Chapter 19
I will wait,” Jeremiah assured her. “The weather changed early this afternoon; I think it may be warm enough for a stroll. Would you care to go with me?”
Jeremiah thought that the quiet and solitude outside would enable him to find the words he had not yet spoken.
Sarah nodded. On the Halls’ porch, she pressed his arm and drew to a halt, gazing at him. Shiny tears glinted on her cheeks, giving her the appearance of fragility that Jeremiah knew was not part of her true character. He needed to see Sarah smile, to feel the spark only she could produce within his heart.
A renewed urge to replace Sarah’s pain with happiness spilled through Jeremiah. “I can do all things through Christ,” he reminded himself, quoting from Philippians.
Jeremiah sighed. He still must tell Sarah what happened a week ago at a tiny mission in eastern Ohio, a deceptively peaceful setting where only the hills knew the truth of what the militia had done.
Jeremiah could never remember how to pronounce the name. He recalled that Sarah once called it “Ja-nad-den-hut-ten.” Shade had told him it was “Ja-nade-den-hut-ten,” which he said was Dutch for “Huts of Grace.”
Where was God’s grace on March 7, 1782? Nowhere near Gnadenhutten, Jeremiah could vouch for that. He remembered the scene, and fear shivered up his spine.
I pray their souls are at rest in Your court, Lord. I pray You gave them peace and welcomed them with open arms. If there are any who deserve Your favor, it is those who were slaughtered in cold blood.
Sarah tugged at his sleeve. “What is it? You have mumbled to yourself for several moments.”
“I have?”
“Yes. It must be something terrible.”
“Sarah, I fear what I have to tell you may upset you.”
Sarah drew a deep breath and glanced around for something safe to cling to. They might as well be standing on a scrawny patch of spring grass. From a distance, vague sounds penetrated her awareness—an owl, a loon, a sentry calling out “All is well.”
“Perhaps it would be better if we go back inside, Jeremiah. Captain and Bessie might want to hear this.”
“No. This is between you and me.”
Sarah met his gaze. “Go on, then. It will not be any easier if you delay.”
“There has been a terrible tragedy at the Gnadenhutten Mission.”
Wild fear engulfed her. Sarah stumbled, a reaction to the thought that eight years ago she and her sister lived only five miles away from there. But Jeremiah didn’t know that. His militia had apparently been a part of this tragedy he spoke of. If she told him now that she had lived among those Praying Indians, what would he think of her?
Sarah schooled her features into a mask that didn’t betray her terror. “Go on.”
“Do you remember the last trip I took?”
She nodded.
“It was part of Colonel Williamson’s plan that the militia raid that mission.”
“Why would he assault a mission filled with Christians?”
“Williamson decided it was time to punish the ones he thought responsible for murdering the Wallace family.”
“And?”
“He wanted to settle once and for all the question running through the minds of the people who voted him into office.”
“I do not see how that applies to me.”
Jeremiah narrowed his eyes. “If you have any doubt about my actions during the journey, I wrote everything down. I do not blame the militia for wanting to strike out at those who they thought were at fault, but that does not make it right.”
“Did someone try to change their minds?”
His gray eyes darkened. “I did.”
“But you said there has been a terrible tragedy.”
“They would not listen to me, Sarah. Most of the men were too full of desire to get back at the heathens. They … they massacred them. All I could do was pray for their souls.”
Massacred. The word settled inside Sarah like ice water. She couldn’t bring herself to repeat it aloud; it was too bloody, too dirty. She knew most of those people. They were solemn Christians who left Pennsylvania years ago because whites kept tormenting them.
“I tried to prevent it, Sarah. I did the best I could.”
“But … how many are gone?” Sarah wanted to know about the people at Schoenbrunn; her sister Callie, Levi’s parents, Brother David, little Storm Killbuck. Memories of them singing praises to their heavenly Father filtered into her thoughts. Was it possible she had waited too long and would never see them again?
“At least ninety were killed, possibly more.”
The time has come, Sarah realized. I can’t hide the truth from Jeremiah any longer.
“Do you know any of their names? I mean, of the ones who were killed?” Please don’t say even one I recognize, Sarah begged silently. Please.
“No. Some of us voted not to participate. We came back before the rest did. I had already tendered my resignation from the militia. Colonel Williamson did not know that until we were there and ready to begin the campaign.”
“It is all so senseless, Jeremiah. Just like Levi’s death. Someone reacted without thinking, did they not? Do you still claim God is in control of this world? And if He is, why did He not halt the slaughter of good people?”
“I do not know why, Sarah. But I do know this: I brought an eight-year-old boy back with me. He says his name is Abel.”
Sarah grabbed Jeremiah’s sleeve. “You brought an Indian child here? What do you think you are going to do with him?”
