Abram's Daughters 03 The Sacrifice (14 page)

At long last Leah located Rosie under a stand of trees, the

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boughs void of leaves now but still sturdy enough to provide a bit of shade. Munching away and minding her own business, the cow appeared to be content this far from the bank barn. "I'd say you went explorin' today, didn'tcha?" Leah slapped Rosie's hindquarters playfully. "Let's go on home now."

On the walk back, Leah spoke coaxingly to King and Blackie, who ran together more often now that the pup, Sassy, had come to live with them. Three's an odd partnership, Mamma liked to say. Leah was seeing it firsthand, for the younger pup preferred to stay close to home, begging for handouts at the back door. It was easy to see Mamma was spoiling that one.

"When will the first snow fly?" She reached down, petting King and Blackie both as they went. Then she had to direct the cow away from the temptation of going belly deep in a clear creek nearby. "Can you sniff the air and forecast a change in weather like Aunt Lizzie does?"

She had to smile. Her blood mother, bless her heart, was the sweetest, dearest Aendi she had, and there were plenty on both sides of the family. Leah was looking forward to seeing more of Mamma and Lizzie's sisters again over in Hickory Hollow come next Saturday. It had been a good long time since Dat had actually consented to take the family to the old Brenneman homestead, where Dawdi John and Mammi gone to heaven had lived and raised their brood of children. This visit they planned to see Aunt Becky and Uncle Noah Brenneman, the man Dat had often tried to avoid at all costs, before the truth of Lizzie's past had finally come to Leah's ears.

"Nearly time for milkin'," Leah said, nearing the corral and following Rosie into the barn. She was eager for winter

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lyenilu-r, because once the windmill started clanging its tinny ling ;ind strong gusts of cold air swept up from the distant Kills, piling snow up high against the north side of the barn, iDut: wouldn't need her so much outdoors. No, Dat was awful Kind that way, and he was beginning to be even more considrate these days, now that he suspected Leah was seriously eeiug Gid.

I i'unny how that is, she thought, preparing the cows for (milking. When Dat's happy, everybody else is bound to be, too.( She wondered how things would go when the smithy's son (asked Dat for her hand. That day couldn't be too far off, and line felt almost breathless with excitement. She looked forIwnrd to long winter days of quilting, when she would once lidjain be included in the community of women folk, something she enjoyed more than ever.

I Is it because I am soon to become a wife? She didn't quite (know why her attitude toward work frolics was changing. (Scarcely could she wait to see what pattern and colors would |be used in sewing the next quilt. This one, she knew, was I meant to be giv^n to Deacon Stoltzfus's wife for her birthday, I Come Christmas. Everyone knew the reason behind the gesIture was to bring a bit of cheer to the grieving woman. She I had looked awful peaked last Sunday at Preaching service, ll.i-iih recalled, her heart going out not only to Elias's mother I but to the whole family.

I When Dat came shuffling into the barn, she greeted him. ["Just in time for milkin'," she said. But he surprised her by I heading right back outside without saying a word. I Somethings awful wrong, she thought, hoping it wasn't I more bickering with Mary Ruth. Still, she couldn't help

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wondering, because just before she'd gone looking for missing Rosie, Hannah had dashed through the barnyard, running hard down the lane after Mary Ruth, hollering, "Come back, sister. Won'tcha please come back?"

She pressed the cow's teat, milking by hand as she always did, and was nearly startled at the strength of the first spritz of creamy milk. "Good girl, Rosie," she said softly. "Glad someone's content round here." ,, , ; .: ;

Robert Schwartz held the obituary in his hands a paper memorial. He had cut out the small square of newsprint last Wednesday, tucking it in his personal possessions to take back to college. Something tangible to forever remind him . . .

He sat in the dark, in the formal front room, where he could contemplate the events of the last week without interruption. Life-altering days when opinions and perceptions had radically changed. How could one twenty-four-hour period be so drastically different from the next?

