by Tricia Goyer
And yet at times Mem’s happiness had brought only frustration. How could she be so full of joy when Lydia found so much of life a struggle?
“Lydia, dochtah, you are home. Come here, baby girl,” Mem had said the last time she’d been back. Mem had opened her arms and a smile had filled her face, as if it hadn’t mattered that Lydia had walked in wearing Englisch clothes. And to Mem it hadn’t mattered as much as it probably should. Mem had looked at her as if she was the most beautiful, special person on the planet.
Lydia released the handle of the door, covering her face with her hands as the tears fell. She’d chosen to walk away. She’d thought it out and had picked the better path, hadn’t she? She’d been so sure…then. Her shoulders shook, and her throat grew thick, hot as it clenched down to hold back the sobs.
Then she heard it. A bumping against the door. She wiped her eyes and looked out the car window. Her dat stood ten feet away, giving her space. The impatient one was old Rex. He stood near the door his tail thump, thump, thumping against her car.
She sucked in a breath and blew it out again, holding back the tears. One of Dat’s Englisch friends had called her cell phone yesterday. Hadn’t she cried enough since then?
She climbed from the car and was to him in three long strides. Dat had never been the affectionate one—not like Mem—but he opened his arms and pulled her tight against him.
“Oh, Lydie. She’s gone, kinder. I don’t know what to do now. She’s gone.”
“Dat, I’m so sorry. I should have come to visit. I should have made time. I didn’t realize…”
“No one knew. The doctor thought she was improving.” His chin and beard quivered. “It was the good Lord’s time.”
Lydia pressed her cheek against Dat’s chest and nodded, wishing she had an ounce of his faith. She’d never expected to leave her love for God behind when she’d picked up and moved to Washington state. Even though she wanted to live in the Englisch world, she’d hoped He’d go with her. He had, she supposed, but like most of her Amish traditions, God somehow became obsolete in a world where hard work, creativity, and knowing the right people got you far.
“Mem didn’t have a lot of pain, did she?”
“One gasp, it was all I heard. Loud enough to wake me, but it sounded more like surprise than pain.”
“That’s good to know. I—I am glad in a way that her suffering is over.”
“Suffering?” Dat pulled back slightly and looked down. “No one would call that suffering, not Mem. Once you came into our lives, daughter, then her heart problems weren’t more than a bother. You were the best tincture anyone could ask for.”
She nodded, gripping Dat’s shirt. Then the sound of a horse whinnying caught her attention. She jerked back to look toward the pasture. Gideon strode toward her, the horse she’d seen running across the field following. She wanted to pick up a rock and hurl it in his direction. How dare he interrupt this moment!
“I’m sorry to bother.” He held something up. It was small, round, and black, and she recognized it immediately.
“My lens cap!” She released her dat’s shirt and strode toward Gideon. “I must have left it on the hood of my car.” Lydia knew she looked a mess. Her face always became blotchy, as if covered with bright-red chicken pox, when she cried. It didn’t matter. She didn’t need to impress an Amish man.
When she got closer, he held up his hand, as if wanting her to halt just shy of the fence. “Hold up,” he called.
She paused.
“I’ve just started working with Blue. He’s a jumpy one. Can be mean too, from what I hear.” The horse standing next to Gideon was beautiful. He looked gentle, tame—just like the Amish man.
Looks could be deceiving.
Gideon approached the wooden fence, placed one hand on it, and jumped over it as if it were a small mole hill rather than a tall fence. That was the second time he’d done that, and it impressed her still.
He approached and handed her the cap.
“I’m sorry, again, for interrupting. I jest knew you’d be missing it, and I didn’t want you to wander back and look for it in the dark. There aren’t any street lamps around these parts, and even the stars and moon are gonna be tucked away behind those clouds. It’s dangerous on those roads. I mean, if you were trying to look around.”
