by Marta Perry
“Did you agree with keeping it secret at the time?” Once she’d asked the question, she feared it might be lacking in respect. She already guessed the answer, from what Daad had said, but she wanted to hear it from the bishop.
But Bishop Mose didn’t seem offended. He stroked his chest-length beard, the way he did when he was considering something. “I understood the family’s decision,” he said finally. “I agreed to go along with it, though I feared one day it might explode in all our faces. As it has,” he added wryly.
“Ja.” An explosion was just what it felt like, shattering everything she’d thought she knew about herself. “Mamm and Daad seem to think I can forgive and forget and go on as if nothing has happened.”
“Ach, Lydia, I’m sure they know that’s not possible.” He patted her hand, and his was as worn and wrinkled as a piece of the leather he worked. “A hurt like this will take time and healing.”
She met his gaze. “Mamm and Daad, even Adam—they don’t want me to get in touch with my sisters. But now that I know about them, how can I not try to see them? How can I not want to know about those years of my life that I can’t remember?”
“Your parents and your husband love you,” he said. “They want to take care of you.” He paused for a moment. “You should understand that feeling. I’m certain-sure it’s the way you feel right now about your little sisters.”
His words hit her like a blow to the heart. He was right. That was exactly how she felt whenever she pictured those two little lost sisters.
Bishop Mose sighed. “Ach, Lydia, you were born to take care of others, I sometimes think. That is a good quality, but one which requires handling, because taking care of someone isn’t always what’s best for them.”
She wrestled with that, almost wishing Bishop Mose didn’t have such insight into the human heart. “It’s not wrong, wanting to see them?”
“No, not wrong unless it leads to something that hurts them.” Bishop Mose patted her hand again. “Think about how you feel right now, Lydia. Ask yourself if you want to make Susanna and Chloe feel that same way before you rush into telling them.”
She didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. She would have to be careful, very careful, not to do more harm than good.
Lydia could sense Bishop Mose’s gaze on her, seeming to weigh her very thoughts.
“Your sister Susanna is Susanna Bitler,” he said deliberately. “She lives in Oyersburg with her mother, who is very ill. She is partners in a craft and gift shop with an Amish woman named Dora Gaus. It would not be hard to find her if you decide to do so. Chloe’s grandmother—well, your grandmother, too—is called Margaret Wentworth. All I know about her is that she came from somewhere near Philadelphia.”
“Denke, Bishop Mose.” He had put the information into her hands and showed he trusted her to use it wisely. She only hoped she could. She slid off the stool. “I’ll remember everything you said. I will try to do the right thing.”
“That’s all any of us can do, ja? Just remember, too, that your parents thought they were doing the right thing, also.”
She’d remember, Lydia told herself as she went out. But before she headed home, she’d find a telephone so she could make a call. She was going to arrange for a driver to take her to Oyersburg tomorrow.
As for what happened when she got there—well, maybe she couldn’t see any farther than the next step. But she knew she had to take it.
CHAPTER THREE
Adam bent over his workbench, hands steady as he slid the inside mechanism of the clock into position in the case he was making. He wasn’t ready to place it permanently yet, but he wanted a look at it to be sure the proportion of the case was right.
One of the best things about clock-making was the way it focused his attention. He couldn’t think of anything else while he worked.
Usually. This evening it seemed even the new clock wasn’t enough to keep his mind from straying.
He couldn’t put it off any longer. He had to tell Lydia tonight about losing his job, before she heard rumors about the layoffs from someone else. It would be a difficult conversation to have at the best of times. With Lydia still so upset over learning the truth about her family, it seemed impossible, but it had to be done.
He frowned at the clock case, running his fingers along the curve of the wood. A maple mantel clock, it was destined to be a gift for Lydia’s parents on their anniversary. Twenty-five years they’d been married, a reminder that they’d been newlyweds when they’d accepted the responsibility of raising Lydia as their own.
Lydia had been quiet since he got home, seeming preoccupied with her own thoughts. It didn’t require much imagination to know what those were.
His fingers tightened on the tiny glue stick he was holding, snapping it in two, and he put it down in disgust. The truth was that for the first time in their marriage, he and Lydia were not in harmony.
Oh, they’d had their little disagreements over the past nine years, like any married couple would. Usually it was because he thought she was being a little too protective of the boys—coddling them, maybe because another boppli hadn’t come along to seize her attention.
But now she seemed detached, not only from him, but also from Daniel and David. He’d actually had to remind her that it was past their bedtime, and such a thing had never happened.
She’d be down soon from tucking in Daniel and David. She’d come into the workshop, as she always did, and he would tell her about the cutbacks at the factory. He’d reassure her that he’d find something else. That he’d always take care of her and the kinder, just as he’d promised.
He heard her step, and his mouth went dry. How was he going to find the words?
“Adam?” Often she brought him a mug of coffee, but not tonight, it seemed. “Can we talk?”
“Ja, of course.” He laid aside the tiny pair of pliers he used in working on the clocks. “There’s something I have to tell you, in fact.”
She didn’t seem to hear him. “I went to see Bishop Mose today.”
He was so startled that everything he’d been about to say went out of his head. “Why?”