He replayed the entire week from Sunday to Sunday in his head. Visions of Elias's body sprawled pitifully out on the road . . . recollections too painful to ponder. Elias's mother at the funeral, how she looked as if her knees might give out, leaving her too weak to stand. The Deacon Stoltzfus, as he had been reintroduced to Robert prior to the service, had worn a solemn face, sitting erect with his sons, the weight of the world on his back. Robert had recognized the invisible burden, because he, too, carried one linked to all the misery of the day. : /

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I I U' had heard the sniffling of one young woman in particLllir, She was surely not more than a teenager, likely Elias's Wn age, perhaps younger. A girl with a look-alike sister, possibly ;i twin both with strawberry blond hair had struggled h rough the endless funeral service, even leaning, at one mint, on the shoulder of the other girl. Elias's sweetheart, he Iliul surmised at the time, for no other woman, apart from the in* >i her, had appeared to be as distraught. I Robert had noticed the same girl and her sister at the t}iiiirryville church. On the final night of meetings, just last veiling, he had spoken with her briefly as she made her way But the door with Dan and Dottie Nolt and their son. Dan Kind introduced her to him as "Elias's former bride-to-be, who Same along with us tonight." He wanted to say how very sorry fce was, say the accident was the worst thing that had ever TlHppened to him, but any words of sympathy he might have offered remained locked behind his lips. He could not recall the few words he'd said in response to Dan's brief introduction, but he remembered offering his hand and shaking hers Fquite gently, lesttit break, requesting forgiveness with his eyes. f Thinking back, he suddenly realized there would have

1 been no spontaneous meetings at all no rejoicing of the heavenly hosts when dozens of grieving, repentant Amish yen ing people came to the Lord Jesus had he driven home Hiisi Sunday night without incident. "Things happen for a reaMim," one of his professors often stated with conviction. There/ore the sovereignty of God can be wholly trusted. You can mhrow your life on His mercy. ..."

I Contemplating these things in the quietude, he was tartled when his father wandered into the darkened room

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and sat on the leather chair, put his feet up with a sigh, and merely sat silently for more than a full minute. Robert felt obliged to be the first to speak, and he began by simply saying he wondered if the whole village of Gobbler's Knob hadn't turned out for the funeral of Elias Stoltzfus ... as well as the revival meetings that followed.

His father frowned disapprovingly, changing the subject to the weather. Not to be daunted, Robert rose and offered to pour some freshly brewed coffee. To this his father agreed. Robert hurried from the parlor, toward the kitchen, glad for some common ground, inconsequential as it was.

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Ida, now at the end of her eighth month of pregnancy, had nor slept soundly for three nights straight. She shared this in passing with Leah, who had come in from the barn. "Catch your breath a bit, dear," she said. "And I will, too."

Leah settled down nearest the window with a cup of tea. "Soon we'll be using the one-horse sleigh to get to and from I'reaching and market and all."

Ida sighed, glad for this rare quiet moment. "And we'll M>on have us aftother sweet babe to hold and warm us in the midst of our winter. I'm ever so eager. Can't help but thinkin' I his one might be Abram's first son."

"Oh, Mamma, really?"

She didn't want to make too much of it, Leah having been Dat's longtime sidekick for these many years. But if she were forthright, she'd have to admit this baby was mighty different from his sisters. He kicked harder and poked deep into her ribs at times. He jumped and leaped and ran in place all night long, chasing sleep away. "What shall we name him if he's to be a boy?" <

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"Well, the name Abram does come to mind." Leah smiled broadly.

Ida had thought of that, too. "Well, now, 'tween you and me, I think there's room for only one Abram under this roof." She paused momentarily before continuing. "What would ya think if we named the baby Abe?"

"It sounds similar to Abram, for sure. Like a wee chip off the old block." Leah glanced up at the ceiling like she was thinking it through. When her gaze drifted back down, she offered another smile. "I think Abe's a right fine name. So why not see what Dat says to it?"

"Jah, Abram might enjoy namin' his boy." She went and poured herself some hot tea, stirring two teaspoons of honey into the steaming brew. Ida knew Leah was right. It was fitting to include Abram in all the excitement of a new little one. He'd gotten somewhat lost in the shuffle with the previous births, except for the day Leah came into the world.

She sipped her tea and recalled the autumn day, suddenly feeling compelled to tell Lizzie's first and only child the events surrounding the day of her birth. Rather impulsively, she began. "I understand from Abram you're quite curious 'bout your birthday your very first one, that is."

Leah's hazel-gold eyes brightened instantly. "Jah, Mamma, what can you tell me?"

