by Marta Perry
“I don’t see how anyone can blame Diane for falling in love, but that happened months after she left Philadelphia. Why did she leave to begin with? What drove her away from this life?”
“Nothing.” Gran surged to her feet. “How dare you imply—”
She stopped in midsentence, grasping the chair for support, her face losing its color.
“Gran!” Chloe rushed to her, the quarrel swallowed up by concern. “What is it? Let me help you.”
She tried to take her grandmother’s arm, but Gran pushed her away. “I don’t want you. Call Nora.”
Chloe rang the buzzer that connected with the kitchen and then eased her grandmother back into the chair in spite of her protests. Chloe might suspect that the fainting spell was a convenient way to win an argument, except that Gran’s skin was alarmingly ashen.
Bile rose in Chloe’s throat. Maybe she hadn’t been responsible for Grandfather’s problems, but her persistence had brought this on.
Nora bustled in barely a minute later. She bent over Gran with a glass of water and a pill bottle in her hand, her voice soothing. She caught Chloe’s eye and jerked her head toward the door.
Chloe nodded, understanding. Gran would do better without her disturbing presence, obviously. “I’ll wait out in the hall,” she said softly. “Tell me if you want me to call the rescue squad or the doctor.”
Nora gave a quick nod and turned her back on Chloe, all her concern for Gran.
Yes, all right, it was obvious that her presence wasn’t helping matters. She went out quickly, her mind teeming with incoherent prayers.
It was a long ten minutes before Nora came out. She marched toward the kitchen. “I’ll make her a cup of tea. That’s all she needs.”
“Are you sure I shouldn’t call her doctor?” Chloe followed her with a guilty backward glance at the closed door.
“She’s just upset herself.” Nora switched on the electric kettle. “There’s nothing wrong with her that a little peace and quiet won’t cure.”
“It was my fault. I shouldn’t have . . .”
Chloe stopped, not sure she wanted to bring up the subject of her mother with Nora. Nora was devoted to Gran, and Chloe had never known her to voice the slightest hint of disagreement. But she must have had some feeling for Diane, who had grown up in this house just as Chloe had.
Nora stared at the kettle, as if willing it to boil. But then she sighed and shook her head, and Chloe realized she wasn’t thinking about the water at all.
“There is no use talking to your grandmother about Diane,” she said. “She can’t do it, that’s all.”
“You could . . .” Chloe began, with no real hope.
“No.” The kettle whistled. Chloe felt the urge to vent a little steam herself. Or a little frustration.
She turned away, realizing she still held Lydia’s letter in her hand. Maybe she’d go out—
“You should talk to Dr. Maitland,” Nora said abruptly. “That’s what you should do.”
Chloe blinked, surprised. “Why? Nora, if you think I need counseling over this disagreement with my grandmother, I can tell you right now it wouldn’t change anything.”
Nora gave an exasperated sigh. “I’m not talking about any of his fancy counseling. You should talk to him about your mother.”
“Brad? Why would he know anything about Diane? I mean, I know he was my mother’s generation, but he’s never indicated they were close.”
“Maybe he never talks about it, but he was crazy about her. She never looked at him that way, but she treated him like a younger brother. She talked to him.”
Chloe’s mind buzzed with a series of incoherent thoughts, and she tried to sort them out. Brad? He knew about her concerns over her mother. Surely, if he’d known something about why she left, he’d have told her.
Or would he? Like Nora, he seemed to feel he owed his loyalty to Gran, not her.
“You think he knows why Diane went away?” She zeroed in on Nora’s face, but she was already shaking her head.
“I’ve said more than I should. I’m not saying another word. And don’t you tell him I sent you, either.” Nora walked out, the china cup of tea held in her hands like an offering.
Chloe stood where she was, trying to wrap her mind around the revelation. Brad had had feelings for her mother? How was it she’d never known about it? She found the idea more than a little disturbing.
