Second Chance Proposal

by Anna Schmidt

  “Perhaps,” she whispered as she reached the foot of the stairs and walked without hesitation into his embrace. She could not have said whether it was the emotional drama of the day or simply that the dark silent house made her bold. What she did know without a single doubt was that with John’s arms embracing her and his strong heartbeat thudding in her ear, which was pressed to his chest, she was home.

  After a moment John took her hand and led her out to the porch where he sat down in the swing with her curled against his side. She was asleep in less than a minute as he kept a steady pace rocking the swing like a cradle.

  * * *

  The mist of the humid dawn curled around them as the reality that Lydia had spent the entire night sleeping next to John roused her. She leaped up from the swing, her hands flying to her prayer covering to check that it was still there. “John, wake up,” she whispered, glancing around to see if any of the neighbors were out and about yet. “You have to go.”

  He blinked and then grinned as he stretched out his arms and legs and yawned loudly.

  “Shh,” she hissed. “You’ll wake the entire town.”

  “I doubt that,” he said in his normal voice. “My guess is that most people in town are already awake and going about their morning chores.” He grinned up at her and showed no sign at all of leaving as he stretched his long arms along the back of the swing and set it in motion. “How did you sleep?”

  She ignored the question as she retrieved the hat that had fallen off sometime during the night and handed it to him. “Go,” she ordered. “Now.”

  “Going,” he said as he stood up and accepted the hat. And then his expression sobered as he cupped her cheek with the palm of one hand. “But I’ll be back this evening and the one after that and the one after that until the month you need has come and gone, Liddy.”

  The man was impossible.

  Impossibly handsome.

  Impossibly stubborn.

  Impossibly charming.

  Long after he had gone Lydia stood on the porch, her hand on her cheek holding on to the warmth of his hand caressing her. As she heard the sounds of Greta’s family stirring and headed inside to start breakfast, she realized that she was smiling.

  * * *

  Her high spirits stayed with her throughout the day as she went about the business of caring for Greta, the baby and the other children. She prepared meals and carried a tray up to Greta, who was dressed and sat rocking her newborn. She washed and hung out the sheets and other linens used in the birthing all the while keeping an eye on the children playing in the yard. Pleasant brought sweets and three pies from the bakery and told Lydia that Jeremiah was churning up a fresh batch of strawberry ice cream as a special treat for Greta. She also reported that she had stopped by the school and she assured Lydia that Bettina had everything under control.

  Later that evening, after they had finished supper and Luke had taken the children upstairs to sit with their mother and new sister before going to bed, Hilda Yoder’s youngest daughter stopped by with a basket of food and detailed instructions for Lydia to follow in caring for Greta and the baby. Hilda did not approve of calling for help from outsiders and her daughter made it clear that Hilda was adamant that there should be no need for Dr. Benson or his noisy vehicle to disturb them further. Her aversion to relying on outsiders for anything was the sole reason that the town’s only telephone was located at the hardware when it more logically should have been at the dry-goods store that already housed the post office. And yet it had not escaped anyone’s notice that when tourists vacationing in Sarasota found their way to Celery Fields it was Hilda who welcomed them into her shop.

  “That’s just good business,” she had protested when Pleasant commented on the double standard one day after watching Hilda fuss over a trio of Englisch women who had made multiple purchases. Hilda had glanced at Lydia then and added, “Perhaps if enough tourists visit and buy from us we can afford to keep the school going.”

  Now as she completed her final chore for the day, scrubbing the kitchen floor, this particular train of thought was not helping to sustain Lydia’s good mood. She paused in her scrubbing and considered whether or not she might truly make a home and future with John, one that would give her the same sense of purpose and security she had always felt in teaching. God’s will be done, she reminded herself sternly. And she attacked the floor more vigorously with the brush and soapy water.

  “You’ll rub that wood to splinters if you keep scrubbing so hard,” John said with a hint of laughter.

  She had not heard him enter the kitchen. She resisted the urge to drop everything and walk into the welcome haven of his embrace. Instead, she exchanged the scrub brush for a rag soaked in clear water and wiped up the soapy residue from the floor. “You are late, John Amman,” she said.

  “Ah, you missed me. This is progress and we’re only on the second day of our month of decision.” He was grinning as he relieved her of the rag, dropped it into the bucket and then offered her his hand to help her to her feet. “Haven’t you done enough for one day, Liddy?” he asked as he studied her features.

  “Work does not wait for sleep,” she said, quoting one of Pleasant’s maxims as she picked up the pail of soapy water and headed outside to dump it. The pure joy she felt at being in his presence was overwhelming. She needed to take this more slowly. He had left her once, after all, and she could not convince herself that he would not be struck by wanderlust yet again.

  “Dr. Benson is on his way over,” John said as he leaned against the door frame and watched her wash out the soapy bucket and set it in its place. “I saw him when I was in Sarasota making a delivery for my uncle.”

  Lydia shot him a look. “Is he worried that Greta might...will there be problems?”

