by Marta Perry
Anger fairly sparked between Lydia and Adam, and Seth had an instinctive desire to flee what was rapidly turning into an emotional scene.
But he couldn’t. He was responsible for this, so he had to find a solution.
“I’ll go and see her.” The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to consider just how difficult such an encounter might be.
But he had to offer. The thought of Lydia setting off alone for the city made his blood run cold. For once, he and Adam were in agreement.
“You will go?” Lydia’s face reflected both reluctance and hope. “I can’t ask you to do that for us.”
“It’s the least I can do, after all you’ve done for Mamm and Jessie,” he said, thinking of the debts he could never repay. “I have to go to Philadelphia anyway to handle some business, so I’ll just move the trip up.”
“Are you sure? Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?”
“I really do have to go,” he assured her.
Her breath caught as if he’d just given her a gift. “When?”
Seth’s thoughts ticked over the possibilities as he mentally rearranged his calendar. At the best of times it wasn’t easy to balance the trips he had to make for the firm with the telecommuting he did the rest of the time while trying to care for his mother and sister. His boss had been surprisingly supportive of this unorthodox schedule.
“It might be best if I approach her at the museum, rather than trying to go to her house. So that means it can’t be before Monday.”
“What will you say to her?” Lydia clasped her hands together in a prayerlike gesture.
“It won’t be that hard.” He tried to sound more confident than he felt. “I’ll just explain that I came for you, and who you are. I’ll say you’d like to be in touch with her, and see how she responds.”
She might well respond by calling security and having him thrown out, but he wasn’t going to say that to Lydia.
“It’s the best way,” Adam said, putting his hands on Lydia’s shoulders as if to keep her from flying away from him. “Denke, Seth.”
The look he gave Seth was actually anything but thankful. Clearly he was blaming Seth for the disruption of his peaceful home life.
Well, Adam was deluding himself if he thought Lydia’s need to find her sister would have ended if not for Seth’s offer. Lydia was gentle and dutiful, true, but she could be a tigress when it came to taking care of others.
No, his suggestion was the best of a number of possibilities, and Adam should realize that he and Seth had a lot in common. They both wanted to help Lydia and protect her from hurt.
As for the Englisch sister—well, she was an unknown quantity, and Seth had a healthy respect for the unknown, especially since he might be about to explode a bomb in Chloe Wentworth’s life.
CHAPTER FIVE
Worship service was drawing to a close on Sunday morning, and only the faintest stirring of the Leit who sat on the backless benches in Amon Esch’s barn betrayed the fact that they’d been here for nearly three hours already. Lydia found her attention was divided, as it so often was, between the minister’s words and her family, seated on the opposite side of the space.
The boys were old enough now to sit with Adam on the men’s side. A swift glance told her that Daniel was leaning against Adam’s arm, his head tilted down. She couldn’t see from here whether or not his eyes were closed. David sat erect, obviously modeling his behavior in worship on that of his father.
If she had a daughter, Lydia thought, she would have someone snuggling up against her in worship, but she didn’t have that joy. At times like this, when the reminder was sharp, she found it necessary to repeat to herself that it was God’s will, and that her children were God’s gift.
Anna Fisher sat next to Lydia in the section occupied by young married women, with her three-year-old, Gracie, slipped in between her mother and Lydia. Anna’s son slept in her lap, his head heavy in the crook of her arm.
Gracie slumped a little, her eyes drifting shut. Exchanging a sympathetic glance with Anna, Lydia eased her arm around the little girl so that she could slide down into Lydia’s lap.
Lydia patted the child’s back, wishing just for a moment that it was her own daughter dozing there. But it was God’s will, she repeated.
She had gone to see Midwife Sarah, of course, concerned when there were no more pregnancies after David. Sarah, always cautious with her clients, had sent Lydia to the clinic that specialized in medicine among the Amish, but the doctors there hadn’t found anything wrong. Nothing wrong, except that the years were slipping away without another baby to treasure.
