A Home for Lydia (The Pebble Creek Amish Series)

by Chapman, Vannetta

  Lydia wasn’t convinced, and it must have showed on her face, for Gabe pushed on. “She’s the one house I stopped at who was making gut money at Drake’s. Said he’d actually raised the price from what she set it at because they sold out of the first bundle she sent—both the dolls and the bonnets. But she said she’d rather sell things here with you. She said not only would she make more, but she’d sleep better at night.”

  “What about Miriam’s bruder David? He’s going to bring some of his toys, right?”

  “Ya, I think so.” Gabe caved in and reached for one of the cookies as well. “Lydia, don’t forget to offer your mamm’s baked goods. I know they will sell.”

  Lydia was momentarily distracted by the thought of extra income for her family and by the knowledge of how it would help, but then her eyes refocused on the pile of stuff in front of her. “This isn’t a large room, Aaron. When we have a few families here and I’m serving breakfast, it becomes full quickly. Add in a general store, and we’ll be tripping over each other. Or maybe you’re thinking of building a store on the property?”

  “That’s not a bad idea, actually. Write that down for phase two, would you?”

  “Phase two? I was kidding!”

  “It’s a gut idea, though,” Gabe said. “You’re lucky to have her around, Aaron.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  Lydia sighed. “You two aren’t listening to me. We offer a place for people to sleep and then we provide them breakfast. Where are you going to put all of this?”

  Both men stopped chewing long enough to stare around the office. It was well constructed, like the cabins.

  And it was Plain.

  “David suggested building shelves.” Aaron stood and walked to the far wall. It was bare, without pictures or a window. “We’ll put them here, floor to ceiling.”

  “And all of this is going on the shelves?” Lydia tried to envision it and then scolded herself for being such a pessimist.

  “No. I want you to go to work on cabins two, seven, and eight. They have the best view of the river. Those will be our three new Plain cabins…”

  “New because…” Lydia felt Gabe’s eyes on them, watching, enjoying the tug as Aaron pulled her over to his vision.

  “Because we have to start somewhere. Our guests want a home away from home, and we’re going to give them one—a simple, clean, Plain one.” He walked around the table, collecting a quilt, a walking stick, some rugs, a walnut bowl, and a doll, and then he placed them all into her arms. “You start on cabin two while Gabe and I fetch wood for shelving.”

  “Sure, boss. It’s not like we have any customers I need to get ready for.”

  “Well, you will have. I’m also picking up some office supplies. You’re about to start a letter-writing campaign.”

  What was a letter-writing campaign?

  Not that she should complain. She needed this job, and with empty cabins, she realized Aaron couldn’t pay her to sit around in the office chair. So she’d tote new quilts into cabins near the river and she’d write letters.

  Sure. She could do that.

  It didn’t bother her so much that she wouldn’t do it.

  She squared her shoulders as she traipsed down the trail toward the river. Hard work had never bothered her.

  What did worry her maybe a smidgen was Aaron Troyer. As he had fetched his hat off the hook by the door, she thought she heard him whistling. She was sure she saw a grin on Gabe’s face. The two of them together might manage to patch a leaky roof and build shelves. They might complete a lot of work that needed to be done, but there was also the potential for trouble—same as when two boys sitting at the back of the classroom took to whispering.

  Trouble.

  She could smell it, like rain in the air.

  Chapter 18

  Miriam was ready to leave for her mother’s house Tuesday morning as soon as Grace had climbed into Eli’s buggy. Their old freind smiled and lifted a hand as he pulled away, his vehicle filled with his children bundled and eager for school. A familiar pang sliced into Miriam’s heart as she thought about the schoolhouse and the days she’d spent teaching there, but she pushed the memory down. Today she needed to focus on her family. There was no time to look toward the past.

  “We could drive Grace to school ourselves now,” she said to her husband.

  “And deny her the chance to ride with Sadie? It would break both of their hearts, not to mention hurting Eli’s feelings.” Gabe finished harnessing Belle.

