Chapter Eighteen

“Sadie, I need you to do me a favor.”

Sadie glanced up from the table where she had been sitting, reading the most recent issue of Family Life. Her father sat nearby, in his reclining chair, reading the Budget newspaper. He barely looked up at the sound of Rachel’s voice as she walked up the basement stairs, a glass pan in her hands.

“What is it, Rachel?” Sadie set down the little magazine, wondering what her stepmother could possibly need from her at this late hour in the day.

Shutting the basement door behind her, Rachel walked to the table. “Would you run this pie over to John Rabor’s haus?”

Immediately, Sadie knew that something was amiss. She eyed the pie with suspicion. “John Rabor’s haus?” She clenched her teeth. The last thing she wanted to do was go anywhere near that man. “Is something wrong with him?”

“He’s feeling poorly.”

“He seemed fine when he came to our church meeting last week.”

Sadie couldn’t help but wonder how Rachel would have known anything about John Rabor. It wasn’t as if Amish people in Echo Creek socialized on the telephone. In fact, Sadie had never seen her stepmother use the telephone in the small shanty that they shared with their neighbors. She had no one to call, after all. In Echo Creek, the phones were usually just for emergencies and, even then, rarely used unless someone needed to call for help from Liberty Falls. With everyone’s phones located outside of their houses, who would hear a phone ring anyway?

Her father, however, used the phone to contact Englischers when it was time to pick up milk or when he needed a special part for his cooling system. And, of course, whenever he needed more diesel fuel, he’d call the supplier for a delivery.

Other than that, the phone remained unused.

So how would Rachel have heard that John had taken ill?

Apparently Rachel didn’t find Sadie’s comment charitable. She set the pan upon the table and put her hand on her hip. “Honestly, Sadie. It’s the neighborly thing to do when someone is ill.”

Sadie wanted to quip back that Rachel had never sent anything to anyone else’s house when they were ill, but she knew better than to disrespect her stepmother.

“It’s getting late.” Sadie glanced at the clock. It was almost six and the sun was already setting. “And it’s a long walk.”

Rachel gave her a dark look.

She heard the rustle of the newspaper. “Sadie,” her father said in a firm voice, “take the horse and carriage if you want.”

Getting up from the table, she reached down for the pie and headed toward the mudroom. She paused to grab her shawl, knowing that the night air would be cool. She didn’t want to get sick again.

Ever since the weekend, when Rachel had accidentally cooked with apples, Sadie had noticed that something was amiss in the house. She knew that her father had exchanged words with Rachel about the apples, for she had heard him arguing with her. For the past four days, there had been an uneasy feeling lingering in the atmosphere.

Almost thirty minutes passed before she arrived at John Rabor’s farm. The sun was setting behind the barn and a light burned inside the kitchen window. Sadie stopped the buggy and took a deep breath before she climbed out.

“I’ll only be a minute,” she mumbled to the horse as she tied it to a hitching post. “Trust me on that.”

The horse whinnied in response.

With the pie in hand, Sadie crossed the driveway and climbed the stairs to the front door. Dread built in her chest as she lifted her hand to knock on the door. As if she had been expected, the door immediately opened.

John Rabor stood there, his gray beard covering the front of his white shirt and black vest. Sadie didn’t know what to make of the fact that he was wearing his Sunday best. Clearly he wasn’t sick at all.

“Come in, Sadie,” he said, gesturing with his hand for her to enter the kitchen.

Behind him, she saw the faces of the children, all of them wearing fresh clothes and scrubbed faces. Owen scowled a little, but the younger children beamed at her.

“My maem told me you were feeling poorly,” Sadie said as she handed him the pie. Her eyes returned to the children. Not one of them moved. They were on their best behavior. Yes, they had known she was coming. “I’m pleased that she’s mistaken.”

John took the dish from her. He lifted it to his nose and inhaled. Then, as if he remembered that she was there, he looked up and stared at her. “You will stay and have some, ja?”

Sadie swallowed. She knew that he expected her to say yes, but she couldn’t. “I . . . I really must return home. It’s a long drive and it’s getting dark.”

