by Tricia Goyer
Gentle, soft—like an angel’s kiss—peace settled in Lydia’s heart.
She pictured God. Waiting, just like Mem had, with open arms. Instead of preparing a room with flowers and fresh sheets, He’d prepared a life for her.
She wanted to return to her faith, and deep inside she had a feeling that returning to the Amish was the way God was asking her to do that. Not because God could only be found in the Amish community, but rather because He wanted her to be a part of a people who dealt with their angst and hopes together.
Lydia blew out a breath, considering what this meant. She’d rent out her condo. She’d park her car. She could work, ja, some…But again she had a feeling that the work she’d been doing—crafting others’ words—was going to take a backseat to writing her story, living the story first penned by God.
This meant opening her heart, knowing others and letting herself be known, at least in part. She couldn’t imagine confessing her whole truth, but she could look to God. She could believe He’d given her to Dat and Mem for a purpose.
And for the first time in her life, that seemed enough.
Gideon sat down with a piece of paper and pen, wishing he could be more like Lydia—a natural with words. He wanted to write to Dat and Mem—to urge them to share the truth of that day he got lost in the woods, but he couldn’t figure out how to say the words without them feeling as if he was judging them, blaming them. If Lydia was here, he could ask her to write the words for him. Although…could she? How could she help when he’d rather listen than talk, than confess?
Tonight at dinner she’d entertained him with stories of ferry crossings, tomato ice cream, and dozens of other interesting facts about Seattle. What he found interesting, of course, wasn’t that Lydia enjoyed talking about the place, but that she talked about it in past tense. As if it was her former life. Did she plan to settle in West Kootenai? Stay here?
Caleb slept soundly in the top bunk of their cabin, but Gideon couldn’t sleep. As much as he enjoyed training Blue and helping Mr. Wyse with the chores, the truths he and Lydia both battled never strayed far from his mind.
He knew Lydia was adopted. Her dat had shared that information, speaking of the gift they’d been given. But he’d also overheard it in whispered words: “That’s why she’s different. No wonder she doesn’t fit in.” No one knew for certain if her birth mother had been Englisch, but that was the assumption. Amish mothers didn’t give up their babies.
He could read her story in her eyes, just as he’d read her edited words in that book. She didn’t feel as if she fit in. Even the immense love of her parents couldn’t make her believe otherwise. He wanted to tell her the truth—that she had value—but how could he when he ran from his own past? Maybe that’s why they got along so well. They’d become experts at pushing everyone else to the edges in order to protect the thin veil of self-dignity that hid their pain.
I can’t help her until I discover my own truth. I have to face the pain Mem and Dat don’t want to share. I have to know.
He looked at the piece of paper on the table before him. And although he’d planned on writing a letter to his parents, he thought instead of the words to a hymn from the Ausbund that his mem used to sing.
When he was younger, Gideon hadn’t understood why she didn’t sing about happier things. But now it made sense. It was easy to sing to God in the joyous times, but true faith came when one sought God, praised Him, in hardship. The words from the Amish hymn moved from his mind to his pen.
Everlasting Father in heaven,
I call on you so ardently,
Do not let me turn from you.
Keep me in your truth
Until my final end.
O God, guard my heart and mouth,
Lord watch over me at all times,
Let nothing separate me from you,
Be it affliction, anxiety, or need,
Keep me pure in joy.
My everlasting Lord and Father,
Show and teach me,
Poor unworthy child that I am,
That I heed your path and way.
In this lies my desire.
To walk through your power into death,
Through sorrow, torture, fear and want.
Sustain me in this,
O God, so that I nevermore
Be separated from your love.
Gideon finished the last line and exhaled. He read the words over, letting them sink in.
There was a stirring from the top bunk, and Gideon glanced up. Caleb turned to his side and glanced down at him. His dark brown hair stuck up in all directions.
“Are you writing a love letter?”
Gideon shrugged. “Of sorts.”