  “I didn’t want to bring it up in front of Grace, but what did you think of the grade she received on her report?”

  “The B? I was happy with it.”

  “Yes, but Gabe, it was a fine paper. There were no errors in spelling or grammar.”

  Gabe stopped fiddling with the horse, stepped closer, and cupped her face in his hands. Kissing her softly on the lips, he whispered, “You’re a gut mamm. You know that, right?”

  “Yes, but—” Miriam tried to put her thoughts back into order.

  “Grace explained about the grade and about the meeting with Miss Bena.”

  Miss Bena, that’s what she’d meant to talk to him about before he’d kissed her, before he’d distracted her.

  “The drawing is the best she’s ever done,” she said.

  “And I think the bishop will appreciate seeing it.”

  “So you believe the grade to be fair?”

  Gabe leaned forward and kissed her again—this time his lips like the brush of a breeze against hers. “I think it would do more harm than good to argue over it. Grace knows we are proud of her.”

  Miriam nodded. Every teacher graded differently—some more harshly than others. Perhaps it wouldn’t be beneficial to confront Miss Bena over the paper.

  “Want me to keep the boppli? She might be small, but she’s a gut helper in the barn.”

  “Gabe Miller. Rachel is not even three months old and already you are trying to get her more used to the smells of the barn than the kitchen.”

  Gabe smiled but didn’t deny it.

  “I’d rather take her along. It will be gut to have her with us. She can cheer mamm up some.”

  “Maybe it’s you that needs cheering.”

  “Ya, maybe so.”

  As Gabe handed her up, Rachel reached out, swatting at Miriam’s kapp strings. Miriam kissed her once, closing her eyes and breathing in her sweet powdery baby scent. Then she tucked her into the carrier on the floor of the buggy.

  “I’ll come with you if you like.”

  “Of course not. There’s little worse than a man in a doctor’s waiting room.”

  Gabe pulled on his beard. “I believe I should feel insulted, but I don’t.”

  “Gut. I expect to be home after lunch.”

  “I’ll be watching for you. If the sun stays out, I could be in the west field by then.” He handed her the reins to Belle, and they set off at a nice easy trot.

  An hour later, her mother was in the buggy beside her, baby Rachel tucked in the carrier at her feet, and they were headed toward town.

  “You know your dat would have been happy to take me.”

  “Would you rather have ridden with him?”

  “No. He’s like a bull in an unfamiliar pen when he’s inside the doc’s office. He never knows whether he should wait out in the visitors’ area or come into the exam room with me. It’s all very awkward.”

  “Then I’m glad I came.”

  “Afterward, I’d like you to take me by to see Lydia at the cabins.” Abigail pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, though the day was warm. “I’d like to see what they are doing. Everyone’s talking about the improvements.”

  “Maybe we should wait and see whether you’re up to it. We should listen to what Doc Hanson says.”

  Abigail gave her the look, and Miriam wanted to laugh but she couldn’t…not with the stone of fear tumbling around in her stomach.

  “Miriam Miller. Regardless what Dr. Hanson says, I believe
I know when I feel gut enough to visit neighbors, and visiting is what I plan on doing later this morning.”

  “Yes, mamm. It’s only that—”

  “Miriam.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  The soothing clip-clop of Belle’s hooves filled the morning. A bird called from its perch in the woods. And the sound of Pebble Creek provided a pleasant harmony behind it all.

  “Rachel is smiling at me.”

  “Is she?”

  “I believe she heard me scolding you.”

  “Perhaps she did.” Now Miriam was smiling, along with her mother and her daughter. The worry hadn’t left her stomach, but it had been wrapped in something she was familiar with—the constant reminder that she should appreciate this moment, this day.

  It wasn’t in her nature to worry. When she did, when she gave into it, she felt almost as if she had a terrible stomachache. Like when she used to eat too much of her aenti’s pie or when she stayed up too late reading with the aid of a flashlight hidden under her blankets. In the first case, the sugar went to work on her, leaving her stomach roiling. In the second, it was guilt, pure and simple—knowing she was disobeying the rules and also realizing she would be very tired the next day.

