by Marta Perry
She suspected that hint meant that Simon hadn’t put his plan into action yet. “She’s probably not ready for that yet, but I hope she’ll let us be her friends.”
Before Elizabeth could respond, the door rattled, and a second later Simon came in, holding an oversize jacket around Becky. He set her down and pulled the jacket away. “There, now. I told you it would be wet.”
He sounded a little exasperated, making Lydia sure he’d tried to talk her out of coming today.
She hurried to help Becky off with the rest of her outdoor clothes. “That’s not a problem, is it, Becky? We won’t melt in the rain, ain’t so?”
Becky considered it a moment before nodding with a slight smile.
Lydia took her hand. “Komm. I’ll show you the posters I worked on. Do you want to help color them?”
She got a bigger smile in return as Becky seized her hand, and they scurried over to the table. Lydia caught a glimpse of Simon’s frown and hoped she didn’t have to remind him that he’d agreed to this.
Once Becky was settled and understood what she was to do, she set to work happily enough. Lydia stood looking at the child, wondering whether she’d talk if Lydia sat down with her. But at that moment the bell on the door jingled, and she hurried to welcome the first customer of the day… It was the truck driver who delivered snacks to various stores around town. He always stopped by for coffee and a doughnut when he’d finished his rounds.
“Here you are, Mike. Hope you didn’t get the potato chips wet while you were delivering them.”
“Not a chance,” he said, grinning. He shoved his ball cap back on graying hair. “I keep the deliveries dry, even if I get wet myself. Sure is determined to keep raining.”
She nodded. “A wet spring, that’s certain sure.”
“Nobody’s getting a garden in. And the equipment out at that construction project in Fisherdale is just sitting in the mud.”
With a word of sympathy, she turned to prepare the usual tables for Frank and his buddies. She noticed Becky had stopped coloring for a moment while Mike was talking and wondered what about it had interested a child.
But Frank and two of his comrades hustled through the door, and she was too busy to do anything else for the next few minutes.
When she finally had time to catch her breath, she returned to the table to find that Becky had finished two of the posters and started on a third. Simon was nowhere in sight, but the storeroom door was closed, so she supposed he was working.
“What gut coloring, Becky. Why don’t we put one up on the bulletin board, and another one in the front window?”
Becky nodded, but not with the enthusiasm Lydia had expected. When they reached the bulletin board, Lydia stooped to help her push in the thumbtacks to hold the poster in place. “That looks wonderful gut. You’re helping with Daadi’s business, ain’t so?”
But Becky seemed to be thinking of something else. She glanced toward Mike, who lingered over his coffee, probably not wanting to go back out in the wet. “That man…” she whispered. “Did he mean nobody could go on building because of the rain?”
Lydia tried to remember what she and Mike had talked about. She was so used to chatting with customers that she could do it without thinking. “You mean about the building project and the mud? I guess it depends on what the builders are doing. If they had a roof on the project, they could work inside. But if they need to dig a foundation, I guess it’s too wet.”
Becky’s blue eyes filled slowly with tears. Shocked, Lydia put her arms around the small figure. “What is it, sweetheart? Why are you crying?” She whispered the words in Becky’s ears, not wanting to draw attention to the child.
“Daadi is going to build a new house for us to live in. It’ll be our home. He said so. But if they can’t work on it…”
She stroked Becky’s back gently. “Just right now they can’t. It doesn’t mean forever. Soon the weather will change, and then they’ll start on your new house.”
“Home,” Becky corrected softly, and Lydia’s heart clenched. “Home,” she murmured. “It won’t be long. All right?”
Becky wiped her eyes with her fingers and nodded, looking at Lydia with trust in her face. As for Lydia, the look made her feel guilty—almost as if she were responsible for the delay.
“Let’s put the other poster in the window.” She tried for a cheerful smile, but it wasn’t easy. Poor Becky. All she wanted was to have a home of her own again.
