A Home for Lydia (The Pebble Creek Amish Series)

by Chapman, Vannetta

  He took another drink of kaffi. At least he didn’t slurp it. She could not abide a man who slurped, though it wasn’t as if she’d be around him long enough for it to matter. From the look he was giving her, slurping was the least of her problems.

  “Why do they leave?”

  “Most the time they don’t say.”

  “And when they do say?”

  Now she turned and began fiddling at the desk, which was already in perfect order.

  “Lydia, when they do say anything, how do they explain their leaving?” When she didn’t answer, he walked across the room and stood directly in front of her, close enough that when she looked up she saw that his eyes were exactly the color of her mother’s kaffi after she’d stirred a measure of cream into it—a nice warm brown, completely opposite the chill in his voice.

  “They must have a reservation,” he said. “If their reservation is for two or three nights, they must have a reason for leaving. Certainly they tell you something when they—”

  “Always they give an explanation. All right? They come up with some excuse, and it’s plain that it isn’t their real reason.” Lydia stepped back from the desk. She wanted more distance between them. She had worked here alone for two months now, and she’d found a comfortable rhythm.

  Ervin, he knew the way things were. He understood about the Englischers. He caught on before she did.

  Somehow they had shared the knowledge together, stumbled through it together. They had even scrounged up enough money to keep the place running. Perhaps they had allowed a few repairs to remain undone, but it had stayed between them. There had been no need for Elizabeth to worry, and Lydia had been able to keep her job.

  Now, looking at Aaron, she knew those days were over.

  She half turned away from him so she could gaze out over the cabins. “They always tell me something, but I can see the looks of pity,” she said quietly. “They stare at this place as you do, as if they can’t drive away fast enough. As if they can’t possibly rest here or appreciate the flow of the river or hear the cry of the birds. Instead, they run away because of all that is wrong. All that Ervin couldn’t do then, and I still can’t do now. I see it in their eyes, I see their pity, and I don’t know what to say.”

  Aaron walked over to the sink and rinsed out his kaffi cup.

  “Does Elizabeth know? Has anyone discussed this with my onkel’s wife?”

  She had expected sympathy in his voice. His cold hard tone was almost a relief. He turned and pierced her with his stare.

  “No. Your onkel tried to protect her from how poorly the business was doing.”

  “Tell me where I can find her.”

  Chapter 5

  On Friday mornings Miriam was in the habit of visiting her mother. After she’d seen Grace off to school, she would bundle Rachel up and head in the opposite direction.

  Part of her heart tugged when Grace walked down the lane with Gabe. Eli Stutzman still gave her a ride to school. They were at the edge of the school’s boundary, and it was too far for a young girl to walk. Gabe could have taken her, but Grace was in the habit of riding with the Stutzman children, including her best friend, Sadie. Miriam knew all too well the scene that would greet Grace once Eli delivered her to the doors of the little schoolhouse along the banks of Pebble Creek. Having been the teacher there for eight years, she could picture the students tramping inside after pausing to stomp the mud off their shoes. She could practically feel the chalk dust on her fingers. She could hear the children’s voices as she prepared to ring the first morning bell.

  She glanced over at little Rachel, riding contentedly in her basket, staring up at her with those beautiful brown eyes. Belle moved down the road at a steady trot, and Miriam’s restlessness began to ease.

  There wasn’t even one inch in her heart that regretted giving up teaching to marry Gabe and live in the droopy house with the sad barn…though neither was sad or droopy anymore. But when Gabe smiled and touched her face in the glow of the lantern light, when he asked her gently what was wrong, she was honest enough to admit she missed the schoolchildren at times.

  Grace didn’t require much tending when compared to a classroom full of students. Even the birth of her baby didn’t add a lot of work; Rachel was easy to care for as far as babies were concerned. She slept well. She ate well. Her delivery had been easy.

  Miriam wasn’t complaining. She directed Belle into her parents’ lane, though the mare knew the way. They had traveled home every weekend while she taught at the one-room schoolhouse.

