Читать книгу The Amish Widow's Secret - Cheryl Williford - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Sarah’s eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. She placed her kapp just so and made sure its position was perfect, as if the starched white prayer kapp would make up for her tear-ravaged face.

“My mother wore a kapp like that, but it looked kind of different.” Beatrice clambered onto the dressing table’s stool next to Sarah.

“It probably was different, sweetheart. Lots of Amish communities wear different styles of kapps and practice different traditions.”

“How come girls wear them and not boys?” Beatrice reached out and touched the heavily starched material on Sarah’s head.

“Several places in the Bible tell women to cover their heads, so we wear the kapps and show Gott we listen to His directions.” Sarah wished she could pull off the cap, throw it to the ground and stomp on it. Covering her head didn’t make her a better person. Love did. And she loved this thin, love-starved child and her sweet baby sister. She felt such a strong need to make things easier for Beatrice and Mercy. “Would you like to help me make pancakes?”

As if on a spring, the child jumped off the stool and danced around the room, making Mercy laugh out loud and clap her hands. “Pancakes! My favoritest thing in the whole wide world.”

Sarah pushed a pin into her pulled-back hair and glanced at her appearance in the small hand mirror for a moment longer. She looked terrible and her stomach was upset, probably the result of such an emotional night. She’d lain awake for hours, unable to stop thinking about her promise to wed Mose. She’d listened to the kinder’s soft snores and movements, thinking about Joseph and their lost life together.

Gott had spoken loud and clear to her this morning. The depression and grief she suffered were eating up her life. She’d never have the love of her own kinder if she didn’t come out of this black mood and live again. But why would Mose want her as a wife, damaged as she was?

“Your eyes are red. Are you going to cry some more?” Beatrice jumped off the bench and danced around, her skirt whirling.

The child heard me crying last night. She forced herself to laugh and join in the child’s silly dancing. Hand in hand they whirled about, circling and circling until both were dizzy and fell to the floor, their laughter filling the room.

A loud knock came and her father opened the door wide. “What’s all this noise so early in the morning?”

Her joy died a quick death. “Beatrice and I were—”

“I see what you’re doing. Foolishness. You’re making this child act as foolish as you. It’s time for breakfast. Go to the kitchen and be prepared for at least twenty-five men to eat. We have more work to do now that the old barn is to be towed away. We’ll need nourishment for the hard day ahead.”

Beatrice snuggled close to Sarah, her arms tight around her neck. “This may be your home, but you’re out of line, Daed. Close the door behind you. We will be down when the kinder’s needs are met.” Sarah looked him hard in the eyes, her tone firm.

Her father’s angry glare left her filled with fury. She hated living at his farm, at his mercy. She longed to be in her own home two miles down the dusty road. She would not let him throw his bitterness the kinder’s way. She’d talk to him in private and make things very clear. She’d be liberated from his control once she and Mose were married. But, right now she was still a widow and had to listen to his demands. But not for long. Gott had provided her a way to get away from his control.

“Come darling, let’s get Mercy out of her cot and make those pancakes. We have a long day of cooking ahead of us and need some healthy food in our bellies.”

“Is that mean man your daed?” Beatrice asked.

Sarah helped her off the floor. “Ya.” She lifted Mercy from her cot and nuzzled her nose in the baby’s warm, sweet-smelling neck. She checked her diaper and found she needed changing. Mercy wiggled in her arms, a big grin pressing dimples in her cheeks. She held the warm baby close to her and thanked Gott her father’s harsh words hadn’t seemed to scare the baby.

Watching her sister get a fresh diaper, Beatrice spoke, “Why is he so angry? I don’t think he loves you.” Confusion clouded Beatrice’s face, a frown creasing her brow.

“Of course he loves me,” Sarah assured her. But as she finished changing Mercy’s diaper, she wondered. Does he love me?

* * *

The narrow tables lined up on the grass just outside Sarah’s kitchen door didn’t look long enough for twenty-five men, but she knew from experience they would suffice. She, Marta and three local women laughed and chatted as they covered the handmade tables with bright white sheets and put knives, forks and cloth napkins at just the right intervals.

As the men began gathering, Sarah placed heaping platters of her favorite breakfast dish made of sausage, potatoes, cheese, bread, onions and peppers in the middle of each table and at the ends. Bowls of fresh fruit, cut bite-size, added color to the meal. Heavy white plates, one for each worker, lined the tables. Glasses of cold milk sat next to each plate.

“The table looks very nice,” Marta whispered.

“It looks hospital sterile.” Sarah loved color. Bold, bright splashes of color. What would happen if she’d used the red table napkins she’d hemmed just after Joseph died? In her grief she’d had to do something outrageous, or scream in her misery. She longed to use the napkins for this occasion. Bright colors were considered a sin to Old Order Amish. How could Gott see color as a sin? Some of the limitations she lived under made no sense at all.

“We’re plain people, Sarah. Gott warned us against adorning ourselves and our lives with bright colors. They attract unwanted attention.” Marta straightened a white napkin and smiled at Sarah.

