Sarah's Gift (17 page)

He grabbed Benjamin’s arm, spinning him around. “You’ve been drinking.” He seemed to be drowning in a flood of painful memories. “Admit it! You’ve been drinking!”

Benjamin looked away. “I don’t—”

“Don’t lie to us. We can smell the beer on your breath. Where did you get it?” His stomach churned. “Is this the first time?”

“All right.” Benjamin yanked himself free. “You don’t have to make such a big thing of it. I just had a beer. So what? Lots of guys have a beer once in a while.”

Lots of guys didn’t have a father who’d been an alcoholic. The words were on his tongue, but he couldn’t say them.

“Where did you get it?” he asked again.

Benjamin shrugged. “One of the guys brought a six-pack. That’s all. I don’t know what you’re getting so excited about. I’m not drunk.”

“You were drinking.” Like Daadi. “You let someone bring beer to our house.”

“I didn’t tell him to.” Benjamin’s expression turned sulky. “It’s not like I planned it. But he had it, and everyone would think I was a little kid if I didn’t have a taste.”

“You can’t—”

“You think I’m like Daadi.” Benj’s temper flared, and he fairly shouted the words. “You think I’m like Daadi, and you hate me for it.” He spun and ran from the room.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

W
hen
Aaron came down to breakfast the next morning, Benjamin wasn’t there. He sent a questioning glance toward Molly, who was ladling oatmeal into a serving bowl.

“I thought I’d let Benjamin sleep a little longer this morning,” she said. “It was a late night.”

“Ja.” The word was heavy with regret. He should not have let anger get the better of him. Engaging in a shouting match with his young brother was not the way to help Benjamin toward maturity.

Aaron’s chair scraped. He sat, bowing his head for the silent prayer.

The prayer ended. Nathan scooped oatmeal into his bowl and reached for the brown sugar. “Your oatmeal always tastes better than when I make it, Molly. I don’t know why. I make it the way you showed me.”

Aaron appreciated the effort Nathan made to sound as if this were any normal morning. Nothing would be gained by going over last night’s events, surely.

“That’s because Molly watches the oatmeal while it cooks, instead of letting it boil and stick like some people do,” Aaron said.

Nathan grinned, his good nature unimpaired, and spooned oatmeal into his mouth. “You could take over the cooking,” he mumbled around the oatmeal.

Molly swatted at him with a dish towel. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. Don’t you remember any of the manners I taught you? It’s no wonder you don’t have a steady girl yet.”

“I’m just taking my time about picking one out,” he said. “I want to be sure I do it right, like your Jacob did.”

Molly smiled, passing him a bowl of scrambled eggs. “My Jacob knew what he wanted from the time he was sixteen already.”

“You mean he knew what he wanted as soon as you decided for him, ain’t so?”

Molly withdrew the bowl. “You sure you want breakfast this morning?”

“All right, all right, I give.” He held up his hands in surrender. “Jacob knew you were the one for him from the minute he clapped eyes on you.”

Aaron listened to his siblings’ good-natured kidding with half his attention as he nursed a mug of coffee. He must have slept some last night, but it didn’t feel that way. He wasn’t sure whether he’d spent more time thinking about Benjamin’s drinking or Sarah’s unexpected revelation. Or about Sarah herself.

Too bad all that thinking hadn’t resulted in any major breakthroughs. All he knew for sure was that he had to talk to Benjamin seriously, and not when the two of them were like powder kegs ready to explode.

Nathan finally stood up, giving Aaron a questioning look. “You ready?”

“I want to talk to Molly for a bit. You go ahead and get started.”

Nathan nodded, grabbed his jacket from its hook, and headed out the back door. He’d have the workshop warmed up by the time Aaron got there.

Aaron looked at Molly, lifting his eyebrows. “Did you tell Nathan what Sarah said about Daad?”

She shook her head. “That’s for you to do, I think. You’re the head of the family.”

“I haven’t been doing that any too well lately.” He stared down at the cooling coffee in his mug, as if he might find an answer there. “What happened with Benj and the drinking . . . it’s exactly what I’ve been worried about, and yet I still wasn’t prepared.”

“I’m not sure how you would prepare for that. I’m worried about him, too,” Molly said, her voice soft. “Maybe especially after what Sarah told us last night.”

“Ja.” He was silent for a moment, trying to still the pain. “It’s hard—trying to adjust to the truth being so very different from what I’ve thought it was all these years.”

Molly nodded, her usually merry face grave. “I was young enough not to notice a lot, or maybe not to understand what I did see. I just knew that I’d soon have a new baby sister or brother.” She smiled just a little. “Don’t tell Benjamin, but I was hoping for a sister.”

