Neither had even pretended that their mother would be of any use, though an unspoken hope had passed between them that someday she might be.
Sarah cleared her throat. “The neighbors are kind enough to provide us with some milk, and we have some things canned, of course—”
“So you have no money.”
“No, but I have been able to mend some of Andy’s old clothes for Luke and Henry and Isaac.” She didn’t add that she was worried about shoes. She’d noticed holes in the bottom of Isaac’s the day before, and Andy’s pants had been mended so many times they looked like something one might put on a scarecrow.
Bishop Levi nodded, allowing her words to fade from the room, and then he tapped his cane against the floor. “People want to help. They care about you, and we are a community. We lean on one another when there is a need, as there is here.”
Andy looked as if he were about to argue, but Levi stopped him with an upheld hand. “Humility is an important thing to learn for each of us. There is no shame in accepting the help of others.”
He stared out the window at the darkness. After a moment had passed, he returned his gaze to Sarah’s mother. “We cannot help if we do not know. This is your responsibility, Deborah. To come to me, to come to your brothers and sisters in Christ, when you have a need.”
Deborah nodded as if she understood and agreed, but she still didn’t speak.
“I’d like to hear you say you understand.” Levi’s voice was soft and gentle.
“I do,” she said softly.
“Gut!” He pulled a fresh stick of gum out of his pocket and popped it in his mouth, offering each of them a piece, but they all declined. “I will go by the bank tomorrow and take care of those obligations.”
“We’ll pay it back,” Andy said.
“You already have. Your tithe has gone to help others all these years, and now it is their turn to help you. It’s a simple thing when you think about it.” He pulled an envelope out of the pocket of his jacket and handed it to Deborah. She practically threw it into Sarah’s hands.
If Levi thought that odd, he didn’t comment on it.
“There’s enough there to see you through until spring. And if there is anything else you need, please do not hesitate to speak to me.”
Once Levi’s horse was again clip-clopping down the lane, Andy declared that work remained to be done in the barn. Henry and Luke and Isaac tumbled down the stairs and dashed out after their brother. Sarah thought her mother would mention the bishop’s visit, or the unpaid bills, or the money in the envelope. Instead, she pulled a piece of folded paper from her pocket, the letter that Sarah had brought in from the mailbox. She stood there for a moment, staring at it, and then she turned, walked to her room, and quietly and gently shut the door.
CHAPTER 6
Sarah was quite busy the next two days, perhaps too busy to notice what her mother was preoccupied with.
The morning after the bishop’s visit, Sarah went back to the dry goods store. This time she bought more than flour and oats. Paul insisted on helping her load her purchases into the buggy, and he seemed worried that she wouldn’t be able to unload all of the items once she got home. Sarah assured him that Andy and Henry were there to help her. The man appeared a smidgen less sour than he had when she’d seen him on Monday, but still he frowned and remained unusually quiet—even for an Amish man.
She decided not to let it bother her.
Had Rebecca told the bishop about their situation? Sarah didn’t know and decided she didn’t care. The important thing was that she now had food to put in the kitchen cabinets, and more than oatmeal and potato soup to feed the boys. She’d also purchased new fabric for clothes, although she was careful to buy only what was on the sale bolts.
Her happy feelings fled when Luke came home with a note from the teacher. “Could you stop by for a meeting?” was all it said. She assumed the note was for her, though it could have been for her mother. When she attempted to speak to her mother about it, Deborah had said, “I can’t deal with that right now” and hurried toward her bedroom.
“What’s up with her?” Andy had asked.
“I don’t know. She barely speaks.”
“And she spends an inordinate amount of time alone in that room.”
Their mother had never been a typical Amish woman. Perhaps all the years enduring their father’s spells had worn her down. Though Melvin’s death was tragic, everyone had hoped Deborah would pop back now that she had the chance to live a normal life. But something deep within her mother was broken, and Sarah didn’t know how to fix it. So she prayed for patience and wisdom, and she focused on stepping into the gap left by her parents.
Both she and Andy asked their brother what the note from his teacher was about, but Luke claimed he had no idea.
“I’ll drive them in tomorrow and speak with Brian.” Andy pulled out a copy of Successful Farming magazine and settled into the recliner.
The librarian in town had explained that she recycled any issues over a year old. Andy had told her that farming didn’t change much over the course of a year, and he would be happy to take the old copies off her hands. Sarah had seen the way the librarian had looked at her brother, and she’d wondered if there might be some romantic interest between the two. So far nothing had come of that, which was probably a good thing as the woman was Englisch.
“Can you spare the time?” Sarah asked.
“More snow is forecast, and I’m nearly out of projects in the barn.”
“The tractor’s fixed?”
“Still waiting on a part.”
It was settled. Andy would go into town for the teacher meeting, and Sarah could focus on her sewing. She was nearly finished with a pair of pants for Isaac and would like to complete a pair for Andy before Sunday. She’d also splurged on fabric for a new dress for her and her mother—more salvage fabric, but it would sew up nicely. She hoped she would be able to get to those the following week.
