The Witnesses

by Linda Byler

  But Sarah was free. Matthew was God’s job, not hers.

  They parted as friends. This was made possible only by Sarah’s ability to stay quiet and allow Matthew his rants of injustice. He whined about the unfairness of life, and his words fell like rain around them. The sentences started like a soft summer mist, then turned to droplets that came down in earnest, soaking Sarah, leaving her exposed to something she wanted to avoid, but couldn’t. She had to give him this evening to unburden himself, she felt. It was all she had to offer.

  Bright and early the next morning, Sarah was still enjoying her final cup of coffee. The breakfast table was laden with sticky syrup-covered plates, bits of pancake, and a leftover fried egg congealed on a greasy plate. As Levi was swallowing his vitamins and blood pressure medicine, Hannah burst through the door without knocking, threw herself on a chair, and told Mam a cup of coffee would be hesslich goot (awfully good).

  Her hair had been freshly plastered to her head, dragged back with a wet, fine-toothed comb. Her round face shone from a washing with the soap she kept at her vesh bengli (washbowl).

  She eyed the remaining fried egg and cold pancakes and looked at Mam, who nodded and pointed. They knew each other so well, no words were needed.

  “Ach Malinda, I haven’t eaten yet. Matthew often cooks breakfast, but he didn’t get in till so late. Then he was restless, walking around, going to get pills. I guess he had a headache.”

  She turned towards Sarah.

  “What happened last night?”

  Ducking her head and squeezing the syrup bottle as if her life depended on it, Hannah avoided meeting Sarah’s eyes.

  Mam choked on a hot mouthful of coffee, got up, and coughed over the sink, wheezing and hacking.

  “Malinda, geb dich an acht (be careful),” Levi said gravely.

  Mam straightened, a hand fluttering to her chest, and smiled. She said she got some hot coffee in her Sunday throat, the way she always said.

  “Uh, not much,” Sarah answered Hannah.

  “Did you talk?”

  Hannah inserted a huge forkful of pancake and egg into her mouth. Syrup dripped on her dress but went unnoticed. Sarah watched the gob of stickiness elongate, then drop onto her stomach, where it soaked into the gray fabric.

  “Um, yes. Yes, we talked.”

  “Did he say what’s on his mind?”

  “Yes.”

  “So. What’s happening then?”

  Anger lurched through Sarah. The nerve of her! Assuming that the minute her Matthew wanted her, Sarah would literally leave Lee at the altar and come racing back to him. Knowing she would cause an uncomfortable situation, as she had done before, Sarah opted to keep the fiery retort to herself.

  “Probably not much.”

  “But Sarah, he’d go Amish for you! He said he would!”

  Hannah’s voice was plaintive, whining, begging.

  “Hannah, I am engaged to Lee. He is the one I love. I would never leave him.”

  What she wanted to say and what actually came out of her mouth were two completely different things, and she spoke in a way that was entirely distinct from the way she felt.

  What she wanted to do was to tell Hannah to heave herself off down the road with that syrup all over herself. She would tell her to go let her husband raise that spoiled son of hers (or at least help), and if she had an ounce of insight, she’d remember every painful day Sarah lived through with Matthew’s rejection of her.

  Delighted with Sarah’s deliberate stand, Malinda’s face shone with the sheer relief that flooded through her. Immediately, her hospitality increased fourfold. She hovered over her neighbor with the coffee pot and brought the leftover bacon she had put back to use in a salad, placing it at her elbow.

  She touched Hannah’s shoulder and said, “Hannah, let me make you some toast. I’ll heat up these pancakes. You want a few more eggs? It won’t take long to fry up a couple.”

  Levi saw his opportunity and seized it.

  “Malinda, if you’re going to make more eggs, I could use another one.”

  Hannah’s defeat was not accepted or acknowledged, the grumpiness in her voice holding it at bay.

  “I don’t know why you let Levi call you Malinda. He should know enough to call you Mam.”

  She swallowed a mouthful of scalding coffee, grimaced, shook her head, and said now her taste buds were cooked for the day.

  “I’m sorry, Hannah,” Mam trilled, whirling to the refrigerator, lifting a carton of eggs, and using her foot to close the door behind her. She had basically done a pirouette, Sarah observed, hiding a smile.