Now even Sarah herself was pregnant, something the midwife had never expected. An Amish woman’s dress disguised pregnancy fairly well, but Sarah wore a glow that seemed to light up the room. Lydia didn’t begrudge her the happiness. She just longed to feel it herself.
The congregation slid to its knees for the final prayers. Lydia managed to get down from the bench without waking the sleeping child. The prayer was a formal one, recited from the prayer book by memory. Lydia couldn’t seem to keep herself from inserting her own longings into the prayer—that there would be another baby to join their family, that God would pave the way for Seth tomorrow as he went to see Chloe.
And then worship was ended with the final blessing. The men stood up, stretched, and began sliding the backless benches into the brackets that turned them into tables for their noonday meal, while the women headed for the house to help with the food.
Lydia walked out into the spring sunshine with Anna, blinking at the bright light after the relative dimness of the barn. Gracie stirred in her arms, looked up at Lydia’s face, and then wiggled to get down.
“Thank Lydia for letting you sleep on her lap,” Anna prompted, touching her daughter’s silky blond hair.
“Denke,” Gracie whispered, and then hid her face in her mother’s skirt.
A chuckle escaped Lydia, and Anna grinned. “And denke from me, as well,” Anna said. “Sometimes I think I don’t have enough hands.”
“I remember the feeling.” Those early years when the children were so dependent passed very quickly, even though it didn’t seem like it at the time. “How are Myra and the new boppli?”
Myra was Anna’s sister-in-law, and the mother of a baby boy, come to join the two little girls in the family.
“Myra’s doing very well, as is the fine healthy baby. As for my brother—you’d think no man ever had a son before to hear him tell it.”
“Give them our best wishes. I would have taken supper over to them this week, but . . .” She let that trail off, thinking she shouldn’t have let her own troubles make her forgetful of the needs of others.
“They’ve had enough food brought in to last a month,” Anna declared. “Don’t think a thing about it.”
Anna’s teenage niece, Elizabeth, came hurrying over just then, relieving Lydia of the need to respond. Probably just as well. No doubt Anna knew all about what had been going on with them, like the rest of the church.
“I’ll take the kinder, Aunt Anna.” Elizabeth took the baby in her arms and held out her hand to little Gracie. “Komm, let’s go and play a bit, ja?” She led them off to join some other young ones on the sunny lawn.
Anna watched her, smiling a little. “Elizabeth has grown into such a sweet young woman. She’ll have the boys flocking around her soon.”
Lydia nodded, the comment making her think again of Chloe, who seemed never far from her thoughts. Seth had said she wasn’t engaged or married, but surely, pretty as she was, there were men in her life, maybe even one special man.
She glanced at Anna, wondering just how much Anna had heard about her sisters. The whole story, she’d guess, since the Amish grapevine worked better than most anything at getting news around.
Anna had spent nearly three years in the Englisch world before coming home to Pleasant Valley. It could be that Anna might help her understand Chloe, if only she actual
ly got a chance to meet her.
“Shall we go and see if there’s any help needed in the kitchen?” Anna asked.
“I’ll join you in just a minute,” Lydia said. “First I’d better ask my mamm to keep an eye on the boys. Adam is still helping set up tables, and you know how the men are when they get to talking.”
“Ja, for sure.” Smiling, Anna headed for the kitchen, the spring breeze making her kapp strings and apron flutter.
Mamm was deep in conversation with a small group of older women, but the talk cut off quickly when Lydia approached, and Lydia could guess what they’d been talking about. Her cheeks flamed, but she managed to keep a smile pinned to her face.
“Mamm, will you watch David and Daniel for a few minutes? I’ll go and see if I can be some help in the kitchen.”
“Ja, of course.” Mamm’s smile eased the worry lines from her face, at least for a moment. “Go along.”