But if Brad knew what had motivated her mother, she intended to find out.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lydia tried to push away the guilt she felt over having come to Oyersburg without telling Adam. But she hadn’t wanted to confide her errand to anyone except her mother, who understood. She lifted the heavy box from the backseat of Ben’s car, where she’d stowed it for the drive to Susanna’s shop.
“Want me to carry that in for you?” Ben reached for the door handle.
“I have it. Denke, Ben.” She managed to balance the box against her knee while she closed the car door.
“Okay. I’ll be back for you in an hour.” Ben waved and pulled out onto the street.
Lydia stood for a moment, composing herself. Across the street from Susanna’s shop, the wide, shallow creek chuckled peacefully over flat rocks. Peace—ja, that was what seemed to be missing in her life just now. Susanna was fortunate to have such inspiring beauty practically on her doorstep.
Lydia hefted the box. She was doing the right thing, wasn’t she? Susanna had expressed interest in Adam’s clocks, so bringing one of them gave Lydia an excellent reason to visit the shop again.
That wasn’t what troubled her. The difficulty was that she hadn’t told Adam what she was doing.
Adam had picked up a couple of days’ work helping Joseph Beiler in his machine shop, so he hadn’t been there to see her take the clock from the workshop. Joseph’s wife, Myra, had recently had a baby boy, and apparently work had been piling up for Joseph and his partner. He’d welcomed an extra pair of hands in the shop.
Lydia’s lips trembled on a smile. Myra had a fine, healthy boy now in addition to the two girls. And since their last little one was a Down’s syndrome baby, it was no doubt especially sweet to see the little boy unaffected.
Myra’s longing for a son couldn’t help but remind Lydia of her own desire for a daughter. Maybe it was human nature to yearn for what you didn’t have.
Well, Adam was occupied today, and so was she. If Susanna thought the clock would sell, that was time enough to tell him. Things had been strained and silent between them for the past few days, but at least he hadn’t brought up again the idea of cutting down her mother’s tree. Maybe he’d given up on it. If she came home with hopeful news about the clock, maybe that would help ease them over this rough place.
Lydia opened the door and sidled in, trying not to let it bang after her.
“Here, let me help you. That must be heavy.” Susanna came toward her, her limp more noticeable when she tried to hurry.
“I can manage,” Lydia said, not wanting to burden Susanna. “I don’t know if you remember me, but . . .”
“Ja, of course. You’re Lydia Beachy, and you were going to bring one of your husband’s clocks, ain’t so?”
Lydia nodded, doubly relieved that Susanna was here rather than her partner and also that Susanna remembered. “Just tell me where I can put it down.”
“Back here.” Susanna led the way to the rear of the shop and around the corner. She pushed open a door. “We have a little workroom back here.”
The workroom was simple enough, with a table in the middle holding packing supplies and shelves along one wall with boxes. But the room must be a spot for Susanna and her partner to take a break, as well, since it had a couple of comfortable-looking rockers, a small refrigerator, and a kettle that was steaming on a gas burner.
“Right here on the table,” Susanna said, sweeping some foam packing material out of the way with one hand. “You know, I was hoping you would come back.”
Lydia set t
he box down gently. She could have used some of the foam when she’d tried to figure out how to carry the clock without risking damage.
“I hope—”
The kettle began to shriek, interrupting her words, and they both laughed. Warmth touched Lydia’s heart. She and her sister had laughed together.
“You will have a cup of tea?” Susanna lifted the kettle, and its scream turned to a soft puffing.
“Denke. That would be most wilkom.” Lydia took the chair that Susanna indicated and sat rocking while Susanna brewed tea in a brown earthenware pot.
When Susanna picked up the tray, Lydia rose quickly. “Shall I take that for you?”
“Like you, I can manage.” Susanna smiled. “I’ve had my limp for so long that I just automatically balance.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .” Lydia felt sure her cheeks were scarlet.
“Ach, don’t be embarrassed.” Susanna set the tray down on a small table between the chairs and settled herself before pouring the tea. “I just find it easiest to mention my disability first, so people don’t have to tiptoe around the subject.”
“You’ve had it a long time, you said?” Since you were three, and you were in the crash that killed our parents. But you don’t know that, do you?
