All for a donkey he didn’t want. She would probably never understand grown-ups.
By the time she was finished in the barn, she was more than ready to crawl into bed, but then she heard her little sister making baby noises in the sitting room. How could she ignore that?
“It seems as if she’s growing every day,” Grace whispered as she leaned over the cradle and kissed Rachel good night.
The baby stretched, tiny arms reaching over her head. She gazed at Grace and popped the corner of her small right fist in her mouth.
“You used to suck on your fist,” Gabe said.
“I did?”
“Don’t you remember?”
“Dat. I can’t remember that long ago.”
“Oh. I thought you remembered everything.”
Grace rolled her eyes, walked around the cradle, and gave her dad a big hug anyway. He might be the silliest person she knew, but he also smelled just right and his arms around her felt wunderbaar.
“Want me to come and tuck you in?”
“I’m nine, dat. I don’t need tucking in.”
“Oh.” Gabe tugged at his beard, looking confused.
“Miriam can come, though.”
Miriam smiled as she set aside the quilt top she was working on. “Gabe Miller, it sounds to me like you have boppli duty.”
“Oh.”
Grace had noticed he said “oh” a lot lately, as if it was the one word that came to mind.
“Can you handle it?” Miriam asked.
“Ya. Is her diaper clean?”
“It was last time I checked. You’ll smell it if conditions change.”
Gabe groaned, which made Grace giggle. When Rachel soiled a diaper, the smell was worse than a dirty stall.
“Grace and I are going to have a little girl time.” Miriam picked up one of the gas lanterns sitting on the side table.
“Good night, dat.”
“Good night, Gracie.”
Grace sighed as she slid her hand into Miriam’s and they headed toward her bedroom. She’d been worried when Rachel was born that Miriam might not have time for her anymore. When Miriam was her teacher, she used to dream about one day having a new mother. Dreaming was all she did, because praying for it seemed like asking God for too much.
Then Miriam and her dad married, and for a while Grace felt as though she were walking an inch off the ground. She had a whole family again, complete with another set of grandparents here in Wisconsin.
The hitch was she didn’t know if she should call Miriam her mamm or not. After all, she had a mamm in heaven. When she’d confessed her worries to her dad and Miriam, they had both told her a name didn’t matter as much as a person’s heart. And they both knew she loved Miriam as much as her dad loved her.
As much as Miriam loved them.
What mattered was that they were a family.
So Grace still called her Miriam, though sometimes lately in her head she said mamm, and in her heart she was starting to feel okay about using that word.
“Did you have a gut day?” Miriam asked as she pulled back the bedcovers.
“Ya.”
“You found the supplies you wanted at the store.”
“They’re perfect.” Grace climbed into her bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. It wasn’t cold, but the covers made her feel nice and sleepy.
Miriam set the lantern on the floor beside the bed. It cast funny shadows across the room. She pulled the flashlight out of Grace’s nightstand and tested the batteries, same as she did every night. Then she set it on top of the nightstand where Grace could reach it if she needed to get up and it was dark.
“Do you know what I was thinking about?” Grace yawned so big her eyes squeezed shut, even though she was trying to keep them open.
“Gus?”
“No.”
“Hunter?”
“I love that puppy. No, not Hunter.”
“What, then?” Miriam settled on the bed beside her.
Grace liked how Miriam was never in a hurry, even when she must be tired. When her stomach had been huge, Grace had worried that she might roll off her bed, but she hadn’t. And now they had Rachel.
“Are we going to have another boppli?”
“That’s what you were thinking about?”
“No, but when you sat down I was remembering how big you were before, and how you looked like you had a volleyball under your apron.”
Miriam started laughing, and then Grace started laughing. Soon her dad’s voice came booming down the hall. “You wouldn’t be giggling if you were changing this diaper.”
“I thought she might do that. She usually does an hour after she eats.”
“Should you go help him?” Grace asked.
“Nope. Your dat’s a smart guy. He can handle it.”
“So what about it? What about another boppli?”
“Usually takes longer than that. Can’t say for sure, but I wouldn’t expect another right away.”
Grace thought about that a minute. Finally she nodded as if it made perfect sense. “I adore Rachel.”
“I know you do. You’re a gut schweschder.”
Grace folded her hands to say her prayers. As she was thanking God for her new drawing supplies, she remembered what else she was going to tell Miriam.
“Lydia’s cabins…” She yawned again, trying to keep her eyes open. “I’d like to go back and draw them. I tried to do it while we were riding home, but it was hard to catch the details, hard to remember.”
“I’m sure it’s difficult to draw while riding in a buggy.”
“Did you see the way the river wound behind the cabins?”
“I did.” Miriam leaned forward and planted a kiss on her forehead.
“The light was just so…”
“It was.”
Grace fought to keep her eyes open. She wanted to talk more with Miriam, but things felt so warm and snuggly and right.
“Rest now, dear. If Gotte wants you to draw the cabins, He’ll make a way.”
