A Home for Lydia (The Pebble Creek Amish Series)

by Chapman, Vannetta

  “Maybe your words weren’t necessary. Maybe the scowl on your face was sufficient.”

  Mattie pushed her plate away, though she’d yet to take a single bite. There were two spots of color on her cheeks, and her hands were balled into fists in her lap. Miriam didn’t move other than to place her sandwich back on her plate.

  She was reminded of the years she’d spent teaching at the Plain School on Pebble Creek, the same creek now slipping peacefully by a few yards in front of them. There was nothing peaceful about their lunch, though. The tension could be sliced with the butter knife Lydia had brought to cut their sandwiches.

  But like those teaching days, Miriam realized this time it might be best if she remained quiet—as long as the silverware did not start flying.

  “You’re going to remain silent? Still? Is this your way of punishing me?” When Mattie didn’t speak, Clara smacked the table with the flat of her hand. “It’s not my fault Jerry’s in jail. You shouldn’t have allowed him to continue down that path of destruction—”

  “Do you think I didn’t try?” Mattie’s voice was broken, pouring from her as the tears slid down her cheeks. “Do you honestly believe I watched him and did nothing to turn him back to our ways? But he wouldn’t come. He would promise. He would look me in the eyes and tell me that it was…was the last time.”

  “Why did you believe him?” Clara asked, no longer hollering.

  “Because I wanted to.” Mattie met her gaze now. “And yes, if there was sin, there was sin in that—sin in seeing what I wanted to see. Sin in hoping where there was no hope to be had.”

  “There is always hope, Mattie. With Gotte, all things are possible.” Miriam didn’t move any closer. She didn’t want to frighten Mattie off.

  “Ya. I’ve read that verse.”

  “Do you believe it?” Lydia asked.

  “I don’t know what I believe anymore.” Mattie crossed her arms on the table, leaned forward until her white kapp met the gray fabric of the sleeve of her dress and her face was completely hidden, but she didn’t make any other sound.

  Clara stood, walked around the table, and sat on the other side of Mattie. When she put her arms around her, Mattie turned and allowed herself to be enfolded in her embrace. She wept.

  Whether she was weeping for Jerry or herself or the dreams that might never take place, Miriam couldn’t say.

  She could say, with certainty, as they sat in the sunshine, their lunches uneaten and the cabins silent around them, that they were making progress. The fortress Mattie had built around her heart had been breached, and she’d allowed friendship inside.

  Together, they could face whatever lay ahead.

  Chapter 42

  Gabe tried to stay awake as Miriam caught him up on the day’s events. Suddenly, there was something warm, squirming, and a little wet on his stomach.

  “How does she learn to pull my beard while she’s still so young?” He stared at his daughter in wonder, who smiled back at him and slobbered on his nightshirt.

  “It tickles her. Of course she’s going to pull on it.”

  Gabe rolled to his side, placing Rachel on the bed between them. Miriam had the gas lantern turned to low, sitting on her nightstand. She was rubbing lotion onto first one leg and then the other, and he wondered briefly if he could stay awake long enough to apply some to her back. That always earned him extra points in the incredible husband category.

  Rachel yawned and he yawned.

  Probably he shouldn’t have worked the extra hour after dinner. Tomorrow he’d stop early so he’d have more energy in the evening, more energy in the bedroom.

  His eyelids felt so heavy, and the bed so good. The sheets smelled fresh, the quilt was just the right weight for a summer evening, and his pillow was perfect for drifting off to sleep.

  “Gabe?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Are you still awake?”

  “Ya. I’m awake.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about Mattie and Clara, but I didn’t want to bring it up in front of Grace.”

  Gabe stretched his eyes wide and blinked repeatedly. It had worked when Rachel was first born and Miriam needed sleep. “I’m here for you, fraa. Here and wide awake.” He covered his mouth with his hand to stifle a yawn.

  “I saw that.”

