by Tricia Goyer
His eyes followed her as she washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen. A soft smile touched his face. She looked back every now and then. Did he pretend the same thing she did? That this was their house, that she was his wife. The last glance back he winked at her, and she guessed he was thinking that. Her stomach tingled as she lit the candles lined up on the table.
“So what brought you to Montana?” she asked as she moved to make both of them a cup of tea. “Is the hunting as big of a draw as everyone says it is?”
He took the mug of tea and spoon from her and nodded when she offered him sugar.
“I do like to hunt, but I came because my parents visited here when I was a boy.” He added sugar to his hot tea and stirred it slowly.
“I bet they miss you…being so far.”
“There are thirteen children in my family, and the older six are all married with little ones. Family gatherings involve half the town and…” He glanced down and placed his spoon on a napkin on the side table. “With one hundred people there, what does it matter when one’s gone?”
Lydia’s lips opened slightly. She’d struck a nerve. “Thirteen children?” It was all she could say.
“It’s a lot, ja, but not unusual in our community. It was hard, though. I felt like the invisible child—the middle of thirteen. Six older than me, six younger. I’m surprised sometimes when people notice me.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I had no trouble noticing you.”
The sadness on his face brightened, and he laughed. “You really didn’t have a chance to ignore me, did you?”
She shook her head. “How could I ignore the stranger stomping toward me and telling me to put away the camera or he’d take it?”
“I’m sorry about that. I have a problem with tourists. That’s what I thought you were. Living in Bird-in-Hand, well, millions of folks come through there every year. They take photographs, even though we ask that they ought not be taken. They stare at us. Follow us. Treat us like animals in a zoo, when we’re just trying to live our normal lives.”
“That happened some in Sugarcreek, but I guess I never thought of it much.” Lydia smiled at him. “Mem told me that everyone wanted to take photos of me because they liked my red hair. I didn’t realize until later that the color of my hair had little to do with it. The style of my dress and the life my parents and I lived mattered far more.”
Gideon shrugged. “Maybe other people aren’t as bothered by it. I talked to my brother once, and he said he didn’t mind the stares. He didn’t mind being different. He always felt like we had something better than everyone else, and that’s why they were drawn to us. But I do think it’s wrong when Englischers try to make money off our ordinary lives. How would they like it if we rented tour buses and drove up and down their streets gawking?”
“I suppose I never thought of it like that.” Lydia took a sip from her tea. “I’m from a smaller community that not many know about—nor talk about much. I did have photos taken of me when I was younger, but when I got older no one paid much attention to a plain-looking, freckle-nosed Amish girl.”
“Lydia. You’re anything but plain.” From the look in his eye she could see Gideon meant it.
“That’s kind of you to say.” They sat for a while, Gideon rocking in the chair and she sitting on the sofa. She felt close to him—this day had built that closeness. She could picture a future with him.
Lydia pressed her lips together. “Want to know a secret?” She sucked in a breath as soon as she released them. The words splashed a cold dread on her face. What she had to share was special. Did she really want to invite Gideon in?
“Ja. Yes, of course.” He smiled and leaned forward. He looked so happy, so hopeful. How could she not share?
“All right. I’ll be right back.”
Lydia hurried into her bedroom and picked up her Promise Box from the bedside table. She took off the letter from the top—the one that she’d read over and over. The one in which Mem talked about meeting her birth mom and claiming Lydia as her own. She wasn’t ready to share that with Gideon. Not yet. She hadn’t even told him she was adopted. She hadn’t told anyone here in West Kootenai. The people she grew up with in Sugarcreek knew, but even then they didn’t know the whole story. A cold shiver ran down her spine over telling anyone that, even Gideon.
She entered the living room with the box in hand. “This is something special, and I wanted to tell you about it. My mem, you see, had a bishop promise her that God was going to give her a child, and that day she wrote down the promise. In the months and years to come she wrote down more promises—mostly from God’s Word.” Lydia’s voice caught in her throat.
