by Linda Byler
Dat never faltered.
“It is not the way of Jesus’s cross.”
“Why? How?”
“We are taught from childhood to deny the flesh, our own will.”
“But I love him!” she burst out.
“I believe you. But he obviously does not love you.”
Dat’s voice was firm, cemented in true conviction, and Sarah’s eyes opened wide in astonishment at his statement.
“You know how it is, Sarah. Sometimes a disobedient youth joins the wild rumspringa crowd. But then if he truly loves a girl, he gives up the ways of the world for her. Matthew obviously isn’t doing that. He doesn’t love you.”
“But he wants me to come and accompany him to Haiti!” Sarah burst out.
Far into the night they reasoned. Dat and Mam listened with great patience and forbearance, allowing Sarah to express her point of view. They were considerate, temperate, while Melvin bubbled and hissed with attempted restraint, his eyes bulging with the force of his own emotions.
In the end, Dat conceded wearily with drooping shoulders. He got up, put a hand on Mam’s shoulder, and they said good night, leaving Melvin and Sarah alone in the kitchen.
They lay in bed, side by side, the way they had for almost forty years, and they never fell asleep. All night, their lips moved in prayer, two steadfast warriors, their pillows soaked with the many tears that slid down their cheeks. All through the night, their hands remained clasped, symbolic of the strength of their partnership in the face of this spiritual hurricane that blasted their very souls.
Sarah told Matthew she would go.
His voice was still as flat and smooth as before. Without raising or lowering it, he said he was glad.
“Just glad?” Sarah said.
“There is only one source of true joy,” he told her in a much quieter tone than before. “That is our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.”
“Oh,” was all she could think to say.
She replaced the receiver with shaking hands and sat alone in the darkened phone shanty, senselessly pleating the skirt of nightgown.
Had Matthew gone a bit overboard or something?
Priscilla had a fit—what Grandmother King called a conniption. Anna Mae and Ruthie were horrified and demanded an explanation. How in the world could Mam let Sarah get away with this secrecy, this rebellion? Why was she allowing Sarah to run after that spoiled Matthew? He always got his own way with everything, and when he couldn’t have his gorgeous Rose—the one time he had ever hit a brick wall—he acted like the spoiled brat he’d always been and just left, taking it out on everyone. It was his battered ego, his pride that was driving him.
They were reprimanded sharply by Mam. “Such talk! Such unlieve (hatred)!”
Ruthie bit into a raspberry and cream filled doughnut, leaning over her coffee cup. The cup only caught about half the powdered sugar, leaving the rest to sift onto the black bib apron covering her ample chest. She wiped it off, leaving a white streak, snorted, and told Mam it was about time this family had a healthy dose of telling it like it is. With genuine honesty.
Anna Mae looked directly into Sarah’s eyes and told her if she was dumb enough to run after Matthew, all the way to Haiti, where it was hot and miserable and full of missionaries, then she guessed she’d just have to. But don’t come running back for pity, she said.
Levi told her a snake would bite her. He had heard that in Haiti they grew long enough to reach from the house to the barn.
They were seated around the old kitchen table having sisters day. The married girls came home for coffee and brunch with a large spread of food. It was one of the events that Levi especially looked forward to, mostly for the food.
Priscilla looked bored with the whole thing. She had already said her piece with no effect. So after she finished her plate of breakfast casserole, she went outside to clean the forebay.
Sarah was crazy, completely nuts, in her opinion, so what was the use even trying to make her see another point of view? She was just stumbling blindly after that inflated ego known as Matthew. He’d just switched from full of himself to full of himself spiritually. Same thing.
In the house, Sarah listened to her sisters. She actually burst into great heaves of laughter when Anna Mae said if she boarded that jet and flew to Haiti, she’d be compelled to hijack it like some whacko.
“You’re not going to do it,” Ruthie said emphatically.
“But I can’t say no to Matthew!” Sarah wailed.
“I’d have no problem in that category. Bye! See ya! Adios!” Anna Mae said, holding little Justin by the forehead as she swiped a Kleenex across his eyes, looking for his nose.