Ironic, Lydia told herself. She had a home, but the longing in her wasn’t satisfied. She’d always felt it—that yearning for something different, something out of her normal life. She didn’t know what it was. She just knew that when she found it, she would be happy.
* * *
He wasn’t exactly avoiding Lyddy, Simon told himself as he set to work on the old clock. He couldn’t, not if he wanted Aunt Bess to think he might be interested in her. But he also didn’t want to talk to Lyddy until he’d figured out how to do so in view of what Aunt Bess had told him.
Poor Lyddy, that had been his first reaction. But what about poor Thomas? It seemed he was to be pitied, as well. He vaguely remembered the boy, as he remembered most of the young ones in the church district. Who would have guessed that boy would try to take his own life?
Surely Lydia could have found a way to turn him down that wouldn’t have led to such a terrible thing. Aunt Bess seemed to think she’d been too young to cope with it, but…
He stopped, tool in hand. Was he actually presuming to judge her? Or the boy, for that matter? With a shock, he realized that Lyddy would have been only a little older than his sister, Sarah. At the thought of Sarah facing something like that, he cringed.
No, Aunt Bess was right. A young girl that age should be enjoying volleyball games and singings and giggling with her rumspringa gang. Not coping with a friend threatening to kill himself.
Should he let her know that Aunt Bess had told him or ignore the subject? He knew perfectly well what he wanted to do, and that was bury the subject so deep it would never surface again. But Lyddy—the grown-up Lyddy he knew now—probably couldn’t do that ever.
A tap on the door was followed so quickly by the door opening that he didn’t have a chance of calling out. He’d been so intent on Lyddy that for a moment he thought she was the one coming in, but it was Aunt Bess, closing the door behind her.
“I know you want to work and not be bothered,” she said, her cheeks wrinkling in a smile. “But I’m going to bother you anyway.”
He got up and gave her a quick hug with one arm. “You know I’m happy to see you anytime. And besides, this whole space belongs to you, ain’t so? I can’t shut you out, and I don’t want to.”
“Ach, I promise not to be a pest. This is your work, and I don’t want folks interrupting me when I’m in the middle of making pastries. Still, I thought I’d let you know that Becky finished a couple of posters, so she and Lyddy put one in the window and one on the bulletin board. So you have to notice them when you come in and tell Becky what a gut job she did.”
“You already did that, I’d guess.” He smiled at her with affection. Aunt Bess delivered hugs and cookies and compliments to her many great-nieces and nephews lavishly, leaving it to their parents to provide the discipline.
“I did,” she admitted, proving him right. “But it’s more important for you to notice. Seems like she treasures everything you tell her. I’ve seen her sitting there smiling to herself when you’ve spoken to her.”
“Yah, I guess.” He felt guilty all in a moment. “You know I’ve never been much of a talker. Rebecca chattered to her all the time, and I’d best remind myself she’s missing it.”
“What she needs is a mammi,” Aunt Bess said predictably. “It’s high time you thought about it, especially now that you’re back in Lost Creek.”
He wondered for a moment if Lyddy’s gran
dmother was as determined as Aunt Bess was. Probably.
Well, this was his chance to do what he’d told Lyddy he’s do, but he’d have to be careful, or he’d cause more harm than good.
“Maybe so,” he said at last, not looking at her. “But if I were interested in someone—”
“It’s Lyddy, isn’t it?” She jumped on that in a second. “I knew it.”
“You’re not going to turn into a blabbermaul, telling everything to everyone, are you?”
“You know me better than that!” Indignation brought a flush to her face.
“Yah, I guess I do,” he admitted. Aunt Bess was interested in everything, but she didn’t go passing stories around. “Anyway, if I were interested in someone—” He paused to be sure she wasn’t going to jump in with Lyddy’s name again. “Well, I certain sure can’t rush it. Not with Becky to think of. I wouldn’t want her to get any ideas and then maybe be disappointed.”
