In fact, as she said the word town out loud, tingles of apprehension pricked her cheeks. The hair stood up on her arms with anxious chills as if she were headed for the other side of the world, not several miles down the road.
Because it felt that way, didn’t it? After spending so many years, day after day after day at their house alone, that routine was all she knew. Doing chores—and waiting for the end of each day when Henry would be coming home, of course. As for town, she couldn’t even recall the last time she’d gone on her own.
But supplies all around were running low. Flora needed feed, and then there were items to pick up from the grocery. Certainly more milk, for the stray cat that she’d let become dependent on her since Henry was gone. It had come mewing expectantly on her doorstep for days.
“I’m only trying to help you, Flora. You do like to eat, don’t ya, girl?”
Flora snorted loudly in reply, catching Lydia off guard. Causing her to jump back in shock, her heart racing all over again.
There’d been a time as a young girl when she’d spent hours playfully braiding the manes of her father’s horses, fluffing out their tails with a comb. But ever since the one day when she’d taken her daed’s favorite horse for a ride, wanting to show off her handiwork, she’d shied away from the creatures. Nothing had ended well that day. Not for her when the horse got spooked by a car and she was thrown into a ditch and suffered a concussion. And especially not for the horse when the creature slipped down the embankment, broke its leg, and had to be put down for good.
The accident that long-ago day left her with plenty of scars and fears—a distrust for horses and even more than that, doubts about her ability to handle them. Plus, whenever she caught sight of one of the four-legged creatures, there was always that dull ache—the pain of knowing she’d been responsible for the demise of one of them.
She’d told Henry about the incident, but he’d never seemed to have much to say about it. He’d been clear that the only things she needed to conquer were the kitchen and the garden. He’d taken care of all the rest. He’d been in charge of everything else in their lives.
Which certainly didn’t help matters right now.
Lydia drew in a deep breath and tried not to think about that day in the past or her discomfort in the present. What she needed to do was focus on what was right in front of her, or she’d never get to town and back before the afternoon traffic picked up.
Making an effort to concentrate, she studied the leather pieces at her feet once more, until her eyes finally landed on something she recognized. Of course—the harness. That was the place to start.
Bending down, she picked it up and carried it over to Flora. But Flora wasn’t having any of it. Wagging her head vigorously, she whinnied up to the skies. Every movement, every sound causing Lydia’s courage to crumble.
“Please, Flora, please,” Lydia begged the creature, knowing for the horse’s own sake she couldn’t back down. “You need to settle,” she said, then remembered the slice of apple in her apron pocket.
She was far too nervous to let the horse take the treat from her hand. Instead, she tossed it on the ground in front of her. As Flora’s head dipped to snatch it up, Lydia quickly slid the harness over the horse’s muzzle and face. With tentative fingers, she worked to settle it into place.
One piece down! She stepped back and wiped her brow.
Heartened by her minor success, she could feel a twinge of relief ease the tightness in her stomach. Until Flora began to snort and shake her head. Lydia’s insides seized all over again.
It wasn’t like she didn’t know the next set of leather straps she needed to put into place. But she could hardly move, frozen in place by the sound of Flora’s unease growing louder and louder as she shifted left hoof, right hoof. Left hoof. Right . . .
Added to the feel of Lydia’s own heart thumping one beat, two beats, one beat, two . . .
“Looks like you’ve got a jittery horse on your hands.”
Lydia’s entire body leapt at the sound of a man’s voice behind her. Her hands flew to her chest, and she gasped out loud as she turned to a face she’d never seen before.
“I’m sorry,” the stranger apologized, jerking his head back. “I didna mean to startle you.”
Clutching the neck of her dress in fear, she felt like all the breath had gone out of her as she glanced around for something or someone to protect her. But all she could see were the empty fields. No people. No help. Not for miles around.
“What do you want?” Her voice rasped in a way she didn’t even recognize.
“Ah, well . . .” The man’s head dipped. “I wanted to . . . give you this.”
