by Marta Perry
Lydia’s throat tightened. She’d never dreamed she was giving away her emotions to the kinder. She should never let adult worries affect her family.
“Ja, of course it’s all right. It was a very kind thought, and I love it when my boys are kind.” She hesitated, not sure what or how much to tell them.
David tugged at her sleeve. “But why were you sad, Mammi? If it was ’cause I spilled the milk, I’ll be really careful next time.”
“Ach, no, for sure it wasn’t.” She bent to hug him, inhaling the sweet, just-bathed little-boy scent. “Everybody spills things sometimes. Spills are for cleaning up, not getting mad about, ja?”
“Ja.” But he still looked a bit wary.
She had to tell them something. “It was nothing about you. Last week I found out something that upset me, that’s all.”
It wasn’t all, of course. They’d never be content with that explanation. She began to have an appreciation for how difficult it had been for Mamm and Daad to decide what to tell her about the accident.
“You see, a long time ago, when I was only five, I was in an accident.” How could she tell this without frightening them or making them worry that it might happen to them? “We were on a trip, going to a wedding.”
Daniel, propped up on his elbow, nodded. “We know. Grossdaadi told us you got hurt in a crash when your first daad and mamm died. He says that it made you not remember anything from when you were little.”
She hadn’t known Daad had told them anything, but it sounded as if he’d done a calm, matter-of-fact explanation.
“Well, that’s gut that you understand. You see, I found out something from that time in my life I don’t remember, and it upset me.”
Daniel’s face screwed up as he tried to follow the explanation. “It must seem funny, not to remember.”
“Most folks don’t remember a lot from when they were very little anyway,” Adam said, his voice a reassuring bass rumble. “Mammi remembers the important things. Like you.” He ruffled Daniel’s hair, making him grin and duck away.
“But what made you upset?” Daniel, ever persistent, went quickly back to the point.
She exchanged looks with Adam. He seemed resigned.
“Best they hear it from us, ain’t so?” he said.
She nodded. “I found out that I had two little sisters.” She tried to keep her voice as calm as if she were talking about the weather. “After the accident we went to live with different families. I went with Grossdaadi and Grossmammi, and they went with other folks. So you see, I didn’t remember them.”
The boys digested that silently for a few moments, and she waited for the inevitable questions.
“I don’t want that to happen to me.” David hurled himself against her, and she hugged him tightly.
“You don’t need to worry about that,” she said firmly. “Something like that almost never happens, and we trust God to take care of us, ja?”
“Are you sad not to remember them, Mammi?” Daniel probably thought himself too big to require an immediate hug, but he leaned against Adam.
“Ja, that’s so. And I’m also sad not to know them now.”
“Why don’t you just go to see them?” Daniel said, as if surprised that answer hadn’t occurred to her.
The truth of that was too complicated to explain, and again she looked at Adam.
“They live too far away,” he said firmly. “Maybe someday we’ll get to meet them, if it’s God’s will.”
That, finally, seemed to settle it for the boys. It was probably best not to attempt any further explanations unless and until they asked again. She rose, settling the quilt around David again.
“Now, enough talking, I think. Time for dreams.”
But Daniel was slipping out of bed.
“Daniel, what are you doing?” Usually he was so obedient.
He dropped to his knees on the hooked rug her mother had made. “I’ll say another prayer, Mammi. I’ll ask God to let you see your sisters.”
She stooped to kiss him, blinking back the tears that filled her eyes. “That is a gut thought, Daniel. Denke.”
Adam switched off the lamp, but moonlight washed through the room, touching the kneeling figure. She would not be able to hide the tears much longer, so she hurried out of the room.
Adam followed her, closing the door with a soft click. He turned to look at her. “Are you all right?”
“Ja.” She wiped away a tear with her fingers and then clasped his hand. They started down the stairs. “I’m glad you helped me explain. Do you think they are all right knowing that much?”
He nodded. “They are sensible boys. Don’t worry about them.”
“Ach, I can’t help doing the worrying. It comes with being a mammi, I think.”
They reached the bottom of the stairs. Lydia turned toward the kitchen and then turned back, realizing she had forgotten something.
“Adam, I never asked you about your day. How did it go, the job hunting?”
He shrugged, his expression not changing. “Nothing yet, but maybe soon. I’ll find something. You don’t need to worry about me, too.”
“I’m not worried.” Why would she be? Adam was the most reliable of men, and a gut worker. He’d find something. “I know you’ll take care of us like you always do.”
He nodded. “Think I’ll do a bit in the workshop now.”
“I’ll finish up in the kitchen. Just tell me if you want some coffee.”
The workshop he’d built onto the back of the house was definitely Adam’s favorite place. Working with wood was common enough among the Amish, but not many men had his skill in building clocks. She glanced at the kitchen clock that had been a birthday present from him two years ago. He was making another one now, apparently destined for whoever in the family got married next.
Odd that neither of her sisters was married. Did Susanna feel that her limp prevented her from marriage? Maybe someday they’d be able to talk about that, like any two sisters surely would.