  Well, that was alright. Let her longsuffering mother enjoy that flashy little dance to close the refrigerator door. Sarah had put her parents through enough as it was. Let her whirl all over the kitchen, her arms held high, her skirts billowing around her, her face lifted in praise to the Creator. She deserved to let her spirits soar.

  At that moment, Sarah fully understood the depth of her love for her mother.

  Hannah cleaned up her plate, swabbing viciously at the orange yolk with the well-buttered edge of her toast, and shook her head mournfully about Matthew’s future.

  “What is he supposed to do now, Sarah?”

  “I’m sure there are many, many young girls who would be more than pleased to have him. Rose is dating him now, sort of. Maybe they’ll get serious, and he’ll return for her.”

  Eyeing the syrup on her dress, which had been joined with egg yolk, Hannah heaved herself from the chair and went to the sink. She yanked a dish rag from the drawer, wet it, and began to steadily clean up the remains of her breakfast.

  “But you don’t know how it’s going with those two. Just like the last time. She’s all giddy and happy to begin with, but then, sure enough, something turns her off, and she pouts. Matthew said they ate at the Olive Garden, and it cost them sixty dollars! I’m suspicious that they ordered an alcoholic drink. You know they serve them there. Amish people shouldn’t even go in there.

  “Well, I guess Matthew would be alright, he’s not Amish, but still. Matthew says it’s a good place to eat. I said I like McDonald’s or Wendy’s. It’s good food and cheaper. Sixty dollars! Imagine! Unfashtendich (nonsense).

  “Anyway, he said they were eating, and Rose didn’t talk, just turned her head to the side and pouted. Now he’s afraid to ask her out to dinner. Matthew says if you’re English and classy, you say dinner for supper, and dinner is lunch. I guess breakfast is still breakfast, or what does it mean when they say sunrise service? Maybe that’s breakfast.”

  Malinda coughed, sputtered. She could not meet Sarah’s eyes, or they’d each lose their composure.

  Innocently, Hannah lowered her eyebrows.

  “What is a sunrise service if it isn’t breakfast?”

  Sarah told her it was an early morning Easter service. Mam’s back was conveniently turned.

  “Oh, is that so? Well, now that would be touching, gel (right)?”

  Mam nodded as she turned, and Sarah said, yes, it would. Thankfully, Hannah dropped the subject.

  “Well, then, I guess if you’re going to marry Lee, you’re going to marry Lee. I just have to give up. But ach my oh, it would certainly have been nice to see you two together. I think you would have been good with Matthew.”

  “We could have been, perhaps, Hannah.”

  When her chin wobbled and fat tears welled up in her eyes, Mam patted her friend’s shoulder and asked if she wanted to make the scalloped potatoes for the supper at Sarah’s wedding. That seemed to placate Hannah entirely, although she said sadly, “I should be sitting right up there with you, Malinda, side by side, as the parents. And there I’ll be making scalloped potatoes with the rest of the church women.”

  She went on to say how long and hot the day stretched before her, with all the corn she had to do. The whole patch had ripened over the weekend, and here it was Thursday morning and not an ear pulled.

  Sighing, she said she’d likely have to cream every ear. D
ragging those big yellow ears of corn across the creamer gave her a crick in her neck and made her shoulder blades hurt.

  Mam, in her newfound happiness, immediately offered her assistance, along with that of the girls. Levi could help shuck. He loved to sit beneath a tree and shuck sweet corn. All he needed was a brush, a paring knife, and two containers—one for the clean ears and one for the husks.

  Hannah was so overwhelmed with gratitude that she told Mam if they helped her, she’d donate all the corn for the wedding. They were planning on having peas for the vegetable, but Mam told Hannah that would be just fine, they’d have corn for supper.

  So Hannah let herself out the door, casting a worshipful glance at Mam. They smiled, and then Priscilla told Mam she wasn’t going down to Elam’s if Matthew was there. Mam raised her eyebrows in question, and Sarah stopped clearing the table, listening.

  “Why ever not?” Mam asked.

  “Mam, he wrote me a letter! He asked me for a date! I’m only seventeen. Is he crazy?”