Lydia stared down at the clock pieces on his worktable, but he didn’t think she was actually seeing them. She moved slightly, her hands opening and closing, her face a little paler than usual in the light of the overhead gas fixture.
“I had to see him. I needed to talk to someone who knew about what happened with my sisters but wasn’t so involved as Mamm and Daad.”
Adam reminded himself to proceed carefully. “I think your mamm and daad told us everything they know.”
“Maybe so. But what they said was colored by what they’d decided. They wanted me to understand and accept the decisions they’d made. Like you.”
There was a slight emphasis to the last words. He didn’t like it. It was as if Lydia was setting him apart, aligning him against her. But for the moment, he’d best concentrate on Lydia, not on his own feelings.
“Did it help, talking to Bishop Mose?” If anyone could bring Lydia comfort, surely it would be the bishop.
“A little.” Her gaze flickered to the clock and away again. “He helped me to see better what it must have been like for them all these years. I still don’t agree with the decision they made, but I understand why they did it.”
“That’s gut.” A little voice in the back of his mind warned him not to make assumptions about how Lydia should feel. “Did you tell him about wanting to see your sisters?” Surely Bishop Mose would have shown her the danger of doing so.
“Ja, I did.” Her chin lifted, and she looked right at him. “He told me what he knew about them.”
Adam’s stool scraped as he stood, unable to sit still and look up at her any longer. “I’m certain-sure he didn’t think you should go running off to see them.”
“Well, then, you’d be wrong. He reminded me to be careful not to hurt them, but he understood why I need to see them. Which is more than my family does!” Her
rare anger flared on the words.
“Your family wants what’s best for you.” His own temper slipped loose, and he fought to keep from saying something he’d regret. “I don’t want you to be hurt, Lydia. Can’t you understand how important that is to me?”
“I’ve told you. It’s too late for me not to be hurt. Maybe you should try and understand that. Whether it is painful or not, I have to see them, at least.” She took a breath, shoulders squaring as if for a fight. “That’s why I hired Ben Miller to take me to Oyersburg tomorrow.”
The elderly Englischer enjoyed driving the Amish to places they couldn’t reach by horse and buggy. Adam suspected he’d probably never driven anyone on such a quest as this one. Still, Ben could be trusted to hold his tongue about anything he heard or guessed. That was the only good thing Adam could find to say about this proposed trip.
“Lydia, stop and think. What will you say to Susanna? You can’t just walk in on a stranger.”
“Bishop Mose says that Susanna has a shop with another Amish woman. A shop is open to anyone. I don’t need a reason to go in and look around and talk to her.”
That was an unexpected setback. Adam hadn’t realized Susanna would be so easily accessible. He fell back on the most compelling argument against this plan. “You can’t give her news like this when her mamm is so ill.”
“I have to see her.” Lydia’s tone was inflexible. “I’ll be careful about what I say, but I have to see her.” She turned and moved toward the door.
But he couldn’t let her go. He hadn’t told her his news yet. Annoyance rippled through him. Lydia seemed to think she was the only one with a problem right now.
“Wait, Lydia. There’s something I have to tell you.”
She turned, reluctantly he thought, and stood poised by the door as if to flee if he tried to talk her out of seeing Susanna. “What is it?”
“It’s about work. My job at the plant.” He sucked in a breath, hating that he had to say it out loud. “I’m being laid off on Friday.”
She stared at him, eyes puzzled for a long moment, as if the sudden shift from one problem to another was too much for her to understand. “You’ve lost your job?”
“Not just me.” He couldn’t help sounding defensive. “They’re laying off about half the workforce because orders are down so much.”
It finally seemed to register. “Did you just find out about it?”
“Yesterday,” he said. “I’d have told you then, but . . .” He let that die off. She ought to understand the reason for his delay.
“I’m sorry.” Distress filled Lydia’s eyes, and she took a quick step toward him. “I guess I didn’t give you a chance to tell me.” She reached out to him, and Adam clasped her hand.
He wouldn’t have chosen this as a means to break through her obsession with her sisters, but it relieved him to see her focused on something else. On him.
“I don’t want you to worry.” He cradled her hand in his. “If new orders start to come in, they’ll call us back, and if not, I’ll just find something else.”
“You’re a fine worker,” she said, her loyalty almost automatic. “Anyone would be lucky to have you.”
They were the words he wanted to hear from her, but somehow he still sensed that she was torn. It was as if she had to force herself to focus on this new issue.
“You mustn’t worry,” he said again, tightening his grip on her hand as if that would call her back to him. “I promised to take care of you and the boys always, and I’ll never let you down.”
“Ach, Adam, I know you’ll take care of us.” She touched his cheek lightly. “I promise I won’t fret about it.”
He raised his hand, wanting to press hers against his skin, wanting to feel close to her.
But she was turning away before he could, and it seemed to him that her thoughts had already fled. They’d gone ahead of her to Oyersburg, he supposed, to the unknown sister she was so determined to see.
He’d told himself he didn’t want her to be upset over his losing his job. That he didn’t want her to worry about him. So why did he feel so disappointed at her reaction?