  “He didn’t say, but he also did not seem particularly worried. I think he just likes seeing the babies he helps bring into this world.”

  Just then they both heard the rumble of a motorcar coming closer.

  “I should put the kettle on,” Lydia murmured as she stepped past John and started preparing a tea tray.

  “I’ll get the door,” John offered as he headed down the hall as if they were a married couple preparing to welcome a guest to their home. It was a feeling that Lydia felt was surely not proper, but it was also one that brought the smile back to her face. She barely noticed she was humming as she sliced the loaf of banana bread that Gert had sent earlier with John.

  After the doctor had checked on Greta and the baby, he joined Luke, John and Lydia at the kitchen table. “Right as rain they are,” he assured Luke, then turned his attention to John. “I was admiring that rocking chair, young man. Greta tells me you made it.”

  “Yah.”

  “It’s a fine piece of carpentry. My wife has been after me to buy her a cabinet for displaying her china and knickknacks. Do you do that sort of thing?”

  “I have work at the hardware and Jeremiah Troyer has asked me to build some tables for his ice-cream shop.”

  “No hurry. Her birthday’s in summer. I just thought I could surprise her.” Dr. Benson glanced at Luke and grinned. “Women do like surprises, right, Luke?” He finished the last of his tea and stood up. “Think about it, John. You have a gift and I know a number of people in my community who would pay top dollar for that rocking chair. If the rest of your work is that fine, you’d have more orders than you could fill in no time once word got around.”

  Lydia could practically see the wheels turning in John’s mind. This was the opportunity he’d been hoping for and, while she did not especially like the idea of John doing his business primarily with outsiders, the other side of that coin was that if he had enough work here he would not be tempted to go elsewhere.

  “You could perhaps draw up a sketch for Dr. Benson to consider,” she said quietly.

  “Good idea,” the
doctor boomed as he donned his fedora and picked up his medical bag. “I’ll get you some measurements. My wife has already picked out the exact place in our dining room where she wants the cabinet to sit.” He chuckled. “Come to think of it, the only surprise in all of this would be if I didn’t do something about getting that cabinet for her—and that wouldn’t be good.” Luke walked him down the hall to the front door while Lydia cleared the dishes.

  “It could be our future, Liddy,” John said quietly as he remained at the kitchen table and picked at the crumbs of the banana bread.

  “You’ve always wanted a business of your own,” she replied.

  “Uncle Roger would be relieved if I could start making my own way without having to rely on him.”

  “A few tables for Jeremiah and a cabinet for the doctor are not a business, John,” she warned, worried suddenly that he was setting himself up for disappointment. “Perhaps your uncle would keep you on—just until...”

  “I know this will take time.” He stood up and carried the plate to her for washing. He leaned in close to her ear and whispered, “But I’ve got almost a whole month before you say you’ll marry me—plenty of time to get this business going.” He kissed her on the cheek. “You will say yes,” he added.

  As Luke walked back into the kitchen and cleared his throat, Lydia realized that this had not been a question. “You are sometimes too sure of yourself, John Amman,” she said as she brushed past him to wipe the table.

  “Ah, Liddy, have a little faith.”

  * * *

  If Lydia had thought a month was ample time to decide her future, she had not counted on the way the days—and especially the evenings she sat with John on Greta’s front porch—seemed to race by. They laughed a lot together, recalling the adventures they had shared as teenagers.

  “Remember that time we went to the beach?” he asked one evening, chuckling and shaking his head.

  And although there had been many trips to the beach to wade in the Gulf of Mexico and look for her favorite olive and moon shells, Lydia knew exactly which time he was recalling. “I had never seen you so nervous before.”

  “Well, I had never before borrowed a boat without actual permission although I did know the fisherman who owned it. Remember on our way over we saw the police patrolling the waters?”

  Lydia giggled. “I thought you were going to faint when they came so close to us. And then they just waved and went on about their business.”

  “And then it was your turn to be nervous when the waves they left in their wake rocked that little rowboat to the point of practically tipping it over.” He put his arm around her shoulder. “You clung to the sides so fiercely that your knuckles turned as white as the clouds above us.”

  “And you rowed all the faster. By the time we reached the islands you were breathing as if you had just run a footrace and, oh, the blisters you had.” She ran her thumb over his callused palm then rested her head against his shoulder as they let the motion of the swing and the whispers of the night breeze in the palm trees lull them into silence.

  “Let’s go to the beach, Liddy,” he said.

  “Now?”

  “Tomorrow. It’s Saturday and we can ride our bicycles over the causeway and take a picnic. It will be like before.”

  Oh, how she wanted to believe that such a thing could be true, but the truth was that in all the years that had passed they had both changed—the world had changed. “I don’t know, John. Isn’t it dangerous trying to relive old memories?”

  “Maybe. On the other hand, I thought we had decided to spend this month trying to build some new memories.”

  “I do love the beach,” she admitted. “But you have to work and...”

  “We’ll go after the hardware closes for the day. We can watch the sunset together.”

