The Betrayal

by Beverly Lewis

  Daylight hours were growing shorter, and the family— Edith and Sadie included—spent more and more time together following supper. Edith wasn’t in a hurry to be helped back to the Dawdi Haus; she liked to sit in one of the old rockers in Vera’s kitchen and listen to the after-meal talk or ask David to read yet another chapter from the Good Book.

  Sometimes Sadie slipped into her daydream world, thinking about Ben Eicher or John Graber while helping Vera with dishes, looking forward to the next singing. Neither boy could hold a candle to fair-faced and handsome Jonas Mast, who she was beginning to think was the most desirable young man anywhere. Still, as much as she admired Jonas, she couldn’t just out and out steal him away from Leah, could she? The rational side of her pondered this continually, but the compelling desire to lash out and have her revenge made Jonas most enticing. Ever more so as each day passed.

  Two days later Sadie found herself sitting on the front porch, waiting to bring in the mail.

  She walked down the sloping lawn to the mailbox and thanked the postman for the delivery, then thumbed through the pile of letters on her way up to the house. Right away she noticed an envelope addressed to Jonas from Leah. Seeing her sister’s handwriting and name in the upper left-hand corner made her heart pound hot and hard.

  Leah broke her vow. She promised to keep my secret forever! she thought. She doesn’t deserve to be happy. . . .

  Quickly, without thinking ahead to what sadness this might cause Jonas, she slipped the letter into her dress pocket. Then, hurrying into the house, she headed to Vera’s kitchen and deposited the stack of letters on the counter as usual.

  Glad no one was anywhere around, she pulled Leah’s letter out of her pocket. Holding it in both hands, she stared at it, aware of the heat in her face, the rage in her heart.

  Leah belongs with Smithy Gid, she told herself. Dat knows it, so maybe ’tis best. . . .

  Vera’s trash receptacle was kept under the sink, and Sadie reached down to open the cabinet door. Jittery with a guilty conscience, yet flush with anger, she held Leah’s letter over the waste can, took a deep breath, and let it drop into the rubbish.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The day came and went with no mail back from Leah, although Jonas was glad for a letter from his mother. She had written of being extra busy with Jake and Mandie. They bring us great joy, times two. There was also a cheerful letter from his brother-in-law, Nathaniel, and one from his next-youngest brother, Eli, with talk of the apple harvest.

  Jonas was aware, on some level, of the singular squeak of a car’s brake as the postman stopped in front of the house each day. Ankle-deep in sawdust out back in the carpentry shop with David, he imitated the master carpenter’s every movement, taking great care to craft each desk or chair into a shining example of excellence. All the while he was mindful of the hammering of his own heart.

  What’s keeping Leah? he wondered.

  Thinking back to her response to his earlier letter raising the subject of them living here after the wedding, he wished now he hadn’t put the question to her in writing. He should have waited to talk with her in person about the prospect once he returned home. Her return letter, he recalled, had been one of loving words, even of encouragement. She wanted him to be happy in his life’s work, as long as Bishop Bontrager would sanction such a thing. She wanted what he wanted, with the blessing of our sovereign Lord and the church.

  Despite her seemingly positive approach to moving, he had sensed an underlying hesitancy, even disappointment. He decided to reread that particular letter tonight. First, though, he must take good care in making the dovetail joints on the dresser drawers for one of David’s regular clients. After that he planned to sweep out the workshop and redd up before going to the house for supper.

  With no word back from Jonas, Leah began to think something must be wrong. Surely he had understood the things she’d written to him, that she and Gid were merely friends, neighborly and all, as one would expect when families in close proximity work together. Nothing more, she had written, still shocked Jonas had been led to believe otherwise. She’d explained why she had been present at the singing, how she’d gone with Adah at her request. Also, she’d told Jonas in no uncertain terms that King belonged to the whole family, not just to her . . . and she’d even asked Dat’s approval, wondering how prudent it was to accept such a gift.