* * *
Lydia pulled her black sweater close around her against the morning chill as she peered down the lane. It wasn’t quite time for Ben to arrive with his car, but sometimes he showed up early. She’d been ready since she’d seen the boys off to school an hour ago.
Well, ready in one sense. In another, she wasn’t ready at all. What would she feel when she saw her sister? Was there any possibility Susanna would remember her? Apparently, she’d been not quite three at the time of the accident, so probably not. Certainly her adoptive mother wouldn’t have encouraged her to remember.
A flicker of resentment toward the unknown woman flared in Lydia. If Elizabeth Bitler hadn’t been so intent on having a child of her own, Lydia and Susanna might have grown up knowing each other, even if they’d been adopted by different families. They might have visited back and forth like cousins would, maybe, if not exactly like sisters.
A flash of white caught her eye from the other side of the orchard. Her neighbor, Emma Miller, was flipping a sheet out with a practiced hand before pegging it to the clothesline. Lydia waved, and Emma waved back, looking at this distance like one of the faceless Amish dolls every little Amish girl had.
Emma probably shouldn’t be hanging out clothes, although she’d be offended if anyone tried to tell her so. But she’d had a slow recovery from a broken hip this past winter, and Lydia doubted if hanging sheets was part of her therapy.
Jessie ought to be helping her mother, but poor Jessie had problems of her own. The girl had always been a bit difficult, and a few months ago, she’d become something close to dangerous. Lydia hated thinking about the day she’d had to help Bishop Mose and Jessie’s brother, Seth, get the girl into the psychiatric ward at the hospital. It still made her stomach quiver to remember the way Jessie had screamed and hit.
But Jessie was getting the treatment she needed at last, and the whole situation had seemed to bring Emma closer to her son. Even though Seth was as Englisch as could be after more than ten years away, he had at least finally accepted his responsibility in helping his mamm and his sister.
A horn beeped cheerfully, drawing Lydia’s attention back to her own concerns, and Ben Miller pulled up. The retired Englischer seemed to get a lot of pleasure from serving as a taxi driver for the Amish community, and he’d proved himself a good friend to many over the years.
“Ready for your trip to Oyersburg?” He greeted Lydia with a smile when she slid into the front seat next to him.
“Ja, denke, Ben. I’m glad you were free today.”
“I haven’t been all that busy lately.” He turned the car and started back down the lane to the road. “Those apple trees of yours are sure looking fine. They’ll be in blossom before you know it.”
Lydia nodded. Looking at the orchard brought to her mind the image Great-aunt Sara had drawn, of her mother and the three little girls playing under the trees.
She glanced at Ben. He’d lived in Pleasant Valley all his life, and he knew the Amish families better than most outsiders ever could.
“Do you remember when my parents lived in the house? My birth parents, I mean.”
“Let me think, now.” Ben adjusted the glasses that had a habit of sliding down his nose. “I knew they lived here. Knew about the accident, too, of course. Terrible thing, that was. But I can’t say I knew them real well. That was before I retired, so I wasn’t doing much driving then.”
“Ja, I see.”
“We probably bought our apples off them, same as we buy them from you now. My wife was fretting just the other day that she might run out of the applesauce she canned last fall and have to make more with store-bought apples. She always says nothing can beat your McIntosh apples for sauce.”
Lydia nodded, smiling. It was the height of foolishness to be disappointed each time she spoke with someone and didn’t learn something new about
her family.
Ben glanced at her. “You know, you probably ought to talk to Emma Miller about your folks if you haven’t already. She’s lived in that same house for thirty or forty years, so she’s bound to have known them, living right next door and being in the same church district and all.”
“That’s a gut idea, Ben. I will.” It was something she should have thought of herself.
But Emma, as a close neighbor, would have known all along about Lydia’s sisters, and had never said a word to Lydia in all these years. The thought unsettled her, reminding her again of how much had changed in such a short time.
The drive to Oyersburg usually took about half an hour or a little more, so Lydia settled back, staring out the window at the passing scene, although she didn’t suppose she was really seeing much. Her thoughts were too preoccupied with what she was about to do.
Suppose she went against everyone’s advice and told Susanna who she was? What would happen then?
Her thoughts wove a beautiful scene of her and her sister hugging each other, laughing and crying at the same time as they became a family again.
Lydia tried to cling to that image, but unfortunately her imagination, out of control, presented her with another picture, probably equally possible, in which Susanna was shocked and horrified and never wanted to see her again.
Lydia seesawed back and forth, and by the time they reached the outskirts of Oyersburg, she’d begun to wish she’d stayed home. What was she thinking, coming here against everyone’s good advice?
“Here we are in Oyersburg,” Ben said as houses and shops began appearing on either side of the road. “Where do you want to be dropped off?”
Lydia swallowed, her throat tight. “I’m not sure exactly. I want to go to a particular shop, but I’ve forgotten its name.” That sounded thin, even to her. “It’s a craft and gift store run by two Amish women. Do you know it?”
“I might,” Ben said, eyeing her, curiosity written all over his weathered face. “It’s probably Plain Gifts. I don’t know the exact address, but it’s along this end of Main Street someplace.”
