Lydia's Hope

by Marta Perry

  “My mother’s. Lydia and the boys had brought some supper over for my mother and sister, because they’d . . . we’d . . . been out all afternoon.” Something about the way he said the words sounded as if it was serious.

  “I hope nothing’s wrong with your mother.”

  “No, we were . . .” Again he stopped, as if editing what he said to her. “She broke her hip a few months ago, and she’s still on the mend. It was thoughtful of Lydia to bring supper so Mamm could have a rest.”

  His calling his mother Mamm the way the Amish did reminded her that he’d grown up Amish, and she still hadn’t heard that story. Not that it was any of her business, of course.

  “So, anyway, what are you doing at work today?” He changed the subject as if his family was out of bounds.

  “I’m setting up a new display of Pennsylvania Dutch folk art. The museum owns more items than it can possibly display, so we keep rotating things in and out of storage.”

  “Sounds interesting. I’ll have to stop by and see it the next time I’m in the city. Maybe you could give me a guided tour.”

  “That might be arranged.” She wasn’t flirting with him, was she? “As a thank-you for sending me the picture. I hope Lydia said it was all right,” she added quickly.

  “It was her suggestion. It surprised me, coming from her, but as she said, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t see a photo of the boys. It’s not as if she wanted it for herself.”

  “Isn’t that kind of silly? I mean, that whole prohibition against photos . . .” She stopped, reminding herself that Seth had been raised Amish and might not appreciate yet another negative comment.

  “The Amish interpret the Bible in a fairly literal way, and they tend to equate photographs with the graven images that are forbidden. Although I’ve heard the bishop say that the harm comes in the attitude—if you displayed a photograph it might be out of pride.”

  “It all sounds more complicated than I’d thought.” She was reminded of Kendra’s disbelief that she didn’t know more about the Amish.

  Seth’s laugh sounded a bit rueful. “The Amish may be plain, but there’s nothing simple about their beliefs. Anyway, Lydia wanted you to have the photo, so I was happy to take it and send it.”

  “And what about Adam?” The stern-faced man who’d said scarcely a word at lunch didn’t look like someone who’d have a liberal interpretation of anything.

  “Yet to be determined,” Seth said, his voice light. “Lydia didn’t say anything to him in advance. You know the saying, sometimes it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.”

  “She shouldn’t have to do either.” Chloe’s voice was tart with disapproval. Women had every right that men did to make decisions.

  “Well, Lydia doesn’t see it that way, and we have to respect her beliefs.”

  “Even when those beliefs are hopelessly old-fashioned?”

  “That’s her choice,” he said. “Just as it was your mother’s.”

  Chloe’s throat tightened at the thought of everything that had come from that decision. And everything that was still to come, most likely.

  “Have you given any more thought to coming to Pleasant Valley for a visit?” Seth asked.

  She might have known he would ask that question if given a chance. “I’ve been busy with the new display and all.” That didn’t sound like a very convincing excuse, and it annoyed her that she found it necessary to make any to him. “I said I’d consider it, and I will.”

  He was silent for a few seconds. “I hope so,” he said finally. “Your sister would appreciate it. Thanks for calling, Chloe.” He hung up before she could say anything else.

  Not that she had anything left to say. She’d been rude. But he’d been pushy, so didn’t he deserve it?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Lydia stood at the sink, swishing the dandelion greens she’d just cut in a pan of water. The trick with dandelion greens was to cut them early, while they were still small and tender. She’d fix a hot bacon dressing—

  The back screen door rattled, and Adam came into the kitchen, wiping off his shoes on the mat.

  “Look!” She held up a wet handful of greens. “A taste of spring for supper tonight.”

  His solemn expression vanished in a smile. “Your favorite, ja? Dandelion greens with hot bacon dressing.”

  “Not just me, I think.” She smiled up at him as he came to look over her shoulder, relieved that they were thinking in tandem again.