"Only as much as I know," she said. "That October day was a busy one, what with potato diggin' in full swing. As I recall, the sun was warm and the skies were clear, although we'd had the very first frost of the season quite heavy, in fact. That morning I thought of all the weeds blackened by the killing frost, not one bit sad 'bout that. But . . . the flow-

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fl'a, well, 1 was awful sorry to see their perty heads all wiltedi'v I'rnlk'lil.

"Lizzie and I had awakened quite early. She'd come down thiin her log house to eat breakfast with us here, and after a lill we decided to make some apple dumplings, then redd up lilt4 kitchen.

"Several hours after I'd gone to help Cousin Fannie with Jirr full housecleaning, Lizzie's labor began. There was no way ft ii Ahram to get word to Grasshopper Level 'bout Lizzie witiv uiil lenving her alone, and she was fairly terrified, puttin' it |niklly. He hollered for the smithy and Miriam, but the PeachCV were out diggin' potatoes clear on the other side of their hum. So poor Abram, if he wasn't beside himself, wonderin' what the world to do.

"Then things began to happen awful fast, and there was h" lime to call for the Amish midwife, not the doctor, neither iHie, By the time I arrived home, late in the afternoon, you

11.u I already made your entrance into the world."

Stopping to catch her breath, Ida felt again some of the durprtse and excitement of that day. She drank a little more ol her tea. "Abram was the one who came to our Lizzie's resnio, bless his heart, and helped with your birth. He delivered his little niece you and we raised you as our own second i Li lighter. And, 'course, you know all the rest." She felt she iiii^ht cry now as she remembered Abram's account of the i.prcial day.

"Dat, you see, was the first to hold you and speak softly to you 'welcome home,' he said and kiss your little head,

11 >vtired with the softest brown peach fuzz. Oh, how Abram Inved you, Leah. Right from the start he did. Honestly, I

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believe he fixed his gaze on you like no other man might have, maybe 'cause your own birth father was nowhere to be found ... or, far as we knew, even known." She reached over and covered Leah's hand with her own.

Leah was still now, eyes wide. "Oh, Mamma, no wonder Dat took me under his fatherly wing. No wonder. . ."

"Jah, 'tis for certain. And not only that, but Dat had it in his head that he'd spared your life back when, after Lizzie first knew she was carrying you, which was prob'ly true, too. It was during that time your outspoken uncle Noah was bent on sending Lizzie away to end her pregnancy."

Leah clasped Ida's hand. "Mamma, why is it Dat has never wanted to talk 'bout my birth to me?"

She'd wondered if Leah might press further. "I daresay he may be embarrassed, really, recounting all the day entailed, ya know. . . ."

"I just thought there was more to it, that's all."

She shook her head. "You now know all I know, Leah. If it's your first father you're thinkin' of, well, I don't know a stitch more than I've already said."

Leah glanced out the window and Ida slipped her hand away. "You mustn't ever think you weren't longed for or dearly wanted by Lizzie . . . and Dat and me. Just 'cause, well, you know "

"Because Lizzie didn't have a husband? Is that what you mean?"

Neither of them spoke for a time. The warmth from the wood stove encircled them like a sheer prayer veiling as both women brought their teacups to their lips. ,

Ida set her cup down and leaned on the table, studying

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ILphIi. "l'*-l 'ike you to know something," she said at last. "You MOIuIm1 into the world, the moment you did . . . well, it turned HRy wnyward sister round right quick . . . away from the lure of I Worldly things. She had a change of heart even while she was litxpccling you. You gave her purpose to live a holy and Ilipilyhl life. She nursed and tended to you with plenty of I help from me and began to seek after the Lord God and His t > ivs," IIere she couldn't help but sigh, remembering. "Lizzie } I nine nearly childlike in her faith. Truly, the grace of God ju.i:, upon her. She wanted to learn how to pray . . . and I I t.iiiu[ht her, just as Abram's mother had taught me long ago." I "So Lizzie wasn't content with the memorized prayers of

11,i-People?"

"She had a yearning to share from her heart is the best

wuy I can explain it. She wanted to learn to listen more to

11 it* Lord, as well."

| Leah's eyes widened at that. "Ach, Mamma, whatever doI ,'11 mean?"