  Worrying was much the same. It seemed like it went against her system, and it also felt like she was disobeying.

  Rachel chortled.

  “Now she’s blowing bubbles.” Abigail seemed satisfied with her granddaughter’s progress.

  Belle trotted down the road, and an Englisch car slowed as the passenger snapped a picture of their buggy. Miriam knew they meant no harm. She understood that her black mare made a pretty sight indeed this summer morning.

  By the time they pulled into the doctor’s office, a sharp smell was coming from the baby carrier and Rachel had begun to fuss.

  “She’s wet through and through,” Abigail said.

  “I’ll take care of her while you check in.”

  The waiting room was filled with Amish and Englisch, aged preschool to elderly. By the time Miriam returned from the ladies’ room, Abigail was deep in conversation with the wife of one of the Englisch pastors. Abigail had seen her in town before but couldn’t remember the woman’s name or what congregation her husband guided.

  They were talking about a benefit for a child with cancer that was to be held at the hospital in Eau Claire. Miriam caught bits and pieces of the conversation as she settled into the chair with Rachel. She couldn’t hear what her mother promised to do, but she did hear the pastor’s wife say, “I’ll stop by your home next week to pick them up.”

  Before she could ask what the woman was going to pick up, the doctor’s nurse appeared at the door and called “Abigail King.”

  Miriam’s heart rate kicked up a notch, which was ridiculous. Why did doctors make her naerfich?

  Dr. Hanson had always treated them kindly. Still, her palms began to sweat as she gathered Rachel’s things and stood.

  Then the thought occurred to her that perhaps her mother would rather go inside alone. She stood there, indecisive and sweating, as Abigail made her way toward the nurse.

  “Do you want us to wait here or come with you?” Miriam realized too late that she sounded like her father.

  Abigail paused and turned her head like a small bird listening for something important in the breeze. “Better to come. Then I won’t have to explain to you what he says, and you can be the one to tell it over again to your bruders. That will save me a lot of trouble.”

  Ever the practical one, Miriam thought, following in her mother’s wake as she proceeded around the chairs, through the doorway, and into the inner room. A moment later the nurse was holding her mother’s shawl and weighing her.

  Virginia had been Dr. Hanson’s nurse for the past three years. She was almost as round as she was tall, and she was short by any measure. A very motherly type, she put patients at ease immediately. Miriam judged her to be in her mid-thirties, but it was hard to tell with Englischers. Her skin was a beautiful ivory white and her hair, tumbling free down the back of her scrubs, was a bright red.

  The scrubs featured Dalmatian puppies. They frolicked about completely unaware of how serious this visit might be.

  “Let me check that one more time, sweetie.” Frowning, Virginia motioned for Abigail to step up onto the scale again. When she had, the nurse tapped the number into a device the size of a book.

  “What happened to my chart?” Abigail asked.

  “We’ve gone digital. Everything’s on computers now. This way if you go to the hospital, they’ll have access to your records.”

  “I don’t plan on going to the hospital.”

  “Patients rarely do. That’s why it’s helpful to have the data transfer automatically.” Virginia glanced up, caught sight of Rachel, and beamed. “We haven’t seen this one yet.”

  “No, she’s a little young for Doc Hanson.”

  “True. We’ll have to wait a few years, I suppose.” She stepped closer as they moved toward the examining room, reached out, and cupped her hand around the back of Rachel’s head. “Did you birth her at home?”

  “I did. At my mamm’s, actually.”

  “Oh, Abigail. You helped to deliver her?”

  “Most natural thing in the world, and you know that, Virginia. Didn’t I hear that you’ve been assisting our midwife in your off-hours?”

  A smile crept across Virginia’s face as she directed Abigail to sit on the examining table and motioned Miriam toward the extra chair. Slipping the blood pressure cuff on Abigail’s arm, she admitted, “I’m working on my master’s degree.”