  Even so, in spite of all she’d written him, she felt something was terribly amiss. A single day turned into an agonizing two . . . then three. Jonas was clearly ignoring her letter. But why? Had he read between the lines of her earlier letter? Had he sensed her reluctance to live in Ohio? Surely he did not question the bishop’s stern stance on keeping to home or that they had both promised to live amongst the People of Gobbler’s Knob, vowing so at baptism.

  Worse, had Jonas chosen to believe the near accusations about Smithy Gid and herself?

  Truth be known, she had begun to wonder if their premature affection—kissing as they had—might have been a bad omen, indeed, just as she had brought up to Jonas that very day. Yet he’d brushed it off.

  She went about her work in a fog. Never having been one to question herself, she began to question everything. She recalled the tiniest details of her life with Jonas, the joyful snatches that had begun with their earliest days and family visits to Grasshopper Level: picnics on the lawn, romps in the meadow, daisy picking, volleyball games—all of it—including their most recent Sunday afternoon together, soaking up sunbeams in Dr. Schwartz’s empty meadow.

  She decided to send yet another letter to her beloved, to make one more attempt to convince him she was, and had always been, trustworthy—his faithful Leah. She would not cover the old ground previously written—that Smithy Gid had merely found her in the forest and walked her home, that both she and Adah had gone with Gid over to the Peacheys’ house after the singing that night.

  The letter she intended to write this time was meant to state once more how she felt in the deep of her heart, recalling their youthful promises—made so long ago, it seemed—as well as the loving words exchanged during courtship’s dearest days.

  Do you remember helping me catch that hop toad the Sunday we were out by the creek all alone? My mamma raised her eyebrows when we returned, awful muddy from having such fun together. I guess she thought at my tender age of eleven I had no business falling in love with you. But Mamma didn’t know what we knew, did she? We truly cared for each other, even then. And still we do . . . I do. How can I not write you again to tell you these things within my heart?

  Yet you remain ever so silent. Are you displeased, Jonas? Have I offended you? I would return the dog in a short minute if you say the word.

  My love always, for you alone.

  Your faithful Leah

  Desperate to resolve whatever had caused this breach, she scanned her letter before sealing it shut, hoping . . . praying Jonas might read her words . . . and see through to the love in her heart.

  It was well before sunrise when Jonas set out running. Frustrated to no end, he sprinted for a full mile without stopping on a level dirt road near Killbuck Creek. A pain in his side caused him to slow up, so he resorted to walking.

  Not a speck of traffic was here so early in the morning. He was glad for the peace before he and David were to head out for Berlin to eat breakfast at Boyd and Wurthmann’s Restaurant and General Store.

  With still no word from Leah, he wondered if their plans for marriage were on shaky ground. Was it possible she did care for Gid Peachey and had never had the courage to tell him? But if so, what about their afternoon together, kissing and sharing their hearts so openly in the flower-strewn pasture . . . and their talk of the wedding?

  He walked more briskly, getting his wind back. The thought crossed his mind Leah might possibly have some of the same inclinations Lizzie Brenneman had as a fickle and lustful youth. Was it possible—could it be—Leah was in any way similar to her birth mother? There had never been any indication of that.
Leah had convinced him of her love, that she was true blue.

  He picked up his pace and began to run again, soon turning to head back to the Mellingers’ place just as dawn broke over distant hills. Desperately he tried to outrun the exasperating thoughts, such wretched ones they were.

  Leah awakened feeling all wrung out, so scarcely had she slept. She had argued with herself all night, going back and forth about whether or not to send the last letter she’d written to Jonas, dear to her as it was.

  She got up and dressed, brushed her hair, and pinned it back in a tight bun, finally setting her prayer cap on her head. Forcing herself down the stairs and out to the barn, she decided to wait till after breakfast to think more about the letter. Dat had always said never to make an important decision on an empty stomach. Mundane as it was, she felt she needed sustenance—some of Mamma’s scrambled and cheesy eggs, maybe—to hold her together. With still not a single letter arriving from Jonas, she felt short of breath, concerned she might not be able to perform her many outdoor chores this day.

