A Home for Lydia (The Pebble Creek Amish Series)

by Chapman, Vannetta

  It might have been the first time anyone had asked her if she’d had a piece of cake.

  Chapter 13

  Lydia woke to the smell of bacon frying and knew before she opened her eyes that she’d slept longer than she’d intended. Then she heard two of her younger sisters arguing in the small bathroom next door.

  What time was it? If Clara was up—up and arguing—it was later than it should be. Clara always slept in until the very last minute, especially on Sundays they didn’t have church.

  Lydia forced one eye open and peeked out of the covers. The room was light, so she stuck her entire head out from under the quilt. The sky outside the single small window was a pearly gray.

  The other two beds in her room were empty but unmade.

  And the fight next door was escalating.

  She pulled on her robe and slippers and hurried from the room.

  “I’m not done in here. You’ll have to wait.” Clara’s voice rang out from inside the bathroom.

  “You’ve been in there for ten minutes. Hurry or I’m going to have an accident.” Sally Ann, the youngest of the Fisher family, continued to turn the doorknob back and forth.

  “Girls,” Lydia’s mother called from the kitchen. “Settle down out there or I’ll come take care of it.”

  “Problem, Sally Ann?” Lydia squatted down beside her little sister.

  “I have to goooo…” she allowed the word to drag out as she hopped from foot to foot. “And Clara won’t come out of the bathroom.”

  “I told you. I’m not…finished…yet.” With the last word, Clara yanked the door open at the same moment Sally Ann let go of it, sending Clara sprawling across the bathroom floor and on to her backside.

  All three girls looked at each other in surprise.

  Before anyone could say a word, Sally Ann sprinted past them to use the toilet.

  “You did that on purpose.” Clara spat the words at her as she pulled herself up off the linoleum and smoothed her dress down over her boyish figure. “And you!” She turned on Lydia. “You probably put her up to it. You’re jealous because I’m going to the singing tonight and you’re not.”

  Lydia felt her right eyebrow arch. “You’re getting ready now? For something that’s twelve hours away?”

  “Humph. At least I have something to look forward to, unlike some people around here.” Clara brushed past her and into the kitchen.

  “I’m here, mamm,” she declared, her voice suddenly all sugar and sunshine. “What can I do to help while Lydia and Sally Ann dawdle in the bathroom?”

  Sally Ann washed her hands and reached for the towel. “Why’s she so mean, Lydia? Were you that way at sixteen? Am I going to be that way?”

  “Clara’s having a difficult time right now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because being sixteen is hard.”

  “You were sixteen once. I don’t remember you being so terrible. What do you mean—hard? Like math is hard?”

  Had she been sixteen once? She could barely remember. Sixteen years old. That had been six years ago. An eternity ago. Before her father became sick. “Don’t worry about Clara. You go change your clothes, and then I’ll help you with your hair.”

  Ten minutes later they were all at the breakfast table—all six of the Fisher children. Lydia had recently turned twenty-two and was beginning to feel like an old maid. Clara was sixteen and should be working now, but jobs had been hard to find. Martha and Amanda were the middle girls at eleven and ten. Last of the girls was Sally Ann, who was eight and small for her age. The only boy, Stephen, was fourteen and in his last year of school.

  Menno and Ella sat together at the end of the table. Her mother always sat near her father so she could help him eat. The place at the other end was left for Lydia. She put the bowl of fried potatoes on the table, sat, and bowed her head.

  The moments of grace often left her confused.

  There was much she was grateful for, and she had no problem offering up those words to Gotte. They had a home in the community in which she was raised. Her brother and sisters were healthy. Her mother was a constant source of strength. Her father had not died from the terrible disease that could have taken him years ago.

  Her father…

  Sitting with her family surrounding her, with her dad at the end, so often unable to even eat the food they put in front of him, she often found herself wondering about Gotte’s provision. Then she would reprimand herself, and the clatter of dishes would bring her out of her prayer.

