The Promise Box

by Tricia Goyer

  “It was a lovely service.”

  “The people here seem nice.” She glanced over at him. “Have you made many friends?”

  “A few. I wish more than I have. I tend to shy away from folks. I sometimes find horses easier to communicate with.”

  The path before them transformed from light to dark, light to dark as the shadows of the trees made a pattern on the dirt roadway.

  “Why is that?” she asked.

  He glanced over at her, not expecting the question. “Huh?”

  “What you said. Why is it that you can communicate with horses better than people at times?”

  Gideon tucked his hands into his pockets. He was quiet for a moment, trying to figure it out, but he couldn’t think back to a defining moment.

  “I jest suppose it’s the way the Lord made me. He made some who are gut with woodworking, and my dat could make a crop grow in the desert. I was always drawn to horses. Maybe because they’re misunderstood at times. People think horses are naughty on purpose when really they just have a small need that no one’s paying attention to.”

  Most of the troubled horses he’d worked with were eager to please under the right circumstances. With people that wasn’t always the case. They could turn around and hurt or disappoint you even if you did everything right.

  Lydia shifted on her feet. Gideon eyed her, and she looked away. Did he see a wounded, misunderstood creature who ached from her mother’s loss? Did it matter if he did?

  “Well, ja, that makes sense,” she finally answered. “I feel honored…that you are willing to risk my friendship.”

  “You make it sound as if yer a horrible risk.”

  She glanced down at her garment and touched her kappless hair. “Aren’t I?”

  “I have to say that my mem wouldn’t be smiling if she saw this—me with an Englisch woman—but if I’ve learned anything about living in West Kootenai for the last few months, it’s to consider what’s inside more than what’s out.”

  She nodded. “‘Don’t judge a book by its cover.’”

  “What?”

  “It’s an Englisch phrase.”

  “I know the phrase, but yer not a book.”

  Humor crinkled his eyes, and the tension in her neck lessened. Yet even Gideon couldn’t ease the tautness of returning to the Sommer house for the funeral meal. While Dat knew these people, she didn’t. What had they heard about her? What did they expect? Did they know she was leaving in a few weeks? Did Gideon know?

  She’d gotten used to spending most of her time outside of work alone. But she realized in this moment she craved companionship. And Gideon gave her comfort. He was a safe, solid presence, taller than she remembered. There was something about his dark features that reminded her of Mark Ruffalo. Not that Gideon or any of the Amish folks would know who that was. A film star was opposite of all they believed in.

  As they walked, buggies filled with families passed. Lydia pictured Mem’s grave a mound of dark soil now, but she pushed that thought away.

  She glanced up at a few buggies and saw eyes set on her. As she made eye contact the passengers immediately looked away.

  “I wonder what they’d think if I decided to stay?” The words escaped from her mouth, and when they were met with silence, she questioned if she’d really said them.

  “Do you care what they think?” Gideon’s voice was raised as if he wanted the closest buggies to hear.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Do you care? I mean, I’m sure you weren’t concerned with what others thought when you left the Amish.”

  “Ne. I wasn’t.”

  “So, I would guess that if you considered staying—returning—it would be because it came from deep within, and not because you were trying to make others happy.”

  Lydia nodded and then paused and cocked her hip with a knowing glance.

  Gideon took a few more steps before he stopped and looked back. “What?”

  “And you said you can’t communicate.”

  “Oh, I can state my opinion, ja. I never denied my ability to do that.” One corner of his lips lifted in a smile. “But the back-and-forth talks are what get me in trouble.” He tilted his head. “After all, I didn’t ask what you thought about returning to the Amish…and that would be the only right thing to do.”

  She stayed there, watching him walk away, unsure of what to do. When she’d said stay, she meant staying to care for Dat. Why had Gideon assumed she meant returning to the Amish? She remembered Marianna. Surely in a community like this, one could be Englisch without the same shunning one received in a community back east. But the way he reminded her that her choice to be Amish or not was her decision made it almost sound appealing.