“I won’t tell him.” Would he have been less worried if the child had been a girl? Maybe, but it was impossible to say.

“You were up most of the night.” Molly reached across the table to clasp his hand. “I heard you pacing.”

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you. You need your rest.”

“Ach, how could I sleep? I just kept going over it and over it. Like you.”

“I’ve remembered a little more, I think.” He gripped her hand. “It’s all mixed up in my mind—what Sarah said, what I believed, what I think I remember. All the signs were there—I don’t know why I didn’t piece it together myself.”

“You wouldn’t have wanted to believe it. I wouldn’t, either. Somehow it was easier to excuse Daadi’s drinking when we thought it was caused by grief. But it was guilt.”

“I think so.” He frowned down at their clasped hands. “Maybe we shouldn’t tell Nathan and Benjamin.”

Her hand jerked in his. “Isn’t the truth always better?”

“I know that’s what I said last night. But I don’t want Nathan and Benjamin to feel the anger I do.”

“Ach, Aaron, you must not be angry. You certainly can’t blame Emma or anyone else who hid the truth from us. Poor Emma. She must have known all these years that you blamed her, and she bore it because she thought it was better for you.”

That sliced straight to his heart. “For Emma to do that ... somehow I must make things right with her.”

“Ja, you will want to, but I think Emma does not expect anything from you. She’s a woman who always does what she thinks is right.” She paused. “Sarah is like her in that respect.”

His jaw tightened. Sarah had let herself in for pain in her effort to help him.

“None of us has the right to be angry,” Molly said earnestly, clasping his hand. “What happened is God’s will. We have to accept that. We have to forgive, if we want to be forgiven.”

He swallowed, throat muscles working. His little sister had learned wisdom, it seemed.

“I know. But it is hard.” He squeezed her hand and then released it. “Now maybe I’d best try to put that forgiveness into action. I’ll tell Benjamin I’m sorry for my anger last night. That’s a beginning, ain’t so?”

Molly nodded, smiling. “I’ll go up with you. It’s time that lazybones was out of bed.”

They walked up the stairs together. His heart was a little less heavy, it seemed, for having talked everything over with Molly. He would miss her if she went back to Indiana.

Benjamin’s door was closed. He tapped lightly, then opened it and looked inside. “Benjamin?”

The bed was empty, the coverlet so smooth it was impossible that anyone had slept in it. Benjamin was gone.

Sarah
followed Aunt Emma into the township fire hall the morning after the sled-riding, trying to stifle a yawn. She’d had too little sleep last night, worrying and wondering about whether she’d done the right thing in telling Aaron about his father. Finally, surrendering the situation once more to the Lord, she had fallen asleep at last.

But it was just as well that Aunt Emma had booked them to help with crafts for the spring volunteer-fire-company benefit. The work would keep her thoughts from useless worry.

Women of the community, mostly Amish but some Englisch, met together twice a month through the winter to create items to sell. It was one of the events that brought Amish and Englisch together in Pleasant Valley.

It might be cold outside, but inside the cement-block building was warm and alive with the buzz of women’s voices and the aroma of coffee and baking.

“Sticky buns,” Aunt Emma said with satisfaction, hanging her coat and bonnet on the row of hooks along the wall. She glanced toward the pass-through into the kitchen. “Florence Burkhalter is in charge of refreshments today, and she always makes the best sticky buns.”

Sarah hung her things up, too. “I think I’d better do some work before I indulge in something so rich.” It was impossible to resist completely the sweet, sticky rolls. In the meantime, she’d enjoy the smell.

Aunt Emma nodded, smiling as she glanced around the room. She looked more like her old self every day, and Sarah rejoiced in that. She’d enjoy this outing, especially since it was such a gut cause.

Amish or Englisch, everyone in Pleasant Valley benefited from the fire company. Although Amish volunteers couldn’t drive the truck, they did every other job related to the fire company, knowing their houses and barns were as likely as anyone else’s to need saving, and their elderly and children as much in need of the rescue squad.

“Pitch in anywhere,” Aunt Emma directed, picking up the bag that carried her quilting supplies. “I’ll be working on the quilt.”

Sarah nodded, knowing her aunt meant anything except the project stretched over a large frame in the corner. By a kind of unspoken consent, only the most skilled, experienced quilters joined that group, creating works of art that would bring buyers from as far away as New England to bid on them at the spring sale.

Aunt Emma trotted off to the corner. Sarah paused for a moment to see her warmly welcomed, and then she made her way toward the table where Rachel and Leah were working, greeting other people along the way. She didn’t know everyone yet, of course, but someday she would.

“Leah.” She nodded. “And Rachel. How are you feeling?”