  Plain and fancy men alike were feeding their faces at the well-known Berlin restaurant. Some sat at the long counter, others settled in toward the back, sitting around tables. The atmosphere was charged with farm talk and the coming cold snap, a change of pace to be sure. But David seemed to have more than home cooking on his mind. ‘‘Something’s bothering you, Jonas,’’ he said.

  ‘‘Is it that obvious?’’

  David smiled quickly. ‘‘ ’Tis all over your face.’’

  Jonas couldn’t say what was on his mind, couldn’t reveal the torture he’d lived with each day the mail came and went with no word of explanation from Leah. ‘‘I’m thinkin’ I might need to cut short my apprenticeship, if that’s agreeable to you.’’

  David nodded. ‘‘Well, now, you’ve come a mighty long way in nearly six months, to be sure. We’ll miss you round here, but jah, that’s all right in my book.’’

  Jonas paused, staring down at his plate. ‘‘I need to get home right quick.’’ He wasn’t so keen on saying what was on his mind just now. He could think only about seeing Leah again, talking with her face-to-face . . . hearing the truth directly.

  ‘‘We’ve had gut fellowship since you’ve come here,’’ David said, his eyes registering sympathy. He poured two heaping teaspoons of sugar in his black coffee, stirred it, and slurped the hot drink. ‘‘I hope things are all right ’tween you and your sweetheart back home,’’ he said.

  Jonas drew a deep breath. ‘‘Jah, I hope so, too.’’ He stopped for a moment, then continued. ‘‘And while we’re speaking bluntly, I’ve been wonderin’—do you have any idea how my apprenticeship came about? Any inkling at all?’’

  David nodded. ‘‘I shouldn’t say . . . prob’ly. But between you, me, and the fence post, ’twas your father-in-law-to-be who set it up with me.’’

  ‘‘Abram did?’’ Jonas was taken aback.

  David had another drink of his coffee. ‘‘He called on the telephone to tell of your keen interest in carpentry and wondered if I might not take you on—help you get your feet wet.’’

  His head was spinning. ‘‘When was this?’’

  ‘‘Round the end of March.’’

  Just as I began to seriously court Leah, he thought. So Abram wanted me gone all along.

  Leah happened to meet up with Gid, of all people, as she was closing the door on the chicken coop, having just gathered the eggs.

  He removed his black hat as he came near, offering a boyish grin. ‘‘Bein’ more careful in the woods these days, Leah?’’ He slowed a bit and glanced toward the forest.

  She had to smile. ‘‘Jah, I am that,’’ and she thanked him again for rescuing her that awful day.

  ‘‘Well, I best be gettin’ back to work,’’ he said, heading off in the direction of the mule road.

  She stood there, basket of eggs in hand, observing his long stride. He reached up and put his hat back on his head, going up toward Aunt Lizzie’s. Probably to clean out her chimney flue before the cold days set in, Leah assumed. Lizzie had been saying as much, though Leah hadn’t expected her to ask Gid to do it. Lizzie would insist on offering him something for his work, of course. More than likely, it would be a nice, plump fruit pie or suchlike, instead of money.

  Carrying the eggs carefully to the house, she wished Jonas could have seen her just now with Gid, seen there was nothing except pure friendship between them. She placed the basket on the kitchen counter and hurried upstairs to her bedroom. From her dresser drawer, she pulled out her latest letter to Jonas. Still unsure of what to do, she read it again.

  Finished, she refolded the letter. She knew she must not further plead with him to believe what he surely already knew in his heart. If he didn’t trust her by now, when would he ever?

  She pushed the letter back into the drawer. Hurt and discouraged, she headed downstairs.

  Will we ever be truly happy again? she wondered. Will I?

  David was already in the workshop hand sanding a table leg when Jonas arrived promptly at six-thirty the morning after their talk in Berlin. The day felt slightly cooler than yesterday’s dawning hour, and he smelled woodsmoke lingering in the air, a sure sign of autumn.

