Lydia's Hope

by Marta Perry

  “It smells gut in here,” she said, shoving the door open with the basket.

  “Ach, Lydia, let me help you.” Matthew, her youngest brother and the only one not yet married, came to relieve her of the pies.

  “You’re just hoping to snitch a piece of Lydia’s pies early,” Becky teased him. Becky was her brother Joshua’s wife, just married in November and expecting their first already. Since she’d been a neighbor and playmate of the boys from the time they were toddlers, she had no hesitation in treating Matt like a brother.

  “It’s ser gut to see you.” Lydia took off her bonnet and went to kiss each of her sisters-in-law: Becky, dark-haired and rosy-cheeked, already putting on a little weight with marriage and her pregnancy; and Carol, slim and tall, her abundant light-brown hair smoothed back under her kapp and her apron as clean as if she’d sat in the shade all day, which she obviously hadn’t to judge by the array of food in various stages of preparation.

  “Two roast chickens plus a pot roast?” Lydia gave Carol an extra squeeze. “It is just family, isn’t it? Or did you invite the whole county?”

  “I just want to be sure I have enough,” Carol said, eyes crinkling with laughter. “You know how those brothers of yours eat.”

  “Ja,” Matthew said. “Don’t forget about the brothers part, chust because you have two new sisters now.”

  Carol and Becky combined in glaring at Matt, and he spread his hands, his freckled face bewildered. “What?”

  “If somebody told Matt to be tactful, it was a forlorn hope,” Lydia said, since it was obvious that was exactly what had happened. “Don’t worry, Matty. You’ll always be my favorite youngest brother.” She gave him a hug and then a push. “Now get out of the kitchen and out of the way.”

  “Sorry,” Carol said when he’d gone. “As scatterbrained as that boy is, it’s a wonder he doesn’t forget his head sometimes.”

  “Ach, I don’t mind Matthew,” Lydia said, setting the pies out on the table. “Your husband was just as bad at that age, and he grew out of it.”

  She was actually glad Matty had said something, because it had been a good reminder. She had been so focused on her new sisters lately that she had been in danger of ignoring the family she already had until Mamm had reminded her to visit Aunt Sara. She was ashamed, and she would do better.

  * * *

  The afternoon slipped by like a hundred other family celebrations. They ate until everyone was groaning, they gave Andy the small gifts they’d brought, the men talked about the growing season and the women about babies.

  Finally Lydia had the opportunity she’d been watching for—a time with Mamm with only a cooing baby and a sleeping toddler for company.

  “The family knows about Chloe and Susanna, ja?” Lydia said, wondering why she hadn’t asked the question earlier.

  “We had to tell them something,” Mamm said, bouncing the baby on her knees. “But they don’t know their names or where they live. Your daad thought it best for now. I’m sure they’ve guessed that the youngest one lives in the city, and I think they have the idea your middle sister is still out in Ohio.” She caught Lydia’s surprised look. “They just assumed, and I didn’t correct them. Can you imagine Matty keeping a secret?”

  “I guess not.” She shook her head. “I don’t think I ever realized how hard it is to keep a secret. So many things to think of and remember.”

  “It was hard, at times,” Mamm admitted. “But sometimes I just forgot all about it.” She smiled gravely. “You were always my daughter, you see. From the day you came home from the hospital.”

  Lydia nodded, afraid to speak because of the lump in her throat.

  Mamm stroked the baby’s feather-light hair. “Have you had a chance to look at your mamm’s things yet?”

  “Ja. And I need to talk to you about something I found.”

  Mamm’s eyes widened with apprehension at her tone. “What is it?”

  “In one place in her journal, my mother wrote that she thought she had made a mistake. That maybe she should take us girls and leave, go back to Philadelphia.”

  Mamm pressed her free hand to her mouth, as if to hide the words. “Ach, no. That is a terrible thing for you to read.” The baby, as if sensing her tension, began to fuss, and Mamm rocked her automatically. “I am so sorry. If I had known that, I would have burned them.”