“Thank you. Danki.” She smiled in spite of herself and her mournful mood and tucked the cap in the pocket of her pants. “I’ll take that advice from a local, and I’ll make sure I don’t wander the roadside after sundown.”
Gideon ran a hand down the side of his face. “I’m not a local. Jest here for a season.”
“One of the bachelors,” Dat called.
She nodded and bit her lip. He’d been listening in. She didn’t want to glance back at him. Didn’t want to see hope in his gaze. Soon she’d be heading back to Seattle, and she didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.
“I appreciate you doing this, but…”
“Ja, I’ll let you go.” He climbed back over the fence and strode to the horse. Gideon didn’t touch the animal, nor offer him a glance, but as Gideon continued, the horse followed behind at a safe distance.
In silence Lydia and Dat walked to the house. As soon as they entered the front door, Dat turned back to the window.
“I haven’t seen anything like it.”
She followed his gaze. “What?”
“An Amish man—any man—with that horse. He’s a wild thing. Full of the diebel. I tried to pet him a few months ago. He’d come to the fence, and I was feeding him apples. Went from nice to mean in ten seconds, and bit my hand as I stroked his nose. Now, in two hours’ time, the horse is following him around like a dog.”
Lydia nodded, but she wasn’t concerned about the bachelor. Instead she took her father’s hands in hers.
“Are you okay?”
“My hand is fine. My heart…” He sighed, pulling his right hand from hers and placing it over his chest. “Part of it is missing. Forty years together. I’m not sure what to do with myself. I’ve been wandering in circles for a day and a night. I keep telling myself to stop looking for her—”
“Oh, Dat.” Lydia sank down into the chair next to the window. “I feel so bad you had to be alone until I got here, but you won’t be alone now—for a while. A few weeks at least. I’m going to stay until you get settled and find your own routine.”
She’d expected him to disagree. To tell her he’d be fine. That had been common. He’d been the strong one. Even during all of Mem’s illnesses he’d stood on his own two feet.
“Ja, gut. I will like having you here.” His words were simple, but she read so much more in his gaze. He needed her. Dat needed her now like she’d never been needed. He turned and walked to his favorite chair and sat heavily.
This place would be her home—for a little while at least.
She stared at the window, and her gaze moved to the wild pink roses that bloomed near the well. Then she glanced to the east and north. The pine trees opened to reveal the pasture and the mountain peaks in the distance. Though it was June, snow still clung to those peaks. She’d come here only once a year and stayed a few days each time. She had forgotten how beautiful it was. Sitting on the front porch would have been the perfect spot to edit. Why hadn’t she come more often?
Maybe because of the guilt of leaving.
She’d also assumed it was hard enough for her parents to try to fit into a new community without her presence. She didn’t want to bring trouble for them by having an Englisch daughter hanging around.
There was a worn spot on the other side of the fence, and Lydia guessed the horses gathered there often for treats of apples. She pictured Dat feeding them, talking to them.
“This morning I wanted to tell Mem you were on your way…and then I remembered the reason why you were coming. She wasn’t here to talk to—” He looked at Lydia, eyes focused. “She was happy with me, but you brought her pure joy. You made her a mother. God turned something har
d into…” His words trailed off.
Lydia swallowed the ache and blinked back the moisture rimming her lower eyelids. Was the pain in Dat’s eyes not only from Mem’s passing, but from Lydia’s knowing? Lydia wished she hadn’t found out the truth behind her birth. Maybe then she’d still be Amish. Maybe then she’d call this beautiful mountain sanctuary home.
Then again, she doubted if she’d ever consider this place home. She’d been raised in Sugarcreek, Ohio, a place that couldn’t be more different both in terrain and in lifestyle. While the people in West Kootenai considered themselves Old Order Amish, their lifestyle tended toward relaxed living among the Englisch. Since it was a young community compared to most, and everyone was from someplace back east, they welcomed outsiders.