As the man raised his arm, she flinched. She’d been so caught off guard by him showing up out of nowhere, she hadn’t even noticed the package dangling by his side.
Confused, she stared at the parcel wrapped in a deep-purple paper, then eyed the Amish man suspiciously. “Are you a friend of Henry’s?”
Soon after Henry’s passing, some of his male acquaintances, mostly Amish and Englischers from his work and volunteer job, had made a point of contacting her, offering their regrets and condolences. A few of the men’s names were familiar to her from Henry speaking about them, and she could finally put faces to those names. But most of the men she didn’t know. Had never heard of. It was almost as if her husband had had a life other than the one they shared.
For her safety’s sake, she hoped this man was a part of that life of Henry’s. But his forehead pinched under his straw hat, telling her it wasn’t so. Another wave of fear washed over her.
“Henry?” His light eyes shadowed in confusion. “Nee. I don’t know a Henry.”
“No?” Tendrils of fear shot up the back of her neck. Her hands tightened into fists at her sides.
“No, I just moved back to town a couple of days ago. I live next door. I’m Jonas. Hershberger.” He turned slightly, pointed to the property sitting to the left side of her home. A stretch of scraggly shrubs separated her house from the old O’Malley home, which had been vacant for so long that the place barely existed to her anymore. She rarely even thought to look in that direction.
“I’m guessing Henry’s your husband?”
Her mouth opened, but no words came at first. She didn’t need to tell a stranger her business, did she?
“Jah,” she said. Lord help her, she lied. “Jah, he is.”
“Gut. I’ll get to meet him later then,” the stranger said, sounding as if he was actually looking forward to it. Causing her to bite her tongue to hold back the truth. “In the meantime,” he added, “like I said, this is for you.”
She shook her head decisively. “I canna take gifts from strangers.”
His brow tilted and he eyed her curiously. “Oh, nee. It’s not from me. Is that what you’re thinking?” The slightest smile tugged at his lips. “My dog has a habit of snooping around other people’s houses. And a really bad habit of dragging home things that don’t belong to him.”
He might’ve had a decent sort of face, much younger than Henry’s, and his eyes might’ve even held a glint of kindness. But even so, his explanation seemed mighty questionable. Especially with no dog at his side, and not one she could see anywhere in sight.
“He’s in the house, napping.” The man—Jonas—must’ve read her mind. “Worn out after all his gallivanting very early this morning. I have a feeling he must’ve found this on your doorstep.” He held out the package to her once again. “I’m sorry he chewed up the wrapping some.”
After all the weeks that had passed since Henry died, she couldn’t imagine what a gift would be doing on her doorstep. But the sooner she accepted the package, she considered, the sooner he’d go away. Wouldn’t he? “Danke.”
“You’re welcome.” He tipped his hat and took a step back, but to her dismay, he didn’t leave. Instead, he pointed toward Flora and the buggy. “She seems jumpy this morning. Let me finish that for you, okay?”
“Well, I .
. .” She was torn between wanting him to leave and wanting his help. Just as torn as she’d been with the Lord lately, she realized.
But at this point, she needed help more than she needed to be left alone. Maybe that’s why Gott had sent this kind soul her way. Maybe she shouldn’t be so quick to send him away.
“That would be mighty kind of you,” she finally acquiesced.
She watched as Jonas deftly hooked up one leather strap after another and at the same time began to win over Flora’s trust and affection. Between each fitting, he’d stroke Flora’s neck with his strong-looking hands. Little by little, the horse began to lean into his palm, as if she’d been missing a man’s touch and his was feeling just fine.
Lydia couldn’t help but gape at the change in the creature and was also surprised at Jonas, who finished tending to the buggy in less time than it had taken her to drag all of the equipment from the barn. He gave Flora a final stroke before he turned to her. “You’re all set here.”
“You certainly got Flora to calm down quickly.” She couldn’t hide her amazement. “Thank you verra much for your help. Danke.”
