The Betrayal Page 5

  While she was there, two English women came into the store, one more talkative than the other. Both were oohing and aahing over the various items, as if never having laid eyes on ‘‘handmade’’ things, which was the word they kept repeating, and this somewhat reverently. They spotted Hannah near the counter and took an immediate interest, peering over at her several times, unashamed at their curiosity. Each time, though, she had to look away, suffering the same uncontrollable feeling of shyness she had while tending to the roadside stand at home. Truth was, she felt self-conscious most of the time and wished Mary Ruth had stayed by her side, here at the store, instead of running off to her beloved books.

  ‘‘An Amishwoman with several children in tow came into the shop the other day,’’ Frances addressed her from behind the counter. ‘‘She was looking to buy a whole bunch of embroidered hankies. But she specifically requested cutwork embroidery, like the one she brought to show me.’’

  Hannah was surprised at this. ‘‘What did it look like?’’

  ‘‘Well, it had a dainty emerald-and-gold butterfly sewn into the corner.’’

  ‘‘And cutwork, you say?’’

  Frances nodded. ‘‘The customer was very interested in it, said nothing else would do. She said she wants to give a quantity of them away on her son’s wedding day . . . that she’d stop by in a month or so. Could you duplicate a hankie like that to sell?’’

  ‘‘Maybe so if I could see it.’’ Hannah found this more curious than she cared to say. Truth was, she’d made only one such cutwork butterfly hankie in her life. And awful pretty, if she thought so herself. She’d given it, along with crossstitched pillowcases, as a gift three years ago to Sadie on her sixteenth birthday. Sadie’s reaction had been one of such joy Hannah decided it should remain extra special. Never again would she make the cutwork style on any of her other hankies, either for sale or for gifts, in honor of Sadie’s turning courting age.

  ‘‘I would make most anything else . . . just not a handkerchief like that.’’ She wondered who the woman had been, asking about a handkerchief so surprisingly similar to Sadie’s own. But she kept her peace and said no more.

  Still, she couldn’t stop thinking how peculiar this was and felt a bit crestfallen. Had someone seen Sadie’s special hankie and decided to copy it? she wondered.

  Back in the carriage on the ride home, Mary Ruth sat with her library books balanced on her lap as she attempted to hold the reins.

  ‘‘How will you get all of them into the house?’’ Hannah asked, eyeing the books.

  ‘‘Oh, I’ll manage somehow, even if I have to sneak them in two at a time. Meanwhile, why don’t you trade places with me?’’ She handed the reins over to Hannah, who promptly switched to the driver’s seat.

  They rode along for a time in complete silence. Mary Ruth was glad to peek into the pages of the first book in her stack, Uncle Tom’s Cabin. And by the time the horse turned off the narrow road at Rohrer’s Mill, the water-powered grist mill, she’d already completed the first chapter. Her heart cried out with compassion for the slave girl Eliza and her handsome young son, Harry. With such strong emotions stirring, she wondered anew how she could ever give up this fascination with the printed page. Could she quickly devour oodles of books to satisfy her appetite, then join church, hoping that the wellspring of joy might linger on through the years, even though she’d never read again? She supposed it was one way to look at the problem, though she’d have to come clean to Preacher Yoder before ever taking her kneeling vow, especially with this new passion for fabricated stories.

  She marked the page with her finger, then asked Hannah, ‘‘How old do you want to be when you get baptized?’’

  ‘‘Sixteen or so,’’ Hannah said. ‘‘Seems to me we oughta join church together.’’

  Just as she thought.

  Hannah was quiet for a time, then she said, ‘‘If you end up goin’ to high school—’’ ‘‘Oh, I will go,’’ Mary Ruth interrupted. ‘‘Somehow or other.’’

  ‘‘Okay, then, what will you do ’bout Elias Stoltzfus?’’

  Mary Ruth paused. ‘‘I don’t think that’s somethin’ to worry my head over, really, seein’ as how neither of us is of courtin’ age yet. Elias is just fourteen.’’

  Hannah turned from her, looking away.

  Mary Ruth leaned forward. ‘‘I’m sorry. Did I upset you?’’

