by Tricia Goyer
The words ended there, and Lydia turned the paper over in her hand. The last few penned words were squiggly, filled with emotion. The handwriting was always the same as it had been. Even in the time of Mem’s great illness, she never lost her penmanship.
Lydia refolded the letter in its perfect ninety-degree creases, trying to decide what she thought of that. Had the bishop heard of her birth mother’s pregnancy and also Ada Mae’s childless state? Had he used his influence to bring a baby into Ada Mae’s arms? Or…was it possible that God was behind it?
A chill moved down Lydia’s arms. She knew about Sarah in the Bible, or at least she remembered some of the story. Sarah was barren, and God sent an angel to tell her she’d have a son. It seemed easy to think of such things happening long ago. Biblical characters seemed almost more than human. But could such a promise be sent by God to someone today? Sent to tell of her coming? Her birth?
Impossible.
Lydia placed the paper back in the box. What did the other dozens of folded notes say? Today just one occupied her thoughts. Mem’s words weighed on her mind. Her heart quivered in her chest like an aspen leaf on the wind.
Lydia swallowed hard and turned off the kerosene lamp. Then she snuggled down under the covers as the last rays of light peeked around the curtains. That’s one thing she remembered about Montana: the sun set late here in the summer months. Yet she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Her day had been full of hopes and promises. When was the last time she could say such? Too long ago to remember.
And it was one promise that filled her mind most as she drifted off to sleep.
She’d been the promise—the promise from a man of God to Mem.
CHAPTER
11
Lydia woke before dawn and finished the edits on a novel about a group of women who crossed on the Oregon Trail. She liked that the novel was inspired by true stories. She was also excited to add depth to one section that involved a ranch hand, Chuck Trent. As she edited the part where Chuck tried to calm a wild horse, she couldn’t help but think of Gideon. The gentle way he’d handled Blue yesterday was a perfect illustration for the fictional character in the book. As she thought of Gideon, “Chuck” came to life on the page.
As much as she enjoyed others’ words, her own pulsated through her mind. She was eager to get her contracted work done and sent. Her own sentences, paragraphs, trailed behind her like a lost puppy, begging for attention.
Lydia bundled the manuscript to send back to Bonnie. After breakfast with Dat, she walked with eager steps to the West Kootenai Kraft and Grocery. The log cabin-style building was set at the end of the muddy parking lot. A wooden-planked walkway, just like the ones she’d read about in Wild West books, led her to a glass-front door. Her favorite part, though, was the tall log post near the store. On it were arrows pointing toward various locations and the distance to them: North Pole 2,750 miles. South Pole 9,500 miles. Honolulu, Hawaii 3,912 miles. Canada 2 miles. It was good to know your place in the world.
Lydia entered and approached the older man at the counter.
“Hey, there.” She held up the package. “I’d like to overnight this to Seattle, please.”
“Nope. Not going to be able to do that.” He didn’t glance up from the copy of the Daily Interlake newspaper that he was reading.
“Do you have a priority option?”
The older man with gray hair shook his head. “I have a scale and stamps. If you’d like to do any of those fancy options, you’ll have to go down the hill and cross the bridge over to Rexford.”
“Just to mail something?”
He looked up at her then and tilted his head, eyeing her curiously. “You Jacob Wyse’s girl?”
“Ja…yes.”
“Then why don’t you jest drive your car there?”
He wasn’t harsh with his words. The way he said it made her want to chuckle.
Lydia twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “I’m, uh, not in a driving mood.”
“I have stamps, then.” He turned the page of the newspaper.
Lydia looked down at the package. In addition to the manuscript, she’d also sent a note that she might be a little late on the other two manuscripts too. Just as she wasn’t in a driving mood, she wasn’t in an editing mood either.
“Wonderful, that’ll work. Stamps, then.”
The older man weighed the package, and she paid him for the stamps. He tossed it into the outgoing mail pile and a weight lifted from her shoulders.
What she was in the mood for was to get back home so she could watch Gideon in the pasture with Blue and to read more letters in the Promise Box.
