The Promise Box

by Tricia Goyer

  Could a mother forget her child? Wasn’t Gideon talking about that very thing—that her mother would never forget?

  Did her mother think of her? Remember her? Surely she must. But what did those thoughts bring? Pain? Hate? After all, her mother not only had to deal with being raped, but carrying the man’s baby too.

  Go to her. The words were the softest stirring within her heart and mind. Find her. Go to her.

  “God?” Lydia looked over her shoulder at her bedroom door, almost expecting her dat to be there, but it wasn’t her dat.

  This was how God spoke, she was learning. Not with an audible voice, but with a gentle stirring in her mind that she knew wasn’t from her own thoughts.

  No. She couldn’t do it. She wasn’t strong enough to do it. Instead, she straightened her clothes and her kapp and hurried to the kitchen. She’d cook something up for Dat. It was the only thing she could think of to get her mind off the worst day of her life.

  Dat stared at her over dinner. “Yer awful quiet tonight.”

  “Sorry. I have a lot on my mind.”

  He pushed his mashed potatoes around on his plate. “I heard what happened. A few folks stopped by the house when you were napping. Annie, Ruth—they wanted to talk to you.”

  “Did Annie tell you what happened at the store today?”

  Dat nodded.

  “I didn’t do it, Dat. I wasn’t trying to sell their story to make a name for myself.”

  “I know, dear. I never would take that woman’s word over yours, but that’s not what everyone else is saying.”

  “I’m sure everyone knows…and believes the worst. I’m never going to fit in. I’m sure they’re going to ask me to stop teaching school. Who would want their children taught by someone they think is exploiting them—their children? I don’t know why I thought I could fit in. I’ll never fit in. I was thinking…about leaving.”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Dat said simply.

  Lydia’s head jerked up, and she narrowed her gaze on Dat. He was the last one who believed in her, cared for her—was he giving up on her too?

  “When Annie came by I asked her to book you a train ticket. The train leaves tomorrow at seven a.m. out of Whitefish.” He pushed a white envelope toward her.

  With trembling hands Lydia pulled the computer printout from the envelope. The location read Pittsburg, Pennsylvania. “I—I don’t understand.”

  “There is a small Amish community in a town called Meyersdale. My oldest sister lives there with her family. So does your mother.”

  “My mother?”

  “Your birth mother.”

  The wind picked up, blowing a scattering of oak leaves and pine leaves against the front door screen. She tilted her head as she gazed at her father, realizing for the first time he looked like an old man, his beard more gray than black, deep furrows on his brow. He didn’t seem sad mentioning the woman. In fact, as Lydia looked closer, hope lighted his gaze.

  “But why?” Lydia’s voice wobbled.

  “I’ve told yer mem for years that you needed to go there—to meet Grace. I—”

  “Do you know much about her?”

  “I know plenty yet. And I think it’s time fer you to know.”

  “Is—is Grace going to be sad…mad to see me?”

  Dat’s face softened. “Not at all. I’m sure she’s been wondering all these years.” He cleared his throat. “Like I vas saying, I thought you should have gone sooner. You should have known more. Grace wanted us to tell you her story, but Mem refused. She was afraid.”

  “Afraid that it would hurt me to know the truth?”

  “Not at all. Afraid that you and Grace would have a special bond. I think Ada Mae was afraid that a closeness to Grace would draw you away, but I could see that not knowing caused you to run.”

  “Does she know I’m coming?”

  Dat nodded. “At least I think she does. Annie contacted a driver to take you from Pittsburg to Meyersdale. He was going to tell her.”

  “But—how did you pay for this?” Lydia stood and hurried to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I’m sure it cost a pretty penny.”

  Dat shrugged. “There’s always a way. Besides, some things are worth more than money. The truth is worth far greater than that.”

  “I don’t know. I’m still not sure if I can go.”

