by Tricia Goyer
Gideon chuckled. “Edgar, you have a wonderful memory. Do you remember the name of every visiting Amish child?”
“No, not close. But I’d never forget that name. Called it a thousand times at least during the search.” Edgar took another sip from his coffee.
Gideon’s heart cinched in pain, and a strange knowledge came over him. This man had been there—been part of the rescue team that had found him on that mountain. Surely there couldn’t be two searches, two young boys with the same name.
He rubbed the back of his neck, and a thousand needles pierced the skin on his arms. He knew he should ask about that time. That’s what he’d come for, wasn’t it? To know the truth?
Instead he thought of the stone-cold glare in Dat’s eyes. Maybe I don’t want to know.
Gideon nodded but didn’t speak. When his dinner came he ate half a piece of chicken and some of the potatoes. They talked about other things: the weather, the snow melt, and the results of the Amish auction a few weeks ago. Gideon knew if he asked a few questions, this man would be able to tell him all he longed to know—what really happened those few days—but fear caught the words in his throat and wouldn’t release them. There was a reason Dat hadn’t wanted Mem to tell him the truth.
Edgar watched him, a knowing look narrowing his gaze. “Yer not eating much.”
“Actually, I’m not too hungry. My eyes must be bigger than my stomach.”
The waitress approached again. “Would you like me to box that up, ja?”
Gideon nodded. If he didn’t eat it later, Caleb would. She returned a few minutes later with a paper plate covered with foil.
“Best get back to the cabin.” Gideon rose. “Caleb will be wondering on me.”
Edgar waved his good-bye, and Gideon could feel the older man’s eyes on him as he left.
Did Edgar have any idea the young boy was him?
CHAPTER
5
Lydia sat next to Dat as they drove the buggy the short mile to the neighbor’s house where the funeral would be held. Mem and Dat’s house was small, and when Amish friends offered up their place for the funeral, Dat had accepted. It made her feel good that even though Mem and Dat had only been living in West Kootenai for three years, most of the town would show up. She and Dat could have walked, but they needed their buggy to drive to the cemetery after the funeral.
Lydia pressed her sweaty palms flat on her thighs and smoothed the small wrinkles in her black dress. It was the plainest, simplest dress she could find, but it was not an Amish dress and cape. She’d pinned up her hair, but she had no kapp on her head. Guilt echoed shallowly in her chest. She should be thinking most about her mother, about her loss, but what weighed heaviest on her mind was walking into the Sommer house and noting everyone’s eyes on her. She imagined their thoughts: The Englisch daughter has come now, has she? Too bad her mother had to live her last years with such shame.
Lydia took in a long, slow breath and told herself to suck it up. It didn’t matter what they thought. She’d made the right choice. She had a great career and a good life in Seattle. She had friendships with her coworkers and knew a couple of neighbors in her apartment complex too. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have a fine and fancy Englisch house. She liked her place decorated simply. It was easier to clean. It gave her more time for reading and editing.
Still, as the metal buggy wheels rolled over the dirt road, it felt as if the gravel scraped her heart. They were right, in a way. She could have made a different choice. She could have been there during Mem’s last days, last years.
The line of buggies came from both directions. Other folks walked, their heads low and their pace slow as if heavy hearts weighed them down. She supposed they were sadder for Dat than for Mem. Mem was a good woman—no doubt ushered through heaven’s gates—but Dat would be living without the wife he’d shared his life with for forty years. Living alone, without a daughter to depend on.
One man glanced up as they passed on the narrow dirt road, and she could almost read his thoughts in his gaze: what old man deserves this?
She quickly looked away and glanced at the bunch of wildflowers laid on newspaper on the seat between her and her dat. Bringing flowers to a funeral was an Englisch tradition, but she needed some excuse for getting out of the house this morning. Her dat’s low sobs from the bedroom that he now slept in alone broke her heart.
If the rush-hour traffic had moved this slow in Seattle she’d have been tapping her fingers on the dash, but in this place it seemed normal—right even—that the idyllic scenery rolled by like a slow-motion film.
