The Promise Box

by Tricia Goyer

  Lydia reached up, as if to fiddle with her kapp strings, and then dropped her hand. Gideon tried to picture her in Amish dress. He liked that thought.

  Lydia forced a smile and looked back at Micah. “I’ll get in now and check on Dat. Thank you so much for giving him a ride home.”

  Amos nodded. “Ja, of course. I hope he feels better soon.”

  Micah took a step closer. “Won’t you let us know?”

  Lydia nodded. “Of course.” Then she glanced to Gideon. “See you tomorrow…in the pasture, that is.”

  “Ja, me and old Blue…” He waved as he strode away, wishing he’d come up with something wittier to say.

  The other bachelors followed Gideon out from the front lawn. When the front door of the cabin shut behind them, with Lydia inside, Micah turned to Amos. “Oh, boy, what I would give to have a buss from her!”

  Amos winked. “Just one kiss? I’d like to make her my girl.”

  “Ja, but she’s Englisch.” Micah glanced back over his shoulder. “Too bad.” He climbed into the buggy.

  Amos smirked. “Maybe so, but I’ve not been baptized yet. There’s no one who says I couldn’t make her my girlfriend.”

  “I say you can’t.” The words shot from Gideon’s mouth.

  “You?” Amos looked back at him. “Don’t tell me yer fancy on her. You’ve been baptized. I heard you preach that day when the bishop was out of town.”

  “Ja, that’s true.” Gideon’s mind scurried to find an excuse. “But have you thought of this…” He paused, considering. “Her mem passed jest days ago. You should wait two weeks at least before making a social call.”

  Amos lifted a brow and eyed him. “Is that a church rule?”

  “Ne, jest common courtesy.”

  Micah climbed into the buggy, and Amos did the same. “All right, then, I’ll be watching you too, Gideon. Making sure yer courteous.” He motioned to the backseat. “Coming?”

  Gideon shook his head. “Ne, I’ll walk. I have to stop by the Carash place and tell Dave how the horse training’s coming.”

  Micah nodded, but Gideon could tell Micah knew he was just blowing hot air about the common courtesy. Gideon couldn’t believe how he was acting either.

  Why had he been so bold and forceful about Lydia? He knew why. He couldn’t bear the thought of these other bachelors playing with her emotions. He didn’t know her too well, not yet, but something told him that Lydia was special. More special than to be treated with disrespect.

  It wasn’t that he had any intentions. As a man baptized into the church, he couldn’t. Shouldn’t.

  CHAPTER

  9

  Dat sat in the rocking chair, and Lydia opened the white curtains in the front windows wider, then sat down on the green padded footstool before him, determined to look at his leg.

  He waved a hand her direction. “It’s fine, really.”

  Lydia placed her elbow on her knee and her fist under her chin to wait. “I’m not going to move until I look.”

  “Didn’t ya have laundry to take down from the line?”

  “I did—I do, but it can wait.” She grinned up at him. “You should be donkbawr I don’t jest call the doctor.”

  “Thankful? Ne. There’s no need for a doctor! It’s only a bruise.”

  “If that’s the case, then let me see. You know how fartzooned Mem would be if I didn’t insist. She’d be sitting here doing the same.”

  Dat nodded and his gray beard brushed against his homemade shirt. “All right, then, but just because yer doing so well with your Amish words. I thought you’d forgot yet and got all fancy like.”

  “How could I forget?” She reached forward and grabbed his pant leg, slowly rolling it up. “I’m actually enjoying letting my words relax. There was much about my upbringing I missed.”

  He cleared his throat. “Enough to make you want to come back?”

  Lydia paused her movement.

  His lips pressed into a thin line, and the wrinkles around his mouth splayed out. His top lip had a small nick from his razor, and she remembered Mem had always shaved him. She hadn’t thought about that. Who would help him now, and as he aged? How could she turn her back?

  She took his hand. It trembled in her grasp. “You finally asked. I was waiting for you to. Mem was the one who always held you back from asking me before—held your reins from prodding me so.” She bit her lip, then lowered her voice. “I’m not sure, Dat. There’s a lot to think about. I’m still trying to figure out what I want from life.”

  Gideon’s face filled her mind, but she quickly pushed his warm smile and chiseled features out of her thoughts. If she returned to West Kootenai for good, the handsome bachelor wouldn’t be the reason. Besides, at the end of hunting season, he’d find his way back to his own home.

  No, family—and maybe even faith—would guide her decision. Gideon’s dark brown eyes and gentle demeanor might be able to tame a horse, but she couldn’t let him wrangle her heart so easily.

  “You mean you will consider it, ferleicht?”

  “Perhaps. But it’s something I need to think about.”