  “I heard a bishop preach once that the process for maturing as a Christian believer happens when we learn to replace lies with truth. It seems you’ve been making up your own story and the roots have gone deep. Think of truth as a garden hoe. Only truth can burrow down and dig out the bad. And more than that, truth will fill in all the empty spaces left by the hole. God’s truth can do it.”

  Lydia nodded, understanding. “But after that? What then? I don’t think anyone will ever believe me again. I don’t think I can stay here. Their stories about what happened have already taken root in the community.”

  “Jest take the steps and do what God is asking you to do, Lydia. Trust Him to take care of the rest.”

  CHAPTER

  35

  Exhaustion caused Lydia to sink deeper into the passenger’s seat of the Englisch driver’s van. Her eyes had fluttered closed more than once on the drive from Pittsburg to Meyersdale. After three days on the train that was to be expected, but as soon as she saw the town’s name written on a small white sign her eyes popped open. Was it possible that after all this time she’d finally get a chance to meet her birth mother?

  Lydia squeezed her ribcage with both arms. Anger fought with excitement. Anger at who, though? At Mem for keeping her away from Grace, and Dat for letting her? At Grace for giving her to another couple, despite the circumstances? At the man who’d violated Grace, of course. Yet also the realization that if wasn’t for that horrible act she never would have been born.

  What did Grace look like? Did Lydia take after her in any way? What about her brothers? Did they live near? And what about extended family? She gazed out the window—fully awake now.

  How can I be angry? Mem did what she thought was best. Grace too. And Dat. She hoped he was right, that this was what was best for her now. She didn’t want to think about Gideon. She couldn’t think about him. She didn’t want to think about anyone in West Kootenai or what they thought of her. She’d cried enough tears on the train. She could only deal with one overwhelming problem at a time.

  Lydia dropped her head back against the seat. Except for small talk, the driver had been silent most of the two-hour trip. “I should have asked you sooner, but do you know Grace, the woman I’m going to meet?” she asked the older man.

  “Do you mean your mother?”

  Lydia gasped. “How did you know she was my mother? Did the lady who hired you tell you that?”

  “No, ma’am. I’ve lived here over ten years. I know all the Amish, including Grace. If you aren’t her daughter I…Well, you just have to be, that’s all.”

  Lydia nodded. She didn’t want to ask any more questions. She wanted to see for herself. She wanted to hear the story—the truth—from Grace’s mouth.

  The van parked at a small, white farmhouse just beyond the Amish school. On the porch sat three men. All of them were thin, blond, and in their late twenties. All of them watched the van with eager anticipation. My brothers. She studied their faces as she exited the van, amazed they all looked so different. Although…each had something similar too—similar to the face she saw every day in the mirror.

  Seeing their smiles she couldn’t hide hers, even if she tried. She moved up the sidewalk and the tallest one opened the gate for her. He extended his hand.

  “Lydia, I’m Isaac. I’m the youngest.” He grinned. “Well, other than you.” Isaac’s eyes matched hers perfectly, as if they were cut out of the same mold.

  “Isaac. It’s a gut name—and the first time I’ve ever said the name of a sibling.”

  He smiled and then stepped back. The second man stepped forward. He was nearly as tall as Isaac, and
his smile was lopsided, just as Mem claimed Lydia’s smile was when she was excited about something.

  “Lydia. I love that name. And I’ve prayed for you often.”

  “Thank you.” She placed a hand over her heart. “I know the prayers helped, even when I didn’t know about you—about all of you.” She lifted her eyes again. “And what was your name?”

  “Ja, sorry. Abram.”

  “It’s wonderful to meet you, Abram.”

  She looked past him to the man who stood on the top of the porch steps. Tears streamed down his cheeks and his shoulders shook. She hurried to him and offered him a hug. Her brother—her oldest brother—had a hard time letting go.

