The Promise Box

by Tricia Goyer

  Then she scanned the faces of the women and pointed a finger. “I’d guess you to be Marianna. So pretty, and you’re not wearing a kapp. She turned her attention to Mrs. Sommer next. “And I’d guess you to be Ruth. Your daughter has your lovely features. And with your gray eyes—both of you—I’d recognize you anywhere.”

  “Wait a minute.” Millie Arnold stood, brow furrowed. “What’s going on here? How do you know my friends?”

  Laughter spilled from the woman’s mouth. “You have to be Millie—an older Calamity Jane if I’ve ever seen one. Not my words, of course, but Lydia’s.”

  Gideon couldn’t sit back and watch any longer. The tension was evident on his friends’ faces. Seeing the women’s anxiety tightened his own chest. He stood and approached the woman.

  “Excuse me, ma’am. Can I help you?”

  She was already smiling as she turned. And…were those tears in her eyes? “Oh, Gideon.” A hand covered her mouth. “Dear sweet man. I am so sorry you feel that man’s death is your fault.”

  Her words felt like a physical slap.

  “Excuse me. How did you know about that? What’s going on? Where did you come from?”

  “How silly of me. Laura Fletcher from New York. I’m here to acquire Lydia’s book. I’ve never done this—in all my life I’ve never traveled to meet an author. I’ve never gone out of my way like this, but I had to come. I had to discover if the place Lydia talked about was real.”

  “Book? What book?”

  “She’s calling it The Promise Box, but I thought a more catchy title would be Amish Homecoming. Anything with ‘Amish’ in the title brings bigger sales.”

  “Lydia is writing a book? She’s writing about…us?” It was Marianna’s voice. Gideon looked to her. Color had drained from her face. It looked the color of a cloudy Montana sky. Marianna glanced around. “All of us?”

  “Oh.” The woman’s lips circled up. “I didn’t think of this.” She pulled out a log chair and sat. “I just assumed she would have talked to all of you. You mean she hasn’t asked permission?”

  “Ne. No one has asked permission.” Mrs. Shelter stood and turned to the door as if she were going to stalk off and find Lydia herself.

  “This must be some mistake.” Gideon took a step toward the woman, towering over her. “Lydia would have talked to me.”

  “She should have, that’s for certain. But I can see now why she didn’t. It would have ruined everything.” The woman pressed her hand to her forehead.

  “Everything?”

  “Oh, yes.” She twisted a strand of silky black hair around her finger. “Everything would be different—you would have acted differently—if you knew Lydia was writing down your every word. If you knew that her sole purpose for being in this community was research for a book she’s always wanted to write.”

  Pain hammered into Gideon’s heart. Her sole purpose?

  The woman peered down her nose at them. “If you knew that she had no intention of staying Amish, then you wouldn’t have welcomed her into your lives so easily.”

  The woman’s words were like a fist to his gut. Gideon had never wanted to harm a female before, but this woman was different. It took all his restraint not to lift her to her feet, to turn her toward the women seated there, and to point out the obvious pain she was causing with her thoughtless words. Then again…why was he blaming this stranger? She didn’t know any better. She’d assumed Lydia had gotten permission. Any decent writer would have.

  No. It can’t be the truth. Lydia’s smiling face came to mind. He thought of the woman with wild red hair that had driven into town and how—in just a few weeks’ time—she had returned to her Amish ways. She’d once again dressed in her Amish clothes. In two weeks’ time she’d gone from driving a car to acting as if she’d been Amish every day of her life.

  Gideon thought of a phrase he’d heard one Englisch man say to another once: “If it seems too good to be true, it probably is.”

  He sank into the chair and lowered his face into his hands. Voices rose around him, but he couldn’t make out their words. He had come to Montana for the truth…and he thought he’d found love in the process. Now he knew it was a lie. Not only Lydia’s love, but all she claimed to be.