  More times than not, she’d find Stephen studying her when she raised her eyes. Were his thoughts the same as hers? Did he struggle as she did? Surely the burden on him would be even greater than the one she carried.

  “I heard you were at Amish Anthem yesterday,” Stephen said, reaching for the potatoes.

  Lydia nodded as she helped the younger girls fill their plates.

  “It’s still the talk of the town, even though it’s been open a while now.” Her mamm smiled as she helped her dat with his food.

  “I thought you were working, Lydia.” Clara pushed the strings of her prayer kapp behind her shoulders. “I’m sure we all would have enjoyed a shopping trip yesterday, but the rest of us were here cleaning the house.”

  Four sets of eyes turned and stared at her. All the girls—Clara, Martha, Amanda, and even Sally Ann. Her mother, father, and brother continued eating.

  After a moment, Ella stood and walked to the counter. “If Lydia was at the new place in town, I’m sure there was a reason.” She came back with a bowl and put Menno’s potatoes, eggs, and sausage in it, which she began mashing all together.

  Menno looked at Lydia and winked.

  “Was it, Lydia? Was it for work?” Clara emphasized the last word as if it might be a foreign idea to everyone else.

  Or maybe Lydia was imagining that. One thing was certain, working for Aaron Troyer sounded better and better each moment she had to spend with Clara.

  “Yes, it was for work. Aaron—”

  “Who?”

  “Aaron. Aaron Troyer, Ervin and Elizabeth’s nephew.”

  “Oh, yes. Elizabeth told me he’s a very nice young man. Came all the way from Indiana to help run the cabins.” Ella spooned some of the mush into Menno’s mouth. He dutifully chewed it but waved her away when she tried to feed him more.

  “Young? And from Indiana?” Clara perked up considerably. “So that’s why you’ve been spending such long hours at the cabins. Could it be my older sister is finally interested in a man?”

  Lydia didn’t rise to the bait, though she did send her sister what she hoped was a scathing look. All she received back was a smile that could have curdled milk. What was with Clara this morning? Maybe she was spending too much time at home. For all their sakes, Lydia hoped she found a job and soon.

  The morning settled into the quiet rhythm of spoons on plates and raindrops on the roof.

  “I’m finished,” Stephen suddenly declared. “Think I’ll be heading back out to look after Tin Star.”

  “Oh, no, you won’t.” Ella shook her head. “It’s still Sunday morning, whether we have church today or not. You’ll stay in here and study with us.”

  “Mamm, Lydia was gone with him all day yesterday. I need to check his hooves and give him a gut brushing.”

  “That horse will wait, Stephen Fisher. You’ll stay right here with your family. Now help your dat into the living room while we clean up these dishes.”

  Stephen didn’t argue any further. When he helped Menno to stand and slipped his father’s arm over his shoulder, Lydia saw such a mixture of emotions on his face that she had to look away.

  She began gathering dishes while Ella made sure the younger girls washed their hands.

  “So what gives, sis? What’s with the new boss? And shopping? And keeping secrets?” Clara dipped the first dish into the water, careful not to splash any soap onto the sleeves of her dress.

  “No secrets.”

  “Then why won’t you
talk about it?”

  “You’ve never been interested in my work before.”

  “Why would I be interested in what old Ervin Troyer was doing? How old is this Aaron?”

  “Too old for you, I suspect.” Ella walked up beside them and picked up a dish towel. “Do you like working for him, Lydia?”

  Lydia thought of his eyes, the one bright smile he’d shared with her, and the way he had of taking over a place all of a sudden. She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter if I like it or not. He’s the boss now, and he’s making big changes.”

  She started to rinse a plate, but then she noticed it still had egg on it and handed it back to Clara.

  “What kind of changes?” Ella asked.

  Lydia gave them a brief outline of what Aaron had in mind.