  Finally, he released her and stepped back. “I’m Matthew, and I’ve never been considered a softy before…until now.” Matthew wiped at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “It’s just that I remember you most. I held you when you were jest a few hours old. I asked—I begged—Mem if we could keep you, but she said that you were a special gift…and the best gifts were the ones given away.”

  Tears moistened her cheeks. She nodded, not knowing what else to do, to say. “And where is Mem?”

  Just then the screen door squeaked, and Matthew moved to the side. An older woman stood there, thin with blonde curly hair. Lydia gasped, understanding what the driver had meant. There was no denying she was this woman’s daughter—no denying at all.

  “Lydia.” It was just one word, but it sounded like birdsong after a spring rain.

  Lydia took two steps forward and the woman’s arms were around her. Grace clung to her for a moment and then pulled back. “Won’t—won’t you come inside?”

  Lydia nodded. The house was old, simple. It was clean and looked like a dozen other Amish homes she’d been in. Yet this one was different. This home belonged to her mother.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Grace said. “The guys are heading out for a spell. They wanted to stay, but I told them I wanted to spend time with you first. So they’ll be gathering later with their families—well, the oldest two, at least. Matthew is married to Hannah and they have two boys. Abram’s wife is Miriam, and they have twin girls. Isaac isn’t married—not yet—but I know our gut God has a special woman out there somewhere.”

  Lydia nodded, and when Grace motioned to the sofa, she sat. The woman’s smile was gentle, kind.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” Grace asked.

  “Ne. Thank you.”

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Grace said.

  “Ja, me too…although this is different than I thought.” Lydia looked around.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know what to say. I expected tears. I thought it would be hard for you to see me.”

  “Hard? Ne, I could hardly sleep. I’ve thought about you so many times. Almost every day.”

  “But…after what happened. I’m sure those were bad memories. Mem—Ada Mae—told me the truth about how you became pregnant.” Lydia sat back, not understanding why she was bringing this up. She knew she should ask Grace about her life, their community, but something inside couldn’t talk about everyday things when the truth of the past hung so heavy on her heart.

  “Bad memories…There were some.” Grace lowered her head. “The rape, ja. It was horrible. I was so fearful, living on the farm alone with three boys. I blamed myself for so long. For months, I would replay in my mind what I could have done differently. Every noise kept me awake. I thought he’d come back. That he’d hurt the boys.”

  Grace shook her head. “But that was so long ago. Those fears are only distant memories. They have no place in my life any more.”

  Lydia nodded, surprised in a way that Grace talked about the past without pain twisting her face. Lydia couldn’t think about what had happened to her mother without pain filling her stomach. In a way she envied Grace for moving past it…for not clinging to the pain.

  “It’s gut to see you. You have my freckles,” Grace said with a smile.

  Lydia touched her nose. “Ja, I do. I never liked them…until now.”

  Grace told her a story about her freckles and how once she’d let her brother play dot-to-dot on her face. “I thought it was funny when he drew a tree jest like the one by the dawdi house out back, but Mem wasn’t impressed.” She then went on to tell Lydia about her aunts, uncles, and cousins. There was quite a number and Lydia knew she wouldn’t be able to remember half of them—and who belonged to whom—even if she tried.

  And then, when Grace paused in her story, Lydia scooted forward a bit on the edge of her seat. “So when you look at me…do you see him?” She placed a hand to her throat and fear coursed through her. The words were out. It was the question she wanted to know more than any other—and she couldn’t believe she’d asked it.

  “Ne. I see a beautiful young woman. An unexpected gift that offered healing.”

  “Healing?”

  “Ja. For when I wanted to hide in my pain, to lock myself away, God forced me to think beyond myself and my own fears. I had you to think about. My boys.”

  Lydia wanted words to say, but none came. She instead reached a hand out and placed it on Grace’s arm.

  “I only wanted to protect you. Seeing how beautiful you were—holding you—brought healing. You were an expected gift. A gift from God to help me overcome and survive the experience.”

  “Is there a reason…why you didn’t raise me?”