  ‘‘It’s nothin’,’’ Hannah was too quick to admit. She sniffled a bit, then straightened. ‘‘I just thought . . . well, that maybe Elias might change your thinkin’, ya know. Maybe he’d make a difference in your future somehow.’’

  Fact was, Elias had begun to upset the fruit basket. The more she ran into him at Preaching and whatnot, and the more she talked with him even briefly, the more she liked him. A lot . . . truth be told. It was like stepping barefoot on a nettle, seeing it tear away at the flesh of enthusiasm and desire. If she gave in to her attraction to him, and his to her, it wouldn’t be but a few years and she’d be riding home from Sunday singings with him. He’d end up courting her . . . and then what? What if the same enormous hunger for books showed up in one or more of their children? Such a thing would bring heartache to both her and Elias’s families.

  No, she thought it best to nip her romantic interest in the bud, refuse his attention for the sake of her own ambition. She knew she was born to be a schoolteacher. In short, she could not deprive herself of the one true thing that mattered most to her on God’s green earth.

  When they arrived home, the sky had turned dark with threatening clouds. ‘‘It’ll soon be makin’ down,’’ she said, working with Hannah to unhitch the horse from the buggy.

  ‘‘A nice rain would help the crops,’’ Hannah said, drawing in her breath loudly enough for Mary Ruth to hear. ‘‘Should I run inside and see where Mamma might be just now?’’

  Mary Ruth nodded, noting the look of dire concern on Hannah’s face. ‘‘Jah, go have a look-see. Meanwhile, I’ll water and feed the horse.’’

  Hannah strolled down to the house, calm as you please, but in a jiffy she returned with a big smile on her face. ‘‘Mamma’s nursin’ Lydiann upstairs,’’ she whispered. ‘‘Best come now.’’

  ‘‘Where’s Dat, do you think?’’

  Hannah had a ready answer. ‘‘Both Dat and Leah are out back in the pasture, bringin’ home the cows for milkin’.’’

  ‘‘And Sadie?’’

  ‘‘Never mind her,’’ Hannah replied, shaking her head. ‘‘She’s nowhere round that I saw. Besides, she would hardly care, jah?’’

  So, confident as can be, Mary Ruth carried all seven books across the barnyard and into the house. Hannah led the way, glancing back at her every now and then as they hurried through the empty kitchen and up the long flight of stairs.

  Once in their bedroom Mary Ruth separated the books and got down on her hands and knees, pushing a group of four, then three clear under the bed, far as she could reach.

  ‘‘There,’’ she said, rising up, ‘‘who’s goin’ to look that far under the bed?’’

  After supper Mary Ruth headed out toward the back porch. On the edge of dusk, the evening was still light enough for her to go walking. But on second thought she decided to go swing in the hayloft a bit. The long rope hung high on the rafters as a constant reminder of happy childhood days, and it was easy to ponder one’s life out there amidst baled hay and weary animals moving slowly in the warm, dusty stable below. The mouse catchers were sure to keep her company, too.

  On the way to the barn, she spotted Dat and Gideon talking in the cornfield. Dat placed his hand on Gid’s shoulder for a time, thanking him, no doubt, for his afternoon help.

  Dat’s reeling in the smithy’s son closer all the time, she thought. She was almost certain her father had a trick or two up his sleeve yet. But if that was true, he sure didn’t have much time left to botch Leah’s plans to marry Jonas Mast.

  Besides that, if Dat did not succeed in getting Leah’s eyes on Gid,
something would have to give with farm chores when the time came for Leah and Jonas to set up housekeeping. Dat would definitely have to hire someone nearly full-time—more than likely Gid Peachy. But what a thorn in the side to poor Dat, who preferred to have Gid as his son-in-law, not as a hired hand. She could tell by the look on her father’s ruddy face that he was much too partial to Smithy Gid, the way he spoke kindly of the brawny young man—used to be in Leah’s hearing—which he didn’t do so much anymore.

  Still, she couldn’t help feeling Dat just might keep Leah from marrying the boy she loved, one way or another. Mary Ruth clenched her jaw at the very notion, wishing she and her sisters weren’t so hog-tied around here.

  Chapter Seven

  Friday dawned much cooler, and Abram, Ida, and the girls were grateful for the relief. While Mary Ruth took her turn tending the vegetable stand out front, Leah, Sadie, and Hannah weeded the enormous vegetable garden, spraying for insects so the family, not the bugs, could reap the benefit of their labors.