  The way Gideon interacted with her was appealing. Mostly because even though he’d offered to walk her, he wasn’t coddling her. He’d offered her friendship and not pity on the day of her mem’s funeral. He wasn’t ashamed to be seen with her even though she didn’t wear a dress or kapp.

  But how could she tell him her talk of staying in West Kootenai longer than two weeks didn’t mean she was returning to the Amish? She’d made a point of never saying that. Never acting like it was such. The last thing she wanted to do was break her dat’s heart again.

  Unless…

  She thought of the book Bonnie talked about. Maybe it would be good enough to write about returning to the community as an Englischer.

  Lydia sighed and started after Gideon, picking up her pace as she hurried to catch up. She enjoyed her job in Seattle, but she loved the idea of writing a book even more. She enjoyed her friends, but there was no one there like Gideon. And then there was her father. He needed her, and she held the ability to bring him joy within her grasp.

  Maybe Gideon saw something within her gaze she’d yet to acknowledge. Maybe this trip wasn’t just about burying Mem. Maybe it was about breathing life into parts of her she’d allowed to die.

  She could almost imagine Bonnie’s words. “Did you run to something or away from something, Lydia?”

  She hadn’t wanted to think about that. It was easier rewriting someone else’s story than penning her own.

  The shared meal was eaten on the church tables—made when extra legs were added to the church benches—set up around the Sommer house. As with all church meals, the men sat with men, and the women and younger children sat together.

  Lydia sat mostly to herself near some of the other women, taking in the sight. Even as she sat there she imagined what words she’d use to capture this scene. With black type on white paper, she’d be able to describe enough of the setting for readers to be a part of this gathering. Harder to describe would be the jostling of hope and loss within. The darkness of never again feeling a mother’s embrace contrasting with the eagerness to find a home with her father again—at least for a while.

  Take a step of faith. Be brave. Pick up the pen to your own life. Her lower lip trembled at the thought.

  With one phone call Bonnie could pack up that box of Lydia’s things, load her houseplants, and rent the place she’d considered home. With one conversation with Dat, she could call the people in this room her neighbors.

  Lydia watched the women in the kitchen and the men finishing up their plates of food. These folks were all here to honor her mother, yet she only knew a few names. She thought of their old home in Sugarcreek. Mem was a friend to many there—did they also grieve or was Mem’s passing just unfortunate news to be shared at a quilting circle?

  An Englisch woman with a slight build and a long blonde ponytail approached. She had the swagger of a cowgirl but a smile that made all at ease in her presence—Amish and Englisch alike. Lydia had met Annie, the owner of the West Kootenai Kraft and Grocery, only a few times, but it was obvious that a few times was all Annie needed to make someone a friend.

  Annie approached and extended her hand. Lydia placed her own in the woman’s. It was warm. Yesterday, as she’d been enfolded in her dat’s arms, Lydia realized how little those
in her new life had offered a warm touch. Her heart hungered for more.

  Annie smiled. “Your mother was a very special woman.”

  “Thank you, Annie. I appreciate that.”

  “No, dear, I’m not just saying that. She was a special friend, and we grew in our love of the Lord together. In fact, every Monday after the breakfast rush I’d grab some pastries made that morning, run over to her place, and we’d have a little Bible study.”

  “My mother…She had Bible study with an…?” Lydia paused, studying Annie’s face, realizing what words almost emerged.

  “With an Englisch woman? Yes, or as she would say, Oh, ja.” Laughter bubbled from Annie’s lips. “Ada Mae kept to herself mostly when your parents first moved here, but she warmed up—they usually do.”

  “They?”

  “Our Amish friends. It’s hard to open up to outsiders. Well, with what they’ve been taught all their lives. But she came around.”

  “So when you studied together…did you study anything special?” Lydia was still trying to let the idea of her mem studying the Bible with an Englisch woman sink in.

  “Oh, just what we’d been reading that week in the Bible and studying on our own.” Annie’s smile faded, and her lip quivered slightly. “I’m going to miss that—miss hearing your mem’s promises.”

  “Her promises?”