“That’s amazing, Lydia. The promise…how beautiful, ja.” Gideon’s eyes were on her as he said those words, and then he held out his hands, and she placed the box in them. He caressed the wood as if she’d just handed him priceless jewels. “It’s amazing, don’t you think, how something so simple can mean so much? I can imagine how much this means to you. Did you always know about it?”
“Ne.” She shook her head. “Only recently. Dat knew. But it wasn’t until Mem’s death…” She let her voice trail off. “I’m glad, though. I wouldn’t have appreciated it before. It’s like water in a desert. The most refreshing water comes after you’ve been thirsty for so long.”
Gideon reached up and fingered a red curl that had slipped from her kapp. “You do have a way with words.”
“Do you want to read one of the promises?” she asked. “There are some Scripture verses near the bottom I haven’t opened yet.” There were more letters, too, that she hadn’t read, but she didn’t tell him that. She needed to wait on those. She needed to read them first.
She opened the Promise Box and reached her hand near the bottom. She pulled out a scrap of paper that was folded in half and handed it to Gideon. He opened it and leaned closer to the candlelight on the side table. He cleared his throat.
“‘And they that know thy name will put their trust in thee: for thou, Lord, hast not forsaken them that seek thee.’” He paused and looked at her. “I’m not sure if I’ve ever read that Scripture. I like it.”
He read it again, silently.
Hope swelled in her heart, pushing worry to the edges.
He looked to her. “Focusing on God’s promises. It seems we don’t do that enough, do we?”
“I know. And the more I read it, the more I realized it’s just what Mem would do.” Lydia was about to ask Gideon about his parents—did they have a similar faith? But she could see something in his eyes. That underlying sorrow. She wouldn’t ask. At least not tonight. Hopefully they had days, and weeks, and much longer than that together. For now she wanted to focus on this moment…on the promises in Mem’s box and the unspoken promise of their growing relationship that this day had brought to her heart.
Gideon stood in misery as he leaned against the doorframe, preparing to leave. He’d tried to pretend that he was just enjoying the conversation, but all he could think about was if he could pull it off. If he could leave everything in Pennsylvania and come here…because he didn’t want to live a day without Lydia. A lump the size of a pinecone filled his throat.
“I had a wonderful evening—a wonderful day,” Lydia said. “And I wanted to tell you that if I’m busy over the next couple of weeks it’s only because school will be starting soon, and it will take a lot of work to get things ready. I wanted you to know that. I didn’t want you to think that if I didn’t have time…that I, uh, didn’t care.”
“I understand.” Gideon gazed into her green eyes. “I know you care. More than that, I can see it in your eyes.”
“Gut. I’m glad. I, uh, feel the same.”
He walked home then, with a lightness to his step. The night air was cold, but a large, full moon lit his path. When he reached his small cabin, light flowed out the windows. Caleb was inside with Micah. They were playing a game of checkers when he entered. Caleb glanced up only briefly, but Micah’s gaze lingered, as
if he’d been waiting to tell Gideon something important.
“You’ve been gone all day,” Caleb commented. “Some of us had target practice. We went looking for you but couldn’t find you. You weren’t at the store…weren’t at the Carash place.”
“I was with Lydia.” Gideon couldn’t help but smile as he said her name.
“The Englisch girl?” Micah asked.
“She’s not Englisch anymore. She was baptized into the church. If you had been there yesterday, you might have seen that.” He spat the words.
“King me.” Micah placed his red checker in the home spot. Then he shrugged. “I was tired. It’s been a long week over at Log Works.”
“There are many excuses for not following the Lord.” Gideon couldn’t help but say it. Like many Amish bachelors, there was pride in the set of Micah’s jaw when he was around Englischers. A pride that came by following the rules of the Amish lifestyle since childhood. But dressing Amish and showing up to church when it was convenient wasn’t enough. Lydia was helping him see that.