  “It sounds nice,” she admitted. “You wouldn’t say anything to Gert, would you? I mean everyone knows about your visits in the evenings, but riding off together on our bikes in broad daylight...”

  John sighed. “You leave whenever you think best and I’ll meet you at the start of the causeway. No one need know, not that it matters to me one way or another.”

  “But it should matter, John Amman. Of course, others know, or at least have their suspicions, but they also respect that our seeing each other is meant to be a private matter and...”

  “Then how come I feel like shouting it out to every person passing by?” He took her hands. “I promised to do things your way, Liddy, and if that means going separately to the beach, that is the way of it. Just promise me that we will come back together.”

  “Well, of course,” she said primly, and then she smiled mischievously. “By then it will be dark.”

  * * *

  The following afternoon Lydia had only been at the foot of the causeway for ten minutes before she saw John pedaling toward her. The sight of him took her breath away. His broad shoulders hunched over the handlebars of the black bicycle, his long legs pumping furiously as if to cover the distance separating them as quickly as possible. And the smile that said, more than any words, how seeing her made him as happy as it did her.

  “Ready?” he asked as he slowed his bike and balanced it with one foot on the ground while she mounted hers.

  “Ready,” she agreed happily. “I’ll race you to the circle!” she shouted as she took off.

  “Not fair!” John called back. “You have a head start.”

  She laughed and pedaled all the harder, determined to outdistance him. She thought she was well ahead of him, but when she reached the circle of shops and restaurants that stood at the entrance to Lido Key and the road that led north to Longboat Key, she saw that he had deliberately lingered just behind her until they reached the circle. Once there he grinned and shot past her then eased his speed down to coasting, waiting for her to catch up.

  “Beat you,” he teased as, side by side, they dodged traffic on the circle until they came to the road that turned off and led to the beach on Lido Key.

  “Maybe I let you win,” she challenged.

  He laughed at that. “Not likely.” They both knew that as a girl Lydia had been very competitive and she usually won once she set her mind to something. They rode along the path that followed the beach until they reached an area shaded by a small cluster of cypress trees. “Looks like a good place for a picnic.”

  She leaned her bike against a tree and removed the sheet she had packed for them to sit on. While John spread it on the ground, anchoring the edges with stones, she unpacked the sandwiches, oranges, cookies and thermos of tea that she had brought for their supper. John had devoured two whole ham sandwiches before she had finished a half. She found herself thinking about what it would be like to prepare food for him every day. What would he want for breakfast? Would they, like most families in Celery Fields, take their main meal at midday, or had he come to prefer the ways of the Englisch, having his main meal in the evening?

  As he ate he stared out toward the Gulf, his eyes watching the waves rush at the beach, break and retreat. She tried to imagine what he was thinking and took his silence and his attention to a distant horizon as evidence that he still longed for unexplored shores.

  She was surprised when he said, “You know, ever since I got back to Celery Fields I have felt such a sense of homecoming. I don’t think I was ever in my life so reluctant to leave a place—to leave friends and family. To leave you especially.”

  Then why did you? She wanted so badly to ask. But she would not risk spoiling the moment. “It is your home, John. It has been since the day your family first moved here when you were, what? Eight?”

  “Nine.” He chuckled. “It seemed to me like we must be moving to the ends of the earth. The trip was long and then when we got here everything seemed very different from what we had known in Pennsylvania.” He cut his eyes h
er way and then immediately back to the water. “Then I met you and I was glad we came.”

  She felt heat rise to her cheeks. “You exaggerate. As I recall, you were not at all sure about me in those early days. Especially not when I bested you at dodgeball in the schoolyard.”

  He shrugged. “I let you win then.” He stuffed the last of the cookies into his mouth. “Made up for it today, though,” he teased. He stood, brushed the crumbs from his shirt and trousers and held out his hand to her. “Walk with me, Liddy. The sun will set soon.”

  They gathered the wax paper wrappings of their picnic and John carried them to a trash barrel while Lydia folded the sheet and replaced it and the thermos in the basket of her bicycle. Then she fell into step with him as they walked hand in hand across the wide expanse of the beach, nearly deserted now as the last of the tourists packed up their belongings and headed away.

  Close to the edge of the water they removed their shoes and set them well away from the rising tide, marking the spot they would return to once their walk was done. They stepped into the clear water that had gone calm now, the waves barely breaking over their bare feet, then headed north to where they knew the beach would curve and bend. There they stood on a point looking across a pass that separated Lido Key from Longboat.

  Occasionally Lydia would stop and retrieve a shell, show it to John and then return it to the water.

  “Keep one to remember,” he said after she had repeated this process half-a-dozen times.

  “You find one for me to keep.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The shadows lengthened as the sun turned to a fiery orange low on the horizon. As they walked along, they were both focused on the water.

  “Let’s stop here and watch the last of it,” John said, and gently turned her attention to the sun half-gone already. He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her as they watched in silence. “Here,” he said, handing her a perfect but tiny Florida conch shell that was the exact color that the sun had been. “To remember.”