  “It was Rachel’s fault. She yawns and I yawn. It’s a natural reaction.”

  “I’ll give you the short version.” Miriam placed her lotion on the nightstand and snuggled down under the quilt so they were eye to eye, the top of Rachel’s head between them.

  Gabe realized again how blessed he was. Grace was down the hall, another year of school behind her. She’d adjusted to their new community, her new mamm, and now a new sister. He was lying in bed in a good house, on a productive farm, next to a woman who loved him.

  Rachel blew a bubble and waved her fist in the air.

  Rachel. She was a miracle beyond what he could even comprehend.

  Gabe raised his eyes to Miriam.

  God had blessed them, more than he would have ever hoped or dreamed. The thought wakened him more than two cups of strong coffee could have.

  “Give me any version you like,” he said quietly.

  “Mattie told her side of what happened today.”

  “Ya?”

  “She didn’t suspect Jerry’s drug use at first. He promised they would marry. She knew he was on his rumspringa and that he was drinking with the other boys. At the time, she didn’t share her fears with anyone because she wanted to protect him. She thought love protects.”

  “Sometimes it does.”

  “But this time her silence helped him to hide his addiction. Others might have been able to intervene if she hadn’t carried the burden alone.”

  Gabe reached out to touch his wife’s beautiful black hair and run his hand down the length of it. “That’s a natural enough reaction, though—to protect. She’s young and was frightened, I’m sure.”

  “Jerry used up all his…sources, I think she said. After a few months there was no one else for him to turn to in the area. She kept begging him to stop going with the other boys. One time she even vowed to quit seeing him, but that only lasted a few days. When he showed up at her house asking for her help and promising to change…” Miriam reached out and adjusted Rachel’s blanket.

  The babe had popped her fist into her mouth and her eyes had drifted shut. She was fighting sleep, her eyes fluttering open occasionally, but Gabe knew the fight wouldn’t last long.

  “So Mattie took him back.”

  “Ya, and she started helping him again.” Miriam stared across the room, out into the night, speaking slowly and carefully as she remembered the girl’s confession. “She wasn’t in on the first burglaries, only those that occurred the last week. Jerry convinced her they would get enough money to make it to Eau Claire, where he would find a job. He even told her they would eventually send back money for what they stole.”

  Gabe didn’t answer that. He only flipped over on his back, stretched, and then folded his arms under his head.

  “Her guilt is so heavy, Gabe, and she’s so young. Jerry is the one who persuaded her to do those things.”

  “And yet by that point she realized he was under the influence of the drugs.”

  “True.”

  “She knew he couldn’t be trusted.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And she went along with him anyway.”

  “You make it sound as if she were the one making the decisions.”

  Gabe allowed the silence of the summer evening to permeate the troubles and questions disturbing his wife.

  Rachel had fallen asleep during Miriam’s story, lying peacefully between her parents.

  Miriam stood and carried the baby to her crib, which sat in the corner of their room. Soon they would be moving it to her bedroom down the hall. Gabe wasn’t quite ready for that, but he knew all things changed. His not being ready wouldn’t stop time from steadily pushing them all forw
ard.

  When Miriam climbed back into bed, she snuggled up against him. “Love forgives,” she whispered.

  “Ya, and I’m glad it does.” He ran his hand up and down her arm.

  “You’re right, though. Mattie will have to accept responsibility for her actions in this situation. By doing so, by treating her as an adult instead of a victim, perhaps she will grow stronger.”

  “Our strength comes from the Lord. Mattie is fortunate to have a good community and good freinden.”

  “Once Clara worked past her anger, she admitted she felt guilty for not noticing all that was going on with Jerry and with Mattie, for not intervening earlier. I think those two girls will become very close.”

  “See? Good freinden. They will be fine.” Gabe was suddenly wide awake. The eye exercises must have worked.

  “For a moment this afternoon, I thought they would throw the food or the dishes at each other.”