Also, as she’d witnessed with her dat, since the men had to preach and lead in the community—while raising their families and working full time—they were thankful for help from new arrivals. A slight smile curled Lydia’s lips as she remembered how her dat had found himself in the pulpit just two months after moving into the area, even though he wasn’t a minister and had never preached an Amish sermon in his life.
For the last three years, instead of flying back to Sugarcreek, she’d driven from Seattle to West Kootenai. Dat claimed he’d always wanted to live in the mountains.
Not only was being around her parents awkward after leaving the Amish—Mem especially. Lydia didn’t know this place—well, except for the stories her grandmother used to tell her.
“The people are too independent. My sister and her husband moved there in the seventies, wanting to be part of a new community, but all sorts of horrible, awful things happen there. Wild animals roam, and more than one Amish man has turned up dead from a bear.”
Lydia hadn’t stayed around West Kootenai long enough to find out more of the story, but this time she’d have to stay a few weeks to help Dat. She had no excuse not to.
Two sawhorses stood before the open door of the barn with fresh wood shavings at their base. The sight pinched her heart. She glanced back at him. “Did you make the coffin yourself?”
Dat nodded. “Some of our friends offered, but I wanted to do it for her. One last gift.” Dat choked up this time. He lowered his head and stroked his beard. “Gideon came to help.”
Lydia pointed back out the window.
“That Gideon?”
“Ja. He was in the pasture when I was unloading the lumber.”
“So he knew…”
“Knew what?”
“That you had a daughter who’d left the Amish?”
“Ne. I don’t think I mentioned that you left. I talked about you, though.”
“And you didn’t think it was important to mention that?”
“Not really. There were so many more interesting things yet to share.”
Lydia offered a sad smile. His words were true. He didn’t hold back because he was ashamed of the truth. Dat saw the world in a different light. He focused on the good things, talked about what was right. Mem was…had been…that way too. And that’s why Lydia never brought up any more questions about her birth mom. It was easier to run and to wonder than it was to ask her parents to share about the shame and pain surrounding her birth.
And now half of that truth had died with Mem. She’d never know the secrets carried from one mother-heart to another.
Lydia rose and moved to the door. “I’ll get my suitcase.”
Dat stood, but she waved a hand in his direction. “No need to follow—it’s just a small bag.”
Dat nodded and walked into the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the wood cookstove. “You know where to take it. The room is all readied up.”
She paused with her hand on the front doorknob. “You got it ready for me?”
Dat took a sip of coffee and shook his head. “Ne, didn’t you know? From the day you left, Mem always made sure your room was readied for your return. She’d dust, wash the linens every week, and in the summer she’d put in a vase of fresh flowers, jest in case.”
Lydia’s hand dropped to her side, and the sadness that had been there moments before grew to numbness. To feel any other emotion would be too overwhelming. Even now she questioned if she could sleep in that room, knowing.
“Yer mem never doubted you’d return to the Amish for gut. She always felt you’d come back. That you’d make this place home.”
Lydia nodded but didn’t answer. How could she? She’d never have a chance at mending Mem’s heart, and she didn’t want to crush Dat’s hopes too.
CHAPTER
4
Gideon couldn’t get the woman off his mind. He hadn’t met anyone like her. She’d acted so confident, so…Englisch as she’d parked her car, jumped out, and started taking photos. When he didn’t know who she was, he didn’t care for her at all, despite her beauty. But she was Jacob Wyse’s daughter. That changed things. It confused him. Jacob had spoken of Lydie—his nickname for her—as if she was the most gentle, caring woman on the planet. She was not an old maid as he’d imagined, and she’d seemed anything but gentle.
Until he saw her with her dat, that was.
It was odd to see an Englisch woman clinging to her Amish father. Leaving the Amish usually brought distance to families, even in the closest of relationships—but not them.
Why had she left? Why would the only child of an Amish couple do that?
He’d made progress with Blue. For the rest of the day he’d worked to get the horse used to him. To see him as a friend and not a threat. Without a mother around, Blue had picked up a lot of bad habits. She hadn’t been there to teach him who was friend and who was foe.