  Jonas greeted the master carpenter and set to work, using a doweling jig on the eight-inch oak boards, soon to be a trestle-table top. He was anxious to throw himself into the work to drown, if possible, the disappointment that cut away at him. He must help David catch up on a half dozen or so projects for eager customers, enduring the wait till his father got word back to him with some dependable answers regarding Leah.

  Feelings of near despair had begun to set in during the past week. The letter he had written to his darling girl had offered him no solution, having been met only with maddening silence. Though he could hardly hold back his urgency, he knew it was not prudent to assume the worst or to be impulsive and rush home unannounced. Instead, he’d written a letter to his father asking him to pave the way for the unplanned visit with Leah. He’d spelled out his dire concerns, pleading with Dat to get a feel for the situation with Abram Ebersol— because I can’t go on this way, not knowing for sure about my Leah.

  He had sent the letter off in yesterday’s mail. Dat won’t ignore my request, he thought. He’ll go right away to Gobbler’s Knob. I know he will.

  Now he must attempt to be patient till he received word back regarding Leah and his impending trip. The hours stretched long before him.

  Chapter Thirty

  It was chilly in the barn, even with the wide doors all closed up this morning. After a short time Abram went back into the house for his work coat while Leah milked Rosie.

  Returning to the barn, he heard a horse and carriage rattle into the lane. Walking over to the side yard, he was surprised to see Peter Mast waving a greeting to him. ‘‘Hullo, Abram!’’

  ‘‘Willkumm!’’ he called back.

  Peter got out and tied the horse to the post. They exchanged a few words about the change in weather, then they walked toward the barnyard, where Peter asked if they could speak privately.

  ‘‘Oh?’’

  ‘‘ ’Tis concerning your daughter and my son.’’ Peter sounded downright serious all of a sudden. ‘‘Ain’t the first time we’ve been mighty plainspoken, as you recall.’’

  ‘‘Leah’s within earshot,’’ Abram replied, jigging his head in her direction. ‘‘Why don’t we mosey up to the pasture?’’

  Instead of taking things slow, they walked at a hurried pace, Abram noticed, all the way out past the barn to where the windmill stood guard over his prized property. He looked toward the woods and thought he saw Lizzie out sweeping her front porch, a thin line of smoke curling up from the log house chimney.

  Peter seemed overly eager to get to the point. ‘‘It’s come to my attention, namely from Jonas, that Leah and the smithy’s son may be carryin’ on romantically.’’

  Abram bristled and Peter stopped talking, glancing at the ground, as if to
let the information settle in. How could Jonas suspect such a thing? Abram wondered. Why is Peter here on the boy’s behalf?

  This made no sense, but he waited for Peter to continue, hard as it was not to spew forth the questions rapidly gathering in his mind.

  ‘‘Now, Abram, I know you and I know Ida, but I can’t vouch for Leah . . . and I think you can guess what I’m gettin’ at here.’’

  Can’t vouch for Leah . . .

  Abram suppressed the fire in his bones. What kind of nerve! Peter and Fannie Mast had known from the beginning of Lizzie’s unwed pregnancy, even though the bishop had put the shush on things early on for little Leah’s sake. Still, it wasn’t Peter’s place to throw around insults like this.

  ‘‘You best be speakin’ straight with me, Peter,’’ he urged.

  ‘‘All right, then—is Smithy Gid warmin’ up to Leah?’’

  Abram set his chin. He was tempted to give Peter what for, and then it came to him . . . the real reason Peter was here. Well, now, wasn’t this curious? Jonas must be having second thoughts about marrying Lizzie’s illegitimate daughter after all. Most likely, Peter was here to help Jonas wiggle out of his betrothal, using as an excuse what Abram had shared with Jonas man to man. If that was the case, then he had found out what Peter’s son was made of, and none too soon. ‘‘Who’s askin’ this—you or Jonas?’’ Abram said.

  ‘‘I’m here at my son’s request. But I have a stake in this, too.’’