  Gabe had understood when she’d admitted to being more than occasionally bored. He’d suggested visiting with her mother one day a week. Perhaps there would be additional work once they could put in the summer vegetable garden, but even Gabe’s fields were still too wet for planting. She wouldn’t have that distraction anytime soon.

  Her father walked out of the barn before she’d pulled the buggy up to the house. Pepper followed him but then hurried ahead to greet her. The German shorthaired pointer was at her buggy by the time she’d pulled to a stop.

  “I think he misses you.” Joshua King had coal-black hair like Miriam, something of an oddity among Plain people. Both his hair and his beard were streaked with gray. Other than that, he didn’t seem a day older than when she had started teaching.

  Tying Belle to the hitching rail, he reached for the basket, and his expression softened into wonder. “She’s smiling, eh?”

  “At you, apparently.” Her daughter smiled for Gabe and her father, but she had yet to smile for her. As Joshua carried the baby toward the house, Miriam stooped to pet Pepper. “Don’t worry, boy. All the men seem taken with her. You and I still have each other.”

  Joshua turned and studied them. “No need to be jealous over a boppli. A man naturally feels this way about his grossdochdern.”

  “Even when he has so many?” Miriam reached into the buggy and pulled out her quilting bag, and then she hurried to catch up with him, Pepper trotting at her heels.

  “Oh, ya. More definitely makes it sweeter. Now I know what to expect.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well…” Joshua carried the basket with one hand as if it weighed no more than a loaf of bread, and he tugged on his long beard with the other. “I know she’ll be starting school soon, so I need to appreciate these little visits.”

  “Dat, that’s years and years away.”

  “I suppose by the calendar you’re right. But in moments of the heart…” He looked to the sky, where a bird lighted in the sugar maple tree near the house. “She’ll fly as quickly as that bird.”

  He winked at her before opening the back door, which led into the mudroom.

  Miriam stopped him, reaching out and resting her hand on his arm. “How’s mamm feeling today?”

  “Gut. Today is a gut day.”

  Stepping inside, he hollered into the kitchen, “Abigail, Miriam and Rachel are here.”

  “Wunderbaar. I just pulled raisin bread from the oven.”

  Miriam followed her father into the house. “Gudemariye, mamm.”

  “And to you, dear. How’s Rachel this morning?”

  Her daughter chose that moment to let out a healthy cry.

  “There now. See? She doesn’t like bread without the icing. She took one look and let out a holler.”

  “Joshua King. She did no such thing.”

  Miriam took the baby into the sitting room, sank into the rocker, and proceeded with her midmorning feeding while her mother reminded her father of the reasons they were cutting back on his sugar intake.

  It was an old lecture—one that had been going on for at least two years.

  Although Joshua was good about following Doc Hanson’s recommendations, he seemed to enjoy giving Abigail a hard time about her new recipes. Their conversation in the background was much like the gurgling of Pebble Creek—familiar, pleasant, and comforting.

  As Miriam settled Rachel at her breast, Abigail walked into the room and placed a
cup of warm tea next to her chair. It was hard for Miriam to believe her mother was fifty-five years old. Though many Amish women tended to gain weight as they aged, probably because their diet was high in carbohydrates and sweets, Abigail had managed to stay small. Glancing at her, Miriam realized again that her mother was too thin. She could stand to gain a few pounds.

  She’d talked to her brothers about it at the last Sunday meeting, but they had only shrugged and reminded her that Abigail insisted she was fine. When she spoke with her two sisters-in-law, she’d found they were both concerned too.

  Anna, David’s wife, had stopped by and caught Abigail napping in the middle of the day, which was unheard of. Miriam had never known her to nap. And Abigail had confessed to Ida, Noah’s wife, that she’d suddenly begun losing her hair.

  Her beautiful thick hair. Unlike Miriam’s coal-black hair, Abigail’s was a light brown. Miriam could remember as a child waiting for bedtime, asking if she could brush it out for her. She’d been awed by the length and weight of it. She’d asked repeatedly when hers would grow past her shoulder blades.