She glanced at her watch. It was early. She had time to have a cup of coffee—to watch the people in the community as they shopped and ate. To take the first steps of getting to know the folks who called this place home.
Lydia hadn’t thought twice about leaving the Amish, but returning filled her mind to the top—just like the way Mem filled jelly jars, so that the extra fillings squished out when she put on the lid.
The breeze ruffled Lydia’s peasant skirt as another customer stepped through the front door of the West Kootenai Kraft and Grocery. The logger who moved past her smelled of Old Spice, like her neighbor back in Seattle. Back home, Mr. Montgomery’s scent always hung around the glass and metal elevator. But here the scent was a brief introduction. The scents of bacon, coffee, and last night’s fried chicken punctuated her further steps.
After him, an Englisch woman and her daughter walked by.
“Good morning!” Lydia chirped. She pushed her lips up into a smile.
The woman’s steps were lighter as she picked up a grocery basket. “Good morning to you too.”
Bonnie had told her to take a step of faith. Dat said God had a plan for her. Her father’s sable brown eyes twinkled when he’d said that. His plan meant here, with him. What would that look like?
She stepped lightly to the restaurant area, and even though she’d just eaten, the scent of cinnamon rolls and peanut butter wooed her. More wonderful scents. The kitchen was open, and an Englisch woman rolled cookie dough into balls, setting them onto the pan in nice, even spaces.
The Amish waitress sat at the table closest to the kitchen, filling salt shakers. Lydia recognized her.
She didn’t look up. “Sit anywhere you’d like.”
“Thanks, Eve.”
Head jerked, gaze narrowed, and Eve’s eyebrows turned down.
Lydia took the table closest to Eve, her skirt catching slightly on the rough-hewn wooden bench. Light glinted off the window, causing her to blink. She shielded her eyes and peered out at the rays of light stretching into the lavender-gray sky.
Hope stretched out of her heart, and joy mixed with regret. Joy over imagining Dat’s face when she told him she most likely would be returning. Regret that she hadn’t come home sooner. That her stubborn will had enveloped her like a force field. Yet instead of offering protection, it had kept love and family and community from penetrating its solid defenses.
“Coffee?” Eve lined up twelve shakers in a neat row but didn’t move.
Lydia shifted in her seat and pressed her open hands on her legs. “Tea, please. Do you have Earl Grey?”
“Most people drink coffee around here.” Eve rose and set the salt shakers on the other tables, ignoring Lydia’s table completely, walking around her with a wide berth.
Lydia stomach knotted, and she clenched and unclenched her fists. Had she done something or said something wrong?
“Whatever tea you have is fine.” Her sing-song tone fell flat. “And thank you…for bringing that bread by the house yesterday. I know it’s out of your way.”
“It was a nice day out. I wanted to see the lake, so I thought I’d come with the other ladies.”
“Tomorrow Gideon—”
“No need to waste his time. I can come again.” Eve turned over Lydia’s coffee cup with a clatter.
Lydia cleared her throat and jutted out her c
hin. “I know you said Gideon would bring it by tomorrow, but I told him not to worry. I’m going to bake two loaves later today. My mother did teach me how to bake.”
“If you say so.”
“I did appreciate your help, and that from the others. All your help. The plum jam was delicious—”
“We did it because of your father, ja. For yer mem’s memory too.”
“I’m thankful my father shared.”
“Dat says we’re to be separate from the world. Folks haven’t paid that enough mind. I’m not going to fool you to think we could be friends, Lydia.”
And next week? And the week after? What about when—if—I decide to begin wearing my dress, kapp, and apron?
Lydia straightened her shoulders, focusing on the woman’s face. She lifted the white porcelain coffee cup. “About the tea?”
“I have chamomile. I’ll be right back.”
Lydia pushed back, her shoulders pressing into the hard wood of the bench. Shouldn’t they think about putting cushions on these benches?