But he acted as if he hadn’t heard her.

“Come sit. Let me fetch the plates.” But he didn’t fetch the plates. Instead, he motioned with his head, and Owen sighed, grumbling under his breath as he moved to the cabinet to fetch some plates.

John escorted Sadie to the table and seated her to the left of his spot at its head.

Feeling uncomfortable, Sadie folded her hands in her lap and stared at the clock on the back wall. She felt the warmth of a hand in hers. Wilmer. The gesture was too familiar for Sadie, but she couldn’t extract her hand without hurting the child’s feelings.

“You’ve had a gut week, ja?”

Her eyebrows twitched and she fought the urge to furrow them. John’s question smacked of familiarity. It was as if they were having a family discussion. “I have.” She felt beads of sweat on the back of her neck.

“But you were sick, I hear.”

This time, she couldn’t help but frown. How had he known that? As far as she knew, he had no telephone in the barn. Had he visited with Rachel? And, if so, how could Sadie not have known?

“I . . . I was, ja.”

“We prayed for your recovery.” He glanced at the children. “Isn’t that so?”

Nine heads nodded in unison.

“Danke.” Feeling awkward, Sadie watched as John began to cut the pie. He gave her the first piece, a tiny sliver that crumbled apart when he put it on a plate, and then cut a larger piece for himself.

John quickly cut pieces of pie for the children and then bowed his head to pray before lifting his fork. At first, he took a few bites, silently chewing as if savoring the taste of a homemade pie. The children, however, quickly gobbled their pie and then used their forks to scrape their plates clean.

“This is right gut,” John said at last. He smacked his lips, and the noise repulsed her. “Rachel surely knows how to bake.”

Solemnly, Sadie nodded her head twice. She took a piece of pie and ate it.

“Has she taught you as well?”

For a second, she stopped chewing the pie and merely stared at him. Had he truly just asked her that? Sadie wanted to remind him that she had baked bread, cookies, and a pumpkin pie when she had watched the children for the week. Was it possible that he had forgotten? Or was he merely trying to make conversation? Either way, it was an awkward question that Sadie found offensive.

“We often bake together, ja.”

“Gut.” He jabbed his fork into the pie. “That is gut!”

She lost her appetite.

After a few minutes of silence, Sadie pushed her mostly uneaten pie away from her and cleared her throat. “I . . . I really must be going.” Before he could respond, she stood up and started toward the door.

But John was quick to join her.

“Let me help you with the horse.”

That was the last thing she wanted. “The horse is fine. Really.” She tried to smile. “It’s already hitched.”

But he ignored her comment. Pausing at the door, he grabbed his black hat and plopped it on his head.

Outside, he held her arm as she walked down the stairs. She tried to free herself from his grasp, but he didn’t let go until she was on solid ground.

“I wish to speak to you, Sadie.”

The tone of his voice, so serious and restrained, made her heart begin to race. An eerie sensation swept her and she suddenly realized what he was about to do.

“I have given much thought to this, and have decided that you would make a right gut mother to my children.”

No, no, no. She wanted to scream it out loud, but held it inside.

“And a gut fraa to me.” He took a deep breath, his chest puffing up a little. “I’m sure you see the benefit of such a marriage.”

She felt sick to her core.

“So, with your permission, I’ll speak to the bishops about announcing the banns at our respective churches this Sunday.”

For a moment, she couldn’t speak. How could John Rabor possibly think she would make him a good wife? They had nothing in common. Besides, she was young and not in need of a widower with a ready-made family. And even if she were a forty-year-old spinster, she would have found his “proposal” boorish and rude. He had focused on what he was to gain from such a marriage and not on what he might give to her.

In the darkness, she realized that he was staring at her, an expectant expression on his face. He was waiting for her answer.

Still stunned, Sadie fought to clear her mind of the self-centered proposal that John had just made. Somehow she managed to find her voice. “You do not have it.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

She tilted her chin, meeting his gaze so that there could be no misunderstanding. “You do not have my permission to speak to either of our bishops, for I will not marry you.”