  “Yes, it was one of her favorite things to share. Seemed not a week went by that she didn’t point out another promise from God to us. Your mem’s faith was a beautiful thing. She trusted God even with her health. Even with—” Now it was Annie’s turn to get a sheepish look on her face.

  “Even with me, her only daughter, forsaking the Amish and living in Seattle?”

  “Yes. That was heaviest on her heart. Part of it was that you left the Amish community, but mostly she hoped you would someday love God like you did when you were a child. She said—”

  “Lydia?” A woman approached and placed a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but yer dat is looking weary. Gideon said he’d drive you both home. I’ll send some food with him. You don’t mind, do ya?”

  “Mind? Ne. I mean no.” Lydia shook her head, and a red curl slipped from its pin. She quickly tucked it behind her ear.

  She glanced over at her dat, and the pain of the day crashed down upon her to see his thin frame and pale face. When had he gotten so old? Lydia offered a hurried good-bye to Annie and the other women and then rushed to his side, thankful that Gideon was already there, leading Dat to his buggy.

  Could something happen to Dat too? Her heart dropped into her stomach. She’d never forgive herself if it did.

  Still, as the buggy wheeled out of the yard, Lydia glanced back. What truth had Annie been about to share? What had been so special to Mem?

  CHAPTER

  7

  Lydia sat up straight and listened. The dark night outside the window had only one sound, the occasional hoot of an owl. Her mind was far from quiet. Thoughts pressed in. Thoughts of life and death. Of being birthed into darkness and fighting it off her whole life.

  Footsteps creaked on the floorboards outside her bedroom door. Was that what had woken her? West Kootenai was far quieter than her apartment in Seattle. Because of that, every single noise seemed amplified, drawing her attention.

  Dat was up, stoking the fire. He most likely hadn’t been able to sleep. After coming home and resting he’d gotten some of his color back, but he’d hardly eaten a thing. She’d have to watch that—watch him. But tonight, at this moment, he was the one still caring for her and she liked it.

  Lydia snuggled into her blankets. She wasn’t alone tonight. Dat was doing his part to keep her warm. He always did his part.

  When she was small, he’d come in to sit and watch her sleep. She must have been ten years old the first time she realized he was doing it, but even when she felt his presence there she kept her eyes closed and pretended she was sleeping. Sometimes he’d hum his favorite hymn, barely audible as it leaked through his lips. It took nearly six months for her to get up the nerve to ask Mem about it.

  “Why does Dat watch me? Do I talk in my sleep or somethin’?”

  “Ne.” Mem had chuckled. “Sometimes he still finds it hard to believe the gut Lord gave you to us. He says his prayers seem to be closest to God’s ear near you…because your adoption was our first answered prayer.”

  Lydia had known from early childhood that she’d been adopted. Mem always called her “their gift.” It wasn’t until her teen years she understood she’d been a curse first.

  “The first answered prayer?” Lydia had asked. “Surely there were more before that.”

  Mem had smiled at that comment. “Ja, there were other answered prayers, but you were the first that mattered. Really mattered.”

  Another tear slipped out and tumbled onto her pillow. Why hadn’t that memory replayed when she was sixteen? During her rumspringa, she’d thought more of what Englisch things she could get away with. She could listen to music. She could drive a car. She could leave.

  As if leaving Mem and Dat would change anything about her birth.

  She hadn’t gone far at first. She stayed with a family in town. The husband traveled for work, and his wife had an online business. Lydia had watched the kids, cleaned, and soon started editing the woman’s presentations. It got her foot in the door with the right people, and she never looked back. At eighteen years old when she was offered a job in Seattle, she left without question. But being here now made her ask herself: why had she turned her back on the two people she loved most?

  Why did I waste all those years with Mem? Years that’ll never come again.

  Lydia cooked Dat breakfast the next morning—eggs, bacon, and toast. He dug in with gusto, giving her a sense of satisfaction that he found such joy in a simple meal.