  “I’m glad you gave them to me, Mamm.” Lydia pressed her hand in reassurance. “It’s better to know the truth. But there’s not much after that in the journal, and she doesn’t mention it again, so I don’t know if she was serious or not.”

  “Surely not. She never gave any hint to me.” Mamm shook her head. “Well, she wouldn’t, would she? I was married to her husband’s brother.”

  True enough. Lydia had hoped, foolishly, that Mamm might have an answer. “Is there anyone you can think of she might have talked to, if she seriously considered leaving?”

  Mamm stared down at the baby, her thoughts clearly far away. Finally she shook her head. “She could not have talked about that to anyone here in the church, I think. If she did confide in anyone, it would be her friend from Ohio. The one whose wedding she was going to when . . . when the accident happened.” Mamm stumbled over the words. “They were very close, and I know she wrote to her regularly. I asked her once if it was a round-robin letter, and Diane laughed and said no, that she said things to Faith that she wouldn’t want anyone else to read.”

  “Faith—that was her name?”

  “Ja. Her married name is Faith Gottshall. I wrote to her every once in a while afterward, to let her know how you were doing.”

  “So you have her address?” Hope lifted. If Diane had really intended to leave, surely she would have told her dearest friend.

  “Ja, I have it. I’ll get it for you.” Mamm clasped her hand. “And I will pray that she has the answers you need.”

  * * *

  Lydia knew perfectly well that she couldn’t possibly expect an answer from Faith Gottshall for a week or so, but she couldn’t help checking the mailbox each day and being disappointed not to find one. She hoped the letter she’d struggled to compose hadn’t sounded quite as desperate as she felt.

  She wanted the truth from Faith, not comforting lies. Still, there was no denying she longed to know that her parents’ marriage had not been a mistake.

  Lydia started back up the lane from the road, looking through the mail. The Budget had come. She and Adam would both enjoy reading it tonight. Often Adam read it aloud while she did the dishes, making a comfortable end to the day. Maybe he’d feel like doing that tonight.

  Or maybe not. Their conversations lately had been as careful as if they were both walking on eggs.

  A car pulled up at the end of the lane, sending up a cloud of dust. Lydia turned to see Adam climb out, lifting his arm in thanks as the driver pulled away.

  “You got a ride, I see.” She waited for him to join her. She’d been a bit upset that morning when she learned he planned to hitchhike clear to Lewisburg to see if the mill was hiring.

  “Ja.” He caught up with her. “I hardly had to walk at all.”

  “That’s gut.” But even as she said the words, she noticed how tired Adam looked. Even if he’d gotten rides there and back, the job search was wearing on him.

  Trying to put some enthusiasm into her voice, she said, “How did things go at the mill?”

  “No one is hiring.” He snapped out the words, his tone sharp. It almost sounded as if his anger were directed at her.

  Patience, she reminded herself. “I’m sure things will get better soon. Let’s go in and get you a cool drink and something to eat. You must—”

  “Enough. I’m not one of the kinder, to be comforted with a treat and a hug.”

  Lydia pressed her lips together. She would not let them tremble. She would not let herself cry. She kept walking, one foot in front of the other, resisting the urge to run away from the hurt.

  Three more steps. Then . . .

&
nbsp; “Sorry,” Adam muttered. The word didn’t sound convincing.

  She stole a glance at him. Adam’s lips were a thin line above his chestnut beard, and his face might have been carved from stone.

  Lydia looked away, staring at the loosestrife that would soon line the lane with purple blossoms. Adam was upset over the job situation. That was all it was. As soon as he found a new job, they would return to normal.

  Adam cleared his throat, as if his was as tight as hers. “Where are the boys?”

  “I told them to water the strawberry plants. They were looking a little sad after so many days without rain.” There, she sounded nearly normal.

  Adam shielded his eyes with his hand, staring toward the berry patch. “I don’t see them anywhere.”

  “Ach, where have they gotten to? I told them to water, not play.” A glance of movement caught her eye. “There they are, in the orchard. What are they up to?”