  “That would have been terrible,” Gabe said, nuzzling her neck.

  “Indeed.”

  “But with all that experience as a schoolteacher, you’d know what to do.”

  “It helps me to handle you.”

  Gabe thought about arguing with her, but it didn’t seem like the best time to say anything other than “Yes, dear.” A light breeze was coming through the window, Rachel was sound asleep, and he was feeling surprisingly energetic.

  Grace couldn’t believe it when she woke up the next day—a Tuesday—and her mother asked if she wanted to go to her grandparents’.

  “Sure, I do!” She had her chores done and her bag of drawing supplies ready to go quicker than Hunter could tree a squirrel.

  “What’s the occasion?” she asked as they set off down the lane.

  “I thought we could help with mamm’s garden.”

  Grace stared down at her lap, and then she decided to ask the question that had popped into her head. She was learning it was better to ask than to let something bounce around inside there for days.

  “Is she worse? Is mammi sick again?”

  “No, honey. She’s still getting better.”

  “Oh, gut.” Grace let her head fall back against the seat and rubbed her hand against her chest. “My heart actually jumped up and down.”

  Miriam smiled. “You love your grossmammi, don’t you?”

  “Ya, and I’m trying to learn not to worry, but it’s hard. When I think I’ve got the hang of it, I slip up.”

  “Feed your faith and your doubts will starve to death.”

  “What does that mean?” Grace allowed the last word to drag out as she turned around in the seat to hand Rachel one of her rattles.

  “It means you need to study—”

  “My Bible.” Grace plopped back on the seat.

  “Ya, and if you do, eventually you’ll worry less.”

  “Does it work with you?”

  Miriam smiled. “I’m still learning.”

  By the time they reached Abigail and Joshua’s, Rachel was tired of the rattle and ready for something to eat. Miriam left to feed the baby while Grace helped unload their gardening gloves and some seed plants they had brought from their own garden.

  “How’s mammi?” she asked her grandfather.

  “Go see for yourself. She’s in the garden.”

  “I thought that’s why we were here.” She held his hand as she skipped beside him.

  “Abigail can always use more help. Your mammi is a little frustrated that she’s moving slower than she did last year, but the medicine has been working gut.”

  They walked around the corner of the house, and Grace spotted her grandmother. She wasn’t kneeling in the dirt or working on the rows of vegetables. Instead, she was sitting on a bench in a corner of the garden, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders and a glass of water in her hand.

  She also wasn’t alone.

  Miriam was sitting beside her, cradling Rachel and nursing her. Aenti Ida and aenti Anna were standing at the front of the rows, directing the children—Grace’s cousins.

  “Oh, my. It’s a gardening party!” Grace let go of her grossdaddi’s hand and started to run toward the garden, but then she turned back. He stopped suddenly and she bumped into him. Throwing her hands around his middle, she hugged him tight. “I love you, daddi.”

  “You don’t say?”

  “I do say!” She took off running, still holding the basket of seedlings.

  When she showed Ida the plants, Ida sent her two rows over and half way down. All seven of her children were helping, even the little ones. Some of them were playing in the dirt more than helping. They had little tin pie plates, and they kept filling them up before emptying them out again.

  Grace wanted to stop and draw that scene, but she kept on planting. Sometimes work came first and drawing came second.

  All of six of aenti Anna’s children were there too, from the youngest, who was even younger than Rachel, to the oldest—Seth.

  “I thought you worked at the cabins,” Grace said as he helped her to water the tomato plants she’d carefully planted into her row. She and Miriam had raised them from seed at home, with plastic milk jugs around them to keep the rabbits away. The milk jugs had come from her mother’s friend Rae, who always seemed to know what to bring on her visits.

  “Ya, I do.” He moved the bucket of water for her.

  She dipped her cup in, dribbled the water out carefully over the next plant.

  “Don’t they need you today?”

  “I made sure it would be okay to take the morning off. I can always stay later tonight if I need to in order to finish my work.”

