by Amy Clipston
Was he seriously thinking about trying a second time with Faith Troyer?
Or perhaps, since she was clearly not interested in him, he was merely intrigued.
“It wonders me,” he muttered to himself, echoing one of his daddi’s favorite sayings.
He went to his buggy to fetch the box, then sat on a bench under the clinic’s roof overhang. True to her word, Faith showed up at the fifteen-minute mark.
“Can you make out the writing?”
“Only that it seems to say Shipshe . . .”
“Most of the letters have been smudged off.” Faith took the package from him and lifted it to her nose, then held it at arm’s length.
“Need me to fetch you a new pair of glasses?”
“I do not.” She pushed her glasses up with her index finger. “I was just thinking I might be able to make out some of the words if I held it at a different angle.”
“Guess we’re going to have to open it.”
“Ya. It seems wrong, though, like we’re intruding on someone’s privacy.”
“But we can’t return it until we figure out who it belongs to.”
“True enough.” She wrinkled her nose, reminding him of a rabbit he’d seen in the field that morning. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
He began to pick at a corner of the tape that was holding the box together. When he pulled it up, the letters came away with it.
“Wait.” Faith jumped up and rushed into the clinic, then returned with a pair of scissors. “Maybe you can just . . . slit the side. That way the words will remain intact.”
“Gut idea.”
Faith scooted down the bench and motioned for him to set the box between them. He pried one end open with the scissors and pulled out a bundle of newspaper.
“Strange to wrap something up and put it in a box.” She ran her fingertips over the newsprint.
“Maybe they did so it wouldn’t rattle around, and look—we can just make out the date on the newspaper.”
“Maybe you can, and maybe I do need a new pair of glasses.”
“June 12, 1970.”
“That old?”
“I suppose.” David peered closer at the newsprint. “This package was sent forty-nine years ago.”
“At least forty-nine years. It might have been less. Someone might have kept a stack of newspapers for wrapping things.”
“All right. I guess that’s possible.”
He slowly unwrapped the papers.
Inside was a bundle of letters.
* * *
One of the many details Faith loved about Amish life was that they still wrote letters to one another. Doc England’s clinic had both Englisch and Amish customers, and she’d watched many an Englisch person tap away on their phones with their thumbs.
Type, send, and then zip—the other person received the message.
Almost instantaneously.
Was that a good or a bad thing?
The Amish were often portrayed in books and news stories as being hopelessly old-fashioned, and she supposed they were. She sometimes wondered what the point was of living life the old way—usually when she was helping on laundry day. But when she looked down at the letters David was holding, she found herself grateful that they still did some things as their parents and grandparents had. She had to admit, there was nothing quite like receiving a handwritten letter in the mail.
“We’re going to have to open one.” David had scooted closer so she could read the writing on the top envelope.
It simply said Mary.
“This is a man’s handwriting,” Faith said.
“That’s a prejudiced thing to say.”
“Is not.”
“Just because it’s blocky and uneven, you assume it’s a man’s.”
“Want to compare our writing?”
“No thanks. More importantly, there are too many women named Mary to figure out who these were sent to.”
“All right.” A lightweight twine had been wrapped around the stack of letters. Faith thumbed the corner of the envelopes and counted seven. Seven lost letters. She peeked at David as he pushed the letters into her lap.
“You do it.”
“All right.” Faith slipped the twine off the end of the bundle and picked up the top envelope. It wasn’t sealed, though the flap had been tucked inside. She opened it, pulled out and unfolded the sheet of paper, and began to read, barely aware she was doing so aloud.
June 7, 1970
Dearest Mary,
I hope you are not growing tired of my letters. It helps me immensely to write to you. I hadn’t expected to be so homesick. This farm is much like my family’s, but Ohio is quite different from Indiana. The people are different as well, and although they follow many of the same customs as our community, they do so in a way that seems unfamiliar and strange.
One thing that remains the same is the work. Today I worked in the back field preparing the soil for planting. I am grateful every day that I am here and not overseas. We had service on Sunday, and Bishop Jeremiah reminded us again that it is best to keep a low profile and limit our trips into town. Though some understand our position as COs, many do not, and there have been instances of harassment and even violence against members of the community.
I don’t mind staying on the farm. I have no desire to go to town because there is nothing I need to shop for. The family I’m staying with provides my food and lodging and takes the cost out of my earnings. I send the rest home to my family. I do wish I had more reading material. Perhaps next week I will brave the local library.
I’m pleased to hear you are enjoying my little packages. I will continue to mail you once a week with that week’s letters. I like the idea of you sitting under the sycamore tree in your father’s backyard, enjoying the glider swing, and reading my words to you. Thank you for the package with the cookies and tea. You can’t imagine the joy it brings me each evening as I read over your letters.
Fondly yours,
Peter
David groaned. “Peter and Mary? Do you know how many people in our community have the names Peter and Mary? Might as well add Lapp to the mix so this task can be completely hopeless.”