Micah scoffed. “Ja, well, I live a good life. And if I was like you, I might go to church often if I needed to do lots of confessing. For turning my heart to a woman who has been tainted by Englisch ways. More than that, if I was guilty of killing someone.”
Hearing his words, Gideon sunk down on his cot. His lower gut ached as if someone had just punched him. His breaths came shallow and ragged.
Caleb jumped to his feet, taking a step toward Micah. “Who do you think you are? There is no need for that. You need to apologize for saying such a thing. As if Gideon could be capable. I’ve seen a horse rear up and gash his cheek, and my cousin didn’t even raise his voice.”
Micah leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. He didn’t argue with Caleb. He didn’t have to. He sat there with a smirk, waiting for Gideon to tell the truth.
“He’s right.” But how did Micah know?
Gideon leaned his elbows on knees. “I didn’t kill someone, but I caused the death of a man.” He then went on to explain about getting lost. About the search parties—those things he’d already known his whole life. Then, in a low voice, he explained what Edgar had told him.
Caleb’s eyes widened as he listened. He pushed the checker game to the side, and his face paled to an ashy gray as Gideon finished.
“So you see…it’s my fault.”
“Ne. Not really. I mean getting lost doesn’t mean you meant anyone any harm. You were just a kid.” Caleb shook his head.
“My mind knows that. But tell it to my heart.”
Micah jutted out his chin. “Does Lydia know? Have you told her yet?”
“That’s between us, isn’t it? What I want to know is how you know.”
Micah stood and reached into his pants pocket. He pulled out a white envelope and waved it in the air. “I’m sorry, but Edgar stuck this letter in my mail. Yer mem’s handwriting looks jest like my mem’s. I didn’t even realize until I started reading that it wasn’t for me.”
Gideon didn’t have to ask if Micah had read the whole thing. It was clear he had. Not that he blamed him. Who wouldn’t read such a thing? It was like racing to an accident to see who’d been hurt and how bad.
Micah rose and placed the letter in Gideon’s hands. Then—as if sensing he needed time alone—the two men rose and left. Caleb’s face was a mask of sadness, confusion. But Micah seemed almost glad to see Gideon brought low. Why? Did he honestly think he could get a chance at Lydia’s heart by kicking Gideon to the ground?
Their checker game sat half finished on the table. Looking at it, Gideon let out a low sigh. So many things in his life also seemed undone.
After such a wonderful day with Lydia, why this? Why now?
Dear Son,
We weren’t surprised when we received your last letter. You said you were going to talk to a man, to discover the truth. I am sorry you didn’t hear it from us first.
When I read your letter, your sadness was evident, which is one reason Dat asked me not to tell you all these years. We didn’t want to see your sadness. Even though a man died because of your actions doesn’t mean you are to blame. You didn’t know when you headed out into those woods what would come of it. You were just a boy, but it does go to show that disobedience to one’s parents brings unjust results. That is why we worked even harder to raise our children to obey.
We cannot ask God, “Why did this happen?” He most likely will say, “You did not choose to listen to those put in charge of you.” You have seen the results of leaving the path. Your dat and I pray that this lesson will be one you heed your entire life.
We say this because Caleb wrote and told his mem that you were fancy on an Englisch girl. Even if she chooses to become Amish again—as Caleb hopes—there are years of influence that have tainted her. We trust you will be wary of this. We know how wolves try to mix within the crowd in sheep’s clothing. Seek the advice of the bishop and trusted leaders.
The death of our friend reminded us all what happens when we choose to follow worldly things. God says, Vie Gottlofen haben jein jrierlen, wider mit Gott, oder ihr gewissen. The ungodly have no peace with God or their conscience. Just know that what happens from your life now matters in eternity.
Even though you are far from home, remember that God watches all. We have heard about that community from Caleb and others. He wrote of one young woman who left the Amish to marry a musician. We know you were brought up knowing that music leads to der bose Gheist, a prideful spirit. As far as we are concerned, we cannot wait until the months pass and you return home.