  Leah worked tirelessly for hours, harvesting summer squash, carrots, peppers, and pounds of cucumbers. They’d already put up a bounty of pickles, both sweet and dill, and Mamma suggested they take even more cucumbers out to the roadside stand to sell. ‘‘Or give ’em away if you have to.’’

  While doing her backbreaking gardening, Leah intentionally forced her thoughts away from Sadie to the inviting spot in the forest. The mental picture was even more delightful because Sadie and she were at odds—terribly so. And now that she’d stuck her foot in her mouth over Naomi’s wedding request, well, Leah was at a loss to know what to say or do next.

  All morning she suffered troublesome feelings toward her elder sister. The silence between them became worse than annoying. Sadie harbored resentment toward her, that was clear. The slightest reference to Sadie’s need for repentance had been met with disdain.

  Once the gardening was done, Leah hurried up to Aunt Lizzie’s, wanting to go in search of the honey locust tree. She hoped she could talk openly with Lizzie while tramping through the woods on their search. Surely Aunt Lizzie would not see this as an excuse to gossip—heaven forbid!—but rather take to prayer the things on Leah’s heart. Such perplexing emotions made Leah wonder if her prayers might simply bounce off the bedroom ceiling instead of wending their way to the Throne of Grace.

  With a hug, Aunt Lizzie met her at the back door wearing an old black cooking apron. Newly scrubbed, the small kitchen was awash in sunlight. The familiar, welcoming smell of freshly baked bread drew Leah to sit at the table and savor the aroma. ‘‘Smells wonderful-gut,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Thought I’d bake a dozen raisin cinnamon rolls and a loaf of oatmeal bread for the Nolt family, down yonder,’’ Lizzie said, bringing a glass of iced tea over to Leah. ‘‘How would you like to ride along?’’

  Leah didn’t have the heart to bring up the hoped-for excursion to the woods and discourage Lizzie from her kind and generous deed, especially seeing the bright look of happiness on her face. ‘‘Jah, I’ll go,’’ she was quick to say, still hoping to go to the woods with her aunt later.

  It was during the buggy ride down Georgetown Road that Leah opened up and shared her heart. She told Aunt Lizzie of her recent conversation with Sadie, all the while Lizzie’s gaze remained fixed on the road as she gripped the reins just so.

  ‘‘Sadie’s not interested in attending Naomi’s wedding. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?’’ asked Leah.

  ‘‘Sounds to me like Naomi might not want her there.’’

  Leah pressed further. ‘‘How can that be?’’

  Lizzie was slow to respond, taking a deep breath first. ‘‘Sometimes friends don’t remain close for one reason or another. Honestly, I ’spect we should be awful glad Naomi and Sadie aren’t so chummy anymore.’’

  ‘‘Maybe so, but I have a strong feeling Naomi’s turned away from the world completely. If it’s not too blunt to say so, I believe she is more receptive to the church than ever.’’

  Lizzie brightened at that. ‘‘I trust and pray what you say is true.’’

  Then they chattered of this and that, especially of the flowers and vegetables growing in Lizzie’s and Mamma’s gardens. Soon, though, Leah asked, ‘‘I’m still thinking ’bout that uncommon honey locust tree. . . . Remember?’’

  ‘‘Well, honey-girl, I ’spect we might be able to walk right to it, once we get home again.’’

  Leah was delighted. Leaning back a bit, she settled into the front seat of the buggy, gazing at the now colorless sky, ever so glad to have talked openly with dear Lizzie. Now, if the days would just pass more quickly till Jonas returned to her.

  Hannah chased after two nasty flies in the front room. Mamma had ordered her to go inside from the garden to escape the midday heat because she looked ‘‘sallow and all done in.’’ Well, here she was, though not sitting down in the kitchen with a tall glass of ice water or fanning herself, but downright eager to slap the annoying insects with the flyswatter. Truly, she had been suffering a headache off and on all week, not telling anyone but her twin. And what had Mary Ruth gone and done? She’d told Mamma, ‘‘Hannah needs some lookin’ after.’’