Chapter 4
Aaron thought he would toss and turn in the double bed he found in cabin four. He’d expected dust on the small table, sheets that hadn’t been washed, and a lumpy mattress. He’d thought the inside of the cabins would disappoint him as badly as the outside had.
He was pleasantly surprised.
All of the furnishings were certainly dated. The small table, four chairs, bed, a single nightstand, and one rocker all looked as if they were at least twenty years old.
Which didn’t matter at all because the workmanship was simple and excellent.
The bed was constructed from oak and Amish made. As he peered down and studied the way the headboard was fastened together, he was sure of it. Running his hand down the post, he appreciated the solid feel—no plastics, no fabricated wood.
Had his onkel Ervin made it? Had he made all the furniture in this room? Long ago, Ervin had worked with wood—before he’d left the family in Indiana and struck out on his own. His dad had told him some of the history.
Much of it Aaron hadn’t listened to very closely.
At the time he’d been in a hurry to be back in the fields. He hadn’t had much time for remembering about the old days. Family stories were fine, but what use were they when a field needed planting or a horse was sick? The farm was what concerned him, not old stories about family members he could barely remember. He had been so sure his future lay outside the kitchen window, in the Indiana fields, and now he was here…
He was here and he was clueless.
Pulling out the chair, he dropped his provisions onto the table. Maybe it was his exhaustion, or maybe it was his low expectations. Whatever the reason, the clean room and Plain furnishings helped ease the tension from the day.
Lydia had been right about the food supplies in the office. Basics were there and nothing more. He’d found crackers on the shelves and a package of cheese and sausage in the gas-powered refrigerator. Interesting that the office had a phone
but no electricity.
Did their bishop not allow it? Even for businesses?
Questions sifted through his mind as he sliced the cheese and sausage, placed them on the crackers, and ate until he was full. Chasing his dinner with cold water, he realized the food was exactly what he’d needed—simple but sufficient. Tomorrow he’d figure out a way to cook.
Would he need to cook? How long would he be staying? Was his job to sell the place or to clean it up?
Every time he sought to find an answer, he uncovered three more questions. So instead he pulled off his work boots, washed at the sink, and sank onto the bed, grateful for the firm mattress and soft pile of blankets.
The questions persisted, though.
Things he needed to know about the cabins, about his onkel, even about why his father had sent him. As his eyes grew heavier with each persistent hoot of the owl outside his door, his final questions were about the girl.
Except she wasn’t a girl. She was a woman. That much was plain. She no longer had a girl’s body or a girl’s mannerisms.
The first thought embarrassed him and the second made him laugh out loud in the empty room. Lydia Fisher did not appear to be the kind of woman who would easily back down.
Was that why his onkel had chosen to hire such a young person to help oversee things? Because of her stubbornness?
How young was she? Why did she have such an explosive attitude?
The questions circled and echoed through his mind as sleep claimed him.
Sleep that seemed to last hours. He dreamed of Indiana, of working the fields and watching the crops grow tall. He could smell the corn, run his hands across the stalks, walk down the rows, and see his shadow in the afternoon sun.
Too soon, sunlight woke him. He felt disoriented, unsure at first of where he was and feeling as if he’d put his head on the pillow less than five minutes earlier. It wasn’t the light that had caused him to sit up in the cabin’s bed, though. It was a noise.
He had been awakened by the sound of a horse and buggy pulling into the parking area. No doubt this had been the manager’s cabin because it was positioned to hear any comings and goings. He groaned and rolled out of bed, pulling back the shade that covered the window.
Looking out, he saw the beast that had nipped him the day before.
The sun was barely over the horizon.
Did she always arrive at work so early? What was her name? Linda? Laura? Lydia.
That was it.
What was she doing here? She must have left when the sun was scratching the first field. Why? Perhaps she was checking on him, to see how late he slept.
Aaron wasn’t about to be outworked by a woman. Running water over his face, he attempted to comb his hair, but he could see by the small mirror hung over the sink that he wasn’t making it any better. How he looked didn’t matter. Hats were made for covering unruly hair. Quickly brushing his teeth, he searched in his bag for clean clothes, threw them on, and bolted out the front door.
The scene from his porch stopped him cold.
A crane similar to the one he’d seen the night before stood on the far side of the river, catching its morning meal.
Smaller birds called from the trees, some he recognized from Indiana and others he didn’t. He didn’t glance up for long. His eyes were drawn to the beauty upstream, standing in the river near the next cabin.
White as a new moon and easily twenty pounds, the trumpeter swan upended, searching for food. As he watched, the bird’s head darted out of the stream. Stretching its long neck straight, water dripped off its black beak and splashed back into the river. It swallowed once, before upending again.
Aaron could have stood watching for hours, but the cry of a hawk startled him. He turned his head and peered up into the sky, following the sound. When he looked back, the swan was gone. Perhaps he’d found better waters around the bend.
Was every morning like this?
Was all of Wisconsin like this?
He placed his hand on the railing as he leaned forward, and the wood cracked, splintered, and nearly gave way beneath his weight.
It figured.
