“Have you told her that?” David asked.
“Well, no.”
“Sounds to me like you two should talk more.” Gabe slapped him on the back.
“That’s my problem to begin with. She won’t talk to me.”
The three considered Aaron’s predicament for a moment.
Finally, David said, “I bet they’ve set out the desserts now.”
“Might help us to think better. You know, Aaron, most things look better after a piece of shoofly pie.”
“I don’t feel much like eating.”
Gabe glanced at David and shrugged. “Say, how’s your neighbor doing, the Englischer?”
“Tim?”
“The guy who’s trying to farm our way.”
“Tim Elliott. He’s gut. I checked on him yesterday. He saw a tedder advertised in the Budget and purchased it. The man has no idea how to hitch it to his team. If I’m not back by the time his hay has been mowed, would you show him how to use it?”
“Sure, we can do that,” David said, yawning again. “Wait. Where are you going to be?”
“I’m going home.”
“Indiana?” Gabe asked.
“Ya.”
“Kind of sudden, isn’t it?” Gabe studied Aaron. “Any problem with your family?”
“Nein. It’s only that I need to speak with my dat, and I didn’t want to do it on the phone this time.”
Both Gabe and David nodded in understanding.
“I’ll check in with Tim to see if he needs any help.” David rolled his shoulders, as if he were trying to loosen a kink in his muscles.
“And I’ll stop by the cabins,” Gabe said. “When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow.”
“That soon? I suppose Lydia will have a way to contact you if she runs into anything we can’t help with.”
“Lydia doesn’t know yet.”
Gabe and David exchanged a look.
“Don’t you think you should tell her?” David asked. “She’s bound to wonder what happened when you’re not at the cabins.”
“I was meaning to talk to her. I just haven’t had the chance.”
Aaron stuck his hands in his pockets and slouched his shoulders as they walked back over to the picnic tables, but Gabe noticed that he did eat the pie instead of pushing it around his plate.
So maybe their talk had helped a little.
Chapter 38
Miriam caught up with Lydia as she helped to load the last of the dishes into her mother’s buggy.
“Are you sure you want to walk, Lydia?” Ella was holding the reins to Tin Star in one hand and reaching behind her with the other to check that the younger Fisher girls had carefully stored the dishes on the floor of the buggy.
“I’ll be fine, mamm. It’s only half a mile and the weather is wunderbaar today.”
“All right. We’ll see you soon.”
It wasn’t lost on Miriam that Lydia’s dat didn’t speak. His breathing was labored, but his eyes expressed as much as his voice would have. He reached out and patted his daughter’s hand, and Lydia stood on the tips of her toes to kiss him on the cheek.
Miriam was so pleased to see that Mr. Fisher was able to attend church. His health had deteriorated considerably since the time when Lydia was her student. But she could see in his expression how much he was still able to care for his family, and that Gotte was still using him for things other than farming. He provided for his family even in his weak condition, but in different ways.
“I’m glad you could attend our church service today,” Lydia said to her as they walked back toward Bishop Atlee’s kitchen.
“It was special for us as well. David has been trying to get us over here, but we haven’t had the chance. With the baptism of my nephew Seth, today was the perfect day.”
“Ya. I was happy to see Seth settling down and committing himself to the church and affirming our beliefs…” Lydia’s voice trailed away, like the light summer breeze in the trees.
Miriam guessed she was thinking about Jerry, who hadn’t settled down, and about the tragedy of his arrest and pending trial. It hung there between them as they crossed Bishop Atlee’s yard.
Miriam looped her arm through Lydia’s and pulled her toward the picnic table under the willow tree. Its branches draped the table gracefully, offering them some privacy from the half dozen families who were still milling about.
“You know, Lydia, Gotte is still watching over Jerry. He may have a long road back, and it may be a difficult one, but he won’t be alone. We’ll be here for him.”
Lydia nodded as she ran her fingers down the length of the strings of her prayer kapp.
“But…”
“But what?”
Lydia waited a moment, and then the questions that had been building for a week came tumbling out of her. “Why did he have to choose that path? Why didn’t anyone notice and try to stop him? Why wasn’t I aware of the troubles Mattie had? What is she guilty of, other than loving Jerry? Why does she have to suffer so much now? And how did Aaron guess what was wrong with Jerry?”
Miriam didn’t answer immediately.
She was thinking of what her mother had told her, back in May, when Aaron had first arrived and she had first gone to the cabins along Pebble Creek. When she had first asked her mother about Lydia’s situation. Her mother had said, “You young girls, you need to learn to be there for one another. Friendship, it’s about more than Sunday socials.”
Now here they were, on a Sunday, and her mother had been right—again. Friendship was about more than supporting each other on Sundays. It was about carrying each other’s burdens all week long. It was about praying for one another and working beside one another.
“You’ve been struggling with these questions all week?”
Lydia nodded.
“Have you spoken with Mattie or with Aaron? Have you tried to see Jerry?”
Lydia shook her head as her tears began to fall.
Miriam reached forward and claimed the girl’s hands in her own.
