Sarah's Gift (Pleasant Valley 4)

by Marta Perry

  “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.

  She must have been as aware as Sarah was of the whispers and speculation making their way around the crowded room. For the Englisch, it would probably be a matter of minor interest, with sides being taken according to how each person felt about midwives.

  For the Amish, the situation was far more complicated. To have an Englisch doctor threaten to close down an Amish midwife practice would naturally bring in conflicted emotions—memories of times past when the Amish had been persecuted by their neighbors, fears of a strain put on other Amish businesses by the prejudice that could result, concern that Amish women would have their childbirth choice taken away.

  Sarah’s throat tightened with the tears she wanted to shed. What must Aunt Emma be thinking? That she had brought Sarah here, entrusted her precious practice to Sarah, only to see it destroyed by Sarah’s actions.

  She drew up at the back door, as always, to let Aunt Emma down. Impulsively, before her aunt could move, she turned to her, grasping her arm.

  “Please, Aunt Emma. Talk to me. I have brought a terrible thing down on everything you built, and I don’t know how—”

  “Ach, there’s no need for such grieving.” Aunt Emma’s first look of surprise changed instantly to one of caring. “I’m not blaming you for what has happened.”

  Sarah couldn’t accept absolution so easily. “If I hadn’t come here, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “If you hadn’t come, I might have lost a mother and baby entrusted to my care. I can never forget that, and you mustn’t, either.” She clasped both of Sarah’s hands in hers. “Sarah, Sarah, the only thing you did was put the patient’s interest ahead of your own.”

  “You’d have been wise enough to handle Dr. Mitchell better, I think.” Sarah struggled to blink back tears. “Was I wrong to go to him?”

  Aunt Emma’s gaze slid away from hers. “I don’t know, and that’s the truth. We already knew his answer would probably be no, from all we’d heard from other folks. When the woman asked you . . .”

  “An Englisch woman. There are those who are saying I shouldn’t have put the practice in danger for an outsider.”

  “Well, then, they’re wrong.” Her voice suddenly stronger, Aunt Emma squeezed Sarah’s hands, meeting her gaze again. “Ach, I know that well enough. Our gift as midwives is for any woman who comes to us, Amish or Englisch.”

  Sarah searched her face. “Just answer me this. Would you have gone to Dr. Mitchell?”

  Aunt Emma was silent for a long moment, and Sarah knew that her answer would be the truth. Finally she sighed. “Probably not. But it’s done now, and we’ll stand together and face whatever trouble comes.”

  “You deserve to have things a little easier now.” Sarah’s voice broke with the pain. “That’s what I wanted to give you.”

  “That’s what I thought I wanted. All I thought I could want from my life after the stroke.” Her aunt’s smile erased years from her face. “You and all those babies showed me I was wrong. I still have something to give. And I still have a duty to do what is right, no matter the cost.” She pressed her cheek briefly against Sarah’s. “Now stop worrying. We will do what we have to, and in the end, it will be in the hands of God.”

  “Ja.” Sarah closed her eyes for a second, searching for strength. “You are right. It will be His will.”

  There was no resignation in the thought. Just comfort, and the knowledge that whatever happened, God would use it for His purposes.

  Aunt Emma climbed down, heading toward the porch. The horse, recognizing that his day was nearly over, trotted toward the stable without her needing to touch the lines.

  “There, now.” A few minutes later Sarah was rubbing the horse down, talking as she did so. “You’ve had a cold day, but now you’re in.”

  She led him into the stall, and he headed for the hay rack. She checked to be sure the water hadn’t frozen in the bucket. May as well do the feeding now, since the afternoon was nearly gone, and the outside chores would be finished.

  Sarah took a step toward the feed barrel and then stopped. That almost sounded like a footstep in the hay loft. Probably an animal, seeking warmth, but—

  “Is somebody there?” she called, feeling a bit foolish.

  Answering footsteps. She looked up to see Benjamin looking down at her.

  “Benjamin! What on earth are you doing up there?” Her mind scrambled for logical answers and found none.

  “I . . . I’m sorry, Sarah. I saw you were not here.” He climbed down the ladder and stood before her, his gaze not quite meeting hers. “I’ll get out of your way.”

  “Wait.” She clasped his hand to stop him. It felt like ice in her grip. “You’re half-frozen already. Komm. We’ll go in the house and get you warmed up.”

  “I don’t want . . .” He hesitated, shot her a glance, and looked away again.

