Redemption of Sarah Cain

Beverly Lewis

Description

A thoroughly modern woman, Sarah Cain has long disdained her sister's Plain lifestyle. But when news comes of her sister's death, Sarah is stunned to learn she has been named guardian of her children. How can Sarah sacrifice her successful career and a life she enjoys to raise five Amish orphans she barely knows? Besides, Sarah is harboring a secret grief of her own...Will the sorrow that divides them ultimately unite the new family?

Informations

• Publié par: Baker Publishing Group
• Date de parution: 01 juin 2007
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781441202901
• Langue: English

Extrait

T HE R EDEMPTION OF S ARAH C AIN
BEVERLY LEWIS
T HE R EDEMPTION OF S ARAH C AIN
The Redemption of Sarah Cain Copyright 2000 Beverly Lewis
Cover design by Dan Thornberg, Koechel Peterson Associates, Inc.
Cover and photo insert photography courtesy of Matthew Morgan. Inset photo of Beverly Lewis with Lisa Pepper courtesy of David Lewis.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means- electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise-without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Published by Bethany House Publishers 11400 Hampshire Avenue South Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
Bethany House Publishers is a division of Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN 978-0-7642-0403-6
The Library of Congress has cataloged the original edition as follows:
Lewis, Beverly The redemption of Sarah Cain / by Beverly Lewis. p. cm. ISBN 0-7642-2388-7 (alk. paper) - ISBN 0-7642-2329-1 (pbk.) 1. Lancaster County (Pa.)-Fiction. 2. Guardian and ward-Fiction. 3. Orphans-Fiction. 4. Aunts-Fiction. 5. Amish-Fiction. I. Title. PS3562.E9383 R44 2000 813 .54-dc21
00-009407
In fondest memory of my teacher and friend, Dr. Mary Bainbridge Vyner. Concert pianist, composer, teacher, and the director of the Lancaster Conservatory of Music since 1958, Dr. Vyner instilled in generations of young pianists a passion for great music.
By Beverly Lewis
S EASONS OF G RACE
The Secret The Missing The Telling

A BRAM S D AUGHTERS
The Covenant The Betrayal The Sacrifice The Prodigal The Revelation

A NNIE S P EOPLE
The Preacher s Daughter The Englisher The Brethren

T HE C OURTSHIP OF N ELLIE F ISHER
The Parting The Forbidden The Longing

T HE H ERITAGE OF L ANCASTER C OUNTY
The Shunning The Confession The Reckoning

The Postcard The Crossroad

The Redemption of Sarah Cain
October Song Sanctuary The Sunroom

The Beverly Lewis Amish Heritage Cookbook www.beverlylewis.com
with David Lewis
About the Author

B EVERLY LEWIS, born in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country, fondly recalls her growing-up years. A keen interest in her mother s Plain family heritage has inspired Beverly to set many of her popular stories in Amish country, beginning with her inaugural novel, The Shunning .
A former schoolteacher and accomplished pianist, Beverly has written over eighty books for adults and children. Five of her blockbuster novels have received the Gold Book Award for sales over 500,000 copies, and The Brethren won a 2007 Christy Award.
Beverly and her husband, David, make their home in Colorado, where they enjoy hiking, biking, reading, writing, making music, and spending time with their three grandchildren.

Dear Lord and Father of mankind, Forgive our foolish ways! Reclothe us in our rightful mind, In purer lives Thy service find, In deeper reverence, praise.
O Sabbath rest by Galilee, O calm of hills above, Where Jesus knelt to share with Thee The silence of eternity, Interpreted by love!
Drop Thy still dews of quietness, Till all our strivings cease; Take from our souls the strain and stress, And let our ordered lives confess The beauty of Thy peace.
-John Greenleaf Whittier from The Brewing of Soma (1872)
Table of Contents
Prologue: Lydia
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Epilogue
Author s Note
Prologue: Lydia

