The Betrayal Read online

  Before eating they all bowed heads simultaneously as the memorized prayer was silently given by each Ebersol family member, except baby Lydiann, who was nestled in Mamma’s pleasingly ample arms.

  O Lord God heavenly Father, bless us and these thy gifts, which we shall accept from thy tender goodness and grace. Give us food and drink also for our souls unto life eternal, and make us partakers of thy heavenly table through Jesus Christ, thy Son. Amen.

  Following the supper blessing, they silently prayed the Lord’s Prayer.

  Meanwhile, Hannah tried to imagine how the arranged seating pattern might look once Leah was married. She worried her twin also might not remain under Dat’s roof much longer, not if she stayed true to her hope of higher education. How Mary Ruth would pull off such a thing, Hannah didn’t know, especially now with Elias Stoltzfus making eyes at her.

  She gazed at her sisters just now, from youngest to eldest. The table would look mighty bare with only five of them present, counting Dat, Mamma and baby, Sadie, and herself. It wouldn’t be long till Lydiann could sit in a high chair scooted up close. That would help round things out a bit . . . that and if Mamma were to have another baby or two. Anything was possible, she assumed, since Mamma was approaching forty-three. Not too terribly old for childbearing, because on the Brenneman side of the family, there were plenty of women in the family way clear into their late forties—some even into the early fifties. So who was to say just how many more Ebersol children the Lord God might see fit to send along? Honestly, she wouldn’t mind if there were a few more little sisters or brothers, and Mary Ruth would be delighted, too; her twin was ever so fond of wee ones and all.

  This made Hannah wonder how many children young and handsome Ezra Stoltzfus might want to have with his wife someday. She could only hope that, at nearly sixteen, he might find her as fetching as she thought he was. Here lately she was mighty sure he had taken more of a shine to her, which was right fine. Of course, now, he’d have to be the one to pursue her once she turned courting age. She wouldn’t be flirting her way into a boy’s heart like some girls. Besides, she wasn’t interested in attracting a beau that way. She wanted a husband who appreciated her femininity, a man who would love her for herself, for who she was, not for attractiveness alone.

  Hours after supper, alone in their bedroom, Leah offered to brush Sadie’s waist-length hair. ‘‘I could make loose braids if you want,’’ she said.

  Sadie nodded halfheartedly, seemingly preoccupied. Leah tried not to stare as Sadie settled down on a chair near the mirrored dresser. Yet her sister looked strangely different. Sadie’s flaxen locks tumbled down over her slender back and shoulders, and the glow from the single oil lamp atop the dresser cast an ivory hue on her normally pale cheeks, making them appear even more ashen. A shadow of herself.

  Standing behind Sadie, she brushed out the tangles from the long workday, then finger combed through the silken hair, watching tenderly all the while in the mirror. Sadie’s fragile throat and chin were silhouetted in the lamp’s light, her downcast eyes giving her countenance an expression of pure grief.

  Truly, Leah wanted to spend time with Sadie tonight, though it meant postponing the rest of her letter to Jonas. Tomorrow she would finish writing her long letter to him— head up to the woods to share her heart on paper.

  She and Sadie had dressed for bed rather quickly, accompanied by their usual comments, speaking in quiet tones of the ordinary events of the day, of having especially enjoyed Mamma’s supper of barbecued chicken, scalloped potatoes with cheese sauce, fried cucumbers, lima beans, and lemon bars with homemade ice cream for dessert.

  But now this look of open despair on Sadie’s face caused Leah to say softly, ‘‘I think about him, too.’’

  ‘‘Who?’’ Sadie whispered, turning to look up at her.

  ‘‘Your baby . . . my own little nephew gone to heaven.’’ Leah’s throat tightened at the memory.

  ‘‘You do, sister?’’

  ‘‘Oh, ever so much.’’

  Neither of them spoke for a time, then Leah said, ‘‘What must it be like for you, Sadie? Ach, I can’t imagine your grief.’’

  Sadie was lost in her own world again. She moaned softly, leaning her head back for a moment. ‘‘I would’ve let him sleep right here, ya know, in a little cradle in this very room,’’ she whispered. ‘‘I would have wanted to raise him like a little brother to all of us—you, Hannah, and Mary Ruth. Lydiann, too.’’