He appeared stunned. His mouth opened and then shut again. He raised his hand to rub his eyes. “This is unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath. “Rachel assured me that you would say yes.”

Sadie grimaced. His words felt like a physical blow. So her stepmother was, indeed, behind this ridiculous proposal. Suddenly she remembered what her father had said to her when she had taken ill the previous weekend. John Rabor was the type of man everyone had probably thought would marry Rachel. But she had found Jacob, instead. Now Rachel was trying to get rid of Sadie by marrying her off to an older widower?

“I can assure you that I will never agree to such a marriage. I’m sorry.” And she meant it. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, if that were even possible. It was more likely that she had hurt his male ego. But she couldn’t give him any room to hope that she might change her mind.

Without another word, she hurried to the horse, untied it, and quickly got into the buggy. She couldn’t get away from the Rabors’ farm fast enough.

She took her time driving back to her father’s farm. She didn’t want to face Rachel and hoped that her parents would have retired by the time she arrived.

But as she drove the horse down the driveway, she saw the familiar glow of a light from the kitchen window.

Sighing, Sadie resigned herself to the fact that she had no choice but to deal with the situation that evening.

As soon as she walked into the house, she saw Rachel and her father seated at the table. They had been waiting for her.

“Well?”

Sadie could hardly look at her stepmother. Clearly she had orchestrated the proposal. “I refused his offer.”

Rachel’s face paled. “What do you mean you said no?”

Sadie tried to remain calm, keeping her head held high. “I will not marry John Rabor. And that’s exactly what I told him.”

“Jacob!” Her stepmother turned toward Sadie’s father. “Do something!”

Sadie watched as her father took a deep breath, a frown covering his face. “I think you should reconsider,” he said in a tight, even voice. “John could provide a right gut living for you, Sadie.”

She felt as if the bottom of her world had just fallen out from beneath her feet. Her father was siding with Rachel? “How could you possibly want me to marry a man that I don’t love?”

He shook his head. “Love often comes later, Sadie.”

“Or maybe not at all!” she snapped back and stared at Rachel.

Gasping, Rachel placed her hand over her heart. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jacob held up his hands. “Enough!” His voice boomed through the kitchen, and Sadie, stunned at the ferocity of his command, faced him. His frown deepened. “There is nothing wrong with John Rabor,” he said. “And, at eighteen years of age, you need to start thinking about settling down.”

“Daed!”

He raised an eyebrow, but there was a distant look in his eyes. “You haven’t courted anyone, Sadie, and it is time that you decide on a husband.”

“Not John Rabor!”

“That sounds very much like pride,” he chided her.

Oh, how she wanted to tell them about Frederick. But she knew better than to presume anything about her relationship with him. After all, he hadn’t asked her to marry him, and he hadn’t come calling on her at the house. Not formally, anyway. However, he had stopped by that one time and Rachel had spoken with him. Surely she knew that a young man was interested. Hadn’t she shared that information with Sadie’s father?

Apparently not.

Defiantly, Sadie lifted her chin. “I’m eighteen, ja,” she said, agreeing with her father, “but that doesn’t mean I should settle on marrying someone just for the sake of getting married. I do not love him. I could never love him.” She looked pointedly at Rachel. “When and if I get married, it will be a man of my own choosing, not one selected for me by any other person. And I would think that my own daed would support that decision.”

He shut his eyes and exhaled. He appeared defeated and Sadie couldn’t help but wonder what, exactly, Rachel had said to convince him that a marriage between his daughter and John Rabor was a good idea.

She didn’t bother to say anything else. Enough had been said already.

Turning away from them, she walked to the staircase and quietly ascended. Her nerves were rattled from the events of the evening. She didn’t know which bothered her more, that John had proposed, that Rachel had encouraged it, or that her father had supported it. For the first time in her life, Sadie felt utterly alone. She couldn’t wait for the morning. She would slip away and find Ella. She needed to talk to someone about the emotional turmoil she felt.