  “Ja. We lived in such a small community. For weeks I didn’t report the rape, but after another young woman was violated I knew I had to.” Grace’s hands quivered, and Lydia reached over and held them, holding them tight.

  “I’m so sorry, Lydia. You’d think I’d be over it by now, it’s been so many years.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” Lydia’s chin trembled. “I expected it would be hard on you. That’s why I didn’t want to come. I didn’t want to heap pain upon pain.”

  “Dear girl.” Grace removed a hand from Lydia’s grasp and placed it on her cheek. “Seeing you doesn’t bring pain. Seeing you reminds me that God can turn even our darkest moments into something beautiful.”

  “It’s easy to say,” Lydia sighed, “but harder to believe, isn’t it?”

  “Ja, I spent many days crying. After Jacob and Ada Mae took you away I wasn’t sure that I wanted to go on. My sister Betty came and stayed with me. She tells me now that I’d wander the house—” Grace’s voice caught in her throat. “In my sleep I wandered the house looking for you.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Lydia wished she had something better to say.

  “I have to ask.” Grace rose and moved to the window. “Why did you decide to come now?”

  “There’s a special man. He…he saw me as something beautiful. He convinced me that even though I was conceived in a horrible way God had a purpose and a plan for my life.”

  “I believe that too. In fact, it was your life that saved many from more pain.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Even after I heard that another woman had been raped I didn’t want to go forward—even though I knew the man responsible. Everyone was talking about the other woman’s rape around town, and I didn’t want them to be speaking of me in such a way.”

  Grace turned back and looked at her. “Then I started feeling unwell. I thought it was the flu. I was knitting with a neighbor and I fainted. She called a driver and they took me to the hospital despite my protests. I was badly dehydrated. And…”

  Lydia placed trembling fingers to her lips. “And they discovered you were expecting?”

  Grace lowered her head and folded her hands in front of her. “Ja.”

  “So did you tell everyone then?”

  “I told a few of the women from our church. I needed their prayers. Soon word spread. The police came and they spoke with me. I told them the truth.”

  Grace was silent then, as if she was lost in her thoughts.

  “Did they ever catch him?” Lydia refused to use the word father to descri
be the man who’d done such a thing.

  “Ja. I’d heard he’d gotten a job in town. He wasn’t there, but his boss told them where he lived. As the police were driving there they saw movement at a house. They stopped to check and he was there, attempting to break into another Amish woman’s home.”

  Lydia’s mouth dropped open. “If you hadn’t told…”

  “If I had told the truth sooner, another woman would have been greatly hurt that night. Yet even as I told the police what happened I tried to convince myself that it was someone else I was talking about. I had no choice at that point but to tell the truth—otherwise other rumors would have started about my pregnancy.”

  “I can’t imagine having a pregnancy under those conditions,” Lydia said.

  Grace returned to the sofa and sat down beside her. “The pregnancy became easier as I separated the act from the child, but there were so many people who didn’t believe what I said was true.”

  “What? Really?”

  “Ja. Some from the community—Amish and Englisch alike—thought I made up the story to hide a secret affair. That’s when I made my decision about who should raise you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Our community is small, Lydia. I didn’t want you to be raised being ‘that child.’ No matter what story those in the community believed there’d always be comments, looks, stares. No child should have to face that.” Grace forced a smile. “I talked to my midwife one day. I thought she might know a couple. Joy bubbled over. You should have heard her speak of Jacob and Ada Mae. She said they’d been married nearly fifteen years with no children. She told of their love for each other and their love for God. I knew then that they were meant to be your parents.”

  “They were gut parents.” Lydia pressed her lips together as memories scrolled through her mind. Times spent cuddled together telling stories. Times with Mem in the kitchen or with Dat in the barn. They hadn’t been perfect parents, but they’d been gut and she couldn’t imagine any couple loving her more. “You made a gut decision, Grace.”