Eve returned with a cup of hot water and a tea bag that looked as if it had been sitting on the shelf for ten years. She placed a menu on the table, still without a word. Obviously not everyone would be thrilled by her choice to return.
Lydia pulled out her notepad and pen from her purse, and with one more glance to Eve she began to write.
Two cups of tea later, Lydia looked at the words in front of her. With pen across the paper, she couldn’t come up with one reason why she’d want to go back to Seattle. Yet returning to the Amish, there was something holding her back: faith. Her dat had asked her to pray about returning, but for some reason, praying was the hardest thing to do.
Eve was busy in the kitchen, and she’d left Lydia’s tab on the table, informing her to pay at the front cash register when she left. Lydia wasn’t going to hold a grudge. She understood the fear of outsiders—especially those who chose to leave the Amish way.
She grabbed a small handheld shopping basket and considered what she wanted to make for dinner the next few days. One of her favorite things was potato gnepp, which Mem called “old shoes.” She got the ingredients for the dough and more potatoes for the filling. She also got items for chicken loaf and beef and bean soup—a few of Dat’s favorites.
By the time she’d finished shopping, the older gentleman was gone, and a young Amish woman rang her up.
Lydia paid and scooped up the two paper sacks. “Danki.”
The young woman eyed her. “Did you used to be Amish?”
She had opened her mouth to respond when she felt a hand on her arm. She turned to see a short, older woman in Amish dress with strawberry blonde hair peeking out from under her kapp. She seemed pleasant enough, and Lydia offered a smile.
“Lydia Wyse?”
“Ja?”
“I’m Sallie Peachy. I know your parents.” The woman scanned Lydia’s loose sweater and long skirt, but instead of judgment in her eyes, a soft smile touched her lips. “You’re sort of like Marianna. She left the Amish too.”
Sallie turned slightly and pointed to a woman in the kitchen. Instead of a kapp, the woman wore a handkerchief over her light brown hair, and she hummed along to the radio as she kneaded a ball of dough. Her long dress and apron wasn’t Amish, but it was close. When she turned, Lydia realized it was Marianna.
“Uh-huh,” she answered, not knowing how to respond. “So she left the Amish?”
“Ja, to marry Ben. Their wedding took place just a few months ago—the most beautiful wedding. For an Englisch one, of course.”
Lydia smiled. “Ja, I imagine so.” Was there a purpose for this information? She was certain Gideon was already out in the pasture with Blue. Had he scanned her parents’ place looking for her? “Marianna, uh, seems to enjoy her job,” she said, attempting to be nice, then readjusted her bags in her hand.
“Oh, it’s not her job. She’s just filling in for Sarah, who’s in Ohio right now working at a bakery. She’s engaged now, too, from what I hear. The two women are best friends, and when Marianna was in Indiana, Sarah ran the bakery and now with Sarah gone…”
“Marianna is in charge. How wonderful that worked out.” Lydia took a step closer to the door.
Sallie Peachy frowned. “Are you heading home already?”
“Yes, to put these groceries away and check on Dat.”
“Oh, ja, how is Jacob? I heard he had a horrible spill yesterday.”
“He’s gut…staying off his feet. A kind bachelor named Gideon is filling in for him.”
“Gideon, eh?” Disappointment on the woman’s face was clear. “I have two daughters, and my daughter, Eve, considers him a fine man…one of her favorites among the bachelors.”
“He is nice.” She forced a grin. “I’ll let him know you send your regards.”
The woman nodded and then reached out and grabbed Lydia’s arm. “I do have two questions before you go.”
“Sure.” Lydia paused.
“First, every Saturday all us ladies from the community come for breakfast here at the restaurant. The Amish ones tend to show up first; I suppose we’re early risers. But the Englisch ladies like to join us too. It’s a nice time of shaaaaring…” The woman stretched the last word out, and Lydia guessed their sharing time was more effective at spreading local news than that newspaper Edgar had been reading. Maybe more accurate too.
“I’d like that.”
“And that last thing…” Sallie narrowed her gaze. “Yer not sweet on Gideon, are you, because in my opinion there have been enough young people leaving the Amish lately. No offense.”
