Sarah's Gift (16 page)

Molly nodded. “I keep sampling it while I make it. Soon I’ll need a crane to get out of my chair.”

“It’s not that bad. You look just as you should.” Indeed, Molly had the glow that first-time mothers so often did at this stage—as if her happiness was too great to contain. “I hope you’re not overdoing it, putting on this party for the kids.”

“Ach, it’s nothing. All I had to do was make the hot chocolate. They brought the rest of the stuff.” She waved a hand toward the counter, stacked with all the unhealthy snack foods dear to the hearts of teenagers.

“Benjamin looks happy.” She’d seen him sailing down the hill on a sled with Louise, both bundled up against the cold and laughing.

Molly nodded. “I understand you gave Aaron some gut advice about our little bruder.” She smiled, not quite looking at Sarah.

Not another matchmaker—was it so obvious that she had feelings for Aaron? Sarah tried to keep her tone casual. “Ach, I remember too well what it was like when each of my bruders hit sixteen. Daadi always said he had to keep rebuilding trust each time one of us broke it, until finally it took.”

“It’s what I said to Aaron myself, but I think he needed to hear it from someone other than his sister. Someone he admires, like you.”

That was getting too close for comfort. Sarah rose, taking her mug with her. “I’d best go back to my duties, and this will keep my fingers warm. Denke, Molly. And if those contractions become regular . . .”

“I will get in touch with you.” Molly looked a bit disappointed, maybe because Sarah was so unwilling to talk about Aaron.

But she couldn’t confide in anyone about her feelings for Aaron, and certainly not in his sister. Snuggling into her coat and scarf, she went back outside.

The volume of noise had grown, if anything, and she suspected that some of the sleds tipped over on purpose, not by accident. Nathan spotted her and jogged over.

“Sarah, komm. You must have one ride down the hill, at least.”

She shook her head, smiling at him. He was as enthusiastic as the younger ones were. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Ja, Sarah, please. It’s such fun.” Louise gave a shy smile, holding out her hand.

“Komm, Sarah.” Benjamin took the mug from her and set it on the porch rail. “Just once, anyway.”

Laughing, she let them tug her up the hill. She wasn’t too old to enjoy a sled ride, was she? And it was nice to feel that these young people accepted her.

They reached the top, and someone pushed a sled into position. She climbed on, tightening her scarf, feeling ridiculously young for just a moment. Nathan held the sled steady until she was settled. Then he turned away.

“You go with Sarah, Aaron.”

She glimpsed Aaron shake his head, but then the sled started moving on the trail made icy by all the ones that had gone down already. Aaron muttered something, grabbed for the sled, and hopped on behind her. For an instant they wobbled, off balance, headed for a snow bank. Sarah gulped an icy breath, but Aaron got both legs up, feet on the steering bar, and guided the sled onto the path.

They picked up speed, the trees whizzing past, the air cold on her cheeks. Aaron’s arms, strong and steady, went around her, securing her. The world became suspended, and only they were real, swooping down the hill, close against each other, sailing through the night.

Too soon they reached the bottom, tumbling off. Aaron still cradled her close, his cheek pressed against hers. The love she felt for him seemed to explode in her chest, as if her heart had shattered into pieces.

She scrambled to her feet, trying to smile. She couldn’t let him see, couldn’t let him know.

“Denke, Aaron.” The words came out in a whisper, and she cleared her throat, striving for normalcy. “I feared for a minute I’d have to go down solo.”

“You’re all right?” His fingers brushed her cheek in a feather-light touch. “Nathan was as heedless as one of Benjamin’s friends.”

“I’m fine.” But she couldn’t hold on to her calm facade much longer. “I ... I must help Molly with the food.” She turned and hurried to the house, forcing herself not to run.

She hoped she had fooled Aaron. Certainly she didn’t fool Molly, who saw her face the instant she came through the door.

“Sarah, was ist letz? What’s wrong?” Molly came quickly to put a comforting arm around her.

“Nothing.” But her voice choked on the word.

“It’s Aaron, isn’t it?” Molly led her to a chair and sat down next to her. “I knew it. I knew you had feelings for each other.”

Sarah shook her head. It was too late now to pretend that Aaron meant nothing to her, obviously. She mopped away a stray tear and straightened.