By the end of the day, Blue started seeing him as a friend. Over the next few weeks and months that bond would grow. Gideon needed to teach the horse that Gideon’s way was the right way. Blue needed to unlearn a lot of bad habits. For the gelding, it made no sense why he shouldn’t chase cows, nip at folks, change leads, or most of all, run and frolic without a care. The horse didn’t realize there was a better way to interact. Blue needed to learn confidence in Gideon—and in humans. When difficult situations arose in the future—which they would—the horse needed to know who he should listen to and trust.
When he’d brushed down Blue and put him in his corral, Gideon couldn’t help but watch the Wyse house in the distance. Lydia had only exited the house once—to get her suitcase from her car.
Should I head down there? Maybe offer help for tomorrow night’s viewing?
He considered offering to hitch up their buggy and drive them to the funeral the day after that. But his farrichterlich thoughts got the better of him. She’d seemed none too happy to see him the last time he’d shown up there.
Instead Gideon headed to the West Kootenai Kraft and Grocery for dinner. It was later than usual, and most of the other bachelors had come and gone, his cousin Caleb included. The only people sitting in the dining room of the attached restaurant were two older Englisch women deep in conversation and the older gentleman who tended to the front cash register. Edgar, ja, that was his name.
Gideon paused at the doorway to the restaurant, turning over his hat in his hand. Edgar motioned him forward, pointing to the dining room chair across from him, welcoming Gideon to sit.
Gideon’s eyebrows arched in surprise—although on second thought he should have expected that. That’s how things happened in this small community, he’d soon learned after arriving here. Amish and Englisch didn’t just interact at a business level; many became friends. Some Amish even attended prayer meetings at the Carash house. He’d witnessed that with his own eyes when he’d stopped by to talk to Dave about training Blue.
Gideon removed his hat and sauntered over to the wooden table with the red-checkered tablecloth. Gas lanterns hung above each table from previous Amish owners, but electric Christmas lights had also been strung around the room by the non-Amish owner, Annie.
He sat, and an Amish waitress brought him a menu.
&n
bsp; “We have everything tonight except the meatloaf,” she explained. “That went quick like.”
Gideon eyed the fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans on Edgar’s plate. “No need for a menu.” He pointed. “I’ll take what he’s having, except I want the whole thing covered in country gravy.”
The waitress chuckled. “The green beans too?”
Gideon nodded. “Ja, that’s the best way. The only way, in fact, Mem could get me to eat my vegetables.”
“You got it.” The waitress shook her head and giggled as she hurried to the kitchen.
“She’s a pretty one.” Edgar pointed to the exiting waitress. “It’s one of the Peachy girls—Eve. She’s watched passels of Amish bachelors come and go fer years now with the same look of interest in her eyes.”
“Really?” Gideon glanced back over his shoulder. “I didn’t notice.” Truth was there were very few women who caught his attention—except for that Englisch gal with the red hair and equally untamed disposition. Leave it to him to fancy the last girl in this area he should take a liking to.
Edgar’s fork scraped on the plate as he scooped his mashed potatoes into a pile.
Gideon breathed in deeply, his stomach rumbling. Even though all the baking was done in the morning, the connecting kitchen and bakery still smelled of fresh bread, cinnamon, apples, and strawberry pies.
“What was yer name again, son?” Edgar asked. “There are too many bachelors to try to keep straight.”
“Gideon.”
Edgar nodded and then took a large bite of mashed potatoes. When he’d finished swallowing he dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “That’s not a common name.”
“Not too common. I knew one other Gideon back in Bird-in-Hand. An older gentleman.” Did his parents regret naming him “mighty warrior”? Inside he felt anything but.
The waitress returned with a glass of water, then hurried off again.
Edgar rubbed his gray, bushy eyebrows. “I remember a lad called Gideon. His family vacationed here one summer.”