  Her mem’s kitchen smelled like apples and cinnamon, just like it used to when Mem was feeling well and making Dat’s favorite desserts. Lydia hummed along to one of her favorite Civil War songs playing through her head. Out of all the things she’d given up in returning to the Amish, her radio—her favorite bands—was the thing she missed most. That and flipping a light switch instead of having to light kerosene lanterns.

  She had a good time at the quilting bee and had arrived home eager to see Gideon. She’d started baking right away. Was the saying “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach” true? Lydia already had his heart, but some tasty food would never hurt.

  She pulled the second apple pie out of the oven and a smile filled her face. The crust looked perfect and in the center of the dough she’d used a cookie cutter to cut out the shape of a heart. She hoped her message was clear. He had her whole heart.

  She heard the clip clop of a horse’s hooves. Gideon approaching on Blue. She thought about setting the pie on the hot pad on the counter, but she couldn’t wait to show him—couldn’t wait to see him.

  Lydia rushed out the door. “Look at you!” she called. “You’re riding Blue! You’ve come so far!”

  His head was lowered, but she still held out the pie. “Look, Gideon, I made this for you. There’s a message in this pie. Can you see it?”

  He halted the horse and swung his leg over, dismounting. He dropped the reins and strode forward with quickened steps. When he pulled off his hat and lifted his head, Lydia expected a smile. But instead anger flashed in his gaze.

  “Gideon, is something wrong?” Lydia took a step back and placed the pie on the wooden bench by the front door. “Did something happen? You look…mad.”

  “Mad is an understatement, Lydia.” He paused before her, gazing up to where she stood on the steps. “How could you do it?”

  “What are you talking about? What do you mean?”

  He ran a hand through his hair, then shook his head. “I should have known better. I knew you were up to no good the first moment I saw you driving down the road. It was too good to be true when you decided to become Amish again. Now I know it was just a lie.”

  “A lie? How could you say that? You were there when I took my oath and was baptized into the church. It wasn’t something I took lightly.”

  “I thought that,” he spat, “but now I know the truth. Out of all people…”

  He paused and turned.

  “What? Out of all people, what?”

  “Out of all people, you should know how much it hurts me when people withhold the truth.”

  She touched her fingertips to her forehead, trying to make sense of his words. There was nothing she’d hidden from him. Nothing, unless…her book had gotten into the wrong hands. Dear Lord, no.

  “Gideon, please, you aren’t making any sense.” She hurried after him. Her stomach lurched, and she was sure she was going to be sick. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Can you please just tell me what’s going on?”

  “There was a woman, a publisher from New York, who came into the restaurant today. She told me you were writing a book about the Amish in West Kootenai. She said you’d returned to the Amish to get the inside scoop. She knew things about us—all of us, Lydia. Things only you knew. Things I never wanted to tell a soul outside of the folks in West Kootenai. To hear a stranger talk about things—secret things.”

  “Bonnie, how could you?” Tears sprang to Lydia’s eyes. “My boss. She must have shared. I sent her my story to have it typed up. I hate the computer. I told her to make two copies. One copy was supposed to be for you and the other for Dat. I never dreamed she would send it on to a publisher.”

  “If that was the truth, why didn’t you tell me? You t
old me before your greatest dream was to have a book published. And yesterday when I asked you if you’d rather be with me or have a book published, you paused—as if you were uncertain. Now I know why.”

  “I was pausing because I was trying to decide if I should tell you then about what I’d written. But I didn’t. I wanted it to be a surprise.” Her lower lip quivered and her knees felt as if they were made of jelly. She took a step toward Blue, but even he snorted and took a step back. “I made a mistake, a big one. I should have told you about the book. I should have talked to my friends about it—the parents about it—but honestly it’s not the reason why I returned and got baptized into the church.”

  Gideon cocked his head. Did he believe her?

  “I mean, I did love writing about my returning, but it was my own journey. One I only wanted to share with a few people. Besides, we wouldn’t even be standing here if I hadn’t become Amish. My love for God is true, Gideon, and…”

  “And?”

