by Marta Perry
As Lydia moved to follow her, Simon touched her arm. “Denke, Lyddy. Denke.”
He should say more, but he couldn’t. He’d have to hope she understood. But as they walked down the steps together, he realized he didn’t need to worry about that. Lyddy was probably the most understanding person he knew.
CHAPTER TWELVE
By the next morning, Lydia had come to terms with her feelings. As she drove up the trail to the woods and then turned onto the makeshift road, the sunlight filtering through the trees seemed a promise of better things to come. If not for her, then at least for Simon and his daughter. She had to rejoice over that, and she did.
She had feared, in those first moments after she’d seen Simon standing at the door listening to his daughter, that his reaction would be an explosion of wrath against her. But Simon had finally listened instead of closing his heart, and the results could only be good. He’d opened up to his daughter at last, and Becky’s response was lovely. Her heart warmed again at the memory of that small child patting her father’s cheek to comfort him.
If only she could comfort him, but she knew she couldn’t. Not unless he opened up to her the way he had to his daughter, and she’d seen no signs that he’d even thought of doing that.
Lost Creek looked better this morning, she decided. Not back to normal yet, but with the sun shining and the streets dry again, the few people she saw looked more cheerful than they had for the past two days.
Stabling Dolly, she hurried inside, to be met by the fragrance of brewing coffee. Clearly, Sarah had remembered what Lydia had told her. With all their dependence now on the gas stove, it was a juggling act to get everything done.
Sarah turned from the stove at the sound of her footsteps and gave her a beaming smile. “The coffee is ready. Can I pour a cup for you?”
Instinct told her the girl would be disappointed if she refused. “Smells wonderful gut. Yah, I’d love one. It was still a little chilly when I left home.”
Hanging up her heavy sweater, she scrubbed her hands and did a quick check of the kitchen. Sarah had gone above and beyond, with a pan of breakfast cake just coming out of the oven, and several trays of rolls ready to go out front.
“Everything looks fine.” She checked the clock. “We’ll open in fifteen minutes, so if you haven’t eaten, now’s the time.”
Sarah giggled. “My bruder fixed breakfast for us this morning. I never knew that Simon could cook eggs. Or anything else.” She poured coffee for both of them and brought the cups to the table. “I wish we could use the regular mugs. I think the paper cups give a different taste.”
“Don’t say that to any of the customers.” The voice came from above them as Simon came down the steps, with Becky skipping alongside him. Becky darted ahead of her father to give Lydia a hug.
Lydia hugged her back, marveling at the change a few hours had made in Becky. Now she looked like a normal, happy little girl instead of the anxious, fearful little mouse she’d been.
“Have you had breakfast already?” she asked.
Becky nodded vehemently. “My daadi made breakfast. He makes wonderful gut dippy eggs.” She smiled up at Lydia. “He’ll make some for you, ain’t so, Daadi?”
If that had caused Simon any embarrassment, she’d have found it encouraging, but he just smiled and turned to check the front of the shop.
She was thankful to God for what had happened between Simon and Becky, she told herself fiercely. She didn’t expect anything else. But her unruly heart denied the words even as she thought them. All this time that she’d been uninterested in marriage—now she knew it hadn’t been just wariness. It had been because she was waiting for Simon. But she couldn’t say the same about him.
“Time to open,” she said cheerfully. “Do you think we’re ready, Sarah?”
Pleased at being consulted, Sarah nodded, then was attacked by a sense of caution. “I think. If I missed anything, you’ll tell me, won’t you?”
Lydia smiled, nodding. Sarah had learned a great deal in just a day. “I promise. Let’s do it.”
In a few minutes they were busy with the usual morning rush. Lydia threw herself into work, relieved for the distraction from her own thoughts.
As the rush was abating, Frank and his friends came in, and she hurried to get their table ready. Responding to their usual greetings and joking felt like getting back to normal for about a minute. Then they started updating her on all the news, and Simon came over to listen.
“The crest came through about one a.m., near as I could tell,” Frank said. “The rumor is there’s considerable damage to the water treatment plant, so no water in the pipes for a week or more.”
“You should hear my wife on the subject,” somebody else complained. “She’ll have me hauling water all day if she has her way.”
“So that’s why you’re here.” Frank grinned at him. “Anyway, they’re going to let people on Tenth Street back into their houses today. Water didn’t reach the first floor, thank goodness.”
Simon noticeably relaxed, and she remembered he’d been moving furniture from those houses the previous day. “They’ll have a lot to do,” he pointed out.
Frank nodded. “They’re asking for help, but not before ten o’clock. Guess the emergency management people have to okay it first.”
Simon glanced at the clock. “I’ll go down then if you can spare me here.” He looked at Lydia as if she were in charge.
“Whatever you want,” she said. “We’ll manage.”
Frank started talking about their plans to run food and beverages down to the workers later, and by the time she looked up again, Simon was gone.
Forcing herself to focus on what they could supply, she went back to the kitchen. She and Sarah were quickly immersed in work, with Becky running back and forth being helpful.