The mare moved at a steady pace, and the sun through the trees created a patterned mosaic on the road. Sitting next to Dat in the buggy brought a thousand memories. Growing up she’d never thought she’d leave, but after Lydia discovered the truth, she knew she couldn’t stay, and she’d bought a ticket to a city as far west as she could go. Being a face in the crowd meant no one would ask questions. No one would ever know who she really was.
The thing was she knew. And in her running she’d spent too many quiet nights alone when she could have sat around Dat and Mem’s table. When she could have curled next to the wood fire under a quilt and chatted with Mem about her day. Now it was too late.
A cool wind blew, caressing her face. Tears rimmed her eyes. The mare tossed her head slightly, seeing the line of parked buggies.
Visitation—and the first viewing—had been last night. She’d spent the whole day cleaning and then had made sandwiches for dinner. Feeling as if she was going to get sick—or maybe pass out—Lydia had pinned up her hair, washed up, and dressed in a simple garment before they’d welcomed folks into their home. Mem had lay in a plain pine coffin on the back, screened-in porch. Lydia had stood silent by Dat’s side, the dust carried on the breeze through open doorway tickling her nose.
As the women from the community had passed the casket, she’d tried to remember which ones had helped wash Mem’s body and dressed it in the long, white dress, kapp, and apron—the same kapp and apron Mem had worn on her wedding day. After the viewing, the local bishop performed a short service. Even now Lydia couldn’t remember the words. Had she been listening at all? Not really. Instead, her mind had replayed the many moments she’d spent in her mother’s loving arms—memories she hadn’t allowed herself to think about for years.
Last night, nearly one hundred people had strolled by her mem’s open casket—almost everyone in the community, including Gideon, although Lydia did what she could to not make eye contact with the handsome bachelor. Everyone spoke to her and Dat about Mem’s kind heart. Mem had that way with folks. You met her once and felt as loved as her best friend. It was a trait Lydia wished she had picked up…or did she? It was the community part of being Amish that Lydia had fled from.
And now the Amish funeral would finalize all Mem’s years of living.
Dat parked the buggy next to the Sommers’ house. Two men waited to tend to the buggy for them. She took the wildflowers from the passenger’s seat, and after dismounting they walked to the front door. Neighbors already gathered inside. Lydia placed her free hand in Dat’s, and they stepped inside together.
The casket had been carried to the Sommer house. A row of children sat with their mems. She remembered being their age and attending funerals just like this one. It had been a normal part of Amish life.
Lydia tried to ignore the stares. Dat released her hand and moved to the living area, where the men took their seats. There were two seats closest to the casket—one for him, one for her. At funerals family members of the deceased were allowed to sit together. But she couldn’t make herself sit there yet—in everyone’s full gaze.
Instead she crossed her arms over her chest as an older woman approached.
“Lydia, I’m Ruth Sommer. This is our place.” She offered a welcoming smile and eyed Lydia’s clothes. “That’s a pretty dress.”
Lydia studied the woman’s eyes. Her comment appeared to be genuine. Lydia g
lanced down at her simple black frock. It wasn’t typical Amish dress, but as close as she could find without pulling out her Amish clothes. She’d thought about wearing them—to honor Mem—but she didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.
Ruth motioned to the kitchen. “Lydia, this is my daughter, Marianna.”
Lydia followed her gaze to a young woman by the kitchen sink—an Englisch woman. She was pouring a cup of water for a toddler—a daughter, maybe, or a sister?
Marianna stepped forward and offered a sweet smile. “It’s gut to meet you. I hope you’ll stay around. And this is my husband, Ben.” A handsome Englisch man with bright blue eyes stepped forward, and Marianna nodded knowingly. Even though Marianna didn’t dress Amish, she wore a simple dress and a head scarf. Her mannerisms seemed Amish, too, and Lydia guessed it had been in the last few years that she’d left the Amish to marry this Englischer. What amazed Lydia most was that Marianna’s mem seemed comfortable around her daughter despite her decision to not be Amish. Lydia thought her mem had been the only one who hadn’t shunned a wayward child, as was expected. Maybe West Kootenai was a different place.