  If Sadie’s baby had lived, the disgrace on the Ebersol name would have been immense. But Sadie didn’t need to be reminded of that at the moment.

  Gently finishing up with her sister’s hair, Leah began brushing her own, letting it hang long and loose, down past her waist. But quickly Sadie reached for the brush and said, ‘‘Here, it’s your turn, Leah. Let me . . .’’

  Later, after Sadie had put out the lamp, they continued to talk softly in bed, though now about Mamma’s plans to visit the Mast cousins soon. ‘‘I used to think it would be fun to have twins,’’ Sadie said. ‘‘What about you?’’

  ‘‘If I could simply play with them all day, maybe so. But to cook and clean and garden, and everythin’ else a mother must do, well . . . I just don’t know how I’d manage.’’

  ‘‘Oh, Leah, you’re too practical, compared to me.’’

  Leah had to smile at that. ‘‘I guess we are different thataway.’’ After a lull in their conversation, Sadie brought up the snide remark she’d made earlier in the day. ‘‘Honestly, I didn’t mean to taunt you about writin’ to Jonas,’’ she said. ‘‘It was wrong of me.’’

  ‘‘ ’Tis not such a bad thing to write about the weather, jah?’’

  Sadie lay still next to her. ‘‘I’m thinking a girl oughta write whatever she pleases to a beau.’’

  Whatever she pleases . . .

  Inwardly Leah sighed. Wasn’t that Sadie’s biggest problem? Doing whatever she pleased had nearly destroyed her young life.

  In the past Leah and Sadie had been like two pole beans on a vine, growing up under the same roof together.

  What’s happened to us? she wondered. Tender moments like tonight’s were few and far between.

  Sadie rested her head on the feather pillow just so, being careful not to muss her pretty braids. Tomorrow her hair bun would be a fairly wavy one, something Mamma wouldn’t take too kindly to. Neither would Dat if he happened to notice. But Leah’s fingers and the gentle brush on her hair had soothed her greatly. Sometimes it felt like old times, as if nothing had changed. A fond return to their friendlier days of sisterhood when they had shared every detail of each other’s lives.

  Her chin trembled and tears sprang to her eyes. Leah had always been a true and compassionate sister, but even more dear this summer. Forfeiting her own desire to spend time with Jonas, Leah had stayed home to comfort her.

  Turning over, she fought hard to compose herself, lest she be heard sniffling again tonight. She did not pray her silent rote prayers. The desire to do so had long since left. She honestly believed the Lord God had seen fit to take away her tiny son instead of allowing her to love a baby conceived in sin, and the thought made her heart cold with aching.

  Yet nearly every night—in a dream—she was with her own wee babe, who was ever so alive. And she and Derry were still desperately in love, sometimes even married, and always completely taken with their new little one, holding him . . . cooing baby talk at him.

  Alas, upon waking each morning, Sadie was hit yet again with the ugly, hard truth. She had been punished for the sin of youthful lust. More than a hundred times she had recalled that hideous night, how Dr. Henry Schwartz had kindly said he would ‘‘take care’’ of the baby’s remains. Now she regretted there was not even a small burial plot under the shade of ancient trees. Not a simple, respectable grave marker had been given her child, no grassy spot to visit in the People’s cemetery, where she could grieve openly beneath a wide blue sky . . . where she could lie down under a tree and let her body
rest hard against the earth. Her precious son had come into the world much too early, with ‘‘no breath in him,’’ as the doctor had sadly pronounced.

  Sometimes during the daylight hours it almost seemed as if the birth itself had never occurred, though she lived with a gnawing emptiness that threatened to choke her. Not having a place to mark the date and the event made the memory of that dark April night ofttimes shift in her mind, even distort itself. Sadie was back and forth about the whole thing—some days she treasured the memory of her first love; at other times she despised Derry for what he’d done to her.