Lydia shrugged. “None taken.” She bit her lip, trying to figure out how best to phrase her response. Finally the words came to her.
She cleared her throat. “Mrs. Peachy, I do consider Gideon a nice friend and you can be rest assured that I have no intention of persuading anyone to leave the Amish.”
“That’s gut to know, dear.” Mrs. Peachy patted her arm. “You just never know about young folks these days. Things aren’t like what they used to be when the thought of not being Amish didn’t cross our minds. Faith, friendship, community…what’s not to appreciate?”
“Ja.” Lydia nodded. “I’m starting to see.”
“We aren’t perfect. God doesn’t expect us to be,” Sallie continued. “Faith isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about taking one step. The first step.”
Lydia moved to her chest and pulled out her Amish clothes.
It had taken her just a few minutes to put the grocery items away. Each moment, urgency pushed her forward, confirming what she needed to do. Had God sent Sallie Peachy to the store at that moment to talk to her—just as He had sent that bishop to talk to Mem all those years ago?
The fabric of the dark-blue Amish dress was light, but the weight of it tugged at her arms. She slipped out of her skirt and sweater, then slipped the dress over her head, pinning it up the front. Putting on the Amish clothes was more than just a way to dress. With it came expectations. A way to live, a way to think, a way to believe.
Belief. That was still growing in her. Faith would come, she hoped.
Lydia moved to the window. From where she stood she could see only a fraction of the pasture where Gideon now worked with Blue. Yet just because she couldn’t see him didn’t mean he wasn’t there. And just because she’d run away from the Amish community—and from God in a sense—didn’t mean He had left her.
Lydia’s hands trembled, and she turned back to the bed, noting the quilt Mem had made. Her heart ached knowing that Mem always had the room ready for her. Had Mem known what she hadn’t—that Lydia could run but God would follow? That she could turn her back on her Amish ways but the love of her parents and community was a rope, tethering her to them?
Lydia moved to her bed and sank to her knees, resting her forehead on the mattress, breathing in the scent of sun and pine from the clothesline. How long ago had Mem washed the bedding, hoping for her daughter to return? Did M
em have any idea what would bring her back? Had she understood the bravery it would take to stay?
The Scripture verse she’d read from Mem’s Promise Box replayed in her mind: “Be strong and of a good courage…for the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee.”
It’s too hard.
She waited for a sign from heaven. A knowing inside. A clear revelation in her mind. It didn’t come.
Can I ever know for certain? What if it’s the wrong choice? Staying meant a different life, but did it mean an easier one? She knew that wasn’t the case.
She thought of both Eve’s distain and Sallie’s welcome. Both would be a part of life here. The choice is not an easy life. The choice is…God.
She pressed her palms onto cool, wooden floorboards. That was it. The heart of what she’d been running from. She’d felt betrayed. Growing up she followed in Dat and Mem’s footsteps and loved God with her whole heart. She listened to the preacher’s words and worked so hard to obey. She’d tried to be good. She had been good. But did it mean anything? No matter what she did, nothing could make up for where she came from. Or the pain she’d caused her birth mother.
Did she deserve what she got? No.
Lydia covered her face with her hands and lowered her head. Pain moved from her temples to her jaw as her teeth clenched. She remembered this conflict, these questions. It had been easier to run than to stand up to God. To tell Him she didn’t understand. To feel the disappointment that in all His creating and managing and overseeing He’d let her—and her birth mom—slip through the cracks.
A silent sob shook her body, but instead of the tears that usually came, a new thought shed light into the dark places. She moved to the Promise Box again and pulled out the first note, rereading it. Her life had brought pain to one…but joy to another. She tried to imagine herself from Mem’s eyes. A gift. A glimmer of light. A promise.
God knew me. He had a plan.
Why pain had to be part of that plan she didn’t know, but could it be enough to embrace the truth of what Dat had said: that her life had been the gift to Mem that allowed her to trust in God’s promises again?