Free The Redemption of Sarah Cain by Beverly Lewis

of all things. On a Sunday morning yet. It was as if her brothers and sisters had to hear the same thing over and again in order to believe it.
    She couldn’t blame them, really, for it seemed like a solitary dream to her, too, that Mamma’s fancy younger sister was actually comin’ to be their guardian. ‘‘Her plane’s landin’ at Harrisburg, and Mr. Eberley says it’ll take her a gut forty minutes to get here.’’
    ‘‘Ach, I wonder what it’s like to fly in a plane high up in the sky,’’ Josiah said, making buzzing sounds behind her head.
    ‘‘The Lord never meant a person to go so awful fast,’’ she said, offering words that Dat used to say about the pace of things. ‘‘Life goes by so terrible swift without forcin’ it along faster.’’ She felt she had to say the latter, just to put Josiah in his place.
    It worked. He stopped making the whirring sounds right quick and began chattering with Hannah. All the while, Anna Mae carried on her private conversation with no one at all.
    ‘‘How will we know it’s Aunt Sarah when she comes?’’ Caleb asked softly, his left hand resting on his leg. His right hand held both reins loosely.
    ‘‘Oh, I think we’ll know.’’
    Anna Mae whispered, ‘‘For sure?’’
    ‘‘Well, she must be an awful rich lady now, from what Mamma always said. Aunt Sarah drives fast cars and likes to dress up a whole lot. So I ’spect she looks perty fancy most all the time.’’
    ‘‘She wears for-gut clothes everywhere ?’’ Hannah said, revealing her astonishment.
    ‘‘Jah, but I’m thinkin’ it’d be best if we don’t gawk or say anything ’bout how she looks. Promise me that?’’ She turned in her seat, eyeing Josiah and Hannah sternly. As for Anna Mae, Lydia reached around and patted her sister’s chubby knees through her long woolen coat. ‘‘I’m almost positive we’ll recognize her. She must look something like Mamma, after all.’’
    ‘‘No . . . you look like Mamma,’’ Anna Mae pointed out.
    Lydia knew it was true. Everyone, from the time she was born till Mamma’s funeral, had always said she was the spittin’ image of her mother. Truth was, she was right proud of it, in a humble sort of way. She had Mamma’s features and golden brown eyes and hair, just not the same strawberry hues as Mamma had in her flaxen hair. No, her own was more like wheat after a hard rainstorm, blanched nut brown with no hope of red. Still, she had the persistent waves that sometimes worked their way into ringlets around her hairline on a hot summer day.
    ‘‘Where’s Aunt Sarah gonna sleep?’’ Hannah asked.
    ‘‘Mamma’s old room.’’
    The enclosed carriage fell silent. Only the soft snort of Dobbin the horse could be heard.
    Sighing, she thought maybe she shouldn’t have been so quick to volunteer their mamma’s former abode. Maybe it bothered the children to think of Aunt Sarah coming into their home that-a-way.
    Sometimes, here lately, instead of having to make so many decisions for the family, she almost wished she were small enough to fit inside the weathered channeled whelks Grandpa used to pick up and talk about so cheerfully. Up . . . up the tiny spiraling staircase, safe from harm, secure in his strong, wrinkled hand.

Chapter Eight

    I n Chicago, Sarah made her connecting flight with little hassle. On board the plane, she found her aisle seat and settled into row ten. Immediately, she was greeted by the passenger in the seat next to hers. ‘‘Hello, there.’’
    ‘‘Hello,’’ she replied, not so interested in engaging in conversation.
    ‘‘Where are you headed?’’ asked the woman, not much older than midthirties.
    ‘‘Harrisburg.’’
    ‘‘I’m going back to Lancaster,’’ the brunette woman volunteered. ‘‘I’m a Bible school student there.’’
    She nodded, saying no more, eager to get back to her novel.
    ‘‘Are you from Harrisburg?’’ inquired the woman.
    Sarah chose to remain elusive.