  Was her mother ill?

  Perhaps they had been worried over nothing. Today Abigail wore a dark gray dress with a black apron, her hair pulled back and tucked into a fresh white prayer kapp. She seemed like her old self. She seemed almost healthy and certainly not old. Maybe it wasn’t a focus on appearance that made Abigail seem young. In fact, she practiced humility as much as anyone Miriam had ever known. No, it was something else.

  Perhaps it was the way she accepted life.

  It could be the calmness in her manners. Miriam had seen her handle many emergencies, such as when Gabe had shown up on their doorstep torn apart with grief that Grace was lost in a winter blizzard.

  Abigail could be counted on to be a port in any storm.

  When Miriam was a teacher, her mother’s ways had made sense. Since she’d become a mother, she had a lot of questions.

  “Your dat likes to grumble, but I believe he’s enjoying the new recipes.” Abigail sat down and reached for her knitting. The yarn was a soft pink-and-white, and it looked as if she were making a small blanket. Hard to tell though. Her mother’s knitting skills were far superior to her own and what looked like a blanket could quickly turn into a child’s sweater.

  “He eats whatever you fix now? Even the low-sugar recipes?”

  “Oh my, yes. Yesterday he asked for me to bake this particular bread. I believe he’s lost the craving for the sweets, but he enjoys giving me a hard time.”

  “And his diabetes?”

  “His blood sugar level is improving. No longer borderline. He went for another check last week, and he still doesn’t need medicine or daily monitoring according to Doc Hanson.”

  “That’s wunderbaar news.”

  “Ya. We were very thankful. Now tell me about Rachel. What new thing has she done this week?”

  The morning passed quickly. Soon they were eating lunch, and she remembered to tell them about picking up Aaron Troyer the night before and to ask them about Lydia.

  Miriam saw the look that passed between her parents.

  Over the years, she’d learned that look usually meant one of two things—either they knew something about someone they didn’t think it was proper to share, or they weren’t sure it was something Miriam needed to know. She couldn’t imagine why it would be improper for her to know about Lydia, who was once her student, or Aaron, who was a complete stranger.

  So they must be worried about spreading gossip. But she didn’t want rumors. She wanted to know how she could help.

  “The reason I ask is that Gabe and I were wondering if we could somehow lend a hand to Lydia or Aaron. They seemed somewhat…lost.”

  Abigail reached for Rachel and rested the babe against her shoulder, rubbing her back in slow gentle circles. “You taught Lydia.”

  “I did. It was years ago, though, and so many girls passed through my schoolroom. Sometimes I have trouble keeping them straight. Lydia I remember because she was a very gut student. She especially loved math, which was unusual for girls her age. I don’t recall what happened after she graduated. Didn’t her family move out of our district not long after she finished her schooling?”

  When neither of her parents spoke, Miriam fought harder to remember. “It seems I recall the entire family moved to the other side of Pebble Creek, but I can’t recollect why. It seems as if I should know why they sold their farm.”

  Joshua glanced at Abigail. The unspoken thing passed between them again, and she nodded her head ever so slightly.

  “Lydia’s family lost their farm.” Joshua spoke matter-of-factly as he studied the sunny day outside the kitchen window. “That’s the reason they moved to the west side of Pebble Creek. They bought a smaller place, one with no acreage to work.”

  No one spoke for a moment. Miriam became aware of the sounds in the house—the crackling of the fire in the stove and the contented small murmurs coming from Rachel sucking at her fist.

  “But, if there was a financial problem, our district would have helped them. There would have been a benefit, or a…” Miriam’s voice fell away as questions filled the space between them.

  “Ella and Menno, Lydia’s parents, had their reasons for allowing things to happen as they did.” Abigail gently laid the baby down on her lap. Rachel looked up and smiled—waving her hands. Her head reached Abigail’s knees and her feet were pushing against her mammi’s stomach.

  Miriam thought she was a perfect little bundle of joy.