  Sarah stood stock still, chewing her thumbnail. He was desperate, this was very clear. Is that all his passionate pleas had been? A desperation?

  Mam gasped. Suzie looked up and said dryly that Matthew was English. Did she want English?

  Sarah washed dishes, tightlipped now, angry thoughts swirling about her head. It was time she spent a weekend with Lee and got away from the upheaval that Matthew always created.

  Saying nothing, she left the kitchen, walked across the lawn to the phone shanty, and dialed Anna’s number. She left a message, asking Anna to call if she needed help with corn or tomatoes.

  That was how Mam and Suzie and Levi found themselves at Elam’s, knee deep in corn. Hannah was eternally grateful for their help, and Mam smiled and joked and laughed, that was how light her heart was. She lifted heavy bowls piled high with golden ears of corn, creamed them endlessly, and retained her exuberant spirits.

  Hadn’t she heard from her daughter’s own mouth the stand she had firmly taken, and the right one, no doubt?

  Yes, there was a saya in die uf gevva heit (blessing in sacrifice). This Malinda firmly believed, as her mother had before her. In matters of the heart, this was best, especially after Sarah’s burning and the pain afterward.

  Over at Anna’s, Sarah and Priscilla picked two wheelbarrow loads and one garden cart full of corn. They shucked it, cooked it in the outdoor cooker, cooled it in huge plastic totes, and cut it off the cob for chicken corn soup. Anna buttered, salted, and ate so many ears of corn that Priscilla said it had to be ten. Or at least nine.

  When Lee put the team of Belgians in the barn and came in for lunch, Sarah’s heart became all fluttery, followed by a rush of genuine love. There was a sense of caring, a gratitude even, that proved to her, without a trace of uncertainty, that Lee was the real love of her life.

  CHAPTER 18

  AMISH WEDDINGS ARE USUALLY HELD AFTER THE fall communion services, sometimes the last week in October, but mostly in November and December. However, when a widow remarries, the service can be held at any time that is convenient, but preferably not in the hot summer months, because of the possibility of food spoilage.

  Secrets are highly esteemed where second marriages are concerned, so in Lydia’s typically quiet way, the announcement of the upcoming wedding for her and Melvin was a genuine surprise for many. Sarah figured it would be in the fall, but a September wedding was earlier than even she had thought.

  Lydia’s parents offered to have the wedding, saying they were not too old at 62. They only asked that not too many guests be invited. Perhaps 200 would be a good number. Perhaps 220, but no more than 230.

  Lydia blushed and beamed like a schoolgirl. The children seemed to be as pleased as their mother. The new dresses were brought out and showed proudly to Sarah that Sunday afternoon. Navy blue, plain fabric.

  Sarah folded it between her fingers and told Lydia it was very pretty. She admired the black cape and apron that would be pinned neatly on top.

  When Lee drove up to Lydia’s barn with his black Dutch harness horse, the spokes in the wheels flashing in the September sun, Sarah ran down to meet him.

  He climbed out of the buggy, his teeth gleaming white in his tanned face, and reached for her. Hearing the sound of horses’ hooves on the gravel, he stepped back politely, his eyes never leaving her face.

  It was Melvin, red faced and exuberant, his spirits in high gear, his energy level off the charts, in his own words. No, Melvin was definitely not humble. He was talked about all over Lancaster County and in the sister settlements, and it suited him just fine. He reveled in the happy banter, the teasing, all the attention he garnered.

  Well-meaning older men would reverently place their hands on his shoulders, telling him quietly what a saya (blessing) he would acquire, becoming a father to those dear fatherless children.

  What a Godly thing to do, people said. So unselfish. So generous. He will make a good father. Lydia deserves this. Lord knows she suffered enough with Aaron.

  Old Dan Dienner’s wife, Leah, said Aaron wasn’t all bad. People were just bringing a curse on themselves, talking that way about him after he was dead and buried beside his parents. She knew his mother well, and she was one of the most likable women around.

  The Widow Mattie Stoltzfus said, so what, just because his mother was likable didn’t make him that way, and Leah gasped and said she better watch it. Mattie didn’t sleep very well for awhile, but in her heart, she knew she was right. Leah just tried to sugarcoat everything. That whole family did.

