Upon A Winter's Night

by Karen Harper

  “Can’t put off Christmas,” her mother was saying. “I’ve been turning out my bread, Gid, buggying here and there to give it to people in need. Though you aren’t in need of much, I want you to take a fresh loaf home with you.”

  “It’s a real talent you have for baking,” Gid said with a nod and a smile. He had cleaned his pumpkin pie plate so well, it looked as if he’d licked it. “I’m sure some of your kitchen talents have rubbed off on Lydia.”

  “When she takes the time, ya, indeed,” Mamm agreed.

  “Each one of us has God-given talents,” Gid said with a smile at Lydia. She’d been silently scolding herself for not taking a loaf of that bread to Anna Gingerich, but then she would have had to explain to Mamm. “It is just a question of how we use them,” Gid went on. “And we are blessed to have the furniture doing so well in these difficult times, Sol.”

  Difficult times, for sure, Lydia thought, but she said, “There are lots of Amish furniture stores in Ohio, but Daad’s dedication to detail and quality makes all the difference. Here, Mamm, let me help you clear,” she said the moment her mother made a move to rise.

  “No, you sit with Gid, and Daad will help me.”

  “Then I’ll just fetch that loaf of bread for Gid,” Lydia said.

  “Actually,” Gid admitted, looking a bit guilty, “I did promise Connor Stark I would stop there on my way home to give him a check for my share in the new partnership—extending his property for more plantings. At least in about five or so years, his trees are ready to cut whereas the hardwoods we use take decades to grow.”

  Lydia was surprised Gid was leaving early tonight. He used to make excuses to hang around. When Connor Stark commanded, people jumped. Or was this just part of Gid’s new tactic of acting uninterested, just as she always had? If he thought that would make a difference about how she felt toward him, he was wrong—and yet it had gotten her attention.

  Since he seemed willing to leave, Lydia agreed to go out to hand him the loaf of friendship bread and say good-night. He was already in his buggy, so there was no question about a good-night kiss for once. Maybe he had taken her advice and had begun to court someone else, even though he’d have to, of course, still be kind to his employer’s daughter.

  “My thanks and see you tomorrow at the store,” he called to her. The only kiss was the one he blew to his horse as the buggy moved away into the dark.

  Or, she thought, could Gid actually be behind the stolen camel seat and the defacing of the snow angels? Was he really keeping close tabs on her and Josh and pretending disinterest so they would not suspect?

  Wrapping her cloak around her in the cold night, she glanced over toward Josh’s place, wishing he’d been the one her mother—her adoptive mother—had invited tonight. Though the woodlot trees between here and there looked like twisted skeletons with their clothes stripped away, she’d love to walk through them to visit Josh right now. Thinking of how Victoria had always looked skyward, Lydia raised her eyes to the pinpoint array of stars in the moonless night. Maybe the poor woman’s love of the sky, of heaven, was why she’d drawn flying angels, and Anna Gingerich had just thought it was a baby. Maybe—

  Lydia gasped when a strange man appeared from nowhere in the dark. She hadn’t heard or seen him approach. How long had he been there?

  Her first instinct was to run for the house, but he blocked her way. She opened her mouth to scream. Even as she made a sound, he said, “Shut up. I’m gonna say this quick and fast, and you better listen.”

  She could not make out his face, but his bulk and apparent lack of neck between his big, bald head and broad shoulders made her realize she didn’t know him. His breath made clouds in the cold darkness.

  “You’ve mistaken me for someone else, so—” she began before he interrupted her.

  “Lay off sending that reporter around, sniffing about what’s long past—the buggy accident. My dad paid six years of his life in prison for aggravated vehicular homicide. The judge said it was reckless driving, but it was that dark buggy’s fault. His business was ruined when he got out. He’s eighty-five now and needs to be left alone.”

  “You’re—you’re Marvin Lowe’s son?” She was shaking all over. She wanted to run, but her feet felt rooted to the ground.

  “Damn right. He paid his dues. Slow buggy, after dark.”