“It would be difficult to see Jerry today, but we can pray for him, Lydia. And we can hire a driver to go see him next week. Or we can write him a letter. I think he would like that.” She waited for Lydia to nod, and then she continued. “Mattie has already left for her home. She didn’t even stay for dinner, but I think she would like to hear from you. I think she could use a gut freind right now.”
Reaching in the pocket of her apron, she handed Lydia a fresh handkerchief she kept there for just such emergencies.
“I tried to speak with her, but she walked away, and it’s no better with Clara.”
Miriam wondered if she should share the other reason she’d attended the service today. She waited a few moments, prayed silently, and finally decided it was something Lydia would need to know anyway. “The bishop and Mattie’s parents have asked me to try to help.”
“In what way?” Lydia glanced up, her eyes darting around the yard, looking for the bishop.
“Only to help Mattie to feel more comfortable in the community again. Also they’re concerned, as are your parents, that perhaps Clara is blaming herself for some of what happened.”
“Have you spoken to my parents?”
“For a few moments. I’m going to pick Mattie up tomorrow and bring her to the cabins for lunch. Would you mind preparing something for us?”
“Not at all, but what makes you think she’ll come?”
“Her parents will insist that she come, and I don’t think she’ll say no to me. I’ll give her my most serious teacher look.”
Lydia smiled, but then she shook her head. “Everything has been off since that night. I don’t understand. Things were finally going well.”
“Are we still talking about the girls?”
A slight blush stained Lydia’s cheeks.
“Ahh. So we’re talking about the cabins.”
Lydia smiled, though she still seemed to be fighting it. “You tease more now than you did when you were a
teacher.”
“It’s Gabe’s fault. Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t know how. I don’t understand what I feel or how Aaron’s acting. I’m completely confused and miserable…and stop smiling! This is serious, Miriam.”
“Of course it is. It’s only that I don’t think you’re alone in your misery. Aaron has been looking more unhappy than Gus does when left alone in our back field.” Miriam peeked out through the featherlike leaves of the willow. “In fact, I see he’s standing over there by David’s buggy, helping to load the church pews.”
Lydia’s head jerked up, and she peered in the direction Miriam indicated.
“Why don’t you go talk to him?”
“Nein. I couldn’t.”
“Why don’t we go together? I imagine he has things he’d like to say to you, but he doesn’t know how to begin.”
When Lydia raised her eyes, there was such hope there that it took the breath from Miriam’s chest. She raised her hand, tucked the girl’s hair into her prayer kapp, and smiled. Standing, she pulled Lydia to her feet.
“What do you say? We’ll stroll over together.”
Miriam thought she would refuse, but Lydia pulled in a deep breath, plastered on a smile, and squared her shoulders as if she were going to do battle with a stubborn mule.
Which did describe Aaron on a bad day. Miriam nearly laughed at that thought.
But, of course, young love and breaking hearts were no laughing matter. She remembered that herself. It hadn’t been so long since she’d sat in a classroom, watching valentine lunches disappear and wondering why a certain farmer was waiting so long to let his feelings be known. Yes, she remembered all that very well, and it wasn’t a time in her life she cared to repeat. So she laced her fingers with Lydia’s and walked with her toward the man who could either set things right or tear them apart completely.
Chapter 39
Grace was sitting on the steps, watching the men load the benches and holding her baby schweschder when her mamm and Lydia walked up holding hands. The sight made her smile, as did the realization that she’d again thought of Miriam as her mother.
It felt so natural now that she hardly noticed it anymore. She’d recently had a letter from her mammi Sarah, back in Indiana. Mammi Sarah said that Gotte would want her to treat her new mother with respect, which also included loving her the same as her mother who was in heaven. It didn’t mean she loved her first mother any less.
She’d known those things before receiving the letter. She was nine years old, after all. She wasn’t a boppli anymore. Not like Rachel.
She glanced down at the infant nestled across her knees, her thumb tucked in her mouth, her brown eyes staring up at her.
What was Rachel thinking? What would she say if she knew how to speak? And how did she see things? How did the house and the tree and the horses appear to her?
What would her mother, her first mother, think of baby Rachel? Her dat had told her they had always planned on a big family. He’d also said that when the midwife had first placed her in her mother’s arms, she had called her an “angel” and compared her hair to “the chestnut pony.”
Looking down at Rachel, Grace thought her first mamm would like her very much, though her hair didn’t make her big sister think of Chance or Snickers. The way the afternoon light was falling across the top of her head, her hair color reminded Grace of Gus.
Grace shook her head, causing her kapp strings to flap back and forth and Rachel’s eyes to follow them. She didn’t want to think of Rachel being like Gus in any way. That could be a disaster.
It had been nice to read the words of blessing from her mammi Sarah. It had been refreshing—that was a new word she’d learned last year from Miss Bena. It wasn’t a hard word, but one she hadn’t used before. Now she had five pictures drawn in her book, with the word “refreshing” underneath them. All included some portion of Pebble Creek, and the last one included a corner of the letter from mammi Sarah laying on top of the big rock out in back of the cabins where Lydia worked.
Right now, Lydia reminded her of Miss Bena when she was addressing the younger boys in the schoolroom. She was not smiling at all. No, that was wrong—she had a small tight smile. It wasn’t her real one.