“I think that I am the only one foolish enough to feel something, Molly. And you must say nothing to Aaron about this.”

“But why?” Molly bent toward her, her expression earnest. “You two would be so gut for each other. I’m sure he cares for you.”

“No.” Sarah had to stop this before Molly said something to Aaron and made the whole situation unbearable. “You’re wrong. And even if he did feel something, your mammi’s death . . .”

She let that trail off. It was impossible to get anywhere this way.

“You mean because Aaron blames Emma for Mammi’s dying that way.” Molly sounded composed, as if she’d come to terms with this long ago.

Sarah pressed her fingers against her forehead, trying to stop the pounding that had begun there. “He can’t forgive, and I can’t explain—”

She stopped, aghast at what she’d almost blurted out.

There was a heavy step in the hallway, and Aaron stood in the door, hands pressed against the frame as if to hold himself back.

“What do you mean? What can’t you explain?” His voice rasped with a harshness she’d never heard from him.

Sarah groped for strength. “Nothing.” She fought to keep her voice calm. “Nothing.”

He crossed the space between them in two long strides. “Tell me, Sarah. If there is something about my mother’s death, I have the right to know it.”

She shook her head, helpless against the tide of his anger.

“It’s something about Daadi, isn’t it?” Molly’s face was pale, but she seemed composed. “I always thought there was something.”

Sarah took a deep breath. She’d prayed that the Lord would guide her in this decision. She hadn’t expected that His answer would come in this way, but perhaps it had. Walking away from this was now impossible.

Aaron leaned over her, one hand on the back of her chair, the other planted firmly on the table. She couldn’t look at him, so she looked at his hand instead—taut, hard, the tendons standing out as if he strained against something.

This would be difficult, no matter how she told the story. It was best just to get it out as quickly as she could.

“My aunt finally told me what happened that day. Everything was fine until after Benjamin was born. Then things went wrong, and your mamm started bleeding. Aunt Emma knew right away that she needed to go to the hospital. She sent your father to call for the ambulance.”

She stopped, as if a hand had clutched her throat. How could she say the rest of it?

“He . . .” Aaron sounded puzzled, shaking his head. “He went . . . I remember that. I harnessed up the horse for him, and he went.”

“He didn’t bring help.” Sarah said the words flatly. Just get it out. “By the time Aunt Emma realized no one was coming and sent you to the neighboring house to ask for help, it was too late.”

“What happened to him?” Aaron’s voice was harsh.

“One of the neighbors found him asleep in the buggy. He’d been drinking.” She hesitated. “Aunt Emma has blamed herself ever since, thinking she somehow should have known he’d been drinking, but she didn’t.”

Aaron shook his head again, anger battling grief and doubt in his eyes. “No. That can’t be. He didn’t start drinking until after Mamm died. He was grieving, and he turned to that—” He stopped, probably because she was shaking her head.

“I’m sorry. Maybe you didn’t recognize it, but he was drunk that night.”

“Why?” The question burst out of him. “If this is so, why didn’t we ever know?”

Oh, Aaron.
Her heart hurt for him.

“You had just lost your mamm. They didn’t want to put that burden on you as well. They agreed to be silent.”

“They had no right.” The doubt was gone from his voice now, leaving only the grief and anger.

Her heart sank. Knowing the truth hadn’t mended Aaron’s feelings. It had only turned them in a different direction.

She rose, putting her hand on his arm in a gesture meant to comfort. His muscles were rigid, unyielding. He couldn’t accept comfort from her.

“They meant it for the best, Aaron. Don’t you see that? They didn’t want you children to turn away from the only parent you had left. Please . . .”

She let that die away. Nothing she said would help now. He and Molly both needed time to accept the truth.

She turned and went quickly out the door.

Aaron
was vaguely aware of Sarah’s departure. He looked at Molly, afraid of what he might see, but she seemed calm enough.

“She shouldn’t have told that in front of you,” he said.

“You didn’t give her much choice.” Molly moved, seemingly at random, and sat down heavily in the rocking chair. “It’s not Sarah’s fault.”

His heart seemed to clutch. He remembered Mammi sitting in that chair in the days before Benjamin’s birth, knitting something small and white—a bootie, maybe.