Lydia offered a slight smile despite the ache in her stomach. Under any other circumstances she would have enjoyed getting to know this family. But here, now, her legs grew weak under her long skirt, and her shoulders and arms ached as if she’d been trying to hold herself together within the grasp of her own embrace.
“Nice to meet you both. Thank you for opening your home. I best seat myself.”
A silence fell over the place. The service was about to start.
“Here, let me get those.” Mrs. Sommer reached for the wildflowers in Lydia’s hands. “I’ll put them in water.”
“Danki. Thank you.” Lydia offered them over. She guessed Mrs. Sommer would put them in a jar of water and keep them in the kitchen since the Amish never used flowers to decorate a casket or room where the funeral was held.
Lydia sat next to her father. So many Englisch in the room. How did they suffer through the two hours of songs and sermon in German?
They started by reading a hymn, and then the bishop stood for a sermon. Even though she hadn’t attended an Amish service for many years, being amongst the simple people, with their deep faith, brought a peace she hadn’t experienced in a while.
The bishop’s voice rose as he scanned the room. His eyes paused on her for a moment and then continued on. “What a person sows in this life, he will harvest in ewigheit. So Jesus says further, ‘Lasset uns gutes thun und nicht mude warden.’”
“He will harvest in eternity,” Lydia translated in her mind. “Let us not be weary in doing good.”
“For the one who sowed good seed, he shall find grace at the time of judgment. He shall receive a home in heaven—something that can never be stripped away. But if one sows the worldly seed, his reward is destruction—eternity in hell.”
Lydia’s heart settled at the rise and fall of the bishop’s words. The cadence was beautiful…not something one heard in everyday life, walking on city streets. Was it just four days ago she’d been dodging taxis to run across the street and grab a chai latte from her favorite tea shop?
Her shoulders straightened. Gideon sat with a few of the other bachelors. He glanced at her and offered a sad smile. Deep folds in his forehead displayed a pained expression and compassion for her—for her dat. Seeing that comforted her. Even though their first meeting had been filled with angst, at least there was a somewhat-familiar face.
Lydia held her emotions captive, binding them under lock and key, refusing to let them release. Heat surged through her from her effort, and she pretended someone else’s mem lay in the coffin. Unlike the few Englisch funerals she’d attended in which most of the service memorialized the deceased, in this gathering there was no talk of Mem other than stating her name, the date of her birth, and the date of her death. Instead the bishop continued on, speaking of Genesis and God’s creation of man for eternity. And then he shared the verses Lydia had heard at nearly every Amish funeral:
“‘Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that heareth my word, and believeth on him that sent me, hath everlasting life, and shall not come into condemnation; but is passed from death unto life.’
“‘Verily, verily, I say unto you, the hour is coming, and now is, when the dead shall hear the voice of the Son of God: and they that hear shall live.’
“‘For as the Father hath life in himself; so hath he given to the Son to have life in himself; and hath given him authority to execute judgment also, because he is the Son of man.’”
Tears filled the corners of her eyes. Lydia’s heart warmed at those words as if someone had started a kindling fire deep in her chest. She let out a low sigh. This was a good message for Mem, but what about her?
When the sermons were done and another hymn was read, it was time to leave for the cemetery.
Four men, her dat’s friends, carried the casket from the house to the black, horse-drawn hearse. They sat in silence as Dat drove the buggy. Lydia didn’t know what to say to bring him comfort. She doubted any words could. And for the first time since leaving the Amish a deep missing came to her. As she drove in line with these faithful people she considered what returning—really returning—would be like. Not only to chronicle the “stepping into the old ways” as Bonnie encouraged her to do. But to consider the way of faith she’d left. To consider God.