“You’re a Lapp.”
“I’m aware.”
“Do you think Mary or Peter could be a member of your family?”
“Nein. I just meant . . . Well, it’s going to be hard to figure out who these belong to.”
“But there are a lot of clues.” Faith felt herself getting caught up in solving the mystery.
“Clues?”
“This person—Peter—was staying in Ohio for some reason.”
“Yeah.”
“He was working on a farm there . . .”
“Says as much in the first paragraph.” David rubbed a hand over his jaw. Then he reached down to scoop up Pebbles, who had been attacking his shoelaces. “And Mary lived here in Shipshe.”
Faith read the letter again. Had it really been lost all those years ago? Were the people—Mary and Peter—even still alive? And to think she and David wouldn’t have found it if not for Pebbles darting beneath the kudzu vine.
Life was so full of surprises.
A person could wake up in the morning, expecting a perfectly normal day, only to be dropped in the middle of someone else’s long-ago mystery before evening.
Chapter 3
David should have been looking at the letters, but he was having more fun watching the expressions of puzzlement, surprise, and wonder on Faith’s face.
She looked up and studied him for a moment as if he might know the answers to the questions twirling through her mind. She finally said, “Mary must have cared for him because she wrote to him as well.”
“And she sent him packages.”
“This should be easy to solve.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“The bishop in Ohio was Jeremiah. How many Jeremiahs are there?”
“I can think of four here in Shipshe.”
“But the
y’re not all bishops.” She said the last word slowly as if he was having trouble keeping up.
“All right, Sherlock . . .”
“Who?”
“Never mind. What other clues do you see?”
Faith scooted even closer so they could both read the pages at the same time. “I don’t know what CO means.”
“Don’t look at me.”
“It says here . . .” She allowed her finger to travel down the page and rest on the last paragraph. “Mary has a sycamore tree in the backyard and a glider swing.”
“Mary had a sycamore tree and a glider swing in the backyard. That solves it!” David bumped his shoulder against hers to show he was only giving her a hard time.
A buggy pulled into the drive-through area. Faith hopped up, slipped the letter back into the envelope, the envelope into the stack, and the stack and newspapers into the tattered box. “That’s my bruder. I have to go.”
“You’re leaving?”
“We can figure this out, David.”
“We can?”
“Yes. We will solve the mystery of the kudzu letters.”
“I’m as intrigued as the next guy, but maybe we should step back for a minute.”
Faith had been hurrying to the buggy, Pebbles fast on her heels, but she stopped abruptly and pivoted back toward him.
“What are you saying?”
“That perhaps we should drive over to Goshen and put the package back under those kudzu vines.” He couldn’t keep a straight face when she looked at him aghast. He started laughing, causing Pebbles to run back toward him and attempt to paw her way up his leg.
“We’ll do no such thing,” Faith said, slipping her purse strap over her shoulder.
“Ah, I know what’s happening now. Your imagination is coming up with some romantic reunion between two people we don’t even know.”
“I need to go. I don’t want to keep Micah waiting.”
“You want to get home and read the rest of the letters.”
Faith motioned to her bruder to wait, walked right up to David, and scooped Pebbles in her arms.
“I thought she was going to be a . . . What did you call it . . . companion pet?”
“She is.”
“So why are you taking her home?” They were standing so close that David could smell powder and soap and some flowery scent that must have been hand lotion. The combination was intoxicating.
“She’s too little to leave alone here now.” Faith lowered her voice and kissed the pup on top of the head.
David had nothing against dogs, but this one was claiming all of Faith’s attention.
“She’ll have to stay with me,” Faith added, glancing up at him and then away. “At least for a few weeks.”
Pebbles began to squirm in Faith’s arms. David took the dog from her, and they walked side by side toward Micah’s buggy.
Faith held the tattered box as if it were a priceless treasure. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if we could find the people these letters belong to?”
“I’m not sure that’s even possible.” His common sense was trying to assert itself, though he knew that was probably not what Faith wanted to hear. Still, better that she grasp the reality of the situation now than later. “You’re thinking of this as if it’s a page torn from a romance novel. Maybe this Mary—whoever she is—is better off never having received these letters.”
They reached the buggy, and Faith opened the door.
David leaned past her to greet her bruder. “Hey, Micah.”
“David. Surprised to see you here.”
“Not as surprised as I am to be here.”
If he’d hoped Faith had forgotten his comment about romance novels, he was sadly mistaken.
She turned on him now and asked, “What would you know of reading romances?”
“Nothing.” He took a step back. That’s what he got for teasing her. He should have known better.
“Uh-huh. Maybe you took a peek at one of the books your nieces were reading.”
“I don’t know what my nieces read.”
“Or maybe you have a habit of stopping by the library on your lunch hour.”
“Ha! I don’t take a lunch hour.”