“Are you fancy on her?”
“You talking about Lydia?”
“Who else would I be talkin’ about?”
Gideon set his pen on the table. He’d have to put off writing Mem and Dat until another day. “Of course not. She’s Englisch.”
“Yer mind says that, but what about yer heart?”
“I’ve only known her a week. Less than that. Besides, she’s going to be back in Seattle soon and in six months—at the end of hunting season—I’m heading back to Pennsylvania.”
“No one says you have to return. You can work here as well as there.” Caleb sat straighter and leaned his back against the wall. “Ja, my dat said he knew from the first time he saw Mem that she was to be his wife.” Caleb chuckled. “Of course it took three years for her to figure out the same thing.”
“Ja.” The crisp evening breeze shimmied through the open window, and Gideon latched the window closed and perched on the end of his wooden chair. He didn’t know how to respond. Didn’t know what he thought. His greatest joy of meeting Lydia mixed with discovering a man who knew about his past. And finding out he was too coward to face it.
“I do think she’s special.” He put the cap on the pen and tossed it onto the cluttered counter. “I just wish we were more alike than different.”
And more different than alike.
“And if things change?”
An image of her in Amish dress and kapp filled his mind. He swallowed and told his heart to calm its quickened beat. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants and shrugged. It was the only answer he could give.
“Gideon…” Caleb frowned. “You can talk to me. I’m not going to run off and tell her how you feel.”
Gideon’s steepled fingers rested against his lips while he studied the tack hanging on the wall of the cabin. His brows lowered as he tried to put his thoughts into words.
“Change can come, but not all change is good.” He rose and slid suspenders from his shoulders. “The trick is in where you put your trust. Whose voice yer listening to. If anything, a woman like that could do me in.
“The worst horse isn’t one who tugs on the ropes, Caleb. It’s one that refuses to submit to teaching. That tries to race off his own direction, not understanding that true safety comes from one who guides with a gentle hand. There’s nothing I can do but wait…and pray that God will take these feelings away.”
“You can pray she’ll return Amish,” Caleb mumbled as his head returned to the pillow.
“Ja. There’s always that.” Gideon wasn’t going to get his hopes up. And even if she did return, that didn’t mean she’d care for him as he was beginning to suspect he cared for her. It would hurt even more knowing he’d be rejected without Lydia not being Amish as an excuse.
And his feeling for the beautiful redhead would be yet another part of his heart he’d have to hide and ignore.
CHAPTER
12
Lydia arrived at the Kraft and Grocery just past nine o’clock wearing a skirt and simple shirt. Even though she’d tried on her Amish clothes to see if they still fit, she decided not to wear them out of the house yet. Instead she thought of the perfect way to tell Dat. Tomorrow, as he hitched up the horse to the buggy to head for Sunday church, she would come out dressed in her Amish clothes. Oth
er than Mem’s funeral, she hadn’t been part of an Amish service for years. He didn’t expect her to go. It would be a joyful surprise.
But today…today she’d still be considered Englisch in their eyes. And in a way she liked that. It would be interesting to see who accepted her as Lydia and who would only accept her once she again wore Amish clothes.
She liked that the women got together every Saturday. She pushed open the glass door to the Kraft and Grocery and listened as women’s voices and laughter filled her ears. Even though it was summer the woodstove in the dining area had been lit against the bite of the chilly morning air.
Many sets of eyes turned her direction as she entered, and conversations paused for just a moment. There were mostly Amish women there, and Lydia figured that in the next thirty minutes or so, Englisch women would filter in.
Mrs. Sommer had an empty chair next to her and motioned to Lydia. Her heart leapt slightly and she hurried forward. To her mind, it seemed a small thing to be accepted into this group, but her heart felt otherwise. While she had friends in Seattle, there was something special, different, about the Amish community. Had she missed being known? Belonging?