  “A buggy lit by two lanterns! But what reporter?” she asked, though she was afraid she knew that it was a writer and not a reporter, a friend of Josh’s who had somehow turned into a monster. Had Sandra told Josh on the phone she’d talked to the man who had hit her parents’ buggy and that’s what Josh was yelling about? Surely, it was not someone from the Wooster newspaper who had decided to do a follow-up story when the old car-buggy accident was called to their attention.

  “You know who I mean,” the man said, his voice gruff and low. “Ms. Myerson. She used your name. Now call her off and steer clear, or you’ll be sorry! Don’t think I won’t be watching.”

  She was grateful the man turned and ran away, heading into the woodlot toward Josh’s. Could he have been the one who was warning both her and Josh by stealing things and ruining something as harmless as snow angels? And was he harmless? Maybe she should tell the sheriff, and—

  “Liddy? You still out there? It’s cold, girl,” Daad’s voice rang out in the darkness. “Your mamm thinks you’re still with Gid but I know better ’cause I saw him leave.”

  She tried to call, “Ya, coming, Daad,” but her voice stuck in her throat. On shaky legs, she ran toward the house, kissed her father on the cheek as she hurried inside and told him nothing of what had shaken her so.

  11

  Monday after work, Lydia buggied directly to the Yoder barn. Deeply shaken by being accosted in the dark outside her home last night by Marvin Lowe’s angry son, and learning that Sandra had been to see Mr. Lowe as well as Mr. Raber, she needed to tell Josh everything.

  “I can’t believe she’d dare all that,” Josh said when she’d explained. His voice level rose so fast that the sheep he was feeding shied away. He climbed out of their pen and took Lydia’s upper arms in his strong hands. “And then the man threatens you! Hank’s here, and I’m going to borrow his cell phone to call Sandra and stop her. You’re going to have to tell the sheriff, too.”

  “Won’t he want me to press some kind of charges? You know our people can’t do that. Besides, once again, my parents could find out all I’ve been doing behind their backs, and they’d be devastated.”

  “First things first. I swear I had no idea Sandra would cross the line like this,” he said, heading toward Hank so fast she had to run to keep up.

  “Lowe’s son called her a reporter. It’s like she’s turned into one who is after some sort of story way beyond the customs of Christmas.”

  In Josh’s makeshift barn office, Hank had been making phone calls to clients, checking dates and times for delivering animals.

  “Can we borrow your cell?” Josh asked him.

  “Wow, must be something pressing. Sure, go ahead. I’ll just give you some space and go use the ‘men’s room’ at the house.” He gave Josh a light punch on his shoulder as he handed over his phone.

  “Her number will be on here somewhere,” Josh told Lydia, and started touching the little window on the phone.

  No buttons to push anymore? Lydia wondered. Of course, Josh had lived in the world for four years and probably had a phone there, maybe even a small, flat window phone like that one. But what bothered her, on top of everything, was that he must be able to recognize Sandra’s number from Hank’s list.

  Exactly what had their relationship been? Just friends? Could Sandra still care for Josh enough that she meant to put Lydia in some sort of danger? But she’d been so kind and supportive the day they drove to Wooster and found the article about her parents’ death.

  Lydia watched Josh pace back and forth between his office and the camel pen. Melly and Gaspar looked faintly interested until they realized they were be
ing ignored. Lydia wondered if she should stand here where she could hear, or if he wanted privacy. She retreated into the corner and perched on a bale of hay.

  At first she couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he must have gotten hold of Sandra. Had he held her, kissed her, made love to her in better times? Were they still more than friends?

  Typical of Josh, she could tell he was having trouble controlling his temper. “But the guy could have really hurt her. You’re going too far with this. She knows who her parents are—were—so you don’t need to do in-depth investiga...Yeah, yeah, I know, but you need to lay off. I strongly suggest you not come back here since you seem so tempted to interview everyone in sight...Yeah, she’s here.”

  He held the phone behind his back and came over to Lydia, whispering, “She wants to hear from you that you want her to lay off. You mind talking on the phone?”

  “It looks like a tiny TV,” she protested, but he put it in her hand, and she talked into it just like she’d seen him do.