  Often she would stop what she was doing, painfully aware of a newborn’s whimper. Was her imagination playing tricks? She would look around to see where her baby might be. Could Lydiann’s frequent crying trigger this? She didn’t know, yet the alarming sense that her baby still lived persisted no matter where she went these days—to Preaching service, to Adah and Dorcas Peachey’s house, or to any number of Ebersol and Mast cousins’ homes. The lingering feeling haunted her through every daylight hour, as acute as it was bewildering. In spite of her depression, Sadie tried to look to the future, hoping someday she might have another baby to love, one whose father loved her enough to marry her in the first place. One with no connection to the Gobbler’s Knob grapevine and who had no inkling of her wild days. Yet to meet a nice, eligible Amishman like that she would have to leave home, abandoning everything dear to her. It would mean enduring the shun.

  The only other choice she had was a kneeling repentance before the church brethren, but how could that ever solve her problems? It would never bring her baby back, nor Derry— neither one. Repenting could guarantee her only one thing: a lonely and miserable life.

  Chapter Two

  Leah hadn’t realized before just how vulnerable she felt walking through the tunnel of trees that comprised much of the hillock. Even in the full sun of late morning, the light filtering through the webbing of leaves and branches seemed to die away the farther she headed into the woods.

  Her best stationery folded neatly and pen in hand, she plodded onward, hoping to rediscover the same grassy spot where she’d spent a sun-dappled hour a few days ago. Beneath the feathery shade of a rare and beautiful thornless honey locust tree, she had written one of her love letters to Jonas. Never once did she think she’d have such difficulty finding the exact location a second time, so lovely it had been. Yet with hundreds of trees towering overhead, confusing her, how could she?

  At the moment she thought the sun had set prematurely over distant green hills, she came upon a most interesting sight. She stopped in her tracks and wriggled her toes in the mossy path. ‘‘Well, what is this?’’ she whispered.

  There, in a small clearing, a tiny shanty stood, though just barely. In all truth, it was leaning slightly to the left, and as she stepped back to take in the strange place, she could see it was quite old and in dire need of repair. Walking gingerly around its perimeter, she decided the wood shack was probably safe enough to enter. She did so and quickly, too, because the wind had suddenly come up, blowing hard from the north with an edge to it.

  The sky was growing darker now, even as she pushed hard against the rickety door and hurried inside. Much to her surprise, she found a rather cozy, if untidy, room with exposed plank walls and overhead beams. Several wooden benches were scattered round, the only places to sit. A waist-high, makeshift counter stood in the back, along with a metal trash can. Still, nothing inside really hinted at what purpose the shack served.

  Placing her writing paper down on one of the benches, she stood in the center of the little room and curiously looked around. It was in need of a good redding up, as Mamma would say. Both Mamma and Lizzie required cleanliness in all things, and had they come with her today, they would have immediately set to work picking up the paper debris and whatnot littering the floor. Never mind that the shack wasn’t part of someone’s house or barn; it needed some tending to. Even Mamma’s potting shed was far neater.

  Going to stand at the window, she leaned on the ledge and looked out at the wind beginning to whip through the shrubbery, bending the trees something fierce. She decided she might as well stay put for the time being, what with a storm rustling things up so. Not that she would complain about a blustery rain shower—not since the Good Lord had allowed this heat wave to encompass the region. Thirsty crops would drink up a downpour like this in short order.

  She was ever so glad for even this unsteady shelter. The rain intensified, hammering wildly on the ramshackle roof. Settling down on a bench, Leah picked up where she’d left off with her letter to Jonas, putting her pen to the creamcolored paper.

  There’s one thing I should tell you in case you hear it through the grapevine. (I hope you won’t feel bad about this.) Here lately I’ve had to help my father outdoors more than ever, since Dawdi John’s hip gave out a few days ago. It’s a pity seeing Mamma’s father suffer. My sisters and I take our turns keeping him company, as does Aunt Lizzie. Sometimes to help Mamma, I take him over to the village doctor, Henry Schwartz, who’s as kind as he can be.

  As for working alongside Dat again, I’ve always known I was meant for the soil. Called to it, really. And once you and I are married, Dat will simply have to hire some extra help. Soon I’ll be tending my own vegetable and flower gardens and cooking and keeping house for you while you build oak tables and chairs in your carpenter’s shop nearby. We’ll be happy as larks!