  “Climbing.” Adam quickened his pace. “They shouldn’t be climbing that tree. It’s not safe.”

  Lydia trotted to keep up with him. She could see the boys now. Daniel sat on a low branch of the tree she thought of as her mother’s. But David—what was David doing up so high?

  “David!” Adam shouted. “Get down at once.”

  Fear seized Lydia by the throat. David could be hurt. He was too little—

  The crack seemed to reverberate through the air, setting up echoes as David and the branch crashed toward the ground.

  Adam ran. Lydia ran, prayers forming with every step. Daniel was crying, crouched by his brother, but David—was David crying? Please, Lord . . .

  Adam reached them first, with her a step behind. Lydia dropped to her knees next to David. For an instant he just looked dazed, and then he started to cry, his sobs mingling with Daniel’s.

  “Daniel, stop the crying,” Adam ordered. “It’s David who is hurt. We must tend to him.”

  Daniel sniffed, a little sob escaping him. “Is he dead?”

  “Ach, what a way to talk.” Lydia ran her hands lightly over her son’s body, searching for blood or swelling or indication of pain. “He couldn’t cry so loud if he was dead, could he?”

  Daniel’s giggle was nervous, but her manner seemed to ease his terror.

  Adam knelt on David’s other side, patting him gently. “Hush, David, hush. Mammi is taking gut care of you. You don’t need to cry.”

  “David, tell Mammi where it hurts,” she ordered, trying to conceal the fact that her heart was beating so that it felt it would leap from her chest.

  “My head,” David said, punctuating the words with a sob. “And my elbow.” He lifted the offending joint, rubbing it with his other hand.

  Lydia checked the elbow. Scraped and bleeding, but he was moving it normally, so it couldn’t be too bad. “What about your neck? Does it hurt?”

  David tried to shake his head and stopped, puckering up with tears. “Just my head. My head hurts, Mammi. It needs ice.”

  She managed to smile at that comment. He couldn’t have too much wrong with him if he was diagnosing himself. She ran her fingers through his silky hair again. No cuts, but a lump was forming on top.

  “Ja, I think ice is the right treatment.” She helped him sit up. “Are you dizzy?”

  “No. It just hurts.”

  “It’s my fault,” Daniel said suddenly, his voice choking. “I shouldn’t have let him climb the tree. I told him he couldn’t, and that just made him want to.”

  “And I should have cut the tree down when I saw it was cracked,” Adam said.

  His gaze seemed to accuse her. Lydia had kept him from touching the tree, and now David was paying the price. Her heart was sore from the pummeling it was taking.

  “We can all find some reason to blame ourselves,” Adam went on. “But it was David who climbed, and David whose head will hurt for doing something so foolish.” He lifted the boy gently to his feet.

  “Komm.” Lydia took David’s hand, not looking at Adam. “We will thank God that He gives little boys hard heads, ja?”

  She led him to the house, not looking back. She didn’t want to think about the fact that Adam had been right. It was time for her mother’s tree to come down.

  Adam and Daniel walked a little behind them, and she could hear the murmur of their voices, but not what they were saying. She was already sitting in the rocker with David on her lap, a cold compress on his head, when Adam and David came in.

  “Daniel and I have a plan,” Adam said. “He will help me, and we will cut out the bad branches. We’ll save the tree if we can. Ja, Daniel?”

  Daniel nodded, wiping a tear away and depositing a streak of dirt on his cheek.

  Lydia’s eyes met Adam’s, and she didn’t know which concern to voice first. “If you must take the tree down, then you must.” She felt as if she had pronounced a death sentence. “But don’t you think Daniel is too young for such work?”

  “I won’t let him get hurt.” Adam’s face was frosty, as if he was chiding her for doubting him. “Daniel needs to help to make him feel better, ain’t so?”

  She could only nod. He was right, of course. In some ways, Adam understood their sons better than she did.

  She cradled David against her. How seldom she got to hold him this way anymore. Her boys were growing up, and she feared she and Adam were growing apart. Panic flickered in her heart. How were they going to find their way together?