“Watch what you’re doing!” Sarah said.
“What? Oh, Justin. Sorry! Here.”
He twisted his head, pushed out his round stomach, and howled for all he was worth, so she set him on the floor, his nose still dripping, her attention still riveted on Sarah’s plans.
“Butz sie naus (Clean his nose)!” Levi yelled. “Ach my.”
Anna Mae scuttled after her son and caught him. She leaned over and swiped viciously, getting the job done. Then she turned and went straight back to the table where she again started listing every one of Matthew’s major downfalls.
And still Sarah remained unconvinced.
The days that followed sisters day were the kind of days Mam imagined the writer of the “Footprints” poem had experienced firsthand.
Anna Mae and Ruthie were powerful allies, her strength bolstered by their honesty and support. But it was on her knees in her bedroom that she found complete solace, carried through the days by the strength of her faith.
Dat fasted every day, continuing in prayer and supplication, calling at the throne of God without shame. It wasn’t only Sarah’s leaving of the Amish that bothered him. It was the added concern that Matthew did not truly love Sarah and her willingness to blindly follow him regardless.
Another week passed until the day before Sarah’s departure. It was a time of heartache for the whole family, an event so unthinkable producing an ominous foreboding for Dat and Mam.
The evening was mellow, cooler than some August nights, when Priscilla announced quietly that there was a message on the voicemail for Sarah. Surprised but pleased and thinking of Matthew, Sarah walked slowly, her head bowed, watching the way her bare feet broke the brittle, parched grasses after weeks of hot, dry wind and little rain.
Cautiously, she punched the buttons and listened to the message—a great disappointment. It was the Widow Lydia, asking her to spend the night if she could as she had something to discuss with her. Matthew hadn’t called at all for at least six or seven days.
Sarah would send Priscilla to Lydia’s.
Slowly she walked back to the house, torn between her loyalty and friendship to Lydia and the realization that Lydia knew nothing of her plans to leave the next day to join Matthew.
What would she say?
Guilt washed over her, sensing the betrayal Lydia would surely feel.
Greater love has no man than this: that he lay down his life for his friend. The words entered her mind, a blaze of knowledge, and as quickly, she reversed them. She was laying down her life for her Matthew, denying father, mother, sister, brother.
Mam looked up from her sewing.
“Who was it?”
“Lydia.”
“Oh?”
“She wants me to come stay for the night.”
“Oh?”
“Priscilla can go.”
“I think you should. She asked you.”
Reluctantly, Sarah threw her pajamas, toothbrush, and a few toiletries in an old bag. Without saying goodbye, she walked out the driveway, her thoughts in turmoil yet again.
The twilight was fast descending, casting shadows across Elam Stoltzfus’s property, darkening the pine trees to black and the white house to a dull blue gray. Hannah had a few rugs on the line, Sarah noticed, and her mop was still propped against the back stoop.
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br /> A small car appeared out of nowhere, the headlights’ glare blinding. Sarah threw up an arm to cover her eyes. Sensing danger, she stepped sideways. Something was out of the ordinary with a car moving at that rate of speed on this country road.
As she stepped into the thick uncut grass at the side of the road, the car came to a rocking halt, spraying gravel from its skidding tires. A dark-haired youth poked his head through the opening of the lowered window.
“Tell your people to watch their barns tonight.”
Before Sarah had the chance to reply or ask any questions, the car took off with another screeching of tires.
Cold chills chased themselves up and down her spine. Should she turn back? Go to her parents or press on to Lydia’s? Shaking, her knees weak with fright, she decided to keep going and maybe send Omar to alert Elams and her parents.
There was a light in the new horse barn, but she decided to speak to Lydia first. She found her nestled on a lawn chair in the dusk, her feet tucked under herself, an opened book laid face down on the small table beside her.
“Sarah! Oh, I’m so glad you came! Please tell me all about it.”
Confused, Sarah blinked. “You mean the car?”