  By the way, there’s a small house with a For Rent sign in the front yard less than a mile from here—set back a ways from the road, even has an outbuilding on the property. Maybe Dat and I will go see about it if you agree we should.

  I’ll send this off right quick, then wait eagerly for your next letter.

  All my love,

  Your faithful Leah

  She reread the letter, then folded the stationery. Leaning back, she stretched her arms and noticed a leak in the highest peak of the roof. Within seconds the droplets turned to a trickle; then a near-steady silver stream intruded upon her refuge against the cloudburst. Not a bucket was in sight, only the trash can overflowing with refuse. She searched for something else to catch the water but was startled to hear running footsteps outdoors and rushed to the window to look.

  What’s Aunt Lizzie doing out in this? she wondered.

  The door to the shanty flew open, and there stood Mamma’s younger sister soaked clean through to the skin. Lizzie’s face turned instantly pale upon seeing Leah. ‘‘Well, I never—’’ ‘

  ‘‘Hurry and come in out of the squall, Aendi!’’

  The brunette woman leaned hard against the door, shoving out the wind and rain. ‘‘What on earth are you doin’ here?’’

  ‘‘Oh, I’d hoped to find a comfortable spot under a tree somewhere . . . before the rain was makin’ down so suddenly.’’ She glanced over at her letter. ‘‘Caught me by surprise, really.’’

  Lizzie nodded her head. ‘‘Seems the woods have a climate all their own, ain’t so?’’

  Leah knew how much her aunt, even at thirty-five, enjoyed exploring the forest—truly, Lizzie’s own backyard. Drawn to small woodland creatures, Lizzie often amused Leah and her sisters with animal-related stories. Leah sometimes wondered how it could be that Aunt Lizzie seemed so at home in the very woods she’d always warned against, knowing the name of each tall and dark tree at first glance. Lizzie’s heart was as tender as the petal blossoms she cherished, and she doted on her nieces beyond all reason.

  Outside, the rain was spilling fast over the eaves in elongated droplets, like the delicate, oval pearls Leah had seen on the bare neck of a worldly English woman in a Watt & Shand’s department store newspaper ad. But inside, the stream from the unseen hole in the roof had taken up a rhythm all its own, predictable and annoying.

  ‘‘Do you think you could help me find one particular tree if I described it? I mean, after the rain stops.’’

  Aunt Lizzie smiled, pulling on the soaked-through purple sleeve that clu
ng to her arm. Her long black apron and prayer cap were also sopping wet. ‘‘Which tree’s that, honey-girl?’’

  ‘‘One where the grass is soft and thick and grows right up to the trunk. I must admit to thinkin’ of the forest floor beneath it as my piece of earth.’’ She went on to tell about the curious honey locust tree. ‘‘It has no thorns. And if ever I could find it once more, I believe I might somehow mark it so I could return there again and again.’’

  ‘‘Oh . . .’twas a wonderful-gut place to daydream, jah?’’

  ‘‘Not dream so much as write a newsy letter,’’ she confessed. ‘‘My sisters are awful nosy sometimes. They’d just love to know what I’m writin’ to Jonas.’’

  ‘‘Well . . . so that’s what brought you here.’’ Lizzie seemed somehow relieved as she spoke. She went and sat down on the closest bench, and Leah did the same.

  ‘‘I never knew this place existed.’’

  ‘‘Well, I daresay it’s ’bout to come a-tumblin’ down. Which, if you ask me, might be a gut thing.’’

  ‘‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe with a little sweepin’ and pickin’ up it could be a right nice spot to—’’

  ‘‘No . . . no.’’ Aunt Lizzie shook her head, turning to face the side window. ‘‘Best leave it for the turkey shooters, come Thanksgiving.’’

  With Lizzie’s quick remark, Leah felt she understood. So . . . the lean-to had been built long ago to provide shelter for small-game hunters. Nothing more.

  ‘‘Since we’re up here away from everyone,’’ Leah said softly, ‘‘I can tell you I’m terribly worried ’bout Sadie.’’

  Aunt Lizzie stared hard at the floor. ‘‘Jah, I fret over her, too.’’

  ‘‘Must be somethin’ we can do.’’