“You’re welcome . . .” He paused, and she knew from the way he inclined his head toward her that he was waiting for her to fill the space with her name.
After a moment’s hesitation, she let out a breath and complied. “Lydia.”
“Lydia.” His eyes smiled at her. “Nice to meet ya.”
He held out his hand and she stared at it for a moment before she realized he meant to shake her hand. She reached out and met his clasp and knew instantly why Flora had been so easily subdued. Even with a brief shake, she could sense his touch was firm and assuring, somehow making all feel well.
“You have a gut day, Lydia.” He started to step away but didn’t get very far. He stopped and turned with one last thing to say. “Oh, and I promise you, I’ll have a serious talk with Jeb about staying out of your yard.”
She figured he had to be teasing her. But she flushed, not sure how to respond. She wasn’t accustomed to anyone being playful with her. Henry had never been that way in the least.
Cradling the gift to her chest, she kept watch on Jonas Hershberger as he retreated from her yard. Mostly everything inside her believed he truly was her new neighbor. But as vulnerable as she felt lately, she had to make sure he crossed over her driveway and then into his. A small, wary part of her still had to be certain he wasn’t some impostor or drifter.
It wasn’t until he was out of sight that she even remembered the gift she’d been holding in her hand. Who in the world had left something on her doorstep? She couldn’t begin to imagine.
Tearing at the already-tattered paper, she hoped to find a card inside. What she discovered instead tugged greatly on her heart.
The square blocks of the small quilt might’ve been plain, and the patches of fabric not so vibrant, with only muted blues, worn-looking whites, and a subdued yellow here and there. But she knew where each and every one of those fabric swatches had come from. She’d made all of Henry’s shirts and she’d washed them over and over again. Some days as she’d hung them up, before shutting his closet door, she’d even reached out to press the fabric against her cheek, longing for something she wasn’t sure of, something she couldn’t express. The same hollow feeling came to her now, bringing with it a surge of fresh pain to her heart.
“Oh, Henry,” she whispered.
Hugging the quilt to her chest, she touched a corner of the fabric to her cheek. “Oh, Henry,” she whispered again. “I can’t believe you’re gone!”
As her tears fell on the quilt, she pulled it from her cheek and wiped the moisture away. Oh, but she wasn’t supposed to keep such a thing, was she? She shouldn’t keep it, should she?
Torn for yet another time that morning, she covered the quilt with the purple paper, not even wanting to look at it. It would make a nice, warm lap cover for someone. But that someone couldn’t be her.
She could barely see through her tears as she made her way to the rear of the buggy. Opening the storage box there, she placed the wrapped package with the load of Henry’s other things that she’d resigned herself to take to Goodwill. Buried it in there, so she wouldn’t be tempted to take it back out.
Hopefully she’d never know who the gift was from, and hopefully whoever stitched the thoughtful gift would never know what she’d done with it.
She forced herself to close the black box, then through tear-blurred eyes made her way around to the side of the buggy. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to the task at hand, willing herself to step up into the driver’s seat and take hold of the reins.
Tears dried on her cheeks as she shifted on the hard seat, attempting to find a grooved-out, comfortable spot. Her tongue felt thick as she clucked to Flora and tapped the creature’s backside with the reins, signaling her to move. But of course, after all she’d gone through to prepare the horse for their outing, and all her neighbor had done as well, the stubborn animal wouldn’t budge.
“Jah, Flora? This is how it’s going to be?” she said, exasperated. “I know I’m not Henry, but you still have a job to do.”
Even with her badgering, Lydia couldn’t get Flora to step an inch. Frustrated, she looked up to the heavens and sighed in despair. She needed patience. Lots of it. Her hands were so tightly clenched around the reins she wondered if maybe her tension was fueling Flora’s obstinate behavior.