  “And Lydia doesn’t mind?”

  “Nein.”

  “Is Aaron back?”

  “Not yet. I haven’t heard when he is coming back.” Seth pointed to the plant she was watering. “Don’t put too much on that one. It’ll fall over. Needs a few days to set.”

  “Oh, yeah. I forget sometimes. Danki.”

  “Sure thing. Holler if you need more water.” He walked away, off to cart water for someone else.

  Grace felt something land on her shoulder and turned to see Ida’s middle son with a small pail holding half a dozen grasshoppers. He giggled and tossed another at her. Instead of jumping, which she did want to do, she looked at him the way she imagined her mother would and said, “Wouldn’t those be gut for fishing?”

  “Fishing. I wonder if daddi will take us.” He darted off, running toward the barn.

  Grace finished watering her plants and walked up the aisle toward the grown-ups, who were all sitting now, laughing over something the babies had done.

  Mammi was still too skinny, but she did look as though she was feeling better. Grace understood now that she was old. But old wasn’t bad. It only meant that someone had been around long enough to grow wise, long enough to grow special.

  Rachel was special too.

  They all were in some way.

  But mammi? They had learned this year that she was a precious gift, one not to be taken for granted. Sort of like the bishop of a church. Mammi and daddi were the head of their family. They knew when to hug, when to bake cookies, and when to go fishing.

  Grace set her watering can at the end of the row, near the other supplies. She had meant to draw when she finished with her part of the gardening, but maybe instead she would go and see what everyone was laughing about. Maybe she’d go spend some time just being with mammi.

  Chapter 43

  Downtown Cashton

  Thursday afternoon, two weeks later

  Aaron stepped off the bus and smiled broadly when he saw there were no large puddles of rainwater to avoid. If anything, the street was somewhat dusty from the combination of cars and buggies traveling down Main Street. Apparently, it hadn’t rained since he’d been gone.

  No one else was exiting the bus at Cashton, so he didn’t have to wait long for the driver to remove his single bag from the storage compartment.

  “This it?”

  “Ya. Danki.”r />
  He had shouldered the duffel when a buggy coming in the opposite direction careened past them. Raising a hand, he waved at Raymond Eicher, who tipped his hat but did not slow down. The boy had not learned to drive any more safely.

  The bus driver keyed something into his handheld device before climbing back on board the bus. “Good luck to you, son.”

  Aaron watched as the bus chugged to life, pulled back on to the road, and headed farther west. There wasn’t even one small part of Aaron that wished he was riding with the group of travelers. There was nothing for him out west.

  He glanced back the way they had come. Didn’t want to go that way, either. His past was that direction, in Indiana.

  His future…he hoped his future waited for him here.

  As the afternoon sun warmed his face, he began to walk. Funny how the little town seemed so familiar to him—as if he’d lived there years instead of months. He passed the town hall, tavern, café, general store, feed store, and, of course, Amish Anthem.

  Not much to Cashton.

  But had it lived up to whatever expectations he’d brought when he’d first stepped off the bus in May? He’d anticipated hard work, and he’d certainly found that. He hadn’t thought to find the disaster that was his onkel’s cabins. A car signaled to turn in front of him, and he paused to wait on it.

  The work at the cabins had shown him that Gotte could use his talents in other ways. He glanced down at his hands, still calloused, but from using a saw and hedge clippers instead of a plow.

  He preferred the plow.

  Whistling he crossed the road.

  There had been the burglaries and Jerry’s arrest. No, he could not have guessed all that had waited for him when he’d first stepped off the bus and onto the streets of Cashton. If he had guessed, he might have told the bus driver to hold up and let him back on.

  Which meant he would never have met Lydia.

  The tune he’d been whistling stuck in his throat. He stopped, removed his hat, and wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. When he started walking again, he was once more whistling, this time the hymn they had sung at his old church in Indiana on Sunday—“Amazing Grace.”