“I know what the Bishop says, Marta, but I think too many of our community rules are the Bishop’s rules and have nothing at all to do with what Gott wants. The older he gets, the more unbearable his ‘must not’s and should not’s’ get.”

“Everything looks good,” Marta said in a loud voice, drowning out Sarah’s last comment. Bishop Miller’s wife walked past and straightened several forks on the table close to Sarah.

Marta rushed back into the kitchen, her hand a stranglehold on Sarah’s wrist. “Do you think she heard you?”

“Who?”

“Bishop Miller’s wife.”

“I don’t care if she did.”

“Well, you should care. I know she’s a sweet old woman and always kind to me, but she tells her husband everything that goes on in the community, and you know it.”

Sarah shrugged and looked out the kitchen window, watching Mose approach the porch and settle in a chair too small for his big frame. Her future husband wore a pale blue shirt today, his blond hair damp from sweat and plastered down under his straw work hat. Beatrice left the small kinder’s table and crawled into her father’s lap, her arms sliding around the sweaty neck of his shirt.

“That child loves her daed.” Marta grabbed a pickle from one of the waiting plates of garnish.

“She does. It’s a shame she has nee mother to cuddle her.”

“I’m worried about you, Sarah. Lately all you do is daydream and mope.”

Sarah considered telling Marta her news but decided against it. Marta would never approve of a loveless marriage. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I like having the kinder here. They’ve brightened my spirits. I’ve never had a chance to really get close to a child before. They can make my day better with just a laugh. They are really into climbing, even Mercy. This morning I caught her throwing her leg over her cot rail. She could have fallen if I hadn’t been close enough to catch her. I’m going to see if someone has a bigger bed for her today. She’s way too active to manage in that small bed Daed found in the attic.”

Sarah grabbed two pitchers of cold milk and headed out the back door.

“Is there more food? These men are hungry.” Adolph grabbed Sarah by the arm as she passed through the door, his fingers pinching into her flesh.

“Ya, of course. I’ll bring out more.” She placed the pitchers on the table and returned the friendly smile Mose directed her way.

“See that you do,” her father barked, as if he were talking to a child. He moved down the table, greeting each worker with a handshake and friendly smile.

Sarah hurried into the kitchen and grabbed a plate of hot pancakes from the oven and rushed back out the kitchen door, a big jar of fresh, warmed maple syrup tucked under her arm. Her father was right about one thing. The men were eating like an army.

* * *

The last of the horse-drawn wagons carrying burned wood pulled out of the yard and down the lane, heading for the dump just outside town.

Mose grabbed the end of a twelve-foot board, pulled it over and nailed it into the growing frame with three strong swings of the hammer. A brisk breeze lifted the straw hat he wore, almost blowing it off his head. He smashed it down on his riot of curls and went back to work. The breeze was welcome on the unseasonably hot morning.

“Won’t be much longer now,” the man working next to Mose muttered. The board the man added would finish the last of the barn’s frame, and then the hard work of lifting the frames would begin.

Sweat-soaked and hungry, Mose glanced at the noon meal being served up a few yards away and saw Sarah carrying a plate piled high with potato pancakes. She’d been in and out of the house all morning, her face flushed from the heat of the kitchen. Beatrice trailed behind her, a skip in her steps and the small bowl of some type of chow-chow relish dripping yellow liquid down the front of her apron as she bounced.

He laughed to himself, taking pleasure in seeing Beatrice so content. Sarah had a natural way with kinder. She’d make a fine mother.

“Someone needs to deal with that woman.”

“Who?” Mose turned his head, surprised at the comment. He looked at the man who’d spoken and frowned. Standing with his hands on his hips, the man’s expression dug deep caverns into his face, giving Mose the impression of intense anger.

“The Widow Nolt, naturally. Who else? Everyone knows she killed Joseph with her neglect. Bishop Miller might as well shun her now and get it over with. No one wants her in the community anymore. She causes trouble and doesn’t know when to keep her mouth shut.”

Mose mopped at the sweat on his forehead. “What do you mean, she killed Joseph? There’s no way she’s capable of doing something like that. The police said he died of smoke inhalation.”

Stretching out his back and twisting, the man worked out the kinks from his tall frame, his eyes still on Sarah. “She did it, all right, bruder. She left the light on in the barn, knowing gas lights get hot and cause fires.”

“I’m sure she just forgot to turn it off. People forget, you know.” Mose knew he was wasting his breath. Some liked to think the worst of people, especially people like Sarah, who were powerless to defend themselves.

“Sarah Nolt is that kind of woman. Her own father says she’s always been careless, even as a child.”

“I believe Gott would have us pray for our sister, not slander her for something that took her husband’s life.”

“Well, you can stand up for her if you like, but I’m not. She’s a bad woman, and I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for my respect for Joseph. He was a good man.”

“He’d want you to help Sarah, not slander her.” Mose threw down the hammer. His temper would always be a fault he’d have to deal with, and right now he’d best move away or he’d end up punching a man in the mouth.