Faith stared down at the box in her hands. “Who should keep it . . . You or me?”
David pretended to be perplexed, tilting his head left and then right. “We could give it to the bishop.”
“I heard he’s very busy this week.”
“Or I could take it home. Keep it safe until I see you at church on Sunday.”
“That’s a week away.”
“Or you could take it . . .” He lowered his voice, though Micah was pretending to be busy cleaning the dirt out from under his fingernails. “You could take it, and we could go to dinner tomorrow night and read the rest of them.”
“What?”
“Two people, eating together, at a restaurant.”
She pushed up her glasses, looked left, right, and finally into his eyes. “Are you asking me out on a date?” Her voice had dropped to a whisper, and a slight blush colored her cheeks.
“Would you say yes if I was?”
Faith rolled her eyes and laughed at the same time. David silently reminded himself that now was not a good time to get involved in a dating relationship, especially not with Faith Troyer. He never quite understood her moods, and he always felt a little off-kilter around her.
Then her eyes met his, a smile still playing on her lips, and his doubts slipped away. They had both found the box, so it made sense to see this through together—might as well do so at dinner.
“All right,” she said as if she was agreeing to see the dentist. “But not dinner—I’ve been wanting ice cream since last Friday.”
“I had the hot fudge blizzard. It was so good.”
“Don’t describe it to me. We don’t have any ice cream at home.”
“I hope you can wait until Friday.”
“Pick me up at six, and I’ll bring the box.”
“Don’t peek at the rest of the letters without me.”
She gave him a backhanded wave as she climbed into the buggy. He placed the beagle in her lap and watched them drive away.
Faith Troyer.
Ice cream.
A lost dog.
A mysterious box of letters.
And to think he had been enjoying how calm and predictable his life had become.
* * *
The day was turning out better than Faith had anticipated. The lethargy she’d been battling had fallen away. The fields looked greener, the spring sunshine brighter, and the days ahead more hopeful.
If she was honest with herself, she would admit that winter had been difficult. She’d turned down invitations from friends, avoided social gatherings, and spent much of her time at home alone. Perhaps she’d been too focused on herself. She could see that now because she was finally looking forward to something—to seeing David on Friday.
It was good to think about someone else for a change. Perhaps the mystery box was just what she needed.
“So . . .” Micah said.
“So?”
“David Lapp?”
“What about him?”
“Looked to me like you two were, you know, interested in each other.”
“Ha. Hardly.”
“So you’re going out with him Friday night because . . .”
Faith explained about the box of letters and how they were trying to figure out who they belonged to. She even pulled the top letter out and started to read it to him, but Micah stopped her with an upheld hand.
“Don’t drag me into your mystery.”
“Oh, please. As if you have better things to do.”
“I do.”
“Such as?”
“Taking you home and showering so I can pick up Naomi.”
“I like Naomi.”
“I do too.”
“Is it getting serious?”
Micah was four years younger than Faith, so
she always felt strange when she thought of him marrying. It was bound to happen though. Most Amish did marry, and most married before they were her age.
“Define serious.”
“Are you going to ask her to be your fra?”
Instead of answering, Micah changed the subject. “What’s with the mutt?”
Pebbles had immediately fallen asleep on her lap. She made little yipping sounds as if she were chasing a rabbit in her dreams.
“Her name is Pebbles, and she’s going to be staying with us awhile.”
“Mamm’s not big on dogs in the house.”
“Which is why she won’t be in our house. I made her a bed in the barn. That’s where she’s slept since Friday.”
“You’ve had her since Friday?”
“Dat knew about her.”
“Uh-huh, but you haven’t mentioned it to Mamm. I can’t wait to hear her reaction.”
“I just worry that Pebbles would get lonely staying at the animal clinic.”
“She’s a dog.”
“Dogs have feelings too, Micah.”
“Don’t give me another animal lecture. Besides, you’re ignoring the subject.”
“Which is?”
“David.”
Faith sighed and looked out the window. Finally, she said, “My relationship with David—if you can even call it that—is complicated.”
“I know you dated him a while back.”
“It was one date. Four years ago, maybe four and a half.”
“So what happened?”
“He didn’t know about my claustrophobia.”
“Oh boy.”
“His idea of a perfect date was taking me to the fall festival.”
“That sounds gut.”
“And it was at first, until he insisted we go into the House of Mirrors.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Ya.” She didn’t want to think about that night. The memory still embarrassed her, but maybe it was time to move past it. She’d been working with the bishop for a long time now to learn to accept who she was—both her strengths and her weaknesses.
“To this day I can’t tell you exactly what happened, only that I ended up curled in a ball with mirrors all around me. When David found me, he started laughing. I’m still not sure which was worse—being in a complete panic or having someone laugh at my distress.”
“I’m sure he didn’t know.” Micah glanced at her, his eyes full of sympathy and that, more than the memory, caused Faith to tear up.