  “There’ll be some green onions from the garden in another couple of days, I’d say.” Adam leaned against the counter, a sign he had time to talk. “You can fix some boiled potatoes with them.”

  “Ja, that will be gut. Maybe some ham to go with.” It had been a favorite spring meal when she was growing up.

  Adam nodded, glancing through the window over the sink. “Where are the boys?”

  “They came home from school all excited because Teacher Mary gave them their parts for the end-of-school program. Daniel insisted they practice in the barn, so we’ll be surprised.”

  “Hard to believe it’s that close to the end of the school year.” Adam was frowning slightly.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll hear all about their parts,” she said. “Can you imagine David keeping a secret for long?” Her smile invited him to join in her amusement, but he seemed suddenly far away.

  A feather of concern touched her. He was worried about not having found a job yet, that was certain-sure, and she hated to see him so down.

  “Daniel asked me what they should give Teacher Mary for her end-of-year gift.” She went on talking, hoping she could bring back his smile. “David said he thought she’d like a baseball, but I suspect that’s really what he wants.”

  Adam focused on her. “A softball, maybe, for his birthday.”

  She nodded. “Anyway, I was thinking that maybe we could buy Teacher Mary a book. You know how she loves to read.”

  Adam’s face tightened. “We can’t buy everything you think of, Lydia. Baseballs and books . . .” He stopped, shaking his head, his lips pressed together.

  Ach, she was foolish, talking so when Adam was worried about bringing money in. What had she been thinking?

  “Teacher Mary would probably rather have a basket of my jams and jellies anyway,” she said quickly. “And David can just as well use the ball we have already.”

  “I’m sorry,” Adam muttered, making her heart twist. “I’ll find something soon. I promise.”

  “Adam, you don’t need to fret about it.” She reached out to touch him, wanting to comfort him and not sure how. “We’ll make out all right.”

  But he took a step away, as if her comforting wasn’t what he wanted, and her heart hurt even worse.

  “I had your daad look at the big old tree in the middle of the orchard while he was here.” He seemed to push the words out, as if he didn’t want to say them but he had to.

  “Ja?” She looked at him, puzzled.

  “The trunk is starting to split. It’s an old tree, not producing like it used to. Your daad and I agreed that it’s time for it to come down.”

  She could only stare at him, trying to process what he was saying. “Come down? You want to cut down my mamm’s tree?”

  “It’s not what I want,” Adam said. “It’s what is the sensible thing to do. You know as well as I do that trees get old, just like anything else. We wouldn’t want it to come down in a storm—”

  “It’s not going to come down in a storm.” She seemed to have a band around her chest, constricting her heart, making it hard even to take a breath. “That tree has stood for years, and it will stand for more. You can’t cut it down.”

  “Lydia, it’s only a tree.”

  “It’s not only a tree.” Didn’t he see what this meant to her? “It was my mamm’s favorite place. It was where she told us stories and played with us. It’s my connection to her.” Tears blinded her eyes. “That’s why you want to cut it down, isn’t it? Because it reminds yo
u of my Englisch mother!”

  Unable to say another word without crying, she ran from the room.

  * * *

  Adam knew he’d made a mess of telling Lydia about the tree, just as he’d feared he would. But what was he supposed to do? Couldn’t Lydia understand that he was only trying to do what was best? It was ridiculous to think he’d be taking his feelings out on a tree.

  Not that he had feelings of any sort about Lydia’s long-dead mother, Adam assured himself.

  A rustle of movement made him turn. Daniel and David stood in the doorway. His heart seemed to skip a beat. How much had they heard? Too much, judging by their pale faces and big eyes.

  “Daadi?” Daniel’s voice squeaked. “Was ist letz? Why is Mammi crying?”

  “Ach, it’s nothing big.” He tried to sound jovial and succeeded in sounding a bit ferhoodled. “I had to tell Mammi that the big old tree in the orchard is splitting, and that made her sad. She remembers sitting in the tree when she was a little girl, and she doesn’t want to lose it.”

  David’s lips trembled. “She sounded like she was mad at you.”