  Talk swirled and circled, as these events tend to bring out people’s opinions. There was praise from the generous of heart, and caution expressed and trials predicted from the more pessimistic, but all in all, people wished them well.

  It didn’t make any difference to Melvin what people said. He felt pretty sure he was Lydia’s knight, come on a mighty steed to rescue her from her sad existence, and he set about making her happy.

  True to his melodramatic fashion, an enormous ornate grandfather clock showed up in Lydia’s parents’ plain kitchen on the day of the wedding. It was adorned with a huge lime green bow and the largest, most garish card Sarah had ever seen. It was completely out of character in an Amish home. Then two dozen red roses were delivered during the service, the likes of which Sarah had never seen.

  Lydia was dressed as neat as a pin, completely flawless, her eyes shining with a glad light that touched Sarah’s heart. She was so slender, so youthful in her appearance, especially considering she had an eighteen-year-old son. Melvin sat beside her, his reddish brown hair not quite right, a small section sticking out on back of his head, where he couldn’t see. He, however, would never have imagined anything wrong with his own appearance. His white shirt collar was meticulously fitted with a black bow tie, his new mutza, vest, and trousers were immaculate, and his new shoes squeaky clean.

  The position of his abundant eyebrows spoke of his anxiety, though, and only Sarah knew him well enough to pick up on this. After all, he did have to stand in front of the minister and the crowd and pronounce a “ya” at each of the proper times. With hundreds of pairs of eyes on him, it was enough to rattle even the heartiest ego.

  The singing rolled in waves across the freshly painted shop, ministers spoke, and everything went as planned, as tradition required.

  When it was time to be married, Melvin did a good job, holding Lydia’s hand tenderly, steering her to the proper position beside him. He answered at the expected times, in a low well modulated voice, although not necessarily a humble one. Lydia’s voice was only a decibel above a whisper, but it sufficiently bound her to Melvin as his wife.

  However, when it was time to leave the minister, Melvin turned the wrong way, and Lydia had to turn twice to accommodate his incorrect turn. She did it so gracefully that not everyone noticed.

  Melvin knew though, and he blinked at least a dozen times, his eyebrows lifted another quarter of an inch. He sniffed and cleared his throat self-con
sciously, and then it was over.

  Sarah could see the cloak of well-being return and settle across his shoulders, as his status as a married man sunk in.

  She also knew if she ever wanted to rile him, she need only mention the fact that he’d made a misstep on his way down from the preacher. She had no intention of doing it, but you never knew when it might come in handy, she decided.

  What a theatrical gift opening, Sarah thought. Leave it to Melvin to add drama to everything he did, but her admiration for him resumed as she watched the gentle manner he had with the hesitant Lydia. Melvin was smart enough to know she thought very little of her own ability to handle life, so in spite of his excessive smiles and tears and gesturing, he always thought of her.

  Yes, Melvin would, indeed, be a genuine benefactor for his new bride. He would treat her well, as he would treat the children, especially little Aaron, who was his constant favorite.

  So it was on that clear September evening that Lee and Sarah rode side by side in Lee’s buggy after Melvin and Lydia’s wedding. The black horse, Lino, moved along at a brisk pace, his shining mane and tail lifting and flowing as he trotted along.

  The air was infused with late afternoon sun, a perfect ending to a golden day. The dust rose from a hayfield, where horses plodded, pulling a baler behind them. They dropped squares of newly baled hay, depositing them at neat intervals along the perimeter of the field.

  The heavy cornstalks were turning brown, at least the ones left standing after the silage cutters had gone through, Sarah thought.

  Suddenly, she slipped a hand behind Lee’s arm.

  “Lee! Imagine! I’ll have to cook for silo fillers when we’re married. I don’t know how to make gravy now.”

  “You’ll learn, hopefully. I love gravy. That gravy we had at the wedding today was absolutely unreal.”

  Sarah burst into laughter.

  “You and your description of food! You really do love to eat.”

  “I do. I take it very seriously.”

  He grinned at her and placed his hand on hers.

  “You better learn to make gravy, Sarah. I can be pretty mean when I’m hungry.”