“If it’s true . . .” He couldn’t go on. Everything he thought he’d known had been turned on its head.

“It is true,” Molly said, her voice flat. “We both knew that the moment Sarah said the words. Daadi was never the same after Mamm died. He probably blamed himself.”

“So he drank even more.” Aaron’s anger spurted out.

“Don’t, Aaron.” Molly shook her head tiredly. “They’re both gone now, and being angry doesn’t help anyone. The only thing to do now is to forgive.”

He wanted to say that he couldn’t help the anger. But wasn’t that what Daad would have said about the drinking? That he couldn’t help it?

The shrieks and laughter from outside seemed to be louder. Molly glanced toward the window.

“I’ll see to them,” he said quickly. “Why don’t you go on to bed? This has been enough for you to deal with. The kids can get their own snacks.”

Molly made a shooing motion with her hand. “Go. See what’s going on. We’ll talk later.”

He stepped outside, pausing for a moment on the porch, praying that the cold air would clear his head. He needed a bit of clarity right now.

The kids had grown more boisterous, for sure. Nathan wasn’t much of a deterrent. He was too close to them in age and not settled himself yet.

Aaron went down the steps. Sure enough, the volume of noise lowered the minute the kids saw him. He nodded to Nathan.

“Let’s start getting them inside for something to eat. It’s time to wind this down, I think.”

Nathan grinned. “Nobody wants to stop on a night like this. But I’ll try.” He jerked his head toward the lane. “I see Sarah is leaving.”

Aaron followed his gaze to where Sarah adjusted the harness on the buggy horse. He went quickly to her, not giving himself a chance to think about it. He caught the strap and pulled it through.

“Shouldn’t one of the boys be taking care of this?”

He’d make this sound normal if it killed him. Molly was right. None of this was Sarah’s fault. And as for those moments when he’d held her close in his arms ... well, maybe he’d best not think of that.

“They’re too busy having fun to disturb them,” Sarah said. She swung the lines into place, her face turned away from his.

She started to climb up, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm. She shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Aaron. I shouldn’t have . . .”

“You were right to tell us,” he said quickly. Even through his own haze of pain, he could see that she’d hurt herself, too, in the telling.

“I don’t know.” She turned, looking into his face as if searching for something there. “Aunt Emma just told me about it a few days ago, and I’ve been praying for guidance ever since.”

His hand closed over hers, and he felt the warmth of her comfort. “You did right. The truth is always best, ain’t so?”

“I hope.” Doubt clouded the clear green of her eyes, but it couldn’t dim the caring.

He wanted to draw her into his arms. He wanted to hold her close and let her comfort him.

But that wouldn’t be fair to her. He helped her up into the buggy.

“Denke, Sarah. For everything.”

She nodded, lifted the lines, and clucked to the horse, moving down the lane away from him.

He didn’t have time to think about it. Tonight, of all nights, when they had all Benjamin’s friends here. Still, if they hadn’t been here, if he hadn’t taken that sled ride with Sarah, maybe the truth wouldn’t have come out.

When he returned to the kitchen, it was full of kids, all talking and eating. The din seemed enough to rattle the windows. He didn’t know how Molly managed to keep smiling, let alone stay on her feet.

He guided her gently into the rocking chair and took over, making sure everyone had enough to eat and drink while praying they’d soon get tired and go home.

Finally it was over. Nathan and Benjamin went out to see the last stragglers off. Aaron glanced around the kitchen, relieved to see that the girls had cleaned most everything up before they left.

“No more now.” He headed Molly off before she could reach the sink. “We’ll finish the rest, and in the morning you can tell us we did it wrong. Now go off to bed.”

“Bed sounds gut.” Benjamin came in ahead of Nathan, yawning ostentatiously, and headed for the stairs.

“Not you,” Aaron said quickly. “It’s Molly who must go to bed. Thank her for all she did, and you can help me wash up these cups.”

“Can’t we leave them until morning?” Benjamin clung to the doorframe, as if reluctant to let go.

“No, we can’t.” It was hard to remain patient with the boy at times like this. “Komm, tell your sister good night.”

Benjamin crossed the kitchen slowly, not looking at Aaron. He leaned toward Molly to accept her hug. Aaron caught a whiff of his breath, and it was as if the boy had slapped him full in the face.