The Memory Jar

by Tricia Goyer

  THE

  MEMORY JAR

  TRICIA GOYER

  Dedicated to my sweet daughter Alyssa.

  You are a gift to us,

  and I enjoy making memories

  with you day by day.

  The Lord God fashioned us for mighty ends, and nothing less than following that for which He made us can heal our restlessness of heart.

  ~ARTHUR JOHN (A. J.) GOSSIP

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  EPILOGUE

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  GLOSSARY

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  About the Author

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Share Your Thoughts

  PROLOGUE

  Sarah Shelter didn’t know her friend was going to die that day at the lake. If so, she would have looked into Patty’s smiling face and determined once and for all if her eyes were more blue or green. She would have captured Patty’s laughter in her memory. And held her friend’s hand as they walked down to Lake Koocanusa, like they used to when they were ten.

  Instead, Sarah settled onto the quilt they’d spread upon the rocky shore and plopped the last bit of strawberry cupcake into her mouth. The texture was fluffy and sweet. The vanilla frosting, good.

  “So yummy.” Patty’s eyes widened. Sarah’s older brother Jonathan, Patty’s brother Michael, and their friend Jebadiah chimed in their agreement. Their kind words warmed Sarah even more than the bright sun in the cloudless Montana sky.

  Patty licked frosting from her fingers. “The best cupcake yet. You really should open your own bakery, Sarah.”

  “You want to open a bakery?” Jebadiah asked.

  Sarah eyed her friend. “Blappermaul.”

  Patty tucked a stray strand of hair back in her kapp. “Don’t call me a blabbermouth.” She laughed. “Everyone knows yer the best Amish baker in all of the West Kootenai. Why would anyone be surprised?”

  “I’d be a customer.” Michael eyed the basket of extra cupcakes.

  Sarah took out one and handed it to Michael. “Amish women don’t run businesses, as Mem says, our jobs are to keep our husbands’ bellies full.” Heat rose to her cheeks. “Not that I have one, uh, yet …” She let her words trail off, hoping she didn’t sound too desperate. She trusted God would bring her the right bachelor at the right time. At least mostly trusted. Sometimes she wondered why God was taking so long. Wondered if there was a reason she’d been passed by.

  “Besides,” Sarah quickly added, “even if I were thinking of having my own business someday, I’m still fine-tuning my cupcake recipes. Got to get each jest perfect like.”

  Michael took a big bite and swallowed. “How could you possibly do better than this? Appeditlich!”

  Sarah didn’t know if Michael was the man for her, but she hoped that someday an Amish man would make his intentions known. If not a young man from one of the twenty families that lived in the West Kootenai, then maybe one of the thirty Amish bachelors who visited their corner of Montana every year.

  Patty’s dog, Monty, snoozed with his chin resting on Sarah’s knee. Gray and scraggly, he’d followed at Patty’s heels for the last eight months.

  Sarah stroked his paw. If a dog like this — that looked more like a mangy squirrel with a dog’s legs — could find love, couldn’t she?

  The call of an eagle interrupted her thoughts as it swooped over Lake Koocanusa. It glided over the dark blue waters. Stately pines and white-trunked birch trees lined the lake’s shore.

  From their place on the colorful quilt, Sarah eyed the tall bridge that crossed the wide lake. It sparkled in the summer sunshine like silver. Yet the bridge’s beauty and complexity were no match for the small pinecone she’d picked up. The pinecone wasn’t much longer than a green bean, but it was perfectly intricate. Sarah needed something for her memory jar to remember this day — the day when Michael’s eyes had lingered on her longer than ever — but not a pinecone.

  Sarah tossed it into the lake. It bobbed for a minute and then rose on a gentle wave, most likely caused by a speedboat out there somewhere. Then a glimmer of white on the rocky shore caught Sarah’s attention. She scooted to the edge of the picnic blanket and picked it up, turning it over in her fingers. It was as lily white as marble, so different than the gray stones and gravel that covered the beach. Holding it up to the bright sunlight, she saw a cross shape etched into the stone.

  Deep laughter rose from behind her. Sarah touched her kapp and then glanced over her shoulder. Michael was standing, circled up with the two other men. Yet his eyes weren’t on them, but on her. He smiled. Heat rose up her cheeks and she quickly looked away.

  “The fish was so large she broke the line!” Jebadiah exclaimed. “Gut thing. I would have been pulled into the water had she not.”

  “Look at that.” Patty pointed across the lake. “Those trees on the other shore look like eyelashes. They’re all fringed and full.”

  “The lake is an awfully big eye,” Sarah’s brother Jonathan teased.

  They didn’t understand. The guys saw a lake, but Patty saw a masterpiece.

  If the lake was an eye and the trees lashes, the mountains in the distance, white capped and pointed, made impressive eyebrows. It was Patty who’d helped Sarah see things in such a way.

  Sarah took her friend’s hand and squeezed. “Ja, I can see it. They are beautiful lashes, aren’t they?”