They settled into a quiet evening, but it wasn’t destined to last. Twenty minutes later, Luke came tumbling down the stairs.
“He’s brought a snake into our bedroom.”
“It won’t hurt you!” Isaac shouted from upstairs.
“I’m trying to sleep here!” yelled Henry, who shared a room with Andy and often went to bed as soon as it was dark.
The thought had crossed Sarah’s mind that Henry was having another growth spurt, or perhaps he was upset about something. Surely he was only tired. He’d been hired on at the Dutch Pantry in town two days a week. No doubt he was resting up for that.
Andy sent Sarah a desperate look, but she shook her head. “Snakes fall squarely under your responsibility, not mine.”
“But I’m more tired than you are.”
“That’s doubtful.”
“No doubt it’s a grass snake.”
“Didn’t look like a grass snake,” Luke said. “Looked like a rat snake to me, and a large one at that.”
“Why would he bring it into the house?” Andy muttered.
“Because he has no common sense.” Luke was sitting on the couch, bouncing the heel of his foot against the floor.
Was that why he was in trouble at school? Because he never seemed to sit still? Andy put aside his magazine and headed upstairs to deal with the wildlife situation. Sarah couldn’t imagine where her little brother would have found a snake in the middle of winter. No matter. Andy would deal with it. She decided to take the opportunity of their being alone to speak privately with Luke.
“So you really have no idea why Brian would want to speak with us?”
Luke shrugged his shoulders.
“You remind me of Mamm when you do that.” She’d meant it as a tease, but somehow those nine words ignited a bitter fuse Luke had been harboring.
“I’m nothing like her at all! She’s barely even here.”
“Lower your voice.”
“Why? You think she’ll hear? You think she even cares?”
; “I think you need to watch your words, Luke. What’s said cannot be unsaid.”
“What difference does it make, Sarah? You’re always making excuses for her. She doesn’t even care about us.” He scrubbed a hand across his face, as if to remove tears before they even fell, and then he hurried out of the room, claiming he’d forgotten something in the barn.
Sarah’s heart ached for her brother. Was this the trouble at school? Luke’s bitterness? They had been through so much, enduring their father’s spells and then his death. Now their mother seemed unable or unwilling to care for them.
Isaac seemed barely to notice. If she were honest, she’d admit that he treated her as his mother, and he always had. She’d been fourteen when he was born, old enough to provide for most of his care. But she’d been only nine when Luke had been born. Her mother must have been more involved during those years, and perhaps that was why he suffered from her absence more.
Did she make excuses for her mother?
Maybe.
The year before, Sarah had spent three weeks working at the Texas coast on a mission trip after a catastrophic hurricane. That experience had given her a bit of perspective. She understood their situation was challenging, but they still had a home, still had each other, still had an intact community around them. She’d also had the benefit of Englisch counseling to help her deal with her mother and father. Perhaps she needed to seek the same for Luke. Although he didn’t show any symptoms of an eating disorder like she had, obviously he was struggling with their situation.
Instead of running out after her brother, she remained where she was, sewing by the light of a gas lantern and praying for the restoration of her family.
CHAPTER 7
The next morning things went more smoothly. Henry ate early and then hurried off to work. Several of the Amish youth who worked at the restaurant in their small downtown area shared a ride. He had to be at the end of their lane by seven a.m.
Sarah thought that Luke seemed better this morning. Though he didn’t apologize for his outburst the night before, he did thank her for his lunch, and he teased Isaac that at least he had managed to get them a ride to school in the buggy.
“I’d rather walk and not be in trouble.” After he grabbed his lunch box, Isaac threw his arms around Sarah’s waist, giving her a tight hug goodbye.
“Tell Mamm goodbye,” she reminded him.
He’d waved awkwardly at Deborah, who was busy staring at a sheet of paper. Andy was already walking through the snow to the buggy. Although they’d had no new accumulation, the temperature hadn’t risen above freezing for days. But this morning Sarah could see the snow in the road melting as the sun finally broke through the clouds. She was glad that Andy’s forecast had been wrong. She’d had quite enough snow to last her for a few weeks.
Sarah cleaned up the breakfast dishes. She spent the next twenty minutes cutting up vegetables for a soup, grateful that she had ham to add to it and that they could have cornbread and fresh butter with the meal. Next, she fetched her sewing and spread it out on the kitchen table. Glancing up, she noticed that her mother had gone back into her bedroom and changed clothes. She was now wearing her Sunday dress. As Sarah watched in amazement, she carried the single suitcase they owned out of her bedroom and set it next to the front door.
“Mamm, what’s going on?”
But instead of answering, Deborah continued to stare out the front window.
Sarah’s stomach began to quiver, and she thought she might not be able to keep down the little she had eaten. She closed her eyes and focused on breathing deeply and calming her digestive system. Some days it worked. Other days she lost that fight, but she was determined to try. She would not be ruled by her illness as her father had been by his.
Opening her eyes, she saw that her mother had donned her coat.
“Where are you going?”
Deborah turned to look at her then, actually look at her for the first time in what seemed like months. Glancing back at the road, as if she was afraid she might miss something important, she walked quickly across the room and sat down next to Sarah.