  Dat leaned back in his rocking chair, no longer hesitant about letting her check his leg. She returned to her examination.

  “Will you pray about it too?”

  Lydia finished rolling up his pant leg and winced. “Ja, ja. Of course.” Dat’s shin was bruised from the top of his foot up to his knee.

  “You got yourself good.” She prodded gently and then clucked her tongue. “But nothing looks broken. Just a nasty bruise.”

  “That’s what I get for trying to go grocery shopping. I couldn’t even make it to the front door.” He had a soft smile even as he said the words, and she knew it was from her admittance that she’d consider returning.

  Still, consideration was not a decision. Lydia tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear. She nibbled on her bottom lip, and her heart turned to a stone in her chest. How disappointed he’d be when she decided to return to Seattle after all.

  I didn’t promise. I told him I’d think about it. And…pray.

  Did she even think prayer worked anymore?

  Lydia placed her hand on his and forced a smile. “Don’t worry about doing the shopping. I’ll get some groceries tomorrow. I’m so sorry. I should have taken care of that today. I just…”

  “I saw we were out of coffee. Your mem did so much—managed our home so well—even on days she couldn’t get out of bed. I was trying to help.” Color drained from his cheeks. His face took on the gray shade of grief.

  Moistening tears caught her by surprise. “I didn’t get to the store because I looked in the Promise Box. I read a few of Mem’s letters.”

  “Beautiful, don’t you think?”

  “The letters?”

  “Ja, and the woman who wrote them. More beautiful through the years.”

  Lydia nodded, thinking of her mem. Dull brown hair, a plain-looking round face, heavy around her middle. She’d been beautiful to Lydia, to Dat.

  “She was simple and ordinary by the world’s standards,” Dat said, as if reading Lydia’s thoughts, “but she had such spunk. I remember when I first laid eyes on her. It was at a volleyball game. She ran and dove for the ball as if there wasna anything more important in the world. I liked that about her, but I mourned when she became the ball, being hit around by life.”

  He fisted his hands in his lap and pounded them softly once, twice. “The weakening of her heart over the years pained me to see. Each year she put aside doing more things she loved, but the worst was when year after year passed and no children ca me.”

  Lydia released his pant leg and swallowed down her emotion. “Nothing could be worse for an Amish woman…”

  “For any woman with a loving heart like Mem’s.” He unclenched his hands, sighed, and leaned back farther into his chair. “For years she was jest going through the motions. And then the promise came.”

  “The promise?”

  “Ja…that’s what s
tarted the box. One promise Mem clung to as if it held her very breath of life. More promises came after that, but the one promise softened her heart to hear the rest.”

  “It sounds like you’re building up the plot in a mystery novel.” Lydia chuckled. It was the only thing that kept her from crying over missing Mem.

  “It’s a mystery, all right. God’s promises are always a mystery. A gut God like that. He didn’t have to offer anything, but He gave us Himself, and so much more.”

  She scooted the stool closer and placed her cheek on his knee like she used to as a young girl. When she was younger, he’d just pat her kapp, but now her dat ran his finger through the red curls that framed her face. She imagined his smile. Maybe he even remembered her red curls from when she was a baby?

  “Was that first promise in the box?”

  “Ja. I remember the moment we arrived home from church service—yer mem was writing it down. She didn’t want to forget one word.”

  Lydia wanted to ask more questions, but she doubted her dat would tell any more than he already had. More than that, she wanted to read more of Mem’s words. The promise—whatever it was—would mean more coming from Mem’s heart.

  Rex approached and curled by Lydia’s side, and she ran her fingers through his fur. She lifted her head and looked into Dat’s eyes. “That first promise must have been pretty important.”

  “I’d say so.” Dat winked, then cleared his throat. “And I have another promise I must keep.” His brow furrowed.

  She scooted back and stood. “What’s that?”

  “I promised Annie from the store that I’d get help with the chores for the next few days.”

  “That’s a good promise. I’m glad she’s watching out fer you. If you just remind me of everything, I can do it. It’s been a couple of years.”

  Dat shook his head. “Annie made me promise something else too: that you wouldn’t do them. She says you need time for your own healing.”

  “Yes, okay, but then who?”

  “Vell, Ruth Sommer asked to come by with dinner. Her daughter, Marianna, has already offered to help with the chickens and garden.” Dat rose and hobbled to the window. “I was thinking Gideon for some of the work in the barn. I do need help with the harnesses.” He flexed his fingers. “I don’t have as much strength as I used to.”

  “Gideon?” She walked up to Dat and stood by him, shoulder to shoulder. Her stomach churned at his growing expectations. “What about Micah and Amos? They seem nice enou—”

  “Ne.” His refusal shot between them. “They are nice, but Gideon will be working right at the Carashes’ house. It’s so close. No need for another to make an extra trip.”