  Sarah rose and slipped off her shoes and stockings. Sharp rocks poked the soles of her feet. Lifting her skirt, she stepped into the cold water near where Jeb’s canoe was tied to the shore. Patty joined her. She stood by Sarah’s side, holding her skirt to her knees, and then took one step deeper.

  “Yesterday this water was snow,” Sarah said just loud enough for Patty to hear.

  “It’s a wunderbaar gut day when you can splash in snow, isn’t it?” Patty kicked softly and water splashed into the air. Sarah pictured a school of trout swimming closer to see what the commotion was about. Then Patty quieted and stared into the expanse, taking it all in. The only sounds were the lapping of the water against the shore, the distant buzzing of a motor-boat, and the guys’ voices as they moved on to hunting stories.

  Sarah fingered the stone in her pocket, letting her thoughts flit back to Michael. What things would he be interested in talking about beside fishing and hunting? Anything that would interest her? Would it be too bold to approach Michael and start up a conversation?

  Patty scurried up the rocky beach, shoes in hand. Sarah followed her, and then the two friends sat on the quilt, side by side.

  “I have an idea,” Patty called to the guys. “Let’s head across the lake in Jeb’s canoe. My cousin’
s place is jest on the other side. We can stop fer a quick visit.”

  Jeb and Jonathan quickly agreed, but Michael remained silent.

  Undaunted, Patty turned to Sarah. “You hafta come unless …” Patty leaned closer. “Unless you want to stay behind with Michael.”

  Sarah turned the stone over in her hand, and then tucked it into her pocket.

  “Michael’s not going?” Sarah whispered.

  “Ach, heaven’s no.” Patty lowered her voice. “He almost drowned in the river back behind our home as a lad. He’s terribly afraid of water. Besides, you don’t want my poor brother to sit alone, do you?”

  “But I’m comfortable with you. I don’t know where to start with … him.”

  Patty placed a hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “Every man is looking fer someone who will listen to his dreams. Ask Michael what he thinks about. What he hopes for.”

  “When did you grow so wise of love’s ways?” Sarah asked, glancing at Jonathan. He stood in the water with his handmade denim pants rolled up to his knees, guiding Jeb’s wooden canoe into the water.

  Patty didn’t respond, but Sarah knew the answer. Patty and Jonathan were in lieb. She wouldn’t be surprised if by this time next year they’d announce their wedding.

  “I know what it is to be falling fer a dear man,” Patty answered in a low voice. She took Sarah’s hands in her own, squeezing them tight. “We’ll be sisters if I marry Jonathan, and if you and Michael find love in each other — double sisters.”

  Sarah’s stomach trembled in soft waves. “It would be nice to talk to him some.”

  “That does it,” Patty called to the others. “Jonathan, Jebadiah, I’m crossing the lake with you. Michael, you won’t mind staying with Sarah, will you?”

  “Ne, I’ll stay.”

  The simple answer brought a double patter to Sarah’s heart. Patty rose and hurried down the shore.

  The three climbed into the wooden canoe, taking the paddles and beginning to move across the lake. Wide-brimmed hats shadowed the men’s faces. Patty sat between the guys, her grin as bright as the sun reflecting on the water.

  A speedboat zipped across the other side of the lake. Sarah thought about calling out to her friends, telling them to wait until the boat left. But it would do no good. When Patty’s mind was set on something, there was no changing it. Besides …

  Sarah turned to Michael. This was the chance she’d been waiting for.

  As the canoe continued farther out into deep water, the passengers’ voices carried back to shore. Even from this distance, Patty’s laughter was clear.

  Patty’s dog, Monty, trotted along the shore, whining for his master.

  “Come here, boy.” Sarah snapped her fingers. The dog curled up next to Sarah, but his eyes stayed fixed on the canoe.

  “Do you mind if I sit closer?” Michael asked.

  Sarah patted the quilt beside her. He sat down near enough to show Sarah he was interested, but far enough to be proper.

  “So I hear your dat’s finished with yer family’s new house.”

  “Yes, Dat finished the porch today.” She chuckled. “It’ll be better than staying in the old camper. It’s been mighty tight. Tonight’s the big night. We’ll be sleeping within real walls again.”

  The speedboat zipped by and the occupants waved. One of them yelled something. Sarah thought she heard the word bonnet but couldn’t be sure.

  Sarah lifted her hand and waved back. As summer warmed the Montana air and more tourists arrived, the peculiar Amish became as much of an attraction as the lakes, mountains, hiking trails, and bears.

  Michael shook his head at the passing boat, and then turned his attention back to her. “So I heard you got a job at the West Kootenai store. I heard yer cookies —”

  A scream filled the air. The speedboat had turned and now bore down on the canoe. Sarah’s mouth opened to call a warning, but no words emerged. The sky faded to gray. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

  Michael rose and sprinted to the water. “Stop!” He waved his hands at the speedboat. “Stop!”

  It was too late. With frightening speed, the boat caught the end of the canoe. The canoe flipped and tumbled like a dry leaf on the wind.

  Michael rushed into the water up to his knees. He turned back to her. “I can’t swim.” Panic twisted his face. “Patty cannot swim either.”

  Her friend … her brother … Jeb. Sarah clenched her hands. “Dear God, please let them be all right. Please.”