And Chloe, the unknown. The Englisch married later than the Amish, she knew that about them. Maybe Chloe had someone in her life. Seth had said she wasn’t engaged or married, but she might be seeing someone. Did she feel the lack of a big sister to give her advice?
Trying to shake off the questions, Lydia concentrated on putting the dishes away. Maybe she could have used some advice herself, when she thought of how she’d let the children see her sadness. She longed to talk to Mamm about it, to listen to her wise counsel, but things had been so strained between them that she couldn’t imagine bringing it up.
With a last glance around the tidy kitchen, she went into the living room and settled in her chair, picking up the mending basket. She surely didn’t lack for mending to do, with two active boys.
Before Lydia had finished mending the rip in David’s best pants, she was distracted by a light reflecting from the front windows. She laid aside the mending. Someone was driving a car up the lane.
Going quickly to the kitchen, she called back to the workshop. “Adam? Someone is coming.”
The car had stopped by the back porch, and the interior lights came on for a moment, letting her see that it was Seth. Her stomach tightened. She’d just begun to adjust to the bad news he’d given her about Chloe, and now she’d have to relive it. Seth would be feeling sorry he hadn’t made a success of the meeting with Chloe, and she’d have to reassure him.
By the time she’d opened the door and ushered Seth into the kitchen, Adam had come in from the workshop. He eyed Seth warily, it seemed to Lydia.
“I didn’t expect to see you tonight, Seth.” She set the coffeepot on the stove and got out the dried-apple pie she’d made earlier.
“I just got back, and I wanted to let you know what happened.” Seth looked more cheerful than she’d expected after what he’d said on the telephone.
“Ja, you told me on the phone.” Her little sister wasn’t interested in her. Or she didn’t believe in her, which came to the same t
hing.
“I know, but something happened after I called.” He took the cup she handed him, nodding his thanks. “Chloe called me again later. She wanted to talk.”
“She did?” Dropping the knife she’d held poised over the pie, Lydia clasped her hands together in what was close to a prayer. “What did she say? Did she believe you?”
Adam moved past her, pouring coffee for himself and sitting down, his movements deliberate. He watched Seth, his expression giving no clue to his thoughts.
“Apparently she had followed through on the materials I left with her,” Seth said. “She confronted her grandmother, and the grandmother admitted the story was true.”
“What did she want from you, then?” Adam asked.
Seth’s gaze flickered from Adam to her. “More information, basically. She wanted to know what I knew about her sisters. She didn’t know, of course, about your loss of memory, and all she knew about your parents was what her grandmother had told her.”
He hesitated, and Lydia found herself tensing as if she were preparing for a blow.
“What is it? Something bad?” Seth never had been very good at hiding his feelings from her.
“The grandmother apparently is very prejudiced about the Amish. She blames the faith for luring her daughter away.”
“But . . . that’s foolishness. Diane fell in love with my father, that’s why she wanted to become Amish.”
“I understand that, but as I say, Chloe only knows what her grandmother has told her. At least now she’s questioning what her grandmother said about your parents. I told her what I knew about them, and also about you and Adam and the children.”
Lydia nodded, trying to absorb everything. “Did you ask her about coming to visit me? What did she say?”
Seth shook his head, his lips pressing together. “I’m sorry, Lydia. She wasn’t willing to come here, even though I told her that the answers she wants are here.”
“But . . . you mean she just wants to forget?” She hadn’t been able to tell Susanna, and that still grieved her. She’d thought that surely, once Chloe knew, it would be only a short step to their meeting.
Adam cleared his throat. “Maybe it’s for the best. If the woman has bad feelings toward the Amish—”
“Don’t call her ‘the woman,’” Lydia snapped, her temper flaring. “She is my sister. Surely she only needs to meet us and she’ll understand the truth.”
“You heard Seth. She’s not willing to, and there’s nothing else you can do. You must let it go, Lydia.”
“I can’t.” Why didn’t he see that about her? She had always thought she and Adam understood each other so completely, but on this subject, Adam seemed to have a blind spot.
“There is one thing you could do.” Seth had turned wary, but he slid a piece of paper across the table to her. “There is her address. You can write to her, at least.”
She took up the slip of paper, not looking at Adam. “Denke, Seth. I appreciate all you’ve done.”
He nodded. “I wish it could have been more.” He pushed his chair back, rising. “I’ll be on my way, then. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”
Lydia nodded, feeling the power of Adam’s disapproval flowing right across the table at her. “I will. Denke.”
She walked him to the door and stood there until he’d gotten into his car. Then she turned back to Adam. The width of the kitchen separated them, and something more, as well.
“I thought you understood how important this is to me.” She threw the words at him.
His chair scraped the floor as he stood. “Ja, I know. But I think it is a mistake to get too close to the Englisch.”
“Which Englisch? Seth? My sister? Or are you talking about my mother?” She’d never felt so distant from him. “My own mother was Englisch, remember?”
“I know. If she were not, we wouldn’t be in this situation.” He shook his head, looking stubborn and frustrated at the same time. Then he stalked back to the workshop and closed the door.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Chloe had expected that as the days passed, the revelation about her sisters would cease to shake the foundations of her life. Unfortunately, it had been nearly a week, and she still felt edgy and distracted. The letter she’d received from Lydia the previous day just confused her more.