“She already loves Lyddy,” Aunt Bess hurried to point that out.
Sighing, he started again. “Maybe she feels that way as a friend, but a new mammi is something different.” His stomach twisted, and he wanted to throw away the whole thing and tell her bluntly not to interfere in his life. But he couldn’t. She had loved him all his life, and he couldn’t respond by shoving her away.
At least that point seemed to have made her think. She nodded. “I can see you’d have to move slowly.”
“As for Lyddy,” he went on, mentally apologizing for involving her, “I don’t know what she feels, any more than I’m sure what I feel. And I’m certain sure this would go better if nobody said anything to her about it.”
“Yah, I guess you’re right. I’ll keep my lips closed.” She put a withered hand over his. “You know it’s just that I want the best for you. I always have.”
“I know.” His throat tightened. He hadn’t shown her how much he appreciated what she did for him, and it was time he started. “Denke.”
She patted him. “That’s all right. Komm soon and tell your Becky what a fine hand she has for coloring.”
“I will. I’ll come in just a couple of minutes,” he promised, and he watched as she went out, moving a little more slowly than she’d done earlier.
A pang touched his heart. Aunt Bess was getting older. His whole family had changed in the years he’d been gone, and if he and Becky were to be happy here, he had to bridge any gap between them.
* * *
Becky worked steadily at coloring the remainder of the signs, and Lydia didn’t think she’d ever seen a child that age who could stay at a task that long. At least none of her siblings had. As she remembered, they always had to be active.
“Looks as if you’re almost done.” She paused with the tray of cups she was holding to watch Becky put the last poster on the pile.
“I am.” Becky’s rare smile came again. “I liked it.”
“Gut. And I know it helped Daadi, too.”
Becky’s reaction to that innocent comment surprised her. Instead of the eagerness she expected, Becky seemed a little hesitant, as if not sure how to react.
She toyed with the colored pens, putting the caps on and off. “Mammi helped Daadi a lot,” she said, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “I can’t help that much.”
What was the right thing to say to that? She’d never encountered a child quite like Becky, and she felt at a loss. But she had to say something.
“It’s not important whether it’s a lot or a little,” she ventured. “We just do the best we can, ain’t so?”
Becky’s lips closed tightly. She nodded, but Lydia had the uncomfortable feeling that she’d disappointed the child. Murmuring a silent prayer for guidance, Lydia patted her shoulder. “Want to help me get some cookies out?”
At that question, Becky reverted to being any five-year-old, and she hopped off the chair and followed Lydia to the kitchen.
When they came back with a fresh tray of cookies, Simon stood in front of the bulletin board, admiring the poster that was placed among signs offering babysitting services, announcing a concert at the middle school and advertising a harrow for sale. He turned to smile at his daughter.
“That’s a wonderful gut sign, Becky. Especially the coloring.” He shot an apologetic glance toward Lydia, as if hoping she wouldn’t be offended that he hadn’t mentioned her lettering.
“It does draw attention, doesn’t it?” She took the tray behind the counter and started arranging cookies in the display window. “I’m sure it will bring you some customers.”
Becky’s serious face lightened, as if she finally believed she’d helped. “I liked it. We have more.” Grabbing her father’s hand, she showed him the stack of posters, carefully colored, on the table.
Once Simon had exclaimed over the posters, Elizabeth collected Becky, suggesting they make some hot chocolate for a snack and leaving Lydia alone with Simon.
“Denke.” Simon moved next to her, looking a bit awkward. “I didn’t want to put you to so much work.”
She smiled, knowing how reluctant he was to accept help from her—or anyone else, for that matter. “You didn’t. Your aunt Bess volunteered me, and it’s much easier to just do what she says.”
His face relaxed. “Thank you, anyway.” He cleared his throat. “I talked to Aunt Bess about…you know. I said that if I were interested, I’d have to take it slow because of Becky, so it was best if no one said anything. Seemed like she understood.”