  “And I knew it was the only way a good Amish man would look twice at me. I knew even if I loved God and chose to live for Him it wouldn’t matter to you. You wouldn’t have even gotten to know me unless I was Amish.”

  “So you were trying to lure me with lies?”

  “I didn’t think of it like that.” Her heart felt crushed. “I honestly had good motives.”

  “I tried to believe that. I really did. I forced myself to believe that. But when you told me about the teaching job—how you had wanted it while you were still Englisch—I struggled. I wanted to believe you, but I could tell from your eyes that you weren’t being completely honest. I pushed away the doubts that told me your change had more to do with what you wanted than what you believed.”

  Lydia’s jaw dropped. “I don’t believe you just said that.”

  “So no part of your returning had to do with making a name for yourself as a writer? About holding a book with your name in your hands? When were you going to tell them, Lydia? When their names were in print and you had yer books in a fancy bookshop?”

  She covered her mouth with her hand, attempting to hold back the sobs. “It was never about that. That was never my plan.”

  “I love you, Lydia, I really do. But I’ve spent too many years living with pain from my parents holding back the truth. Can you imagine making a commitment to each other but saying, ‘I promise to tell you everything. Well, almost everything.’ Every time I brought up your writing you changed the subject. You could have told me you were writing about your journey—you were keeping a journal or something. Would that have been so hard? Isn’t hiding the truth just as bad as lying?”

  Gideon lowered his head, pain evident on his face.

  “I can’t think anything worse than coming home and looking into my wife’s eyes and wondering what she’s keeping back from me that day—whether it’s a big deal, or if it’s just something small like she spent more at the grocery store than she’d planned on.”

  “It wouldn’t be like that. I usually tell the truth. I’ve told you…”

  “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, but you did. I also think before you can be truthful, you need to discover the truth—the truth of your mem.”

  “I don’t think that’s fair to her, to bring up that.” Lydia swiped at her eyes. “Why would I want to do that to her, go to her and demand to know more? It’s better to just let her forget.”

  “Do you think she’s forgotten? How could she ever forget?” Gideon’s voice softened.

  “And how could you say you love me and not believe me? To believe some stranger over me?”

  Gideon didn’t say anything. He didn’t turn to face her. His head remained lowered, his shoulders slumped. He just stood there stroking Blue’s neck as if the horse was his only friend in the world.

  CHAPTER

  34

  Lydia pushed Bonnie’s phone number for the tenth time and groaned as the message came on again: “This is Bonnie. I’m out of the country on a work project. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Adios!”

  She hung up. She’d left nine messages already. Mostly angry ones. How could her boss do that to her? How could she ruin everything?

  The cell phone battery was getting low but the small pixel envelope reminded her messages waited. When she’d sent the text, telling Bonnie she was sending her notebooks and asking her to type up copies, she’d had five messages waiting. Now she had seven. Lydia dialed voicemail and waited.

  Lydia, this is Bonnie. Have you thought any more about writing the book? I have a publisher in New York that’s interested.

  Lydia, this is Bonnie. It’s been two weeks since your mother passed. I just wanted to let you know I was thinking of you. Call me if you get a chance.

  Lydia, this is Bonnie. I got the last two books you finished editing. Thanks, friend! As always, you did a stellar job. Let me know when you’re ready for more work. You know you’ll always have a place with us.

  Lydia, I hope you’re checking your messages. Laura, the publisher, called me again. If you have anything—anything—she can read, please send it. She knows your work and is talking a six-figure advance. Just think about how that could help your dat.

  Lydia, please, will you call? If you even have a notebook, scraps of thoughts on paper, just send it to me. I’ll write up a proposal. I promise this will be worth your while.

  Lydia gasped realizing that that fifth message was left just days before she’d sent her notebooks to Bonnie. Of course. Bonnie must have assumed I was writing a book. Lydia stood, knowing she had to talk to Gideon. She had proof now. She could explain. Or could she? It was still her word against…well, against everything.