  “Sounds gut for our community.” Ella slipped a dried plate into the cabinet. “Most families could use more income. Nearly everyone makes things at home they could sell, and word is that they can’t expect to earn much from Drake.”

  “I’m not surprised, based on what Miriam and Gabe said of their meetings with the man.” Lydia elbowed her sister, who had stopped washing and was gazing out the window.

  “Ouch.”

  “Dishes!”

  Clara rolled her eyes but resumed washing.

  “If we can get the business Aaron thinks we will, I’m going to have more work than I can handle. Between cleaning cabins, selling goods, and reordering items, we’ll need more help.”

  “More help?” Clara’s voice climbed a notch.

  “Don’t even think—”

  “Why not? I’m a gut worker.”

  “Since when? You’re washing those dishes with your fingertips when you do them at all.”

  “Mamm, tell her.”

  “Your schweschder does need a job.”

  “But—”

  “It would be a gut way for her to mature.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And bring in some extra income, which Gotte knows we could use.”

  “But, mamm—”

  “Danki for thinking of her, Lydia.” Ella reached forward and kissed her on the forehead. She walked around to Clara and kissed her as well. “Clara, danki for offering. Does my heart gut to see you two girls work together. Isn’t it amazing how Gotte provides?”

  Lydia’s mind scrambled for a way out of the approaching predicament. “It’s not certain there will even be another job, mamm.”

  “I understand. But we’ll make it a matter of prayer. I have a feeling this Aaron Troyer knows what he’s doing, and Gotte has a plan. Never forget that. Now I think I’ll go check on your dat. You girls finish up here and come join us for our Bible study.”

  Clara waited until Ella was out of sight before she collapsed onto one of the kitchen chairs.

  “What are you doing? We’re not finished.”

  “I am. My hands look like prunes. Disgusting.” She held them up for Lydia to examine, but Lydia didn’t bother. She closed her eyes, wondering if she could go to bed and start this day over. Maybe she could somehow leave out telling her family about the changes at the cabins.

  If she could replay the morning, there would be no risk of having to work beside Clara all day, every day.

  The mere thought of it caused her shoulders to tense up and a headache to form at the base of her neck. Clara? At the Plain Cabins?

  She silently finished the breakfast dishes, and then they walked together into the sitting room. It was nowhere near as big as their old sitting room in their old house out on their old farm. She might be the only one of the children who could remember that. Maybe Stephen remembered. Maybe that was the reason for the anger and sadness in his eyes from time to time.

  Maybe he understood what they had lost.

  Somehow all six of the Fisher children, Ella, and Menno fit into the small sitting area. They gathered round.

  Menno didn’t have enough strength in his lungs to read the Scripture. Farmer’s lung had robbed him of that as it had robbed them of many things. But he was able to open his Bible, run his finger down the page, and find the Scripture he wanted read.

  Lydia sat there watching her father’s hands, spotted with age, and thinner now—much thinner. In that moment, a dozen memories passed through her mind and traveled over her heart. Her father holding her hand as he walked her into the schoolhouse the first day, helping her up into the buggy, handing her a Christmas present. His hands as they dealt cards for Dutch Blitz or helped to birth a calf or smoothed the blankets on her bed.

  Her father’s hands had always represented strength to her, but looking at them now—with the strength gone—she realized that, more than strength, they represented love and patience.

  Menno leaned forward and set the Bible on the table. He reached for Stephen with his right hand and Ella with his left. Slowly, each family member reached out to the person beside them, until they formed a circle, unbroken.

  Wordlessly, they all bowed their heads.

  This time when she prayed, Lydia had no problem being grateful. She forgot about being irritated with Clara or worrying about the cabins. She didn’t think to question God’s decisions or fret over what was to come. She closed her eyes, nestled in the warmth of her family, and thanked the Lord that for the moment at least, the circle remained intact.

  Chapter 14

  Miriam frowned at her father.

  “She’s old enough,” Joshua said, “and you know it.”