  She tried to piece together the small scraps of information her parents were and were not saying, but too much was missing. She knew it was no use asking questions. If her parents considered explaining more about Lydia’s family as gossiping, there would be no extracting more information from them. She’d have to try a different tack.

  “So Lydia has worked at the cabins for some time?” Miriam asked.

  “Ya, I believe so.” Abigail reached for her tea. “Her mamm tells me she enjoys the work.”

  Another piece of information. Abigail still spoke with Lydia’s mother. Why would that be? The more Miriam aged, the less she understood about her parents.

  “So this Aaron is here to work in his onkel’s place?” Joshua asked.

  “Ya, but—”

  “That’s gut. It’s gut to see family take care of family. That is the Amish way.” Joshua stood and carried his dishes to the sink.

  “But I’m not sure how long he’s staying or exactly what his plans are. How are we supposed to help if we don’t understand the situation? Gabe tried to talk to him last night. He seemed upset when he saw the cabins. I think he expected them to be in better shape.”

  “I haven’t been by there in several years myself, but I’m sure Ervin did the best he could.” Joshua bent and kissed his granddaughter on the cheek and then glanced toward the plate of cookies Abigail had wrapped up for Gabe and Grace.

  Abigail shook her head once and Joshua shrugged. “Can’t blame a man for wishing.”

  Patting Miriam on the shoulder, he added, “I’ll have Belle ready for your trip home in thirty minutes.”

  “Danki.”

  When he was gone, she tried one more time to find out more from her mother, but it was no use.

  “Go and see Lydia, Miriam. You young girls, you need to learn to be there for one another. Friendship is about more than Sunday socials.”

  “Shouldn’t I know what I’m walking into, though? Wouldn’t it be better if I understood the situation and what Lydia’s needs are?”

  “If there’s anything Lydia wants you to know, she’ll tell you. But if she’s on your heart, child, there’s a reason Gotte has put her there.”

  Chapter 6

  Aaron ended up taking Lydia’s buggy because she insisted.

  He didn’t want to, but he needed to make his trip to see his onkel’s widow as quickly as possible. There was much work to do at the cabins, and he didn’t wish to extend his stay in Wisconsin any lon
ger than was necessary.

  Tin Star gazed at him distrustfully as Aaron harnessed him to the rig and turned him onto the blacktop road. Lydia had at least told him that raisins were the secret. Raisins! He’d heard of spoiling horses—he’d been guilty of it a time or two himself—but he’d never considered raisins.

  As he followed the road away from town, he focused on what he would say to Elizabeth. He hadn’t seen her in many years. He’d been a young boy then and uninterested in onkels, aentis, or family time. His main concern had been when he could be back outside. It didn’t matter if he was playing baseball or working in the fields. Even at the age of twelve, when his onkel Ervin had moved away, he’d felt a desperate need to be outdoors.

  That much he remembered clearly. Probably because it hadn’t changed much over the years.

  He hadn’t a clue what his aenti was like. There had been letters, of course, but he hadn’t read them. Sometimes in the evenings his mother had read them aloud to the family. He hadn’t paid much attention. He’d been focused on scouring the Budget for animals to add to their stock or reading the weather forecast, trying to determine how it would affect their crops. He had much to learn, much to catch up on in regard to farming and livestock. His father and grandfather knew a lot, but he was interested in the newer methods—not necessarily Englisch methods, but new Amish methods.

  It had chafed against his nature that he had to wait through eight years of schooling to be able to study the subject that most interested him. Once he was free of the schoolhouse, he’d thrown himself into learning all he could about farming and being successful at it.

  Now he was twenty-three, things were finally going very well at the farm in Indiana, and where was he? Stuck in Wisconsin. The injustice of it rankled him.

  He was so busy brooding over his situation that he nearly missed the lane Lydia had warned him would be hard to see.

  Yanking abruptly on Tin Star’s reins, he turned the buggy south and across Pebble Creek. The house that sat back and to the right was not his onkel’s. Lydia had been adamant about that. This first house had fertile land, and Aaron considered for a moment how productive the crops would be once the fields dried out from the recent flooding.