“Now that the militia has no hold on me, I am going to raise him to forgive those who took his family away.”
“What makes you so sure you can succeed at raising an Indian child, Jeremiah? Sometimes I think you have no idea of what life is all about.”
“I was going to ask you to marry me so we could raise him together, along with Samuel of course.”
Sarah’s mouth gaped. “You were going to do what?”
“You heard me. I want you to marry me.”
“Me?” Everything else Jeremiah said since he arrived was momentarily forgotten. Jeremiah wanted to marry her!
“Because you are the one person who can help Abel get over his anger.” Jeremiah drew a deep breath. “You left that mission under less than perfect circumstances, giving little thought to those you left behind, right?”
“Yes, but why would you think I would willingly help you bring up a child who has no parents, Jeremiah?”
“Because you grew up without them,” Jeremiah said. “You told me you were an orphan. That is why you are so protective of your son, and your heart. You know what it is like to be without hope, to be lonely, to be lost, to have no relatives around to help you. Is that not right?”
Sarah inhaled deeply. “Not exactly. I do have a sister.”
“Why did you not tell me that before?”
She dropped her gaze. “I was afraid that if you found out, you would track her down and tell her where I was.”
“Would it be so terrible if I had?”
“Callie would have … told you about me … about what I did.”
“The past is the past, Sarah. It does not matter to me where you came from, or what you did. What matters is who you are now. The woman standing in front of me is the woman I love.”
“There is still something you do not know,” she said.
“Then tell me so we can move on, Sarah.”
Jeremiah’s encouragement did little to stem the feeling that if she admitted this one last bit, he would walk away, leaving her stranded again. But once she started, the rest of her story rushed from her in a torrent.
“I chased after the man my sister was supposed to wed. When Callie did not want Levi, I took him. And look what happened. I killed him—Sammy’s father—because I was jealous of my sister.”
Jeremiah let Sarah’s tears drain until there were no more before responding. “Levi was a grown man. He could have chosen not to go from the beginning
, Sarah. You told me he loved you. I think you are being too harsh if you blame yourself for his death.”
Sarah stared at Jeremiah. Was he right? Had she blamed herself all along for Levi’s passing? She ached inside, but it was a hurt that relieved the pressure she had put on herself for the last two years.
“But it is for Levi’s death that I do not think God can forgive me, Jeremiah.”
Jeremiah leaned toward her. “If you repent, God forgives, Sarah. He does not rank sin according to size, or depth, or the person involved. A wrong is a wrong, a sin is a sin. If you feel you were wrong, then ask God for His forgiveness. Do not ever think He cannot forgive; He is the only one who can.”
“I hurt my sister…. It is all such a tangle! How will I ever sort it out?”
“Let God guide your path.”
Sarah’s tears ran freely. With Jeremiah as her guide, Sarah sought God’s forgiveness. Emotions burned at her eyes, but she ignored the discomfort. Inside, for the first time in years, she felt cleansed.
“What if I slip someday, Jeremiah?”
“I will be there to help put you back on the right path.”
“And will you help me find my sister?”
“You do not know where she is?”
“She was at Schoenbrunn when I … left eight years ago.”
Jeremiah dipped his head slightly. “I went to Schoenbrunn just last month. No one lives there now but renegade Indians and British army deserters.”
Sarah gave a cry. “I will never find her. I knew I should not wait so long to go back.”
“I know someone who is fairly good at finding information,” Jeremiah said. “Let me ask Shade to help.”
“That is all well and good, Jeremiah, but what happens if he cannot? Then what will I do? I have to ask Callie for forgiveness or I will never know true peace inside.” Sarah held her chin at a determined angle.
“We will not stop until we discover where she is.”
Jeremiah caught Bessie peering through the tiny window, her face filled with quiet joy. She’d known from the beginning that something good would happen when God brought together two people like Jeremiah and Sarah. Why hadn’t he believed her?
“I think it is time to return to something I said earlier. I love you, Sarah Lyons. I have since the day I met you, though I was too headstrong to realize it. Now, one more time, because I will not ask again: Will you help me raise Samuel and Abel so that they see that love is the only emotion worth pursuing in this world?”
“Samuel Stewart?”
“He will never be mine, Sarah, but he will be ours. I promise. He can remain Samuel Lyons for the rest of his life if it will convince you to marry me.”
“Sammy Stewart.” Sarah gave Jeremiah permission to call her son by the favored nickname only she used. “And it is about time you asked, Jeremiah.”
Epilogue
Howdy, neighbor!” A flock of cackling chickens accompanied the man’s greeting. Behind him was a quaint, well-built log home. A musket was slung across his body. “What can I do for you?”