“I jest don’t know what we’re going to do.” Sallie Peachy patted her kapp as her voice raised above the group. “School starts in less than two months. Do we have time yet to advertise in The Budget?”
“Maybe so,” an older Amish woman was saying. “But what young woman would be interested in coming all this way jest for an interview? And I don’t feel comfortable hiring someone without meeting her first.”
What had gotten the women as frazzled as spotting a fox near the chicken coop? Lydia scooted nearer to Ruth, leaning close to her ear. “What are they talking about?”
“Oh, we jest discovered Emma Litwiller, our teacher, is moving back to Wisconsin to care for an elderly aunt. We need a new teacher for our school, and no one around these parts is a gut fit.”
“Are you sure there isn’t anyone in the community who’d consider the job?” another Amish woman asked. Lydia had yet to remember everyone’s name but she knew that would come with time.
“Vell, there is Marianna,” Ruth Sommer chimed in. “Just to fill in until we can get someone. A few months, maybe. She’ll be traveling to California with Ben for part of the winter. He’s written some songs and…” Ruth’s voice trailed off, and Lydia put the pieces together. Marianna’s husband Ben must be the same musician Mem had written about. Lydia was familiar with his song “Every Warm Cabin,” and she was surprised that he’d come from the small community of West Kootenai. After Lydia knew a bit more about him, and his connection to her parents, she had smiled whenever she’d heard the song around Seattle.
Sallie Peachy lifted an eyebrow and cleared her throat. Her face reflected pity. “But, Ruth, this is an Amish school. Marianna is no longer Amish.”
Ruth’s mouth opened slightly, then heat filled her cheeks. “Oh, ja.” Her words were simple but they carried bucket loads of pain. Lydia’s shoulders tensed and her heart grew in its ache. She’d brought the same embarrassment on her mem. The same shame.
Ruth lowered her head and fumbled with a handkerchief on her lap.
Sallie Peachy picked up the conversation, trying to get the attention off her friend. She spoke of a niece in Ohio who was good with children, but she didn’t know if she’d be able to come since her mem had just had another baby.
“Besides,” Sallie added, “she lived in the world for a time and has jest recently been baptized.”
“Jest as long as she is baptized. Is Amish,” an older woman piped up. “I don’t see the problem. Isn’t it true we are a new creation when we turn to God…and He remembers our sins no more.”
Lydia placed her palms down on the cool wood of the table, and excitement tightened her chest. Is that what mattered? Not where you’d been, but who you became before God. Before the church?
Dear Lord, is this part of Your plan? Did You bring me back for such a time as this? Will they really accept me?
“I’ll write a letter, then.” Sallie gave a firm nod. “I’ll let you know what she says.”
Lydia hoped the young woman wouldn’t be able to come. In her younger years, before the pain of her past was known, she’d dreamt of being a teacher—for a few years at least. She’d thought that having a job like Miss Yoder, her favorite teacher, would be both fun and worthwhile. To spend time with the students in and outside of the classroom. To get to know their families. To travel with Englisch drivers on field trips and open up the outside world to the young students in a fun and safe way, just as Miss Yoder had done for her.
Hearing about the need of the community was as if someone had taken ammonia to the window to her dreams and cleaned off the layer of film that had built throughout the years. Walking in the world, driving through rush-hour traffic, losing herself in the latest sitcom had built up layer after layer of grimy self-interest, blocking her view into what really mattered.
As the women discussed the role of the teacher, Lydia thought back to a book she’d edited. The author had urged women to follow their dreams. Through the pages, the author asked readers to think of their first dreams, as a child, and test them to see if they were still valid. Whether it was to be an artist, a musician, a baker, or even the mem of young children, the dreams from one’s young self often aligned with one’s God-given gifts and pointed to God-penned desires that were cast aside or forgotten in the reality of life.
She also thought of Bonnie and could almost picture her boss’s wide-eyed excitement. Not only would Lydia return, she’d also become a teacher? It sounded like the making of a great book.