“I’m leaving.”
“What?”
“The letter—it was from my cousin.”
“Your cousin?”
“Yes, and she’s offered to let me come and stay awhile.”
“What cousin?”
Her mother waved away the question. “I only took enough money to pay for the bus fare.”
“You’re taking the bus?” Sarah’s mind was swirling. In fact, it felt as if the very room were tilting. She shook her head, aware that the situation was quickly spiraling out of control. “Mamm, where are you going?”
“To my cousin’s, in Florida.”
“But what about us?”
“You don’t need me.”
A shadow crossed Deborah’s face, and Sarah was certain that she was about to shut down again. She’d uttered more words in the last five minutes than she had in the previous month.
“We do need you. How can you say that? You’re our mother. You’re—”
“Stop! Just…stop.”
Sarah’s heart skittered into a triple beat as a car vehicle pulled up in their driveway. She recognized Amelia Stark’s van. The woman often gave rides to the Amish in their community for a minimal fee. She’d even driven to Tulsa to fetch Sarah the time she’d been in the hospital there.
“Mamm—”
Deborah turned on Sarah with the ferocity of an Oklahoma twister, and Sarah realized in that moment of complete honesty that her mother had been wearing a mask since her father’s death. Perhaps since long before that. Gone was the blank stare. Instead, what she saw now was confusion and anger and, under that, determination.
“You are going to have to handle this. I cannot be here…cannot be here one more minute. Do you understand?”
Her eyes searched Sarah’s. There was no tenderness in her expression—only desperation.
Before Sarah could respond, before she could even process what had just happened, her mother was out the door, down the steps, and climbing into the waiting van. Sarah ran outside, but Amelia was already driving away, and she was taking Sarah’s mother with her.
She had to do something. She had to stop her. She had to at least try.
Sarah went back inside to grab her coat and purse. She ran back out the front door but then stopped when she remembered the pot of soup she’d left on the stove. She went back into the house and turned off the burner. Hurrying across the yard, she prayed that the tractor would start. She skidded to a stop when she entered the barn.
Andy had been working on the tractor because it kept stalling. What had he said last night?
Still waiting on a part.
Apparently he’d taken the engine apart to find out what was wrong, or Henry had—he was the mechanic of the family. The pieces were placed carefully across his workbench, and the tractor…well, the tractor wasn’t going anywhere.
She’d walk.
Maybe someone would pick her up and offer her a ride to town.
She hurried down the lane, not even bothering to skirt the puddles of melting snow. The water splashed up and stained the hem of her dress, and her toes began to grow cold. Still she hurried on, her mother’s words churning round and round in her mind.
To my cousin’s, in Florida.
You don’t need me.
You are going to have to handle this.
Was that what she’d been doing all these months? Planning her escape? What kind of mother left her fatherless children? What kind of person could do that?
She didn’t realize she was crying until Andy stopped the buggy, jumped out, and ran up to her. He shook her by the shoulders, asked her something, and took off his coat to drape over her own thin one.
Slowly her presence of mind returned.
When it did, she looked up at her brother, wondering how she could cushion this latest turn of events. Finally, she settled for the truth and simply said, “She’
s gone.”
CHAPTER 8
Paul had stopped by the feed store, which was located next to the bus pick-up and drop-off point. He glanced up to see Deborah Yoder stepping out of an Englisch van. There was no question that she was Sarah’s mother—she was an older, more tired version of her daughter, but otherwise they looked alike.
Both had blond hair. Though Sarah’s looked quite pretty peeking out of her kapp, Deborah’s looked as if she’d barely had time to braid it with tendrils escaping from every corner.
Both were rather short. Paul had insisted on helping Sarah carry her goods to her buggy when she’d returned to buy more. He guessed she was no more than five feet two.
Both were slight. In Paul’s family, the women were rather rounded—Plain food and a contented life could do that to a person. But Deborah and Sarah had a gaunt look to them.
Mother and daughter had a small, perky nose. Sarah had a sprinkling of freckles across hers.
Deborah hurried past him without a word, stepped up to the ticket window that fronted the street, and purchased a ticket for Florida. He wasn’t eavesdropping, but he heard the ticket seller loudly say, “The bus for Sarasota leaves in ten minutes. You can wait inside if you like, or you can wait on the bus that just parked at the curb.”
She must have said she’d wait on the bus. Without looking around, she accepted her ticket and change, picked up her suitcase, and practically ran to the vehicle.
Where was she going? Why the hurry? And why was she going alone?
None of those questions were his business, although the situation seemed mighty odd. He turned into the feed store and walked to the back, where the bulletin board was located. He found the notice he’d seen the week before, but he’d forgotten to bring anything to write on. So he went to the counter, asked for a pen and slip of paper, and returned to the board.
Still 87 acres.
Still a price he could afford.
Still for sale.
He jotted down the information, including the seller’s contact information. The question was, what sort of shape was the place in? He was a fair carpenter, but he’d be putting down nearly all of his money to purchase the farm. He wouldn’t have the resources or time for major repairs. Not the first year, and maybe not the second.
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