Sarah clenched her husband’s arm. Now that they were here, she did not think she could go through with this part of their journey. They had first gone to Jeremiah’s home, where Sarah spent a week getting to know his pa and Hazel, his father’s wife. Before they left, Jeremiah and Pa resolved any lingering resentment over Jeremiah having been in the militia. Hazel was a delightful woman who insisted that they return and bring their sons with them.
As if he knew what she was thinking, Jeremiah held Sarah’s hand and gave her an encouraging smile. He rolled from the wagon seat, holding his hands up to show he carried no weapons.
“We are looking for a woman known as Callie Troyer. We heard she lives here.”
Beneath a wide-brimmed hat, worry creased the farmer’s tanned face. He drew one hand along the stock of the weapon as if preparing to flip it to his shoulder and take aim. “Depends on why you want her.”
“She is related to my wife.” Jeremiah motioned to where Sarah sat on the wagon seat.
Sarah’s mouth grew dry. The tension knotting her stomach for the last three miles solidified into a huge mass.
What if Callie wanted nothing to do with her? Thank goodness they had left their sons, Sammy and Abel, with Captain and Bessie. Their sons—the words made Sarah smile despite the strain of the moment.
“That right?” The man perused Jeremiah. “Who might you be?”
Jeremiah introduced himself with a steady voice. Sarah bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.
The man raised the brim of his hat. A mass of tangled curls escaped. He was heavier than he’d been eight years ago, but Sarah would know him anywhere.
“Liope?” the man called over his shoulder. “Come on out. Your sister is here.”
Liope? Sarah had never heard her sister called that before. A small eternity passed, long enough for Sarah to pray that God’s will meant that all would work out.
“Josh?” The woman’s voice was filled with concern. “I thought I heard you say my …” Her gaze traveled to Sarah.
“Sarah?” She shoved the toddler clamped around her hip at her husband. “Oh Sarah. It is you!”
Sarah met Callie halfway. Neither spoke. Their gazes held each other’s, first cold with the memory of a long ago night, then warming with remembrance of all they shared as sisters.
“I had to come,” Sarah croaked out. “I have to explain….” Words crowded her throat.
“Nothing is important except that you are here.” Callie flung her arms around her younger sister. Sarah returned the embrace. Years of worry, wonder, and waiting blossomed in her eyes and made her unable to reply.
“I thought I would never see you again.” Callie held Sarah away from her. “You do not know how many times I have prayed for this day, this moment, Sarah.”
Sarah grasped Callie’s hands. Callie wore the years well, and Sarah could tell Callie was happy.
Cackling chickens scurried nearby, scratching and paying no heed to the two women. Near the cabin, a small toddler cried out for “Mama.”
“Your nephew Isaiah,” Callie said, motioning to the youngster. “His sister, Sophie Ruth, is seven.” She turned back to Sarah. “But what about you?”
Sarah related the events of the years that had passed. Having Sammy; losing Levi; finding Jeremiah.
“Our Lord?”
Sarah nodded.
“Then there is nothing else we need to say. If you have asked and received His forgiveness, I can do no less than give you mine.”
Callie drew Sarah against her again. Sarah laid her head on her sister’s shoulder in much the same way she had when they were younger. Peace settled within her heart.
It had been such a long trek—a long, winding journey much like Moses and his people undertook. They’d wandered through a desert; her trip involved a wilderness. Along the way she learned to trust, to need, and to accept help from others.
She had restored her faith, regained her sister, and healed her heart. Sarah lifted her head and looked toward Jeremiah. He stood beside Joshua. The two of them chatted as if they had known each other forever.
A verse from Psalms crossed Sarah’s mind: “A man’s heart deviseth his way, but the Lord directeth his steps.”
She closed her eyes and leaned into Callie’s embrace. Being independent was no longer important, Sarah realized. She was a child of the King. She could do almost anything alone if she had to. But she much preferred being loved by the people she loved most.
Captain and Bessie, who were adding another small bundle to their family.
Abel, the wisp of an Indian boy with his lisping way of calling her Ma-Ma, and who had formed an uncanny relationship with Shade, the messenger who pointed Sarah in the direction of her sister.
Sammy, who loved having an older brother and who was helping Abel learn to read.
Callie, who had spent as many days and nights as Sarah had waiting to be together with her sister again.
&
nbsp; Jeremiah, the man she would walk proudly beside for as long as God gave her life.
Lastly, but most importantly, God. For without Him, Sarah would be no one, no matter who loved her here on earth.
TAMMY SHUTTLESWORTH is an Ohio native who now considers Louisiana her home. She travels as often as she can to visit her daughters and grandchildren in Florida and family in Ohio. Now retired from the Air Force and teaching, she enjoys reading about and exploring Civil War battlefields and Native American historical sites. The two stories in this collection were inspired by the rich Ohio history she grew up visiting as a child.
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The Memory of Love Page 30