“It sounds very convincing.” She couldn’t help but be amused by how uncomfortable he found it. Was it because he persisted in thinking of her as a little girl? Or because he really had no intention of ever marrying again? She longed to ask him, but that was out-of-bounds. All she could do was wonder.
Simon nodded shortly, obviously ready to change the subject. “I talked to Aunt Bess about something else, too,” he said abruptly.
“Yah?”
“Actually, she talked to me. She said…well, she explained about the situation with the Burkhalter woman at worship.” His gaze scanned her face and as quickly skipped away again. “I hope you don’t mind.”
She’d already regretted what she’d said to him after worship. He’d wanted to help, and she hadn’t exactly been appreciative. Now was her chance to set that right.
“No, I don’t care if you know. Everyone else does.” She found, to her surprise, that she meant it. The situation had been hurtful, but it was best that Simon wasn’t left wondering. “I’d hoped Judith didn’t hold a grudge against me, but…”
“She can’t forgive.” His voice had lowered to a bass rumble. “I’m sorry for her.”
Lydia couldn’t help reacting to that, and Simon nodded at her expression. “Yah, I know you were her target. But she had to be hurting a lot to act that way.”
“She and Thomas are twins. They were always close.”
“I guess. My brother and sister certain sure are.” He frowned slightly, seeming to search for words. “I know what it is to feel as if you can’t forgive. But you only hurt yourself.”
She studied his face…the deep lines seemed even deeper right now, as if just talking about such a thing was hard. Was he thinking about his wife’s death? She’d heard it had been a buggy accident—had he blamed someone for it?
“You sound like you’ve felt that way yourself.” She held her breath, hoping she wasn’t intruding too much.
“If you live long enough, I guess we all do.”
It wasn’t an answer, but at least he wasn’t angry. And maybe she was starting to understand the riddle he’d become.
Becky and Elizabeth came out of the kitchen just then, settling at a table with mugs of hot chocolate in front of them. Becky’s was topped with a tower of whipped cream that looked in danger of collapse. Had Elizabeth turned her loose with the whipped cream?
Simon caught her eye, and the
y exchanged smiles. It wasn’t any use trying to keep Elizabeth from indulging her little great-niece, she guessed.
“Becky looks better today.” He sounded as if he were talking to himself. “Seems like it’s a step forward and a step back sometimes.”
“Maybe that’s part of getting used to being here.” She wanted to comfort him while at the same time she longed to express her own concern about Becky.
“Do you think so?” His gaze darted to hers. “Does she seem more at home to you?”
“Usually she does.” She hesitated. “When we were working on the posters, she said something I didn’t understand.”
Simon’s eyes darkened, and she thought it was a warning. “What?” he snapped the word in an undertone.
“I had said she was helping you by coloring the posters,” she said carefully. “She said her mammi used to help you a lot. Then she said she couldn’t help that much.”
For an instant she thought Simon was actually going to open up to her. Then he clamped down on his emotions with an almost visible effort.
“I already told you. Don’t talk to my daughter about her mother.” He ground out the words. “It’s not your business.”
“I didn’t… I mean, I didn’t bring it up. I just thought—”
He wheeled away from her. “Don’t. Don’t think about it and don’t say anything. I’ll do all the talking about her mother that my daughter needs.” Somehow having to keep his voice low when he’d rather shout at her seemed to make him even more angry.
That certain sure told her where she stood. He was so defensive he couldn’t listen to anyone on that subject. She ought to accept it, but the stubborn determination to do what she’d set out to do wouldn’t let her.
“Maybe so, if you’re doing it. Are you?”
Simon sent her a glare that would have wilted someone less hardy than she was. “Leave it, Lyddy. I can’t say it any more plainly than that.”
With a final glare, he marched off to his improvised shop and closed the door behind him with a sharp crack.