  Ach, Lydia, why aren’t you here to cope with the boys? You would do it much better than I can.

  He drew them closer, a hand on each shoulder. “You know, sometimes when we’re upset about something we take it out on whoever or whatever is closest. Like when you threw your pencil when you couldn’t get your arithmetic to come out right. Remember?”

  They considered that explanation, and he thought they looked a little relieved.

  “You can go out and play for a while before chores.” He ruffled their corn-silk hair. “Go on now.”

  They went, but without the release of energy that usually sent them flying out the door for play. Maybe he should have said more, but he didn’t know what else it could be. Dealing with hurt feelings was Lydia’s job, not his.

  He went to the bottom of the stairs and looked up, alert for any sound that would tell him what Lydia was doing. He couldn’t hear a thing.

  “Lydia?”

  No answer.

  “I’m going out to the barn. The kinder are outside playing.” Settling his hat squarely on his head, he walked out, letting the back door bang a little louder than was really necessary.

  Daniel and David were tossing a ball back and forth in the backyard. Adam went on past them to the barn. The latch on one of the stall doors was loose, and it had best be fixed before the buggy horse decided to take a stroll.

  He checked the latch, discovered that the screw was stripped, and went back out to the toolshed to get a new one and the screwdriver. The game of catch seemed to be in recess at the moment. Daniel and David were standing eye to eye, most likely arguing over who should retrieve the ball. He could see it from here—a white shape gleaming under the rosebush by the porch.

  Leaving the toolshed door open for light, he sorted through the box of screws to find one the right size. The routine chore was calming, smoothing away the rough edges of that exchange with Lydia. They would talk about the tree again, calmly. He’d show her the split that had him and Joseph concerned. Lydia would understand.

  Taking the screw and screwdriver, he went back outside and froze. Daniel and David weren’t glaring at each other. They were rolling on the ground, pummeling each other.

  He ran toward them, shouting, “Daniel! David! Stop that at once!” He reached them, pulling them apart and holding them like a mother cat hauling her kittens by the scruff of the neck.

  “What do you mean by this? Fighting is not how we settle disagreements in this family.”

  Even as he spoke he saw Lydia come flying out the door. “Are you hurt?” she said, looking from one to the other.

  “They are not hurt. They are naughty.” He gave them a shake. “Tell your mammi you are sorry. And tell each other, too.”

  “But Daadi, he was supposed to catch the ball. He missed, so he should go after it.” Daniel seemed disposed to argue.

  “You threw it over my head on purpose.” David’s face scrunched up, and Adam suspected he was trying not to cry.

  “I am ashamed of both of you.” His tone was sharp. “If there are any more arguments, you will both get spankings. You understand?”

  “Ja, Daadi,” Daniel mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

  “Ja, Daadi,” David echoed. He sniffled. “I’m sorry, too.”

  “Go in the house now, both of you.” Lydia shooed them toward the kitchen door. Once they were out of earshot, she turned to Adam.

  “You didn’t need to take it out on them if you’re angry with me,” she snapped.

  He blew out an exasperated breath. “That has nothing to do with it. I can’t let them fight. They must be punished, so they’ll remember that is not how we settle disagreements.”

  He spun and headed back to the safety of the barn. He would never understand women, and this woman in particular.

  * * *

  Chloe parked her car in the garage and walked through the garden to the back door of the massive Georgian house that had been home except for her years away at school. During her childhood, the lawn and gardens had been taken care of by an elderly man named Fred Parsons, who’d shown remarkable patience with a six-year-old who wanted to grow a tomato plant.

  But times had changed, and Fred had eventually been replaced by a lawn service, the vegetable patch turned into flower beds.

  Enough maundering on about the past, she ordered herself. You ought to be thinking about showing Gran the photograph of Lydia’s boys, and insisting that for once she sit down and talk to you about your mother.

  Why had Diane become Amish? That was really the heart of the matter for Chloe. If she understood that central fact, she had a feeling everything else would fall into place.