It was nearly ten when Simon reappeared in the kitchen. “Can you come out for a minute, Lyddy?” he asked. “I want to show you where I’m putting the water jugs that Daniel King brought in.”
With a quick glance to be sure everything was running properly, Lydia followed him.
Simon led her to the shed attached to the stable, but once there, he seemed to forget why they’d come.
“The water storage?” she reminded him, sensing tension and not knowing how to account for it.
“Ach, I didn’t need to haul you out here just for that.” He gestured at a row of water jugs. “You can see for yourself. I just…” He seemed to run out of words.
Lydia studied his face, trying not to think about how dear it had become to her. “Is something wrong?”
“No, no.” Prompted, he seemed to find he could go on. “I hardly had a chance to thank you yesterday. And you have to know how much I appreciate what you did. Even when I told you not to.” He gave her a rueful grin.
“That’s all right. I was butting in and trying to take charge, like always. My cousin Miriam says I’m like a tornado sweeping up everything in my path once I get started.”
It would be easier for both of them to turn it off lightly than to talk about it seriously.
But from the way Simon was shaking his head, it seemed he wouldn’t let her get away with that. “When I put Becky to bed last night, we sat for a long time talking about her mammi.” He grimaced. “I’m her father. I should have seen how much she needed to talk. You did.”
“Ach, don’t think that.” She could hardly get the words out fast enough. “You were trying to handle your own grief.” She saw his face tighten at that and slipped away from such dangerous territory. “It’s often easier for an outsider to see a problem than the person who’s involved.”
That made it sound as if she weren’t involved. She was, with her whole heart, but she couldn’t say that to him.
“Even so…”
She understood his reluctance to let go of the blame, and she wasn’t sure anyone could help
him with that. But she had to try.
“You couldn’t help it, Simon. Nobody could. I know you feel responsible…”
“I am responsible.” His voice was filled with passion. “I was responsible for taking care of Rebecca, and I failed her. And then I failed her daughter.”
Somehow she knew soft words wouldn’t help now. “Don’t be so ferhoodled,” she said sharply. “You couldn’t have predicted the accident. Or prevented it.”
“If I’d been driving the buggy—”
“If you had been driving the buggy, maybe you’d both be gone, and Becky would be left alone. How would that help anyone?” Afraid to say too much and afraid to say too little, she stopped.
“I know what I know.” His stubbornness had never been more pronounced. He pushed the door open and held it for her. “I’ll always be thankful you helped Becky, Lydia. But don’t try to help me. No one can do that.”
Obeying his gesture, she walked out of the shed. He was right. As long as he felt the way he did, no one could help him.
* * *
Simon walked down the slight hill toward the creek, but his thoughts were still on Lyddy. It was as natural as breathing for her to want to help, but in this case she couldn’t, and it was best she realized it.
He didn’t want to hurt her. That was uppermost in his mind at the moment. It had become crucial that Lyddy not be hurt, by him or by anyone else.
He reminded himself that he had no responsibility to Lyddy except as a friend, but that didn’t seem to make a difference to his feelings. He’d known her since childhood, and he owed her a debt he could never repay.
Forcing himself away from thoughts of Lydia, he tried to focus on the scene in front of him. The creek was fast, roiled and muddy, but it had gone down visibly, leaving behind it a sea of mud with a rank smell. The houses on Eleventh Street still had water lapping at their doorsteps, but the ones they’d emptied yesterday were safe. They’d have to have water pumped out of the cellars, but at least it hadn’t reached the first floor. As soon as they could get the trucks in, volunteer firefighters would begin the pumping process. It’d be a long job.
“You did come back.”
Simon turned at the voice to find the elderly couple he’d met the day before. They were looking tired but considerably more cheerful than they previously had.
“I said I’d come back,” he reminded the man. “How are you? Did you have a place to sleep?”
“Goodness, yes. Our friends have been so nice, and they said they’d come to help so we can get back to normal.” The wife seemed so happy that Simon didn’t have the heart to point out that the basement was most likely full of mud and water that it would begin to stink if it hadn’t already.
“I told you my house hadn’t flooded in fifty years,” her husband said, interrupting. “Now don’t forget your promise when the truck brings our furniture.”
His wife hushed him disapprovingly, but Simon just smiled. “I’ll be here. But just now I’d best see what they want me to do first.”
His spirits lifting irrationally that they, at least, had been spared the worst, he went over to where the police were organizing volunteers.
With a job in hand, Simon helped remove the sandbags that had done their job. This spring had for sure been different than he’d expected. Different, but not really disappointing. There was work to be done, and he could do it.
More volunteers arrived as the morning went on. Josiah showed up, along with Simon’s daad and brothers. With all those willing hands, the work went quickly, and they were soon diverted to unloading the furniture for the Tenth Street houses.
It seemed inevitable that he’d be carrying back in the furniture he’d carried out yesterday, with the same elderly man hovering over them to make sure he did it right.
He must have seen a resemblance between Simon and his father, because he stopped Simon to ask and be introduced.