  All conversation halted as she took Abigail’s blood pressure and noted it on the small computer. “For one of my projects this semester, I was studying home births among the Amish.”

  “Ya, and what did you learn?” Abigail asked.

  Virginia’s expression turned suddenly serious. “Five of the six births I attended went off without a hitch. I learned that childbirth is, as you say, a very natural thing. One birth though, had complications. We had to call in an ambulance. If the emergency medical personnel hadn’t arrived in time, I’m not sure the baby would have lived.”

  “I know the family you mean, and the woman should have seen a doctor beforehand. Several of us visited her and tried to talk her into going, but she refused.”

  “And yet they let me attend the birth.”

  “It’s hard to understand people sometimes, whether they are Amish or Englisch.”

  Miriam listened to this exchange as she held Rachel to her shoulder, rubbing tiny circles along her back. Her mother was so caught up in the conversation that she seemed to have forgotten why she was in Doc Hanson’s office. Or perhaps her mother was so involved in all of the lives around her that she often dismissed her own problems.

  “Doc will be in soon.”

  Then it was only the three of them, waiting.

  Abigail didn’t even pretend to read the magazines next to the bed. Instead, she opened her handbag, pulled out her knitting, and set to work. Miriam continued to lull Rachel to sleep as she stared at drawings done by young patients and tacked to the doctor’s wall. In most of them his head was quite disproportionate to his body. In many of them, probably the ones drawn by Amish children, his Englisch car was in the background. In all of them he had his stethoscope around his neck, had bushy eyebrows, and was smiling.

  The door opened, and for a fraction of a second Miriam’s and Abigail’s eyes met.

  “Hello, Abigail. Miriam. And this must be Rachel.” Doc’s hand brushed the curly brown hair at the top of her boppli’s head. Like Gabe, he had big hands. Miriam’s father often said if Doc had been born Amish, he’d have made a fine farmer with those hands.

  Virginia walked in behind him and shut the door. She was still carrying the small computer and set it on the counter where the other medical supplies were.

  Doc sat down on the stool with the wheels, and then he took the knitting from Abigail and placed it on t
op of her bag. He cocked his head, looked at her, and waited.

  “Joshua insisted I come see you,” she finally admitted.

  “Ahh.” Doc Hanson scrubbed a hand down his jaw line. “What’s got him worried?”

  “I’m still losing weight.”

  “How much since last time, Virginia?”

  “Eleven pounds,” she said softly.

  Miriam felt the stone within her stomach grow.

  “Don’t suppose you’re dieting.”

  “Nein. I don’t believe in such silliness unless someone has a health issue, and you know I have no diabetes.”

  “Do you have any appetite? Do you eat?”

  Abigail’s hands came out in front of her, as if she were blind and searching for her way. “Ya. I think so. At least I am hungry at first, but then…then when I sit down to dinner not so much. That’s probably normal for my age, though.”

  “Maybe. Why don’t you lay back for me. I’d like to check your stomach.”

  Virginia took Abigail’s shawl as she stretched out on the table.

  “Nice shawl, but it’s a warm day. Do you find you’re cold a lot?”

  “Oh, ya. I guess that’s the change.”

  Doc glanced over at Virginia, and she shook her head no. “You went through the change already, Abigail. That’s a one-way road. Don’t have to go down it twice.”

  The doctor continued to touch her stomach gently. Miriam tried to watch his hands, his expression, Virginia’s response, and her mother’s reaction all at the same time.

  “Feeling any pain when I do that?”

  “Nein.”

  “How about here?”

  “Still no. Joshua, he worries more now that he’s old.”

  Doc Hanson smiled as he rolled his stool to the other side of the exam table, then he looked up and winked at Miriam. The stone in her stomach shrank a little.

  “Do you worry?”

  “Gotte’s wille is fine with me, Grady Lee Hanson. It’s not my place to be questioning what His plans are for this old woman.”

  He smiled at the use of his full name, which Miriam had never even heard. “Uh-huh. You can sit up now. How long has your hand been shaking?”

  “Started a while ago. It comes and goes.”