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Despite Chloe’s effort to arrive at the restaurant first, Brad Maitland was already seated at his usual table. She threaded her way among tables empty in mid-afternoon, following the manager who insisted on escorting her. Well, why wouldn’t he? Brad was one of his best customers, a creature of habit who found a French restaurant he liked and never saw any reason to try something new.

  Brad stood at her approach. He hadn’t betrayed surprise when she’d called, asking him to meet her, and his narrow, well-bred face showed nothing as vulgar as curiosity now.

  “This is such a pleasure, Chloe.” He seated her, deflecting the manager’s hovering with a gesture. “I’m glad you called.”

  “I hope I didn’t take you away from anything important.” Driven as she was to find out what Brad knew about her mother, she hadn’t even considered what appointments he might have had to rearrange in order to meet her.

  “Not a problem.” Behind his glasses, his eyes were assessing her. Some men might take an invitation at face value, but Brad always seemed to be analyzing her motives.

  Her thoughts flickered briefly to Seth, who seemed far more likely to plunge into action than to sit back and analyze.

  A server appeared, and Brad consulted with him over the menu and wine list. Chloe waited impatiently, ordering the first thing that came to mind.

  Finally they were alone, and Brad turned his attention back to her. “Much as I enjoy having lunch with you, I have the impression there’s more to your invitation than the pleasure of my company.”

  True enough. Chloe hesitated, trying to frame the right words, mindful that Nora didn’t want him to know that she’d talked about him. “I hoped you might be able to tell me why my mother left Philadelphia.”

  Brad’s listening face was too well-trained to show surprise. “What makes you think I was in her confidence?”

  “You were around the same age. The families have been close forever. Surely you must have been friends, but you’ve never spoken to me about my mother.” Chloe couldn’t help the trace of hurt that showed in her voice. Brad might be as dull as Kendra insisted, but at least she’d always thought he was on her side.

  He glanced down, seeming to shield his eyes. “You’ve never asked me about her.”

  “That doesn’t mean I didn’t wonder. As a psychiatrist, you must have known I would.” It was also the same excuse her grandmother had used for not telling her about her sisters.

  “I suppose I did.” He met her gaze. “Your grandmother made it very clear that she didn’t want me to discus
s Diane with you, and I tried to respect her wishes.”

  “I can understand that when I was a child. But I’m all grown up now, and I’d appreciate a little honesty between us.”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t try to hide anything from you, Chloe.”

  That was just what he’d done, but she’d let it pass if he’d speak openly now. She stared at him, waiting.

  “We were about eighteen, I suppose, when I realized I wanted more than friendship from Diane,” he said. “Unfortunately she didn’t feel the same way about me.” His eyes were softer than she’d ever seen them. “She made it clear she only wanted friendship from me, and she said she needed a friend.”

  “What was Diane like then?” Chloe tried to picture her mother at eighteen and failed. All she had were studio photos that showed a Main Line debutante, not the real person.

  “She’d had a few minor scrapes with the law at that point. Drinking and driving, mainly. Your grandmother had her on a tight rein. Maybe too tight.”

  “She was unhappy?” Was that why she’d left, because her parents were too strict? If so, why run to a sect that was far more restrictive?

  “Not unhappy, exactly.” Brad seemed to be searching for the right words. “She was impatient. Wanting to find something she felt was missing in her life.”

  Perhaps Diane had found that missing something in Amish beliefs. Or in the person of Eli Weaver.

  The server appeared with a laden tray and began putting dishes in front of them. Chloe eyed the tomato basil soup with relief. At least she’d ordered something she could get down her tight throat.

  “Did my mother actually talk about her feelings with you?” Maybe there hadn’t been anyone else she could confide in.

  “A little.” He smiled at an image in his mind, it seemed. “I remember one day when I was walking home and Diane’s car pulled up to the curb. She told me to get in and wouldn’t take no for an answer. She was in such a rush I didn’t even think to ask where we were going until we were already on the Schuylkill Expressway.”