Fortunately, she was headed to the buggy and not toward her or Rachel.
It wasn’t as if Rachel could have done anything wrong. Rachel was almost perfect, except when she cried. And most of the time there was a reason for that.
Grace couldn’t think of anything she had done wrong.
“Everything gut here?” Bishop Atlee strolled over and sat down beside her on the porch step. His beard reached down to his lap when he was sitting, and his skin was very wrinkly—like Rachel’s when she’d first been born.
“Ya. I was thinking how nearly perfect Rachel is.”
“So you like having a baby schweschder, do you?”
“I do. I wouldn’t mind having more, even maybe a bruder one day.” Grace glanced up at her parents, who were now standing side by side and smiling at each other. “But we can keep that between us, bishop. There’s no rush.”
“Oh, right. No rush.”
“One baby, a donkey, a puppy, a tom cat, and a mouse are a lot to look after some days.”
“You take care of all those things?”
“Not all of them. My mamm mostly takes care of Rachel.” Grace ran a finger over her schweschder’s perfect hand, and her tiny fingers reached out and circled hers, sending a river of delight through her heart. “I only watch her for a few minutes when everyone else is busy. And my dat mostly cares for Gus.”
“Gus is…”
“The donkey.”
Atlee nodded as if everything was making sense to him now.
“I’m not completely sure why Gotte made donkeys.”
The bishop didn’t offer an answer, so Grace pushed on. “At first, I wanted Gus so bad I thought I’d die if I didn’t have him. This was at Mrs. Kiems’ benefit auction.”
“I remember that. Your dat won him.”
“Ya, because I begged him to enter the woodchopping contest, and I still do love Gus. But now, some days, it seems like he’s more work than he’s worth.”
Atlee considered her words for a moment, combing his beard with his fingers. “No one is useless in this world who lightens the burden of it for someone else.”
Grace glanced up at him in surprise. “Miss Bena taught us that proverb last year. I thought it was talking about people.”
“Could be, I suppose. Or it could be talking about donkeys. You know, Grace, God used donkeys in the Bible as an example for us to learn from—learn humility and service and even obedience.”
“There were donkeys in the Bible?”
“Sure. You remember the donkey Mary rode on…”
Grace nodded.
“And the donkey Christ rode into Jerusalem.”
“Ya.”
“There was also Balaam’s donkey.”
“Who?”
“Balaam’s donkey. He saw the angel of the Lord. Numbers twenty-two. You might want to read that chapter. It could give you an entirely different perspective on Gus.”
Atlee placed his hand gently on top of her kapp, and Grace felt the same way she did when she stood in the sunlight. Gently he reached forward and did the same to Rachel. He didn’t say anything, but Grace knew, with a certainty, that he was praying for them.
It reminded her of watching Seth’s baptism, which she had questions about. She wanted to ask her parents about the water, and also how old she needed to be. She wanted to ask Seth how he knew for sure when the time was right and if he felt different when the water was pouring down his face.
Smiling, the bishop stood and moved on to speak with David, who was ready to drive off with the church pews. They laughed about something, and her onkel climbed up into his buggy.
Grace liked visiting the church on this side of Pebble Creek. Things were certainly different over here—bathrooms insid
e the house, gas stoves, refrigerators that didn’t have blocks of ice in them. They even had different washing machines, which Grace didn’t understand, but she’d watched her aenti and the process certainly looked like something she could get used to.
The west side of Pebble Creek was different, but it seemed like it was also the same. Church had the same songs. Preaching was the same—long! And families were the same—big. Sometimes grumpy and sometimes happy.
Bishop Atlee moved on from the buggy and stopped to help one of the older couples with their mare. He was a nice man.
He reminded her of her daddi Joshua. Next to her dat, her grandfather was her favorite person in the whole world. Miriam’s dat had taught her to ride in a saddle, to play checkers well enough to beat Adam Lapp, and he never said a word when she climbed trees.
Sometimes Gotte did take people from your life, like her first mamm, Hope.
But sometimes He gave you extra—like Rachel, daddi Joshua and mammi Abigail, and Miriam.
She’d spent a lot of time worrying about mammi this year, and now it seemed as if she was better. Doc Hanson’s medicine had worked. Or maybe their prayers had worked. Possibly it took both.
She stared back down at Rachel, who had managed to drool all over the front of her dress. How much drool did one baby have? Why did they have so much? Where did it all come from?
Life was sure hard to understand.
Maybe she didn’t need to figure it out. Maybe she needed to keep praying, and going to Doc Hanson if the need arose, and seeing the bishop—both bishops.
That thing about Gus, though. She’d have to think about that. Maybe she would go home and read about Balaam’s donkey.
Chapter 40
Aaron was relieved when Lydia agreed to allow him to drive her home after the church service. He’d borrowed David’s extra buggy again, hoping she would say yes, but he’d been worried she would say no.
He was more than a little nervous. His hands were actually sweating on the reins. He wiped them on his pants and stole a glance in her direction.
She still wasn’t talking much. And she had her arms folded around her stomach.
“Did you have enough to eat?”
A Home for Lydia (The Pebble Creek Amish Series) Page 27
