething now. Her day had started poorly to begin with, and now Rose had suddenly made her feel small and inadequate, the way she looked down her nose at Lydia. Sarah stormed past the meat stand, disregarding the friendly smiles of the proprietors and leaving them with raised eyebrows and questions in their eyes.

Her head down, her step quickening, she rounded a corner and hit something solid and immovable. She lurched to the right but was caught by a strong arm. She heard a “Whoa!” as she steadied herself. Then she saw a navy blue shirt, open at the neck, a pair of broadfall denims with a pair of gray suspenders attached.

“Watch where you’re going!”

Sarah caught hold of the corner as she stepped back and looked up into the face of Lee Glick. His blue eyes mocked her, but not unkindly.

She rose to the challenge.

“Watch where I’m going? What about you?”

Only for a few seconds, he allowed himself to watch the restless colors dancing in her eyes, completely losing any measure of time. It was a nanosecond, and it was an eternity. It was the most mesmerizing moment of his life, acknowledging the depth of this girl’s spirit, her goodness, her sincerity.

“I didn’t know you worked here,” he said. What he wanted to say was something so much more profound, so filled with longing, questioning, wondering.

“At the bakery.”

“You on break?”

“Just finished.”

“Let me buy you dessert.”

Ill at ease, shy, Sarah turned her head to look behind her, thinking of Rose.

“You don’t have time?”

Sarah nodded, incapable of speech now, his blue eyes captivating her.

He bought two raspberry twist ice cream cones and led her outside where picnic tables dotted the narrow strip of grass by the parking lot. Young pear trees were planted at measured distances, their small leaves rustling in the summer breeze and creating a bit of shade across the graying, splintered top of the wooden table.

Sarah sat opposite him, swung her legs beneath the table, ate her ice cream, and was suddenly aware of an all-encompassing shyness gripping her throat. She could not speak.

Lee watched her face intently, following the shadows of the pear leaves as they played across her golden face, her startling eyes, the honey-colored waves in her chestnut hair.

He wanted to paint her portrait, silly as it seemed. He felt he could sit there for the rest of the day and say nothing at all. He could just watch her expressions, the eyes that gave so much away.

Finally she said, soft and low, “Why are you here?”

“We’re roofing a house about a block from here.”

“You came to see Rose?”

“Rose? You mean Rose Zook?”

Sarah nodded, bit down on the cone, afraid he had, afraid he had not.

“I didn’t know she worked here.”

“Oh.”

Then, without thinking, having already thought far too much about this subject, he said, “How’s Matthew? Heard from him?”

He wiped his mouth with his napkin and averted his eyes, too chicken now to meet hers as he was consumed with fear in anticipation of her answer. For a long moment, she didn’t answer. When she did speak, her voice was barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know how he is. I haven’t heard from him.”

Lee raised his eyebrows, ashamed of the joy that flooded his very soul.

“He doesn’t write? Call?”

Lee drew his breath in sharply when she leaned her elbows on the table and hunched her shoulders. Her eyes became almost brown with shifting forces, waves whipped to foam by the strength of her emotion. She paused, breathing hard.

“He’s on a spiritual journey, he says. He thinks Amish people are not born again, that these barns are burning because we aren’t who we should be, we aren’t really spiritual. Too much
ordnung
, he says. The thing is he doesn’t even want to be Amish. He’s threatened to leave the church ever since he broke up with Rose.”

She stopped, biting her lower lip.

“Lee, what do these barns have to do with it? What?”

She’d said his name!

“I don’t think someone lighting fires has too much to do with the spiritual health of the Amish church. If anything, the Amish spirituality has only increased….I don’t know. It seems just about everything good there is to practice is being done even more.”

“That’s what Dat says.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t give my opinion. I’m not worth a whole lot when it comes to Bible stuff. I don’t know a lot about anything. But you only know what you feel, and if a barn raising isn’t the fruit of the right spirit, then I don’t know what is. It’s a coming together, everyone, and the whole reason is to help the poor guy who lost his barn. I always think the whole thing in a nutshell
—
as far as religion goes
—
is giving a hoot about what happens to your neighbor, helping out whenever someone needs you, simply because you care.”

Sarah breathed in slowly, blinking her eyes as if to truly grasp the meaning of the words he was saying. She realized that Lee spoke, and thought, along the same lines as her own revered father.

Lee’s eyes found hers. There was not a word spoken between them, and yet Sarah felt as if they had talked at length.

Cars came and went, passersby strolled along, carrying purchases, or eager to make them. Despite the bustle of the market, Lee was oblivious to any motion around him, consumed by his strong feelings for this troubled girl.

Suddenly she spoke. “Are you born again?”

“You shouldn’t be asking me that question.”

“Why?”

“It’s not our way.”

“It’s Matthew’s.”

His hope was dashed in an instant, leaving scalding burns like a kettle of boiling water dropped to the ground. Sarah’s words splashed a dangerous wetness against his heart and left angry blisters of pain. Unable to stop himself, he leapt to his feet, his blue eyes blazing with a new and terrible light.

“If you want to follow Matthew, then go. Just go. Get out of my life, out of my mind, out of my knowing you even exist. Okay?”

He placed both palms on the rough, weathered surface of the picnic table. The muscles of his shoulders strained against the navy blue fabric of his shirt, the heavy veins in his tanned neck bulging as he fought the overpowering emotions that threatened to consume him.

“You seem happily oblivious to the fact that you are already misled, going around asking people if they’re born again. Do me a favor, and stay away from me, okay?”

With that, he abruptly straightened, turned on his heel, and stalked away. As he threaded his way between the parked vehicles, his closely shorn blond hair shone like a beacon of sunshine.

Sarah lowered her head into her hands, but her eyes remained dry. She felt cold and barren, windswept like an arid land without rain, without sustenance of any kind. Flat and unemotional. That obviously had not been the correct thing to say.

Well, he couldn’t blame her for wondering if Matthew was right. He was, after all, her boyfriend, her fiancé, her intended. Obviously, her intended.

A great weariness enveloped her now. It folded her in seductive arms and whispered words of defeat into her tired ears. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea to leave the Amish. If she was with Matthew, she’d be sure. She would have made a decision, and she would stick to her choice. No more doubting and wondering.

She would know she was born again, have a sure pass into heaven, and she could join the people who thought the same way she did.

Matthew would marry her. She would be forever secure and loved, and she would be knowledgeable, growing in wisdom from the Bible.

Back at the bakery, Sarah burned a tray of sweet rolls and was sharply reprimanded by her boss. She wept furtive tears into a paper towel and wondered if her life would ever right itself. If only Matthew would come home.