“No, I don’t know anything about a car. I mean Matthew.”
“Oh, Matthew. I didn’t know you knew.”
“Hannah was here all afternoon. You must be devastated. Here, sit down. Aaron, make room for Sarah.”
Aaron was only two, but he greeted Sarah with a hearty “Hi!” and a wide smile before tucking himself into his mother’s lap.
“What are you talking about? Why would I be devastated? I’m planning on going to Haiti with Matthew. Do you mean deciding to leave my family, or what?”
Lydia’s arms fell away from little Aaron, and she turned her head and stared at the floor of the porch. A quiet groan escaped her lips.
“You don’t know then?”
“What? What don’t I know? I guess not, if you don’t tell me.”
Sarah was panicking, her voice high and shrill.
“Sit down,” Lydia whispered.
Sarah sat, leaned forward, clenched her hands till the knuckles paled in contrast with the healthy tan on her hands.
“Matthew already left for Haiti. He….Oh Sarah, I don’t want to be the one to tell you this.”
“What? What is it?”
Sarah’s throat was dry, her voice ragged. Her breaths were coming in quick succession as the color drained from her face.
“He met someone and married her within a week. She’s a…a woman of color. A nurse. She lives in Haiti.”
“Noooo.”
The word was a sob, a moan, a long, drawn out wail of denial. Lydia rose and gathered her in her thin, helpful arms. The calloused hands that worked side by side with her oldest son now seemed soft, soothing, angelic in their power to still Sarah.
Sarah had never known that a person could feel so much pain and still be able to bear it. How could she be holding up beneath a weight that was crushing her and squeezing the air out of her?
She had no breath left to cry. Her eyes remained dry, her mouth open as a high wail emerged.
Lydia held her, soothed her, but she was afraid for Sarah in those first minutes as the cruelty assaulted her.
“Why? How could he? Why didn’t he call me?”
“Hannah said he’s so soft-hearted, he just couldn’t tell you. He knew you would take it hard. He’s just so kind, Hannah said.”
Sarah began to shake then. Her whole body convulsed as she rocked back and forth, her arms wrapped around her waist. She hung her head as she mourned with deep grief for a lifetime of loving Matthew, now so completely lost.
“Hannah said he wrote to you.”
A hot, blinding anger sliced through the life-taking sadness. Sarah sat up, lifted her head, her face white as the painted railing behind her. She spoke slowly and quietly but with terrible conviction.
“Oh, did he really? Hannah says he did? I doubt if he went to the trouble of finding a pen or spending forty-five lousy cents on a stamp.”
Lydia turned her face to hide her relief. Yes! Sarah would survive. Already her resilience was showing through, her anger a sign of normalcy.
Suddenly, Sarah clapped her hands to her knees, got up in one swift motion, and stalked across the porch to look out across the lush, green cornfields of Lancaster County. She unrolled the age-old scroll of a young girl’s first rejection as she attempted to decipher her own blindness for the first time. As she did so, the process began to melt away the guilt, the indecision, the awful prospect of leaving her family.
She believed God had made her decision for her.
With each wave and rustle of the deep green leaves on the cornstalks, her heart cried out her pain, but her appreciation of family and friends followed on its heels. With Matthew gone, could peace be a possibility? Her whole life had revolved around him. Now everything was black and white.
Turning, she asked loudly, “What else did Hannah say?”
“A lot,” Lydia said, laughing hesitantly.
“Tell me.”
As they talked, Omar came up on the porch, his lantern bobbing, followed by his faithful shadow, Anna Mae.
Sarah clapped a hand to her mouth.
“I forgot.”
She told Omar about the small car. She watched his eyes widen and Lydia’s face turn grim.
“Let’s just all sleep in the barn,” Lydia suggested.
“Should we?”
“Sure. We’ll nestle down in the hay. We can watch the bats fly around and listen to the skunks snuffling in the grass. Let’s do it. We’ll start a little camp fire and toast some hot dogs and marshmallows. Please stay, Sarah.”