Chloe should be concentrating on her proposal for expanding their educational outreach. Bringing in children and families could also bring new life to this staid old place. But the museum director was less than enthusiastic about the subject, so unless she could wow a sponsor, the project would die an early death.
But instead of focusing on the language that would sway a potential donor, her thoughts kept replaying her conversations with Seth Miller.
Conversation or confrontation? The man seemed to challenge her at every turn. He clearly thought he knew exactly what she should do. As did her grandmother, although their solutions were diametrically opposed.
It was her life. Her decision. Nobody seemed willing to grant that fact.
Giving in to the urge, she clicked out of the proposal folder and opened the one marked Ancestry. Anyone glancing through her files would assume from the title it was something connected with her work at the museum.
Not that anyone else should be accessing her computer, but a museum was just like any other institution, staffed by people who were short on funds and long on ambition, some of them. Infighting was a fact of life.
The folder held everything she now knew about her parents and siblings—what Seth had told her, what her grandmother had said, and the fruits of her own research. Even so, it was pitifully small.
Chloe frowned at the screen. Dozens of questions crowded her mind—questions she should have asked Seth Miller when she’d had the chance. Intent on persuading her to agree with his plans, he’d certainly have told her anything he knew. She’d let the opportunity slip away, partly because she was still in shock, partly because Seth himself kept distracting her from the matter at hand.
Chloe still hadn’t wrapped her mind around the fact that Seth had been raised Amish. He looked so . . . normal. The fact explained how he’d come to know so much about her parents, but it raised another set of questions. Why had he left? How did that factor into his motivation in helping Lydia?
She could call Seth. She had his number. She almost reached for the phone, raising an image in her mind of his strong face, of the unexpected laughter in his eyes.
A rap on the office door deferred the decision, somewhat to her relief. “Come in.”
The door swung open. Brad Maitland hesitated in the doorway, eyebrows lifting. “Am I interrupting something important?”
“Not at all. Come in.” She managed a smile at the family friend, even while she wondered what had brought him here. “Just let me save my work and close it.”
Not that she didn’t enjoy seeing Brad or, to give him his full title, Bradley Jefferson Maitland, MD, PhD, and, goodness knows what other letters might come after his name. With his tall, lanky frame, his slightly thinning fair hair, narrow well-bred face and oversized glasses, he looked like what he was, a highly successful psychiatrist and member of Philadelphia’s elite.
She’d known Brad all her life, and he’d filled the role of honorary uncle perfectly. If his advice always seemed to tally with her grandmother’s wishes—well, that was only normal, she supposed. Her grandmother had probably enlisted him for the role, since Chloe had no other uncles.
Or did she? The thought startled her, bringing an image of a cluster of relatives she’d never imagined. She shook off the thought.
“It’s nice to see you, Brad. What brings you to the museum, of all places?”
“I happened to be in the area, and I thought perhaps I could persuade you to have lunch with me.”
She raised an eyebrow at that comment. Brad never just happened to be anywhere. His entire life ran on a precise schedule, and any deviation, no matter how necessary, was apt to bring a slightly
pained expression to his face.
“I wish I could.” She spared a moment’s regret for the no doubt excellent lunch Brad would have provided. “But I’m tied up with work, so it will be a sandwich at my desk today, I’m afraid.”
“That’s a shame. Another time, then.” He moved slightly as if to get a better look at her computer screen. “Museum work or personal?”
There was nothing judgmental in his tone, but Chloe found herself bristling anyway.
“I suppose my grandmother has been talking with you.”
“Margaret and I often speak.” He wore the look of patient waiting that so often caused her to tell him more than she wanted.
“About me.” She made it a challenge.
“She worries about you. That’s understandable, isn’t it? You’re her only family.”
“Not quite true.” Her temper slipped a bit, despite her determination not to quarrel with Brad. “If you’ve spoken with Gran, you know that she has two other granddaughters she’s chosen to keep secret from me.”
He leaned against the desk, his gaze on her face. “Why do you suppose that is?”
“Because—” Chloe nearly bit her tongue in an effort not to answer. She understood the technique Brad employed. He was attempting to get her to put herself in her grandmother’s place. He’d done the same, she remembered, when she was eighteen and wanted to celebrate her high school graduation by going backpacking in Europe.
“Yes?” Brad prompted.
“I appreciate the effort, but I’m not interested in any counseling today, thanks. Gran and I will have to work this out ourselves.”
That might be unfair to Brad, who would say he had her best interests at heart, but she didn’t like the sense that he’d been conspiring with her grandmother behind her back.
“Of course.” He nodded, as if accepting defeat. “It’s natural to be upset after learning that you have siblings. I simply thought you might appreciate an unbiased eye on the matter.”
“Thanks anyway.” She glanced toward her computer, hoping he’d take the hint. Whatever Brad might tell himself, he wasn’t truly unbiased, any more than Seth was. Brad stood firmly for the status quo, while Seth challenged her in uncomfortable ways.