“Ja. It was an accident of some sort when I was very small. I don’t remember it, so it’s as if it never happened to me.”
“I suppose that’s gut, not to remember. If either of my boys were hurt . . .” Lydia stopped, seeing Daniel and David’s faces in her mind.
“You have little boys?”
Susanna was probably just being polite. She couldn’t really be interested in a stranger’s children. She didn’t know they were her nephews.
“Two boys,” Lydia replied. “Daniel is eight, and David is six.”
“That’s so nice.” A faint wistfulness crossed Susanna’s face, as if she, too, were longing for something she couldn’t have.
“They can be a handful sometimes. They’re at school now, but they’ll be off for the summer almost before I’m ready for it. My mamm keeps reminding me to cherish these years, because they go by so fast.”
Again a fleeting expression crossed Susanna’s face—sorrow, this time. For her own mamm, Lydia supposed. Like most Amish, Susanna would no doubt accept her mother’s passing as God’s will, but her feelings of loss would still run deep.
“Well, let us have a look at the clock.” Susanna rose, setting her teacup on the tray. “I’ll open it. You just finish your tea.”
“The tea is delicious.” Lydia sat, obeying, and sipped the aromatic brew while she watched Susanna open the box. “Mint, is it?”
“Ja, my own blend of spearmint and peppermint. I thought I might make it to sell in the shop, but I didn’t really have enough plants for that, so we just enjoy it here with our special customers.” Her sweet smile included Lydia in that group.
Lydia tried to keep her mind on the clock, surely one of Adam’s best, but her thoughts persisted in straying to the subject close to her heart.
You are my sister, Susanna. She couldn’t say the words, not now. Mamm had been right when she’d cautioned her. It would be unkind to upset Susanna’s life at such a time.
But the longing was there, and one day, this longing would be fulfilled. One day it would be right to tell Susanna about their parents.
And then what? She had told Chloe, and that had certainly not gone as well as she’d hoped. She must be sensible about her dreams for her sisters. She could not expect instant love or an automatic relationship.
Susanna had the clock out on the table. Lydia drained her cup and went to stand next to her as she unwrapped it. You are my sister, Susanna, she said silently, watching her. And one day you will know it.
Susanna lifted out the clock, surveying it from all angles, studying it. Lydia held her breath.
When Susanna looked up, her face was transformed by her smile. “Lydia, this is wonderful-gut work. Your husband is a fine clock-maker for sure.”
She could breathe again. “It’s gut enough to sell in the shop?”
“I would be pleased to have it to sell, and as many more as you would like to bring in.” There could be no doubting the genuineness of Susanna’s enthusiasm. “I’m sure I can sell them. Maybe not right away, but once we start having tourists coming through town, sales will pick up.”
“Adam will be wonderful glad to hear this.” At least, she trusted he would be once she explained it to him.
“Then we can all look forward to a gut relationship, ain’t so?” Susanna smiled.
“Ja, for sure.” More than you know, Susanna.
* * *
When Lydia reached home, the house was suspiciously quiet. Her mother sat at the kitchen table, Lydia’s mending basket in front of her, deftly fixing a torn seam.
“Denke, Mammi.” Lydia knew better than to assume her mother would watch the boys without finding something that needed doing. “Where are the kinder?”
“Upstairs. They are having a little time thinking about how to behave.”
“They misbehaved?” That was so unusual that Lydia had to force herself to believe Mamm was serious.
“Ach, don’t look so upset.” Mamm smiled, folding up the mended pants. “It would be a sad day when I couldn’t handle two little boys fighting.”
“I am so sorry they did that when you were here to watch them.” Lydia sank down in the nearest chair. “They have been squabbling so much lately. I don’t know what’s gotten into them.”
“They are chust being boys,” Mamm said, her tone placid. “I mind when I was in the hospital after Matthew was born. You had your hands full with Andrew and Joshua fussing at each other all the time, ain’t so?”
“Ja, that’s so.” Lydia felt her temples begin to throb. “They were upset because you were in the hospital, so they took it out on each other. But I’m not sick. Nor Adam.”