  Sarah had seen that look before, on her younger brothers’ faces when they’d gotten themselves into some sort of mischief that they didn’t want to confess but couldn’t see their way clear of.

  “Explanations later,” she said briskly, tugging him toward the door. “We’ll get you warm first, and then we can talk about the trouble, whatever it is.”

  He pulled back, just for an instant. He could yank his way free of her easily enough, but he didn’t attempt that.

  “Why do you think I’m in trouble? Has Aaron been talking to you?”

  Trouble with his big brother, then. “I haven’t seen Aaron.” She smiled, patting his arm. “But I have two younger brothers who always came to me when they were in a fix. I know the signs.” She tugged again. “Komm, schnell.”

  Seeming to give in, he walked along quietly beside her. She glanced at his face once, to find him looking across the field to where smoke rose from the chimney of his own home, something almost tragic in his eyes.

  Well, at sixteen you always thought your current problem was the worst thing that had ever happened. Not that she’d say that to Benjamin. He’d only be offended if she didn’t take it seriously, whatever it was.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Aunt Emma turned from the stove when they entered together, giving Sarah a questioning look.

  “Benjamin needs to warm up a bit before he goes on home,” she said, keeping her voice light. “Komm, sit here by the stove.” She piloted him to the chair closest to the heat. Poor boy did look half-frozen.

  “I have some vegetable beef soup heating already,” Aunt Emma said. “It will be ready in a moment. Sarah, why don’t you fix Benjamin a mug of hot chocolate? The water is warm already. I thought we’d enjoy that after driving home in the cold.”

  She went on chattering cheerfully, her words filling up the silence with a sound as gentle and welcome as the crackling of a fire on the hearth. By the time Benjamin had shed his jacket and stretched out his hands to the stove, Aunt Emma was filling a bowl with the steaming soup.

  “There, now,” she said, setting it in front of him. “I believe I’ll take a little rest before supper, Sarah.”

  Her glance conveyed volumes. Talk to him, it said.

  Sarah nodded. “Gut idea.” I’ll try.

  They heard Aunt Emma’s footsteps go heavily up the stairs. Sarah poured the hot chocolate into mugs and sat down opposite Benjamin. “Better now?”

  He nodded, seeming to inhale the soup. “Don’t know when I’ve been so cold.”

  “Do you want to tell me what you were doing in the stable?”

&nbs
p; He frowned down at the mug of cocoa. “I . . . I stayed at a friend’s house last night. His daad insisted on driving me home, but . . . but I had him drop me off here. Said I’d walk the rest of the way.”

  He seemed to run out of words.

  “But you didn’t go on home.”

  No response.

  “Is it maybe that you weren’t ready to see them yet? Or you were trying to think what to say to them?” She kept her voice even, not judging.

  Benjamin shot her a look. “You sure you didn’t talk to Aaron today?”

  “I didn’t see any of your family today.” She’d been busy with her own concerns. She brushed away the weight of worry about Dr. Mitchell and concentrated on the troubled boy in front of her. “But I think maybe I can guess that you had a quarrel with someone at home.”

  “Aaron.” His jaw clamped on the name, and she thought that was all he’d say. Then the words burst out of him, rushing pell-mell like a boulder rolling downhill. “I know I did wrong, but it wasn’t my idea. One of the older guys brought a six-pack to the party. He called me over, offered me some. How could I say no?”

  He looked very young, and very vulnerable. So he’d had something to drink, and obviously Aaron had found out. It was the worst thing Benjamin could do in Aaron’s eyes, and coming on top of learning the truth about his mother’s death, it must have been devastating.

  Her silence must have done what words would not, because Benjamin shifted uneasily in his chair. “Well, I guess I should have said no. But it’s not so bad, is it? Lots of guys drink a beer now and then. Some of the girls, even. Aaron didn’t need to act like I’d broken every one of the commandments.”

  “Benjamin . . .” She took a breath, praying silently for guidance. “I don’t think you could expect him to like it, could you?”

  His mouth worked. “I know. And it was the first party I ever gave. He and Molly—they’ll probably think I should never have another one. But Aaron was so . . . I’ve never seen him like that.”

  “If I were making a guess, I’d say that Aaron said more than he intended to in the heat of the moment.” She chose her words as if she were picking her way across the icy pond. Benjamin should know what Aaron feared, but it wasn’t her place to tell him. “I’m afraid he was already upset by . . . by something I said to him. I imagine when you see him, he’ll be wanting to be friends again. Like you.”