  “Patty!” Michael called. “Patty!”

  Sarah moved to Michael’s side, clutching his hand. The canoe righted and two heads bobbed up — hatless now. Breath escaped Sarah’s lungs. Jonathan. Her brother was all right.

  Jebadiah swam around the canoe, searching the water. Patty was nowhere to be seen.

  The speedboat circled back. Cries of panic carried over the water. Life jackets were thrown into the lake. Two men jumped in. Minutes passed, but still no Patty.

  “Go!” Michael turned to her. “Run to the …” His words fumbled. “There’s a house close. Call fer help. Send someone fer my dat.”

  A cry escaped Sarah’s lips. She slipped on her shoes without taking time to tie them, then ran. Her legs felt as solid and heavy as the pine trees around her. She hurried up the hill. Her heart pounded. Her lungs ached. She looked back. Michael had sunk to his knees in the gravel. There was still no sign of Patty in the water.

  Sarah knew she should pray more, pray harder, but only one prayer scrolled through her mind.

  Unser Vadder im Himmel, hallowed be thy name.

  The words of the Lord’s Prayer mixed Englisch and Pennsylvania Dutch in her mind.

  dei reich loss komme.

  dei wille loss gedu sei,

  uff die erd wie im himmel.

  Give us this day our daily bread.

  And forgive us our trespasses

  as we forgive those who trespass against us.

  And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

  Fer dei is es reich, die graft,

  un die hallichkeit in weicheit.

  Aemen.

  It seemed like an eternity until Sarah reached the closest house. She pounded on the door until it opened. An older Amish man stood there, eyes wide. “Ja?”

  “We need help,” she panted. “An accident! At the lake.”

  “Come.” He motioned to her. “My neighbor down the road, he has a phone.”

  The man hitched up his horse. Sarah climbed into the buggy, her body trembling like an aspen leaf in the wind.

  How much time had passed? Too much.

  Something weighed her pocket. She reached inside, pulling out the rock.

  A cloud moved in front of the sun, and a sinking feeling weighed in Sarah’s gut. “It’s too late. We lost Patty. My friend is gone.”

  Only a miracle of Christ could save Patty now. Sarah’s thumb followed the etching. All hope slipped from her heart.

  Dear Lord, what now?

  CHAPTER

  1

  Two years later

  With one motion, Sarah Shelter pulled her apron over her head. The garment smelled of fresh-baked bread, ham, and onions from the French onion soup she’d put on to simmer before leaving the West Kootenai Kraft and Grocery. Her Englisch friend told her once that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. If that were the case, Sarah should have been married off years ago. She’d cooked for plenty of Amish bachelors, every year befriending the thirty or so men who came to Montana for a season. Problem was, their eyes were more on the wild game that filled the hills than on finding a wife. Typically, girls waiting back home had already captured their hearts. The bachelors appreciated Sarah all right — to fill their stomachs until their western adventure came to an end and they returned to their farms, their families, and their waiting brides.

  Tossing the apron into a wicker basket filled with tomorrow’s wash, Sarah moved to her bedroom window and opened it. Warm, afternoon air that smelled of sun
shine and pine wafted in. She paused, staring up at the trees and the green pasture beyond, but mostly at the large mountain that rose in the distance. Eve Peachy had come into the store earlier to tell Sarah they’d been invited to hike Robinson Mountain. Sarah had laughed, thinking it was a joke, until Eve announced it was a bachelor who’d planned the outing.

  “Amos is planning it yet,” Eve had mentioned with a twinkle of her eye. Though not the most handsome bachelor, Amos had an outgoing, playful side. Eve knew if anyone could get Sarah to put on hiking boots to climb a mountain, it would be Amos.

  Sarah placed a hand over her heart — which danced a double beat at the mere mention of Amos’s name — and smiled. She supposed it was time to hike the mountain. Her older brothers had both hiked it, even her father and mother had. Spring had brought plenty of sunshine and had already cleared the snow from the mountain trails. She had no excuse really. And maybe … maybe she’d even get a chance to get to know Amos a bit better.

  She removed her kapp, placing it on her bed. She’d bathe early and spend the evening quilting on the porch. She never liked the sticky feeling that spending all morning baking at the store brought about. More than that, if one of the bachelors happened to stop for a visit, she’d look proper.

  Sarah moved to her dresser and stopped short. Two large jars — previously used for pickles — sat there, filled with all types of curious things. Pretty rocks, old pennies, a rusty nail, and a hand-carved whistle, each with a memory attached. But the third jar … she rested a hand on her hip. Its contents had been spilled out and the jar itself was gone. She picked up the white rock that had been dumped with the other items and fingered it. Then she set it back down.

  She balled her fist. A rush of anger tightened her shoulders. How could someone treat her things so carelessly?

  Stomping out her bedroom door through the living room, Sarah let out a shout. “Andy!”

  Hearing his name, her twelve-year-old brother rose from where he’d been sitting on the front porch and darted into the woods. Through the open front door, Sarah spotted what she’d been looking for. Her jar. It sat there covered with what looked like tin foil and …