  The back door opened onto a hallway. She could hear the clatter of pans coming from the kitchen on her left. Nora, the housekeeper, was starting dinner preparations, which meant Gran was eating in. They could talk.

  Her stomach twisted unhappily at the thought. She wasn’t asking anything unreasonable, surely, in wanting to know about her own mother. That conviction battled the pressure she felt not to hurt her grandmother.

  Chloe reached automatically for the mail that was always placed on the drop-leaf table beneath the mirror in the front hall. It wasn’t there.

  Nora appeared in the kitchen doorway, so on cue that she was like a jack-in-the-box, popping up at the appropriate point in the music.

  “You’re looking for the mail,” she said. “Your grandmother has it.” She jerked her head toward a closed door, not one of her iron-gray curls moving. “She’s in the library.”

  Nora was apparently sending her a message, but what it was, Chloe couldn’t guess. And she knew better than to ask. Nora operated on her own complicated version of household ethics, her sympathy often with Chloe but her loyalty to her employer.

  The library was the room Chloe most associated with her grandfather. It was there that she’d gone every Saturday to receive her allowance, counted out in coins at first, then in larger bills as she grew. There, too, that she’d gone each evening to give her grandfather a good-night kiss, shepherded by Nora once she’d outgrown a nanny. Grandfather would be here, in his favorite wingback chair, smoking one of the after-dinner cigars that were forbidden in the rest of the house.

  Shaking off the past again, she entered the library. She half expected to find Gran at the rolltop desk, but she sat in the wingback chair instead, her neatly shod feet resting on an upholstered ottoman.

  “Hi, Gran.” She bent to kiss one soft cheek. “How was your day?”

  “As always.” Gran clipped off the words. She gestured toward the desk. “You received a letter from Lydia Beachy.”

  So that was what was behind the strained atmosphere in the house. Chloe moved quickly toward the desk and picked up the envelope. It had been opened. For a moment she couldn’t speak.

  Then she found her voice, along with a flicker of anger. “You opened my mail.
”

  Her grandmother’s eyes didn’t quite meet hers. “I felt it my duty.”

  “I’m twenty-six, Gran, not six.” She held the envelope, trying to keep the anger from building. “When I moved back after grad school, you agreed to respect my privacy. This is unacceptable.”

  “Really, Chloe.” Her grandmother sat up very straight. “It’s not as if I intercepted a love letter. You have to admit that anything to do with your sister concerns me, as well.”

  Chloe was taken aback at that statement. “You’ve made it quite clear you don’t want to hear about Lydia and Susanna. Have you changed your mind?”

  “No.” The word dripped ice. “The letter is nothing—just inconsequential babble about her life.”

  “Then why did you read it?” Her head was beginning to pound, a frequent result of trying to win an argument with her grandmother. “You must be a little interested.”

  Her grandmother shook her head. “I had to read it to be sure those people were not trying to sway you into their strange way of thinking, the way they did your mother.”

  “Why did Diane become Amish?” Chloe’s pulse was suddenly pounding in her ears. “You act as if they stole her from her pram. She was a grown woman when she made her decision. I want to know why.”

  “She fell in love, of course.” Gran’s lips curled on the words, as if they didn’t taste good. “I suppose she had some foolish ideas about giving up her privileged life and getting close to the land. She might as well have joined a commune. I’m sure she regretted it every day of her life, but she was too proud to admit it and come back.”

  That didn’t mesh with the image Lydia had drawn of their mother’s life. “What makes you so sure? Lydia seems happy to live that way.”

  Gran dismissed Lydia with a wave of her hand. “She’s been brought up that way. It’s too late for her. But I don’t want you getting sucked into it, like your mother was.” Gran’s hands knotted into fists on the arms of her chair. “Diane broke her father’s heart. She brought on his stroke and hurried him into an early grave.”

  And here Chloe thought she’d done that, with her questions about Diane. Maybe they were both tarred with that brush.