The food bell rang out. He dusted as much of the sawdust off his clothes as he could. Still angry, he moved toward the long table set up in the grass and took the seat closest to the door. A tall glass of cold water was placed in front of him by a young girl. “Danke.” He downed the whole glass.

“You’re welkom,” the girl muttered and refilled his glass. Mose watched Sarah as she served the men around him. She acted polite and kind to everyone, but not one man spoke to her. The women seemed friendlier but still somewhat distant. He saw her smile once or twice before he dug into his plate of tender roast beef, stuffed cabbage rolls and Dutch green beans. Sarah knew her way around a kitchen. The food he ate was hardy and spiced to perfection.

A group of men seated around the Bishop began to mutter. A loud argument broke out and Mose could hear Sarah’s name being bandied about. Marta hurried past, her face flushed, and the promise of tears glistening in her eyes. Her small-framed shoulders drooped as she made her way into the house. Soon Sarah was out the door, her eyes locked on Bishop Miller who sat a few seats from Mose.

“You have much to say about me today, Bishop Miller. Would you like to say the words to my face?” Her small hands were fisted, her back straight and strong as she glared at the community leader.

Adolph shoved back his chair and stood.

“Shut your mouth, Sarah Yoder. I will not have you speak to the Bishop like this. You are out of line. You will speak to him with respect.”

“My name is Nolt, Daed. No longer Yoder. And I will not be told to hush like some young bensel. If the Bishop has something to say, he need only open his mouth or call one of his meetings.”

Mose rose. Gott, hold Sarah’s tongue. She had already dug a deep well of trouble with her words. Her actions were unwise, but he would not stand by and watch her be pulled down further by her father’s lack of protection. Let the Bishop show proof of her actions and present them in a proper setting if he had issues with her.

Bishop Miller’s wife hurried to Sarah and put her arms around her trembling body. “Let us leave all this for today and have cold tea in the kitchen. We’re all tired and nerves frayed. Today a barn goes up. It is a happy day, Sarah. One full of promise. Let us celebrate and not speak words that cannot be taken back.”

Mose waited, wondering if Sarah would relent. She turned and stared deep into the eyes of the woman next to her. Moments passed and then she crumbled, tears running down her face as she was escorted away.

Mose watched the door shut behind the women. He longed to know if Sarah was all right but knew she wouldn’t want him interfering. “What’s going on?” Mose murmured to Eric, Sarah’s brother.

“Someone has found proof that Sarah was the one who gave money to Lukas, a young teenager who recently ran away from the community.”

“Money? Why would she do that?” They spoke in whispers, his food forgotten.

“I only heard a moment of conversation but it seems Daed saw her speaking with the boy’s younger brother the day before Lukas took him and left for places unknown.”

“That’s not solid proof. Sarah must be given a chance to redeem herself.”

“She’ll get her chance. A meeting has been called, and I plan to talk to Bishop Miller before it comes around. I suspect she’ll be shunned, but I have to make an effort to calm the waters. Lord alone knows what would happen to her if she’s forced to live amongst the Englisch.” Eric got up to leave, but turned back to Mose. “Marta’s offered to look after the kinder at our house until tomorrow. Sarah is too upset to think clearly. ”

* * *

Tired from the long day of cooking and cleaning, Sarah lay across her childhood bed on the second floor of her father’s house, her pillow wet from tears. She cried for Joseph, for the life she’d lost with him, and for the loneliness she’d felt every day since he’d died. She needed Joseph and he was gone forever.

Marta held her hand in a firm grip. “You mustn’t fret so, Sarah. The children can stay with Eric and me tonight. Most likely you will be given a talking to tomorrow and nothing more.”

“And if I’m shunned, what then? You and Eric won’t be allowed to talk to me. The whole community will say I’m dead to them. Who will I call family?”

“Why did you give Lukas money? You knew you ran the risk of being found out.”

Sarah sat up, tucking her dress under her legs. Marta handed her a clean white handkerchief and watched as Sarah wiped the tears off her face. “I couldn’t take it anymore. Every day I heard the abuse. Every day I heard the boys crying out in pain.”

“Did you talk to any of the elders about this?”

“I talked to them but they put me off, said I was a woman and didn’t understand the role a father played in a boy’s life.” Sarah blew her nose and tried to regain control of the tremors that shook her body.

“But surely beating a young boy senseless is not in Gott’s plan. Do you believe your daed would tell on you if he knew it was you who gave the boys money?”

“Of course he would, but he didn’t know. I made sure he was gone the day I slipped money to Lukas.”

“Then how?”

Sarah smoothed the wrinkles out of her quilt and set the bed back in order. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“How would you survive among the Englisch? You know nothing about them. Your whole life has been Amish. I fear for you, Sarah.” Marta brushed away her tears as they continued to fall.

A shiver ran through Sarah as she thought about what Marta said. She wouldn’t be strong enough to endure the radical changes that would have faced her. Thank Gott for Mose’s offer of marriage, for the opportunity to go to Sarasota and leave all this behind. But would he want to marry her if she was shunned and was she prepared for a loveless marriage? She feared not. Gott’s will. Grab hold of Gott’s will.