  Aside from the fact she was gripped with worry over school opening soon, there wasn’t much ailing Hannah. If only summer could last all year, she thought. She and her sisters always busied themselves from late spring on with the necessary tasks of planting and harvesting, cooking and cleaning, and on and on it went. There was little else to occupy one’s mind during this season, and that was just how Hannah liked it.

  Suddenly feeling too tired to stand, she went to the kitchen and sat in the large hickory rocker near the windows. She had been happy to keep up her supply of consignment handiwork, especially her array of embroidered handkerchiefs and pillowcases, thankful for the extra money she was earning at both the Strasburg gift shop and the family’s own roadside stand.

  Hannah put the swatter down on the floor and leaned her head against the rocker. Just as she was becoming droopy eyed, here came Sadie indoors. ‘‘You look all in, Hannah,’’ she said, going to the sink for some water.

  ‘‘Oh, don’t fret over me.’’

  ‘‘Here,’’ Sadie said, offering her the tall glass. ‘‘Mamma said you had a headache. Two glasses straight down will ease it a bit.’’

  Hannah accepted the glass and began to sip, watching Sadie return to the sink, now splashing water on her forehead and cheeks. Sadie patted her face dry with her apron, then reached for another glass. When she’d poured a drink for herself, she went to the table and sat down, her face as red as Hannah had ever seen it.

  They were still for a time; then Hannah got up the nerve to say, ‘‘I was wondering . . . did you ever happen to show off that birthday hankie I made you, the green-and-gold butterfly one?’’

  Sadie seemed to stiffen at the question, frowned, and shook her head. ‘‘Why, no, I didn’t.’’

  Hannah, taken aback by her sister’s sudden unease, forced a smile. ‘‘Just wondered if someone else in the area might’ve seen it besides our own family . . . and started making some like it to sell.’’

  Sadie said nothing for the longest time. Then she whispered, ‘‘That hankie’s gone forever, I’m afraid.’’

  ‘‘Gone?’’ Hannah was startled. ‘‘But I made it special for you. How could you lose it?’’

  Sadie shook her head slowly. ‘‘I didn’t say I did.’’ Her voice was weak now, as if she’d just returned home from the funeral of a close relative, the emotion of the day sapping her strength.

  ‘‘Then what—’’

  ‘‘Oh, Hannah, please don’t ask me any more. I loved your handkerchief, but it’s gone and I won’t be getting it back.’’

  Hurt over Sadie’s seeming disregard for her gift, Hannah pondered her sister’s strange reply. Why would she do such a thing?

  She began to wonder if the woman who’d inquired of the cutwork hankie might, in all truth, be the new owner of Sadie’s b
irthday handkerchief. Is that possible? she thought sadly but said not another word to her sister.

  Leah waited in the buggy, hand loosely touching the reins, while Aunt Lizzie hurried to the front door of the Nolts’ redbrick house. Lavender statice and pale peach dahlias decorated the front yard of the fancy Englischers’ house, neat as a pin and as tidy and well kept as the Amish neighbors’ yards nearby.

  Leah looked forward to this evening, when Dat planned to read to her from the family Bible, translating the verses highlighting baptism. Today at the noon meal Dat had suggested they do this ‘‘the sooner the better.’’

  Gladdened, she felt secure in his fatherly love, in spite of his evident disappointment toward her approaching marriage. She was determined to make him proud, even though he was not so happy with her at present. The fact Dat was eager to open the Word of God and discuss the Scriptures meant he was rejoicing at least in her upcoming baptism—a requirement for marriage. In spite of himself, he was making it possible for her to marry Jonas.

  She heard footsteps and turned to see Aunt Lizzie coming down the walkway, swinging her arms and smiling. Once settled into the driver’s seat, Lizzie shared with her that the Nolts’ baby was ‘‘as cute as a button.’’

  Leah listened with interest. ‘‘I should’ve gone in with you.’’

  ‘‘Another time, maybe.’’ Lizzie clucked her tongue, and the horse pulled the buggy away from the curb. ‘‘The missus says she could use a bit of paid help round the house a few afternoons a week. Maybe Sadie—what do you think of that?’’

  ‘‘Just so you know,’’ Leah said, ‘‘I think you should steer clear of askin’ Sadie at all.’’