“Ach, it doesn’t matter what’s wrong, Lydia. You should know that about kinder. They sense it when the grownups are upset, and that makes them fratch at each other.”
Lydia sighed, rubbing her forehead where the tension was building. “Ja, I guess we have been . . .” She stopped, shaking her head.
“Don’t start telling yourself it’s your fault, now.” Mamm reached over to pat her hand. “You can’t make everyone happy all the time. The boys will be all right.”
Lydia shook her head. “I’m their mamm. I should have seen what was troubling them.”
“They will be fine, and you will, too.” Mamm crossed to the hall where she’d hung her bonnet. “And here is something else for you to think about. I brought something you should have.”
She set a bag on the table, where it landed with a solid thud. Mamm’s face grew solemn as she looked at it. “When we cleared up the house after your parents died, I kept some things of your mamm’s. I thought maybe someday you would want them.”
Headache forgotten, Lydia reached into the bag. The object inside was a wooden dower chest, the kind of small one that a loving father might make for a daughter to keep her treasures in. She touched it gently, imagining she could feel something warm in its smooth surface. “This was my mamm’s?”
“No, the box was one your daadi made for you. I thought it was right to keep your mammi’s things in it, so you’d have something of both of them.”
Lydia gave her a questioning look. “But you never gave it to me.”
“No.” Mamm’s face seemed to crumple, as if tears were not far away. “I realized that I couldn’t give you her letters or her journal because . . .”
“That would have told me about my sisters.” Lydia finished the sentence for her, her voice choked.
“Ja. I’m sorry.” Mamm shook her head as if to clear it. “I could never read those things. It would be prying into Diane’s secret thoughts. But you are her daughter, after all. Maybe this will answer some of your questions.” She bent to kiss Lydia’s cheek. “I must go now.”
Lydia just sat where she was, her hands on the box, hearing Mamm go upstairs to the boys and their muted voices telling her they were sorry. In a moment they were down again, happily walking out to help their grossmammi harness her buggy horse.
The old house fell silent after the screen door banged behind them. Lydia caressed the box, her fingers tracing the fine workmanship, imagining her father making it for his small daughter. Love—there must surely be love in every inch of it.
She lifted the lid, aware of the wood scent that clung to it after all these years. A white handkerchief covered the contents, and she lifted it off with gentle fingers.
A handful of letters, tied together with a bit of ribbon—a study of the addresses and the postmarks told her they were letters exchanged between her parents before they were married. She laid them aside, not sure she ought to read them. How would she feel about Daniel, years from now, reading the letters she’d once written to Adam?
A fold of tissue paper, unwrapped, revealed a pressed violet. Fearing it would crumble at a touch, she lifted it to her nose, inhaling its faint perfume. It had been a memento of something, for sure, but no one left alive would know what. Still, she could guess. She had a pressed apple blossom tucked away, picked the night Adam first kissed her under the apple tree.
Beneath the pressed flower lay two books—nothing else. Vaguely disappointed, she took out the first one. It was an Englisch Bible, with her mother’s maiden name imprinted in gold letters on the cover. Maybe Chloe would want to have the Bible.
The other book was fat and leather-covered, perhaps the book she’d used to press the violet. Lydia moved her fingers over the blank cover and opened it.
At first she didn’t realize what she was looking at, and then she understood. The book was actually a journal. Not a diary, with a space for each day, but rather a blank book filled with handwriting.
She leafed through it. Her mother had written in it sporadically, it seemed. Most of the entries were dated, with long stretches when maybe nothing had happened that Diane had felt was worth recording.
Lydia read a page: Diane talking about Aunt Sara—Lydia’s great-aunt Sara, in other words—teaching her how to make strawberry rhubarb jam. Diane had had a gift for making the scene come to life. Lydia could almost see her standing there at the stove, stirring the jam so that it splattered, Great-aunt Sara clucking and laughing at the same time. It seemed for an instant that Lydia could hear women’s voices and the sound of their laughter.