“Gut, gut.” Rachel smoothed her hand over the front of her dress. “Lots of kicking going on since Mammi is sitting still. Joseph is hoping so much for a little bruder.”

“Perhaps Gideon wants a boy, as well,” Leah said.

“Gideon wishes only for a healthy boppli,” Rachel said. “As I do.”

“Ja,” Sarah said softly. That was what they all prayed for with each pregnancy. “What are you working on?”

“Crocheted and knitted baby shawls,” Leah said, pushing several balls of soft pastel yarn toward her. “They go very fast at the sale, so we can surely use another pair of hands.”

Sarah sat down. “This I can do. Aunt Emma wouldn’t let me near the quilting frame.”

Rachel chuckled. “Ach, no, they are most particular about that.”

“Everyone is having a gut time, it seems.” Sarah began casting stitches on. “It looks like every family in the valley is represented here.”

“Not all, I suppose, but most,” Leah said. “Some people would rather give money than time, but this”—she glanced around the busy room—“I would not want to give this up.”

Community. That was what Leah meant. It was almost a tangible presence in the room.

Across the room the door opened, letting in a blast of cold air, along with two women. Anna and Rosemary, her Englisch friend.

In a moment the two women had made their way through the tables to them. Leah reached out to pat her little sister, as if still reminding herself that Anna was home to stay.

“You came. And Rosemary, how nice to see you.” Leah’s English was perfect, Sarah noticed, probably a result of all the years she’d spent teaching. “Will you help us with the baby shawls?”

Anna and Rosemary exchanged a glance as they sat down, and Sarah thought the Englisch woman looked upset.

“Rosemary? Is something wrong?” Sarah leaned toward the woman. Rosemary had been blooming with her pregnancy when she’d come by the house. Now she seemed distressed.

“I . . .” Rosemary paused, as if not sure how to go on. “Anna said you’d be here today. I just have to talk to you.” She came to a halt again.

Sarah reached toward her, wanting to reassure her. “Of course, Rosemary.” Her mind raced. Some problem with the baby?

Please, Father, don’t let it be that, when they’ve waited so long.

Rosemary’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I shouldn’t have done it. I know that now. I should have listened to you. Richard didn’t want me to say anything, but I just went ahead, and now look what’s happened.”

Leah and Rachel exchanged puzzled looks. “We don’t understand,” Leah said. “What did you do, Rosemary?”

Anna patted her friend’s hand. “It’s all right. Just tell Sarah what happened.”

Rosemary took a breath, seeming to compose herself. “Yesterday I had my appointment with Dr. Mitchell. I know you said it would do no good to talk to him again, but I just had to try. I thought I could persuade him to cooperate with you on my baby’s birth.”

Sarah had a sudden image of Dr. Mitchell, face red with barely suppressed anger. “It’s all right,” she managed to say. “I understand your feelings.”

A tear spilled over, and Rosemary wiped it away. “I tried. But Dr. Mitchell seems so completely unreasonable where midwives are concerned. He became very angry. I wouldn’t have imagined he could be like that.”

She could, Sarah thought but didn’t say.

“Luckily Richard was with me,” Rosemary said. “I’d have just dissolved in tears.” She managed a watery smile. “But Richard was incensed. He decided then and there that we should change doctors. So we’re going over to the clinic in Fostertown. It’s a drive, but it’s better than the alternative.”

“I’m glad.” Sarah patted her hand. “Really, Rosemary. I’m sure you’ll be happy with your care there. I have been so impressed with Dr. Brandenmyer’s clinic.”

“Yes, yes, I know I will be.” Rosemary’s tears threatened to overflow again. “But that’s not the bad part.”

Her voice rose, and Sarah was conscious of a hush falling over the other women as they realized something was wrong.

“Dr. Mitchell was so angry. And he blamed you, Sarah. He blamed you for his losing me as a patient, said you’d interfered in his practice. I tried to explain, but he wouldn’t listen, not even to Richard. He said he’d thought about shutting down your aunt when he first came here, but he’d heard she was retiring. But now you’re here to take her place, and he’s determined to put you out of business.”

For a moment Sarah felt as if she couldn’t breathe. The words rang in her head. Could he do it? Would he really try?

The silence in the room was as tangible as the sense of community had been earlier. Then a low buzz of conversation broke out again.

Sarah knew who they were talking about now. They were talking about her. About the trouble she’d brought on the midwife practice, on all of Pleasant Valley.

Could she rely on them to stand by her? A cold hand seemed to grip her heart. She didn’t know.

The
drive home passed mostly in silence. Sarah stole a glance at her aunt as she turned into the lane, but Aunt Emma’s expression revealed nothing.