M amma slipped away to Glory one week ago today. The People laid her to rest on Glendorn Hill in a simple poplar coffin next to Dat s grave, under a stand of sycamores. The January sky sagged, gray and low, like an eternal sigh. Had there been a speck of azure in the heavens, I might ve thought the Good Lord meant it as a sign of hope.
I stood tall and silent with my four younger siblings: Caleb, Anna Mae, Josiah, and Hannah, ranging in age from fourteen to six. We watched as the men from our church district shoveled the hard, cold dirt into the gaping hole. My throat ached, yet I did not so much as shed a single tear as little Hannah sniffled next to me at the graveside service.
Following the burial, I remained mute at the shared meal held at Noah and Susie Lapp s place-some of our closest friends amongst the People. Susie s plump face looked ever so concerned as she caught my gaze across her crowded kitchen. Still, I kept my emotions in check.
Twasn t till much later, when the house was dark and hushed, that I embraced my grief freely. Alone, and in the privacy of my room, I trembled with the sorrow of our loss. Mine, and my younger brothers and sisters .
Mamma had drilled one thing into me before her passing: Be strong and courageous. Keep the family together, Lyddie. Will you promise me this? These were to be the last words on Mamma s lips. And, indeed, I gave my word. I was bound and determined to do this thing. For dearest Mamma.
The next morning, the children and I gathered in the front room for Bible reading and prayers. Remember, we re strong . . . together , I told them.
Caleb, tall and blond, had accepted the substitute headship of the house when Dat passed away three years ago. Confidently, he carried Mam s old Biwel to the nearest rocker, his frame almost too lean for the wide girth of the hickory rocking chair. Still, he sat erect and determined as could be.
Turning the pages, he located the familiar passage. He began to read in a clear, strong voice, just as Dat always had, from the Twenty-third Psalm: The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
Redheaded and chubby, Anna Mae, eleven, held hands with petite six-year-old Hannah as they sat on the large rag rug, eyes fixed on Caleb. Josiah, a stocky eight-year-old, slid next to me on the sofa, a bit closer than usual, his flaxen hair schtruppisch - tousled-as always.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters, Caleb continued.
My mind wandered back to many-a springtime day, when Mamma packed us picnic lunches-after morning chores were through-letting us romp in the thick meadow grass out behind the barn. Robins and whippoorwills flew low overhead, chirping private messages back and forth, while cool blades of grass refreshed my callused bare feet. Once, when no one was lookin , I pressed my face into the lime-colored fronds, holding my breath ever so long, lest the wonderful-gut moment slip away all too soon.
I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Caleb s youthful voice intruded on my carefree thoughts, reminding me that the Lord was with us, indeed. Almighty God had promised never to leave us nor forsake us. I d learned from Mamma, through the years, to cling to that promise with all my might.
Truth be told, I did harbor fear inside me. Had nothin whatever to do with fearing evil , like the words of the psalm. Yet I was worried. With Mamma gone to heaven, I wondered whatever was to become of us. I was fretful, too, bout my chances of marryin the sweetest, kindest-and most handsome-Plain boy in all of Lancaster County. Jah , my hopes and dreams were wholly bound up in Levi King. Best of all, he loved me, too. Said so a year ago, when first I started goin to Sunday night Singings.
At almost seventeen, I m no longer a child; specially not in a community where young people start pairin off come sixteen. Many-a girl is hopin to marry at my age and to be bearin her first little one nine months after. Might be happening to me soon if Dat hadn t had the farming accident that took his life. And now Mamma s gone, too.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever. Caleb finished reading the Scripture, yet as we all knelt for prayer, I wondered what goodness could ever come of us bein orphans.
God s sovereign will was not to be questioned, I knew. Still, I felt for sure and for certain He must be lookin down from on high, seein our fresh and bleeding heart wounds. Surely the God of heaven and earth was weeping right along with us.

Nearly every day now, I go and stand quietlike between two cemetery plots high on the hillside of Grasshopper Level. Tis freshly blanketed with snow, and acres of rich farmland spill down toward the valley, a panorama of beauty far as the eye can see. Truly, a promising sight. And if I m very still, a sheen of sunlight seems to whisper through stark trees overhead. I gaze over the wintry ridge, and I glimpse what must be Glory lights, playing off dormant fields below.
In my mind s eye, I recollect last summer s long, humid days when first I suspected there was somethin wrong with Mamma s heart. Dozens of birds flapped their wings, preening in the birdbath behind the house, while moss spread over the springhouse, turnin it a musty green. Anna Mae, little Hannah, and I did our best to help Mamma with the inside chores. One way we helped was by hanging out the Monday mornin wash all by ourselves.
Ancient frogs brooded in the well, yet creeks shriveled up nearly dry, and flaxen cornstalks stood high, burstin with the sweetest ears of corn the Lord God ever made. The white tips of the neighbors wheat rippled in the breeze, reminding me of the bay waters off the shore of Watch Hill, Rhode Island, just a few blocks from Grandpa Cain s weather-beaten Cape Cod cottage. A place we loved to call home when M