  “Sandra, I thank you for your help in the beginning, but ya, please, this has to end.”

  “I wanted to give you a more detailed portrait of your parents, so to speak,” Sandra said in a rush. “Listen, I didn’t realize that Leo Lowe, Marvin’s son, was such a hothead. You should get a restraining order on him, scare him a bit.”

  “But that’s the thing. You just don’t understand Amish ways. We don’t do things like that, legal things, court things, police business. I have no intention of ‘scaring him a bit’ even though that’s what he did to me. Our way is more like turn the other cheek, go the extra mile.”

  “Sorry, really. And about Mr. Raber, too. I just thought if I did the asking around, you wouldn’t have to so that you don’t upset your adoptive parents. I’ll be more circumspect next time, make it up to both of you, maybe later this week. Actually, I’ve learned something else you should know but I’d rather tell you in person.”

  “Just a second,” Lydia said, then put the phone behind her back and whispered the way Josh had. “She wants to come back—maybe later this week.”

  Shaking his head and rolling his eyes, Josh took the phone. “Listen, Sandra, I think we’d better give all this a rest, let things calm down. Lydia agrees...Okay, but can’t you just tell her or me over the phone?...Right, right. I think it’s great if you’re ready to see my animals, but—”

  Despite wanting Sandra to stay away, Lydia wondered if the something else she’d turned up was valuable, or just something Lydia already knew. But asking Josh about that flew right out of her head when she saw who had come in and maybe overheard—how much?

  Lydia’s mother had suddenly appeared in the barn with a loaf of bread in her hands when she’d never set foot here on her own before. Josh turned off the phone, obviously surprised to see her, too.

  “Oh, you—Lydia, too,” Mamm said, “using a cell phone? You know the bishop has ruled against that. I brought you this loaf of friendship bread, Joshua, but I hope your friendship with my daughter is not leading her astray with a phone or anything else.”

  * * *

  Ray-Lynn was surprised to see Lydia Brand appear for the early bird breakfast at the restaurant on Tuesday morning. It was usually just wall-to-wall men in here this early.

  “If I take a back booth,” Lydia told her in a quiet voice, “would you have a second to chat?”

  Actually, she didn’t, because she was a server short, but the look on Lydia’s face told her something was really wrong. “Sure. Let me put your order in, and I’ll be right back with coffee. Black?”

  “Yes. Thanks, Ray-Lynn. Just scrambled eggs, sausage and toast.”

  Well, Ray-Lynn thought, she’d never been able to turn down helping one of these genuine, young Amish women this area seemed to breed. Last time Lydia had been in here it had turned into police business. Ray-Lynn knew better than to dabble in that. But she was still fascinated by poor Victoria’s death and how the Starks had chosen to bring her secretly to live with them instead of leaving her in a top-of-the-line Alzheimer’s clinic. It was hardly a money issue, so why isolate the woman and put that burden on themselves? The Amish might keep such family members at home, but the well-to-do, so-called moderns? Not often.

  She put in Lydia’s order, then poured both of them coffee at the booth. “How can I help?” Ray-Lynn asked, sliding into the opposite seat.

  “I guess you know I need help,” the young woman said, staring down into her coffee as if she could read answers there. She gripped the mug with both hands. “At first, I was just going to ask if you knew anyone from the Hostetler family who came in here. I’ve found out I’m somewhat related to them.”

  “I know a few. You want me to ask them to contact you?”

  “No! I’d rather have it the other way around. I could go to see them.”

  “And what else? That’s not really what’s upsetting you, is it?”

  “I have a problem.”

  “Let’s hear it. No beating around the bush. Something else about Victoria Keller and that note?”

  “It’s complicated, and I know you’re busy. I don’t mean to make you a middleman—woman—to the sheriff all the time, but I just want him to know that I was approached by the son of the man who hit my birth parents’ buggy and killed them years ago. His father went to jail for double manslaughter back then, and he thinks I’m bringing it up again, which in a way I am, but I don’t intend to bother them. You know I can’t have anything to do with asking for charges or a restraining order but—”

  “Did this man hurt you?”