Sincerely,
Dat and Mem
He turned the letter over in his hands. If he could have chosen any letter for Micah to read, this would not have been it. His parents spoke to him as if he were a child, even though he was nearly twenty-four. There was no news about the family. There were no words of hope. His parents meant well, but their message was clear: we are worried about you, worried about your soul, until you return.
In their eyes he was still the irresponsible child who’d wandered off and caused much pain. The thought ripped at his gut, especially at having to tell them he had full intentions of pursuing Lydia as his future bride. And he had every intention of moving to this community for good.
As he read the letter again he couldn’t help but contrast it with the slip of paper he’d read by Lydia’s mem’s hand. Both his parents and Lydia’s parents were Amish, yet while his family offered warnings, hers spoke of promises. Could he cling to those promises? Were they meant for sons who’d attempted to live right and good, as much as they were for wayward daughters?
CHAPTER
21
The cold Montana air bit at Lydia’s nose as she arrived at school. Six forty-five a.m.
September had barely made her arrival when cold winter winds fought for position. She pulled her coat tight under her chin as she hurried up the steps of the small log schoolhouse. Arriving at such a time was expected by the teacher. Her students would arrive by seven-thirty, walking the quiet country roads.
Her flashlight’s beam had lit the way. Unlocking the door, Lydia hurried inside and moved to the pressurized white-gas lamp. Even though she’d been switching on electric light switches for the last six years, lighting the lantern was as natural to her as bringing a spoon to her lips. She turned on the lower knob, followed by the upper knob. When she heard the hiss, Lydia struck a match near the mantel. Poof, in a second, the gas exploded with light, and she then hung it on the hook over her desk and hurried to light the two other lanterns around the room.
She’d spent the last few weeks getting everything ready, working on lesson plans, decorating the classroom. A smile touched her lips remembering Gideon sitting cross-legged on the floor helping her cut out white construction paper clouds to pin across the room. On them she’d written Scripture verses and one of her favorite sayings as a child:
“When you talk you only repeat what you already know, bu
t if you listen you may learn something.”
She’d also found a poem she liked in a book of Christmas poems and plays written by an Amish woman for an Amish classroom. She considered using the full poem for Christmas, but before then she pulled out the “Be” phrases and made a nice poster:
Be REVERENT in spirit low
Be GENEROUS, give all you can, then give a little more;
Be THOUGHTFUL of the people who are lonely, old, or sad;
Be READY quickly to respond to special appeals;
Be UNSELFISH—all self-seeking with abandon cast aside;
Be HOPEFUL for the best in life, for hope has wondrous worth;
Be APPRECIATIVE for great riches of Christ and of His love,
It was easier to memorize these sayings than to live by them, but Lydia hoped that as God allowed her to work with the children, He’d mold her too.
She also decorated the room with alphabet letters, books from her collection, and a world globe she’d found in Kalispell. Gideon had helped her pin a large paper map just over the hooks where the scholars would hang their coats and lunch pails.
Lydia considered lighting the fire. Would the children need someplace to warm up after their long walk in the chilly morning air? She looked at the wood and paper and matches, wishing she’d taken time to practice at home. Pushing a button on the heating and air conditioning unit was so much easier. Lighting the fire wouldn’t be the problem, but staying clean while doing so might prove to be a challenge. She decided against the fire, just in case any of the parents stopped by. It wouldn’t do to see the new teacher a rumpled mess.
And that was the least of her concerns. The Amish people in this community knew she had been living an Englisch life for many years. She’d be watched closely. The work she gave would be evaluated—her dress, her talk—they would all take note to see if anything appeared too worldly. She patted her kapp, ensuring it was in place.
What amazed Lydia was how easily and quickly the specifics of her Amish lifestyle came back. The rules, down to the smallest detail, including how many folds were in one’s kapp, came back to her as if she’d never left. These trivial things had seemed silly to her when she entered the Englisch world. Yet, being here again, she knew it was for a good cause. To dress the same meant no one could be prideful. To live a simple life meant trusting in family and community instead of worldly conveniences.