Sarah agreed. She left voice mail messages for Elams and her parents, hoping they would check them before turning in for the night. Soon she found herself leaning forward from an old camping chair, gripping a long handled fork holding two hot dogs, one for Omar and one for herself.
Opposite her, Lydia brandished another fork. The two marshmallows she was roasting had caught on fire, and she waved them wildly to quench the flames. The heat left the sweet treat blackened but hot and gooey all the way to the middle.
“Mm. Oh my, I love these things,” Lydia gloated. She removed a marshmallow to set carefully on a graham cracker that was coated heavily with peanut butter and topped with a neat square of Hershey’s milk chocolate. Adding another graham cracker, she pressed lightly to blend the flavors before taking a large bite, melted marshmallow squeezing out the sides.
Sarah watched the warm, comforting coals as she turned the cold, unappetizing hot dog into a steaming hot, crispy, greasy goodness.
“Roll, please!” she said.
Omar immediately brought a roll, brushed the ashes off his hot dog, and handed the ketchup, pickles, and onions to Sarah. Lydia watched her friend’s face, keenly aware of the depth of her pain and the courage needed to put on this front of normality.
They ate, joked, and drank homemade root beer poured from a glass gallon jug into plastic tumblers. All the while, they kept their eyes and ears open for any unusual activity.
Cars passed on the country road, horses and buggies clopped by, and all remained peaceful. The stars appeared one by one as night followed the setting sun.
They noted the absence of bats, who usually made an early evening appearance, leaving their perches in the barn rafters to glide expertly through the night, gobbling up insects at an amazing rate. Omar said they’d be back. They just needed a little more time to adapt and take up residence the new barn. Somewhere in the distance, a fox barked and an owl hooted as the nocturnal creatures began their nightly hunts.
Anna Mae said she was afraid. Lydia rocked little Aaron and told Anna Mae not to worry. They’d be fine with Omar here, and Sarah. Hadn’t Sarah showed how fearless she could be in the face of an emergency, releasing cows and saving the Belgian on the night of their fire?
Immediately Omar spoke up, co
rrecting his mother. “Priscilla saved Dominic.”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot,” Lydia assured her seventeen year old, winking broadly at Sarah.
What a comeback for Lydia, Sarah thought. The poor, tortured soul had taken only timid, little steps of recovery at first, but once she found her stride, there was no turning back. Even her face had smoothed out and her eyes relaxed. Her appearance was completely different now. She was still painfully thin, but she looked almost youthful after her recovery and healing had infused her whole being with a new sense of freedom and purpose.
They laid an air mattress, a new Coleman, on the barn floor and spread a clean sheet across it. They gathered pillows, sleeping bags, flashlights, an alarm clock, bug spray—everything they would need to stay comfortable.
Sarah lay beside Lydia with little Aaron nestled between them. Far into the night, they talked, sharing deepest feelings and emotions that had long been suppressed. They wept together, laughed together, became quite hysterical at times, and still they did not sleep.
Lydia told Sarah perhaps this hard and monumental task of forgetting Matthew would lead to her greatest happiness in years to come. Sarah quickly assured her that seemed impossible now.
“Perhaps,” Lydia whispered. “But what if he turned out to be like Aaron?”
“He wouldn’t. Matthew was…is kind,” Sarah said, immediately sticking up for Matthew as she had always done.
“Aaron was kind while we dated.”
There was nothing to say to this, so Sarah remained quiet.
“Did he actually beat you?”
“He hit me, yes. He hated me. I’ll never marry again.” The words were bitter, dripping with dark, acidic memories.
“I’m not supposed to talk about this, I know. But Sarah, I feel the hand of God has revived my empty existence with your friendship. With Matthew gone, we can be a tremendous help to each other. You’ll have much of the same bitterness to overcome as I do.”
“I’m not angry with Matthew. Just surprised.”
There was a long, companionable silence, little Aaron’s breathing lulling them softly to sleep, slowing their own soft breaths with the pungent smell of new hay as a heady perfume.