  She yawned. In Seattle she got into the office by eight o’clock, which meant getting up at six o’clock. To Dat, that would be sleeping in. As he grew older he started taking more naps, but he hadn’t yet gotten out of the habit of waking up before the roosters. Mem used to tease Dat that he needed to wake up early so he wouldn’t miss his first nap.

  Mem. The house was filled with her things. Mem’s mending in a basket by the rocking chair. Her favorite mug hanging on a hook in the cupboard. Her shawl folded on the table by the back door. Lydia pictured Mem wrapping it around her shoulders to go out to feed the chickens or check on the squash in the garden, or just to step onto the porch to watch the mountain finches flutter around the yard. But this was Lydia’s kitchen now, at least for a while. She jotted down notes in her green spiral notebook—memories mostly, and thoughts about what it was like to be here again. Then she pushed the notebook to the side.

  She’d started a grocery list and considered driving down to Eureka. If she was going to stay here, she needed a few things from the store. Things she doubted they carried at the West Kootenai Kraft and Grocery.

  Her stomach growled as she thought about the Shoo-Fly Pie Mem had taught her to make. Mem always called hers the Wet Bottom Shoo-Fly, which wasn’t the same as the Dry Shoo-Fly that Oma Wyse made, which was better for dunking. Lydia made a mental note to check the cupboards for the ingredients for Shoo-Fly Pie—and then changed her mind. Maybe she should wait to make Mem’s favorite. Give their hearts time to heal.

  She took a sip of her coffee and glanced at her father. His eyes were fixed on Mem’s rocking chair. Could he see her there still?

  Shoo-Fly Pie. It was the last recipe Mem had sent Lydia in the mail. Lydia had pulled out the recipe card from the envelope, read the latest West Kootenai news, and had thrown the letter away. She tucked her fist under her chin and rested on it, thinking of that now. What had the letter said? She wished she had kept it—kept all Mem’s letters.

  “Penny for your thoughts.”

  Lydia glanced up at Dat. His eyes were on her. Warm, gentle, mournful.

  “That’s an Englisch phrase if I’ve heard one.”

 
He chuckled. “We’ve lived around here three years yet. Things as these git picked up.”

  “I was trying to remember the last things Mem wrote to me about. A wedding, I think. And did someone stop by to help you take down a dead tree in the back?”

  “Ja. It was the tree yer mem used to have her clothesline on. It had to come down, otherwise a bad wind would have sent it into our back porch. A number of the bachelors came by to help…including Gideon.”

  Lydia pretended hearing his name didn’t bring a fluttering of butterflies to her stomach.

  “Seems like something that would happen. Folks are nice around here. Gideon was kind to walk with me yesterday, although I hope he didn’t get too much of a teasing from his bachelor friends.”

  They’d had a nice walk, a nice talk, and that was all. But curiosity brightened Dat’s eyes. What would Dat think if he knew that she and Gideon had briefly discussed her staying?

  Coming Home. It would be a good title for a book. She’d already started writing down the jumble of thoughts, feelings, and emotions balled up within her like the yarn in the basket. Maybe she’d find some answers if she had a chance to get words on paper. Maybe writing about Mem would ease the loss.

  “I was wondering about something, Dat. About Mem’s last words—or your last conversation. Since she didn’t know what was to come…”

  He paused and lifted his head, scanning the timbered ceiling. It took him a few minutes to answer. It wasn’t because he’d forgotten, she guessed, but because speaking of Mem was hard.

  “She was snuggled into bed already when I came in.” Dat’s emotions sat heavy in his throat. “I heard something outside and hoped it wasn’t deer because I hadn’t fixed the fence ‘round the garden yet.”

  “Was it deer?”

  “Ne, jest the neighbor’s dog.”

  Lydia nodded.

  “And she asked about the beans.”

  “The beans?”

  “Ja, the beans in the garden. There was a frost coming, and she was worried about them. I told her not to fret, that I’d already covered them in plastic.”

  She had to check on Mem’s garden tomorrow. Mem had been a wonderful gardener during Lydia’s growing-up years, but her plot had shrunk over time as it became harder for her to tend to it.