It probably helped Mamm to talk with her friends about the subject on which she’d been silent for so long. Lydia ought to be happy it made things easier for her mother, instead of feeling even more betrayed. But she couldn’t prevent a bit of resentment that at least the female half of the church was talking about her this morning.
She’d just stepped up on the porch when a voice rose from the group of men clustered just around the corner of the house.
“All I’m saying is that the Scripture says, ‘Be not unequally yoked with an unbeliever.’”
The male voice was very decided, and Lydia suspected it was that of Isaac Brand, who seemed to have an opinion on everything.
“Eli Weaver went off and married an Englischer, and look at all the trouble it’s caused, even after all these years. He should have known better.”
Lydia froze, her hand on the railing, unable to move. So that’s what some, at least, were saying—implying that her parents were at fault for loving each other.
“Scripture also reminds us to speak kindly of one another and to bear one another’s burdens.” Bishop Mose’s voice was unmistakable. “That’s a teaching we all might do well to heed, Isaac.”
A little silence followed his words. Her heart eased, Lydia went quickly on into the kitchen before she could hear anything else.
* * *
Seth found the Pennsylvania German Cultural Museum in Philadelphia with only a few wrong turns that had him arguing with his GPS. It wasn’t large compared to the city’s art museum or the Franklin Institute, but it was an attractive brick building with a colonial air, surrounded by gardens. From the entry, wings branched out dedicated to the history of German-speaking immigration, traditional architecture, and a genealogical library that probably appealed to the current interest in tracing one’s ancestors. The Amish generally didn’t have need for that sort of help, since generations were preserved in the family’s Bible.
He headed for the information desk and in a few minutes had talked his way through a maze of hallways into the office of Chloe Wentworth, only to find it empty. The young intern who’d shown him the way disappeared to locate her, leaving Seth alone.
Just as well, maybe. It gave him another moment’s respite before plunging into a family situation that Ms. Chloe Wentworth would be justified in considering none of his business.
He glanced around, trying to get an impression of the woman from her office. The museum clearly put its money into the areas the public visited. Behind the scenes, the offices and storerooms were prosaic cement block.
Chloe Wentworth’s cavelike space was equipped with a utilitarian desk and chair with a computer setup. The desk was totally surrounded by shelves filled with reference books, filing cabinets, and a worktable piled with books and papers. A scholar worked here, by the looks of the office, and Seth had trouble reconciling the setting with the sophisticated woman in the photo he’d found.
Seth circled the desk casually, looking for any clue to the personality of the woman he was about to meet. A small, silver-framed image of an older woman, elegant in silk and pearls, sat on the corner of the desk—the grandmother, no doubt. A small stuffed bear wearing a Phillies baseball cap leaned against the photo, drawing a grin. Somehow Grandmother Wentworth didn’t look much like a Phillies fan, so presumably that was Chloe.
Footsteps echoed in the hall beyond the door, and by the time the door opened, he was several feet from the desk, staring at the titles of the reference books.
“Mr. Miller?” The female voice was crisp. “I’m Chloe Wentworth. How can I help you?”
He swung around to face the woman who was Lydia’s little sister, still with no idea how he was going to broach the reason for his visit, and found himself tongue-tied.
Chloe was a surprise, tripping him up before he’d even begun. Instead of the glossy but classic beauty in the photo, the real thing definitely had a style of her own. The auburn hair was short and sleek, and huge black-rimmed glasses masked sea-green eyes. Her skirt was short enough to warrant a second look at her legs, and the scoop neck of her sweater revealed a tiny butterfly tattoo on her left shoulder. Chloe’s appearance was about as far as could be from either Main Line debutante or Old Order Amish.
He caught hold of himself. He certainly wouldn’t make the right impression by staring at her. “It’s good of you to see me without an appointment, Ms. Wentworth.” He moved a step to offer his hand, and she took it in a quick, cool grasp.