As they talked, more women joined them, and excitement built as Lydia listened. Her mind was racing with lesson ideas when Mrs. Sommer reached over and patted her hand. Lydia glanced over at the older woman and noticed the woman’s gaze was directed behind them.
Lydia looked over her shoulder. Gideon had just entered. He looked surprised to see her sitting among the other women, yet a pleasant smile lifted his lips. He moved to the back restaurant area, separated from the main dining room by a curtain. Was it only her imagination, or was there an extra lightness to his step?
She motioned to the waitress and asked for a cup of hot water and a tea bag, trying to distract herself from the tension building inside. Did the tautness inside come from a hope that God was leading her? It seemed almost too good to be true that she could stay and serve in a way that would not only bring joy to her father but help the community too.
Yet would they accept her? she wondered again. Lydia looked down at her brown skirt. Not now. Not yet.
Inside, she felt like Blue on that rope, wanting to run back to Seattle but feeling a powerful source holding her back. Her mind raced in circles, yet was it possible that Someone held the lead? Someone who loved her very much?
Even though Gideon was on the other side of the restaurant, partitioned off by a half wall and curtain, knowing he was there took the chill off her heart, just as the woodstove did in this room. If he was that happy to see her interacting, trying to fit in, then what would he think when she arrived at church tomorrow in Amish dress? What would he do when he discovered she wanted to apply for the teaching job too? Would she tell him right away? Or should she prove herself to be a trusted part of the community before she brought it up?
Lydia readjusted in her seat, chiding herself for worrying about Gideon. She hadn’t asked much about his family back home, his dreams, his goals. She was foolish to think he’d be willing to take a step closer to her if she chose to be Amish. What if his possible attraction was only that—something he kept from afar? And after hunting season would he stay? Or would he return to his friends and family back in Pennsylvania?
She touched her fingers to her lips, knowing she’d still make the same decision. The decision to return to the Amish wasn’t about him, after all.
More women showed up, and the conversation moved away from the topic of an Amish teach
er, but the women’s tight-lipped smiles proved the worry remained heavy on their minds. And why wouldn’t it be? A schoolteacher was one of the greatest influences on the lives of their children. And as she considered that, Lydia’s stomach knotted. It didn’t matter if she changed on the inside; what mattered was if the others in this community believed she had.
Would I trust myself if I was in their shoes? Trust enough to let me guide young children? She lowered her head and folded her hands on her lap. Ne. Not yet, but hopefully that would change. Maybe if she sought God more, like she had as a child, and read about His promises in Mem’s box, the change would come—not by force but through the gentle, quiet direction of a loving Savior.
Lydia made her dat a sandwich of homemade bread and hamburger soup made with leftovers for lunch. She set the table with the special red plate Mem had bought years ago. They used it every birthday and during other important events. As she’d walked home from the store, Lydia knew she could no longer wait until before church service tomorrow to talk to Dat. She needed to talk to him about their community’s need, and the only way to do that would be to tell him her decision.
It was a special day—one Dat had waited years for. Her future would forever change after this moment.
Lydia ignored the nagging thoughts that reminded her a book was at stake too. She had that to look forward to also, but she wouldn’t tell Dat about that now. Not yet. A soft smile played on her lips as she imagined the back-cover copy: “Lydia Wyse returns to bury her mother, and in rediscovering her Amish roots she finds her faith again. More than that, she finds her influence matters in the lives of the children in the community.”
Lydia nodded. It sounded good to her, and it would sound even better if she also found the love of her life. But love could not be scripted. It was far too fickle for that.
She shook her head, as if knocking away her fanciful thoughts, and turned to Dat. “Dinner’s ready!”
Dad rose from his favorite chair, sauntered over, and sat at the kitchen table. After their silent prayer, he picked up half of the sandwich…and saw the red plate in front of Lydia. He paused, sandwich mid air, and fixed his eyes on her. “Have we something to celebrate?”