They approached the small cemetery, and her eyes moved to the grave—an open chasm waiting for the simple pine coffin. Men from their church had spent the past two days digging it, coming as they could between chores, the sweat of their labor mingling with an occasional tear.
The black-dressed members of the community moved from their buggies and circled the grave. There were no tears now; those would be shared in private.
The bishop said a few more words at the graveside. The whole thing seemed part of a dream. Lydia had edited books about death, dying, funerals, and grief. Those concepts were easy to express on the printed page, but in reality the emotions jumbled together.
Anger, sadness, longing, mixed with a hint of joy that Mem no longer faced sickness or pain. Yet when they lowered Mem’s coffin into the hole in the ground Lydia’s knees trembled and her stomach turned. The blue sky and green of the trees faded to gray and the kapps and faces of those around her blurred.
“I can’t watch it. I can’t…”
She turned and walked back down the road, the sound of shovelfuls of dirt hitting the wood behind her. She refused to look back, to see the reaction of the others as she walked away. Thankfully Dat didn’t follow as she went to stand by the buggy. The sky was bright blue and high. Really high, as if God had attached strings to the heavens and hiked it up.
It was easier in Seattle to think that life was up to her, but here it was hard to think that. Being in her parents’ home exhibited a faith lived out even more than spoken. Witnessing her mem’s burial made her wish she could believe like them. How could they just accept it without question? Mem had told her faith was believing what she couldn’t see. Yet what she saw—what she knew about herself—was what made the believing impossible.
“You all right?”
It was only as she heard the voice that she realized footsteps approached. Lydia turned. Gideon walked to her, his face a mask of pain.
She opened her mouth to answer, but no words came.
“Forget I asked. Of course you aren’t all right. This day—I imagine this day is the worst one you can think of.” His gaze told her he understood. What pain had he faced? She couldn’t ask, not now. If she did the tears would come for certain.
“It’s a bad day, all right.”
“Can I walk you to the Sommer house fer the meal?”
“Walk?”
He sheepishly kicked at a rock on the ground. “I don’t have my own buggy here in Montana.”
“A walk, ja—yes. It’s not far. It’ll be…good to stretch my legs. To give my heart space to ache.” She’d alm
ost said gut instead of good. It surprised her how quickly her speech wanted to make the natural transition to the slower cadence and common Pennsylvania Dutch phrases she’d spoken for most of her life.
Gideon nodded, then turned back toward the cemetery. “I’ll tell yer dat. I’ll be right back.”
She nodded and watched him go. She then lifted her head again toward the sky and smiled sadly. Lydia wasn’t sure if folks got a chance to talk to God when they got to heaven. If so, she imagined Mem bending God’s ear, telling Him with persistence her daughter, Lydia, needed a gut man in her life—an Amish man to bring her happiness.
Yet it wasn’t Gideon’s Amishness that made him so appealing. It was his nature, his temperament. Lydia had gone on numerous dates in Seattle with guys who had something to prove. Gideon wasn’t like that. He was gentle enough to calm a stubborn horse, yet bold enough to stride across a pasture and tell an Englisch woman to stop taking photos. For the first time she understood why Bonnie asked folks about their life stories. Gideon was a protector, yet his gaze could be wary at times, and it made her want to ask what had happened to make him like that.
If she’d been looking for someone to draw her interest, Lydia would have come up with a different list of qualities in a man. Now she wasn’t looking, yet in Gideon she saw qualities that wouldn’t have made her list but would be there from now on.
And as Lydia watched Gideon return with slow, deliberate steps, she imagined folks did get to talk to God. She also guessed He listened. Or at least He listened to Mem. How else could one explain a man like this walking into her life when she felt her weakest? How else could one explain that with Gideon she didn’t mind being weak—didn’t mind him seeing the tears that refused to be dammed any longer with missing Mem?
CHAPTER
6
They walked side by side, and Gideon pondered the look on Lydia’s face and the knowledge that she’d wasted the last years of her mem’s life living an Englisch lifestyle. The thought saddened him.