  The fact that he was right didn’t settle the feeling in her stomach.

  “You were a year younger. Now let her have some fun.” Joshua smiled at her and brushed his fingers over his beard.

  “I’ll be careful. I promise. Please.” In the end it was the hopeful look on Grace’s face that convinced her, that and the knowledge that she wouldn’t do it if Miriam had said no.

  “All right, but absolutely no trotting. Do you promise?”

  “We promise!” Grace ran to the other side of the pasture fence, where one of Joshua’s older mares stood patiently waiting.

  “She’ll be fine.” Abigail stood next to her, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders even though the Sunday afternoon was turning warm. The rain had stopped early in the morning, and the sun had finally made an appearance. Abigail was holding Rachel in her arms and smiling. “You loved learning to ride in a saddle.”

  “I haven’t done it in years. The horse looks so large and Grace looks so small.”

  “You’re looking at it as a mother instead of as an adventure.”

  “I guess you’re right. Are you cold, mamm?”

  “Maybe a tad.”

  “Do you want to go inside?” Miriam studied her mother. Had she lost more weight? It occurred to her again that Abigail had grown thinner as she moved into the latter half of her fifties. She didn’t have any extra weight to lose.

  “No. The shawl is gut. I want to hold Rachel and watch Gracie ride. Now, quit worrying and do stop staring at me that way.”

  “Should I be worrying?”

  “You sound like your father.”

  “He’s worried too?”

  Instead of answering, Abigail nodded to the commotion on the other side. “She’s in the saddle.”

  And indeed she was. Wearing a pair of her cousin’s britches under her dress, Grace had climbed on to the old mare and was sitting pretty. She clutched the saddle horn as if it had the power to save her from any disaster and broke into laughter when the mare started to move.

  Joshua led the horse by a rope, and before they had gone the length of the pasture, Gabe had walked out of the barn to watch. He climbed up on the fence across from them and waved, and then he proceeded to cheer Grace on as if she were in a buggy race.

  Grace released one hand from the saddle as she passed their side of the pasture so that she could wave. “I’m doing it! I’m riding.”

  “Be careful,” Miriam called.

  “I will, mamm. But look! I’m doing it.”

  The word was said so
simply, so casually, and it was followed by another peal of laughter. Miriam knew Grace wasn’t aware she’d even said it. She brushed at the tear on her cheek, wondering if her hormones were still out of whack because of the baby.

  “First time?” Abigail asked.

  “Ya. Well, it’s the first time she hasn’t backtracked and corrected herself, calling me Miriam instead.”

  Abigail nodded and smiled. “She’s a gut girl, and she’s been through a lot in the last few years. The Lord is healing her heart, in the same way He healed her voice.”

  “He is.” Miriam exhaled a big breath as Grace began a second lap around the pasture. Closing her eyes, she placed both hands on the cedar post fence, relishing in the warmth of the wood. It would be nice if she could stop this day, slow it down a little, and keep Rachel and Grace the age they each were right now.

  “How are things with you and Gabe?”

  Miriam’s eyes flew open. “Gut. Why do you ask?”

  “Sometimes things are…difficult after a baby.”

  Placing her chin on her hands, Miriam stared across at her husband, who had taken to calling out at his daughter as if he were an Englisch rodeo clown. “He’s patient with me, especially when I’m emotional. And he helps with the boppli.”

  “Perfect man, huh?”

  “Maybe not perfect. He learned some bad habits while he was a bachelor—like tracking mud into the kitchen and leaving dirty socks all over the house. I found one on the front porch the other day and its mate in the sink. Why in the world—”

  “If that’s the worst he does, I’m thinking you can live with it, Miriam.”

  Grace passed them again, and Miriam heard herself shout, “Hold on, honey!”

  After a moment she added, “Ya. It’s only socks. I can learn to live with a little messiness. You’re right.”

  “Of course I’m right.”

  Rachel began to cry and Miriam took her boppli back in her arms.