As he walked down the steps, he dodged two hummingbirds that dove past him, headed for the flowering bushes bordering the far side of the porch, practically taking over that side of the building even up to the roof.
His heart wanted to remain focused on the wildlife. His brain was moving toward work, and he was surprised when his stomach began to gurgle.
Last night’s cracker sandwiches had left him. Their nutrition was as fleeting as the sense of wonder he’d just experienced. Walking past cabins three, two, and one, which were in desperate need of repair, his shoulders began to tense as he worried over what he should do first.
One thing he knew for certain. It was time to demand some answers. And the one way to do that was to confront his only employee.
Lydia started the kaffi and placed her mother’s oatmeal cake on the table as soon as she walked inside the office. She had passed by the window and was looking toward the river when she saw Aaron Troyer step out of cabin four’s front door. He stepped into the morning light, hat pushed down over hair that needed a good trimming, and something in Lydia’s heart tripped a beat. She tried to deny the fluttery feeling, knowing no good would come of it, but hopes and dreams stirred regardless of her good common sense.
Best to ignore them and focus on other things.
She had always liked cabin four. It allowed a good view of the bend in the river, but Aaron probably didn’t pause to notice that. He probably saw only the rotten part on the railing that needed replacing. No doubt he noted the fact that the shrubs needed trimming.
Didn’t he think she realized those things? She wasn’t daft. But there was a limit to how much one person could do.
He still hadn’t started toward the office. What was he doing on the porch?
Maybe he had fallen through the rotten rail.
As she began to wonder if she should check on him, he came walking down the steps, frowning at the other cabins as he trudged toward the front of the property.
Humph.
It seemed Aaron woke with the same mood he had carried to bed—a bad one. Well, she’d had customers like him before, she certainly had a younger brother like him, and she’d once had a boyfriend like him.
The customers never stayed long enough to be more than a passing problem.
The younger brother was bound to grow out of his surly disposition.
And the boyfriend had broken things off when he’d realized Lydia had obligations to fulfill and not much time for buggy rides and Sunday evening singings. She’d come to realize she was better off without him.
But what about handsome Aaron Troyer? How long was he going to stick around?
Her instincts told her not very long.
Then the door to the office rattled open, and she didn’t have to rely on her instincts. The expression on his face told her all she needed to know. He’d be out of Pebble Creek before Monday’s bus left town.
“Kaffi?” He stood just inside the doorway, as if he hadn’t decided whether to walk inside any farther.
“Ya, and some oatmeal cake from my mamm.”
“Smells gut.”
Lydia didn’t offer to pour his drink or cut a piece of the sweet kaffi cake for him. She wasn’t sure what her role here was, but she didn’t think fetching kaffi for the boss was in her job description. At least, it hadn’t been with his onkel. She missed Ervin, and once again she found herself wondering about God’s wisdom in taking the kindly old man when He did.
Of course, it wasn’t her place to wonder about God’s decisions, as her mother was fond of pointing out.
Aaron fixed his kaffi with two sugars and no cream. Walking back to the table, he cut a large piece of the oatmeal cake—Lydia’s aenti called it a Lazy Daisy oatmeal cake. She had never learned why, but as a child she remembered finding a handful of daisies in the pasture and running into the kitchen so that her
mother could add them to the batter.
Aaron didn’t sit but instead stood with his back to the window, next to the table, eating and studying her.
Lydia didn’t speak, figuring she’d let him begin.
“I’m going to need a pen and some paper to make a list of all the repairs that need to be done.”
Lydia walked to the desk and pulled the supplies he needed out of the drawer. She set them on the table in front of him.
“Are the cabins always completely empty?”
“Weekdays, most of them are.”
Aaron closed his eyes, but he continued chewing. Maybe her mother had known what she was doing, sending the cake. Perhaps butter, brown sugar, eggs, and cinnamon soothed the soul when little else could. Maybe they would help with all Aaron would learn today.
“Weekends?” he asked.
“Some better.”
“How much?”
Lydia shifted from one foot to the other. She realized she was responding the way her youngest sister, Sally Ann, did when she was caught in mischief—which was often. Lydia forced herself to stop fidgeting and stand still.
“How much better?” Aaron repeated, refilling his kaffi mug and adding another sugar.
She found herself wondering if his family had a history of diabetes.
“Some weekends half the cabins are full.”
“And others?”
“We start with half full, but they leave.”
Aaron leaned against the counter, studying her as he drank his kaffi. Was he noticing the ten pounds she’d been meaning to lose? Maybe it had crept up to fifteen. Not that it mattered. He wouldn’t be around long enough for courting, and if he was staying he wouldn’t be courting her. There were plenty of eligible girls in their district to choose from—girls who weren’t responsible for a family of eight, girls who had better attitudes and thinner waistlines. Worrying about weight was a prideful thing. She shouldn’t care unless it affected her health, which it didn’t. Though at the rate Aaron was devouring her mamm’s cake, he might need to be letting out his suspenders in the next year. Did he always eat so much? And so quickly?
A Home for Lydia (The Pebble Creek Amish Series) Page 3