  “Just with words. Threats.”

  Ray-Lynn leaned even closer across the table. “Such as?”

  “He said, ‘Don’t think I won’t be watching.’ And I’d be sorry if I didn’t call off my friend.”

  “Josh?”

  “No, Sandra Myerson went to question his father. He got some crazy idea she was a reporter. His son is afraid someone will open up the case, I guess.”

  “As you know, Sandra Myerson caused a real stir in here last week. Somebody ought to put the skids on her.”

  “The man’s name is Leo Lowe, from Parma. Just so the sheriff knows.”

  “I hope you and Josh can shut Ms. Myerson up before she does more damage. I don’t want to see her in the Dutch Table again with her little camera and recorder.”

  “Honestly, Ray-Lynn, she was trying to help me, but she went—went over the edge with it.”

  “I’ll tell the sheriff, and he’ll understand why you can’t get more involved. Amish ways and— Are you still keeping your parents in the dark about looking for your birth family?”

  She nodded solemnly. “I suppose I should tell them—maybe after Christmas. Daad’s busy at the store, Mamm’s delivering bread...”

  “Wish I could get her to bake that for the restaurant. She makes the best in the area. And you and Josh are getting ready to liven up our manger scene.”

  Lydia forced a little smile. “You’re a heaven-sent friend,” she said, reaching out to grip Ray-Lynn’s hand. The girl’s fingers were cold and trembling.

  When Lydia’s breakfast came, Ray-Lynn excused herself to get up, then thought of something else. “By the way, I heard tell that Connor more or less threw Josh’s so-called friend Sandra out when she came to interview him. Anyhow, it didn’t go well. Plus, she got a speeding ticket from the sheriff while she was leaving town, and she told him Connor Stark was a pompous, well, to put it in Yoder rent-an-animal talk, a pompous donkey.”

  “Sandra’s not what—who—she seemed to be at first.”

  “Hell on wheels in more ways than one, and don’t tell Bishop Esh I said that.” Ray-Lynn squeezed Lydia’s shoulder and went back to work, but she was already planning how she’d tell Jack without getting him all riled up that she was nosing in on his official business. After all, the girl had come to her.

  * * *

  Lydia knew the Bible said “Do not fret because it only causes harm,” but she couldn’t help her
self. After Leo Lowe frightened her, she was tempted to put a rearview mirror on her buggy to be sure she wasn’t being followed by him or Gid. But she’d need the bishop’s permission for that. And then he’d want to know why, and one admission would lead to another. Years ago when she’d asked him for advice about trying to find her real parents, he had counseled against it. If he found out to what lengths she was going now, it could even lead to a public confession before the church. But it did make her feel guilty she was keeping so much from Mamm and Daad.

  The continued but welcome frenzy at the furniture store hardly took her mind off her worries. Gid was still polite and kind, but that bothered her. Why had he changed? Was he hoping it would intrigue her and she would ask him? Was he waiting for a sign she really did care for him?

  Daad, as busy as ever, seemed even more frail and gaunt. In the New Year, hopefully he would get more rest.

  When the bishop’s son-in-law Seth Lantz came into the store with his little girl to pick up a new chair for his wife, Hannah, Lydia wondered if it wasn’t a sign from above that she was to consult the bishop again. Ray-Lynn had mentioned Bishop Esh, and, after all, Lydia had not been an adult when she’d talked to him before about her adoptive parents. Maybe she’d taken what he’d said wrong. Since he’d suffered so much with losing his daughter Hannah to the world for a while and had now gotten her back, maybe he could better understand her plight and give her his blessing to search for relatives and more information about her birth parents.

  So on the way home, Lydia pulled her buggy into the Esh farmhouse to see if Bishop Esh had a free moment to speak with her. While Mrs. Esh fussed over them with tea and cookies, Lydia cleared her throat and began, “I would be grateful for your advice, Bishop Esh.”

  “You mind if Mrs. Esh stays?” he said. “Maybe a woman’s point of view as well as mine and the Lord’s, eh?”