“No problem. Not many people seek me out at the museum, appointment or not.” She nodded toward his business card. “I’m just a lowly assistant to the curator, and I don’t deal with the museum’s computer needs. If you’d like me to refer you to one of our tech people . . .”
“I’m not here on business for the software design firm.” He might as well admit that up front and get on with it. Either Chloe knew of the existence of her sisters and chose to ignore them, or she’d never been told. Either way, this was going to be a tricky conversation. “I had to be in Philadelphia on business, and I was asked to contact you on behalf of a friend of mine.” He sucked in a calming breath. “Your sister, Lydia Weaver Beachy.”
Chloe stared at him, forehead crinkling, and pulled off the glasses, tossing them on her desk. “Sister?” Those green eyes expressed nothing but confusion. “I’m afraid you have me mixed up with someone else, Mr. Miller. I don’t have a sister.”
A slight shadow crossed her face as she said the words. Was it regret?
So she’d never been told, then. He wasn’t sure if that fact made this easier or harder. “Actually, you have two sisters, Lydia and Susanna, daughters of Eli Weaver and Diane Wentworth Weaver.”
That was blunt, but he couldn’t imagine any other way of telling the woman something so shocking. He took an instinctive step toward her, not sure how one offered comfort in a situation like this, but stopped dead when Chloe stiffened.
Seth eased himself back until he leaned against the worktable, trying to look as nonthreatening as possible. “I’m sorry to just come right out with it. I know that information must be a lot to absorb. But the truth is that Eli and Diane Weaver had three daughters, not one.”
She glanced down at his card again, seeming to be a little reassured by the name of the firm. Then she shook her head.
“You’re mistaken,” she said, her tone flat. “Those are my parents’ names, but your friend is not related to me. There must surely be more than one Eli Weaver in the world.”
“Quite a few just in Pennsylvania,” he admitted with a wry smile. “Weavers are common among the Pennsylvania Dutch, as are men named Eli. But I suspect only one of them married Diane Wentworth, daughter of John and Margaret Wentworth. And I doubt that any other couple with those names died as a result of an accident on an Ohio highway twenty-five years ago.”
He could see he’d hit home with that string of facts. Chloe’s eyes darkened. He’d better follow up while he could, so he slid the photocopies from the file he carried, letting them fall on her desk.
“Here’s a copy of their marriage license and
a copy of a newspaper article about the accident. I haven’t been able to get birth certificates yet, but—”
“But you no doubt can produce something convincing, given enough time.” Her voice snapped like a whip, yanking him around to face her.
“You think these are fakes?” Funny, but that reaction had never occurred to him. “I can assure you—”
“I can assure you that this is not the first time someone has attempted to get to my grandmother’s fortune through me.” Chloe cut him off again. “Please leave.” She reached for the phone, no doubt intending to call security.
“Look, I’m not a con man.” He put his hand out and just as quickly withdrew it. He’d better not add assault to the list of complaints she was probably creating in her mind. “Lydia and her husband are neighbors of my mother out in central Pennsylvania. Lydia was injured in the accident that killed her—your—parents and only recently learned the truth.”
Chloe lifted the phone and pressed a button. “Your story is even less likely than most I’ve heard. I’d suggest you leave unless you prefer to be escorted out. Security will be here in a moment.”
Time was slipping away, and he hadn’t accomplished a thing. “At least look at the documents. You were only a baby at the time, so you couldn’t possibly remember.”
“There’s nothing to remember.” Her chin lifted, and Seth saw the resemblance to the haughty grande dame in the photograph on her desk. Chloe might carry her parents’ genes, but it seemed her grandmother had done a good job of transforming the rest of her.
“If you’ll just look—” This time it was the door opening that cut him off. The museum guard was short, slight, and probably well past retirement age, but he carried the authority in this place, and Seth wasn’t about to start a confrontation with the man.
“Mr. Miller is leaving, George.” Chloe’s voice was as cool as her eyes. “Please see that he gets off museum premises.”