  Her phone flashed “Low battery.” She listened to the next message.

  Lydia, this is Bonnie. Your writing is beautiful. I know I shouldn’t do this, but I have a friend who has been questioning her faith. I let her read about your mem’s promise of a child. She was in tears. I was in tears. I’ll let you know what Laura in New York says.

  Then Lydia listened to the last message.

  Lydia, I’m in Cancun with an author and we’re brain storming a book idea…and enjoying a little sun. There was a phone message from Laura. She’s coming to West Kootenai. She wants to publish your book. She’s your new biggest fan. I’ve got to go.

  Lydia hung up the phone and saw the last of her battery was done. She put the cell phone back into the drawer, realizing her heart felt as drained.

  A car pulled up and parked outside and then came a knock on the front door. Dat answered. It was a woman’s voice. The woman’s excitement was clear.

  Dat came to her room and knocked.

  “Come in.” She could barely force herself to say the words.

  Dat opened the door and looked in. “Lydia. Someone is here to see you. From New York?” His eyebrows arched in question.

  Lydia had no strength to rise. Her whole body felt numb, including her heart. She’d ruined…everything. Hurt everyone. Her friends. The man she loved. She’d forsaken the community. They would never believe her. Never accept her. The words from her teen years echoed in her thoughts. You will never, never fit in. You don’t belong with them. You’re not worthy.

  “Dat, can you get her number and tell her I’ll call her in a few weeks. I need time. Time to think.”

  Dat stroked his long beard. “Are you sure?”

  “Ja, Dat.”

  “But she says that she has something you’ll want to hear. Something you won’t want to turn down.”

  “I’m sorry.” She rose and moved to the door. “There are some things worth more than money and fame. I know that now, and I need to know what God wants me to do…next.”

  With a resigned sigh, Lydia leaned back against the wall and dropped her head. Her eyes slid shut and the tears came. Fresh, hot tears.

  Gideon’s words pierced her heart—harsh, accusing. He hadn’t even listened when she’d tried to tell him the truth.

  I don’t belon
g. They were the same words that had replayed in her mind for so many years. She thought she could come back—that she could fit in. She’d done her best, but now? No one would ever accept her.

  How many people had been in the restaurant? What had the woman said? She’d said enough for Gideon to know that she’d put his deepest secrets on paper. That she’d hidden the truth. Foolish, foolish. She should never have sent the book to Bonnie. She should have been like Mem and kept her most precious memories stored up, in a box, for herself…and maybe for her child someday.

  Not that it would ever happen. Her heart ached over hurting him. Just when he was starting to heal.

  Why do I stay? Her dat was the only reason she could think of, yet she knew it wouldn’t be too hard to convince him to go with her. Maybe to another Amish community as far away from this one as she could find?

  Yet another question pounded through her temples even stronger: But where can I go? Where do I belong?

  Lydia must have fallen asleep because when she awoke the last fading light filtered through the window. She could hear Dat in the kitchen, scrounging up something for dinner. She knew she should get in there and help him find something. Then again, pie for dinner never hurt. There was plenty of that.

  Before Lydia could face the world—face Dat and tell him what had happened—she needed something. Needed hope. Lydia looked to the nightstand and was surprised to find Mem’s Promise Box there. Dat must have brought it in while she slept.

  She picked it up, feeling the smooth texture of the wood, and fresh tears trickled down her cheeks.

  “Lord, I need something,” she whispered the prayer. “I need direction. I need help. I don’t know where to go or what to do. Please, Lord.”

  Lydia opened the box and unfolded the next slip of paper, and the words jumped off the page. A gasp escaped her lips and then the paper fluttered to the polished wood floor. She leaned down and picked it up.

  She sat there for a minute, rereading the words in the gentlest of whispers: “Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee. Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me,” Isaiah 49:15-16.