“We’re mighty thankful,” he said, shaking Daad’s hand vigorously. “We didn’t get any water in the house, like I said, though.”
“Better safe than sorry,” his wife added. She lowered her voice as her husband moved out of range. “He doesn’t like to admit he needs help,” she whispered. “Thank you. Thank you,” she repeated, tears glistening in faded blue eyes. “God bless you.”
Daad clapped him on the back as they moved on to the next job. “That’s better than any pay,” he said. “You did a gut thing for them.”
“Lots of folks are,” he protested. “Including you.”
“And Lyddy,” Daad said, glancing past him.
Simon turned to find Lyddy and her elderly admirers handing out sandwiches and drinks to both volunteers and victims.
“Yah.” He watched her talking with people, expressing caring in every word and gesture. Everyone seemed to know her, or else they could respond to her warmth even without knowing her. He could only marvel at the woman she’d become.
“Lyddy’s a fine girl,” his father said, too casually. “I don’t know what Aunt Bess would do without her. Or a lot of other people. Ain’t so?” His raised his eyebrows, and Simon thought he recognized the look in his eyes.
“Don’t tell me Aunt Bess has got you matchmaking, too,” he groaned. “Yah, Lyddy’s a wonderful gut person, but I’m not looking for a wife.” He hoped that would end it.
Daad nodded, but he hadn’t lost the twinkle in his eyes.
“Maybe you should be,” he said, tossing the words back over his shoulder as he headed for the sandwiches and coffee.
* * *
Lydia went back to the coffee shop, feeling oddly flat. She’d seen Simon, but he’d made no effort to come over and speak to her.
Well, why should he? Seeing him every day was already having an effect if she expected attention from him in a situation like this. Sarah came back from the phone, looking pleased. “That was Mamm. She says Aunt Bess is coming home. She wants you to pack up some things for her. I wrote them down.” Sarah handed her a list. “They’ll stop and get them on the way home.”
“Wonderful.” She scanned the list. “How soon are they coming? Maybe I should get them ready before I start anything else.”
“Mammi said she was going to the hospital now. Someone is driving and will take them back home.”
Lydia nodded. “I’ll do it now, if you can manage here.”
No need to ask—Sarah was delighted to be left in charge. Holding the list, Lydia hurried up the stairs.
Hearing someone behind her, she turned to find Becky scrambling after her.
“I’ll help,” she said.
Smiling, Lydia took her hand. “Those must be your favorite words,” she teased gently.
Becky dimpled. “I like to help better than anything.” She stopped to consider with that grave look of hers. “Except maybe coloring.”
Her careful honesty made Lydia feel small. How many adults could be as honest about themselves? She didn’t think she could.
It wasn’t hard to find the things on the list, since Elizabeth’s bedroom and bathroom were as well-organized as every other aspect of her life. Lydia handed each item to Becky, who put it carefully in the small suitcase Elizabeth used for her rare trips.
Lydia found herself wondering, as they worked, if this illness spelled the end of Elizabeth’s life here over her shop. Goodness knew that most of her kin had been trying for years to convince her to make her home with them. It might be the best thing she could so. But what would happen to the shop then?
“Lyddy?” Becky’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Yah?”
“I heard someone talking,” she said carefully, as if not wanting to say who, “and she said that Daadi should get married again so I would have a mammi. But I already have a mammi, even if she’s in heaven.”
Lydia had to clench her teeth to keep from saying what she
thought about supposed adults who’d be so careless as to say that in front of a child. Several Amish women who baked for the shop had been in that morning, and she could guess which of them it had been. For Becky’s sake, she had to move carefully now.
Becky tugged at her sleeve. “What did they mean?”
She was committed to being Becky’s friend, and she had to be as honest as the child was.
“People sometimes say silly things,” she began. “I’m sure they know that no one could replace your mammi. I expect they thought that if Daadi got married, it would be to someone who would love you and take care of you like a mammi would. Not replace her but try hard to do what she would do.”
She looked for signs of understanding in the small face. Becky nodded slowly.
“Do you think Daadi will?” she asked.
Another difficult question that required an honest answer. “I don’t think so,” she said. “At least, not right now. But you could talk to him about it.”
Becky considered that. “Maybe not right now,” she said, echoing Lydia’s phrase.
That seemed to finish their conversation, so Lydia checked the list one last time and snapped the suitcase closed. “Okay, we’re finished,” she said. “Denke.”
Together they walked out of the room, only to find Simon looking into one of the kitchen cabinets. Lydia’s stomach clenched. Was she never to have a conversation with Becky that he didn’t overhear? She braced herself for a lecture on the subject of minding her own business.
But none came. Simon seemed occupied by something else. “I just came in when Mammi called again. She’s up at the hospital getting Aunt Bess ready to leave, and she says Bess wants some of her special tea. Do you know what that is? I don’t see it.”
* * *
Relieved, she reached into the cabinet he had opened. The tin was right in front of him.
“It’s this one. An herbal blend that she makes with mint and ginger. Was there anything else?”
“Not now,” he said, relaxing. “But I imagine there will be something else about every day for a while.”