She let go of the leather straps, and the two of them sat in silence while she closed her eyes and let her head drop back on her shoulders, attempting to calm herself and muster up enough patience to try again. As she did, a gentle waft of air drifted into the buggy and cooled her face. With the air and the quiet seemed to come the reminder of her husband’s ways . . . how he always let the reins fall slightly on Flora’s back not once but twice before they’d start out.
Opening her eyes, Lydia lifted the reins again, held them loosely in her hands, and did just the same as her husband had, trying to duplicate his touch. One light flick. Two light flicks. Finally, Flora consented.
The horse’s hooves clapped slowly down the gravel drive, now seeming to relax, seeming to know what to do. But Lydia couldn’t unwind. With every step the sure-footed horse took, her body tensed more and more. As they passed the side of the yard where she should’ve been hanging Henry’s clothes. As they passed the garden where she should’ve been picking vegetables for dinner.
Passing by all of the sameness that would never be the same again. Now every day was a surprise. Every day she had to find her own footing. And every day she didn’t like it. Didn’t know what to make of it. How to cope or survive it.
Only knew that somehow she must.
As Flora came to the end of the driveway, Lydia pulled back on the reins, startled to see how different everything looked without Henry by her side. The fields across the street sprawled in every direction, going on and on, all the way to the horizon. And to her right . . . the black length of road leading north to town dipped and swelled over and over again until it disappeared into an ominous haze.
Without her husband, her buffer, the world beyond her house appeared all too large. Too wide. Too much to handle. Clutching the reins in her hand, she sat, her heart pounding. Not wanting to venture out into it all, but wanting the trip to be over just the same.
Oh, but maybe if I just get started . . .
Maybe if she could just hear the steady clip-clop of Flora’s hooves on the pavement once again. Maybe the calming sound would ease her senses the way it used to. Lull her into a soothing daydream the way the motion always had with Henry at the reins. Let her forget the fears of the past like a clueless child. Not let her think about the present . . . being a young woman all alone.
Determined to at least try, she turned her head to the left, searching the road. All was clear. Veering Flora to the right, toward town, she signaled for the horse to go.
To her relief, Flora readily obeyed her command this time and sauntered onto t
he road. As the creature trotted in a steady rhythm, Lydia could feel the tension in her shoulders relax ever so slightly.
Be strong . . .
She could do this. She would do this.
“Good girl, Flora.” She found her voice. “Good girl.”
“MARISA WILL BE HERE to take you to practice any minute, Cole,” Jessica said, looking up from straightening a bin of teal-colored yarns. “Are you sure you brushed your teeth?”
Cole sat on her aunt’s old oak bench in the middle of the Knit One Quilt Too Cottage, heavily concentrating on a video game. Or at least appearing to. His slight frame barely filled the seat, making it easy for Jessica to see most of the words carved into the back planks of the bench. Not that she needed to see any of the words. She’d sat on that bench plenty of times herself as a young girl—and as an older one too—and knew her aunt’s favorite adage by heart: “Friends are like quilts. They never lose their warmth.”
“Cole,” she repeated when she didn’t get any response from him. “Your teeth. Did you brush them?”
Most likely noting the hint of sternness in her voice, her son responded. But only with a nod. Without looking up.
She pursed her lips, knowing it was silly to ask what was wrong with her typically talkative son. Why wouldn’t he be acting out and sulking some? Inwardly, wasn’t she too?
They’d been through a lot of changes recently. Changes in the amount of time they spent together since she’d inherited the shop and he’d started first grade. And the kind of time they spent together too. Instead of enjoying free hours in the evenings the way they used to, often dusk found them at the kitchen table, Cole with schoolwork or reading and her catching up on shop work.
From Cole’s perspective, there had been a major change in their living arrangements as well. It hadn’t been easy on him moving into Aunt Rose’s tighter living quarters above the shop, leaving behind their spacious apartment. Not to mention him having to give up his very own man cave—an awesome bedroom with outer space decor, complete with glow-in-the-dark stars, which Jessica promised she’d try to replicate soon . . . just as soon as things slowed down.
The Sisters of Sugarcreek Page 3