  “Gideon, eh?”

  She opened her mouth to remind him that a good Amish bachelor would never be interested in an Englisch girl, but a passel of dresses and kapps coming down the driveway kept the words balled up in her mouth. Dat had told her Ruth Sommer and Marianna would be coming by. They led the procession, and six more Amish women with them, each one carrying a basket filled with items.

  Dat nodded toward the approaching women. “I think that’s my cue to find something to fiddle with in the barn.” He limped toward the back door and slipped outside.

  The women’s voices carried up the long driveway, even though they spoke in low tones. They came because they’d cared for Mem. They came because Amish cared for one another.

  Lydia opened the front door, tucked her hands in her apron pocket, and stepped out onto the porch. White clouds had met up against the mountains, casting a shadow on the valley, but seeing the women’s faces brightened the day.

  “I hope we’re not intruding.” Ruth Sommer held up a basket filled with canning jars—plum jam, cherries, beets. “We brought you some things. It’s not much, but…”

  “It’s wonderful. You’ve already done so much.” Lydia stepped inside and welcomed them in. Without hesitation, the women hurried to the kitchen. All but one.

  “I thought I saw Marianna…” Lydia scanned the room.

  “She’s already gone back to check the garden,” Ruth explained. “She sometimes came down and weeded while your mem watched.” Ruth placed a hand on Lydia’s arm. “Marianna was afraid she’d tear up if she came inside—although I told her there was no shame in shedding a tear for a friend.”

  Lydia nodded, taking a deep breath. The women’s smiles lightened a load she didn’t realize she’d been carrying.

  A tear fell from the corner of her eye. She wiped it with her knuckle. “That’s gut—good—advice.” She shut the door, and then followed the women into the kitchen. “And I want to thank you for your friendship. The way you cared for Mem. She wrote often about how you visited, helped. She hasn’t been well for a very long time.”

  “That’s what the good Lord expects.” A small woman with grayish blonde hair placed an apple pie on the kitchen counter. “I’ve received help myself more than once.” The woman peered up at Lydia, concern narrowing her gaze. “And what about you—is there anything we can do to help you? I’m not gut with words, but if you need someone to visit with yer dat so you could get time to work on those books, I can send my husband down.”

  “I’ll be fine.” She waved a hand. “Dat goes to bed early, and I’m eager to work by lamplight. Maybe it’ll add more creativity to my edits.”

  “Not that you need that.” Ruth Sommer crossed her arms over her chest. “Your mem told us of your work. She tried not to talk pridefully, but you should have seen the way her eyes glowed.”

  Lydia tried to think of something to say but didn’t know what. Weariness descended upon her and the fresh reality of her loss hit her again. No one would ever care as much about her work as Mem had.

  A younger woman, also with red hair, approached. She introduced herself as Eve and then pointed to the kitchen. “I placed some bread on the counter. I’ll make sure a fresh loaf is delivered every morning for the next week.”

  Lydia shook her head. “No, that’s too much.”

  “It’s not too much. It’s just bread. Besides, I asked Gideon, and he offered to deliver it.”

  Lydia’s brows furrowed. “But why Gideon?”

  Eve pursed her lips. “He’s at the restaurant for breakfast, and he works right next door.” Eve’s expression told Lydia it would be foolishness to consider Gideon’s visit as anything more than just a helpful gesture. Eve also had a look of superiority in her gaze. Maybe Eve—and the other women—didn’t think Lydia could make bread, being Englisch and all. Maybe they felt it was their duty to make sure her dat didn’t starve.

  “Yes. Of course.” Lydia took a step back. Her father might have high hopes for her return to Amish society, but he was the only one.

  Eve cast a sideways glance at her, and Lydia felt as if an army of ants crawled up her spine.

  The women didn’t stay long. They hurried out as quickly as they hurried in. As their cluster of white kapps moved past the Carash place and disappeared down the road, Dat returned to the house and cut himself a large slice of apple pie. He sat at the kitchen table, and his shoulders slumped as if eating the pie seemed like too much work. He only picked at the golden brown crust.

  Lydia chatted about the kindness of the women, but Dat didn’t answer. Instead he pointed out the window toward the pasture.

  Through the tall grass, Blue trotted toward the Carash house. The horse’s gaze was on Gideon. Blue was most likely ready for dinner, to be brushed down, and be put into the corral for the night. But instead of paying attention to the horse, Gideon’s eyes were on the women as they walked past.

  Eve waved at him, and Lydia quickly looked away, surprised by the prick of jealousy that jabbed her heart. She crossed her arms over her chest and strode to the kitchen, eyeing the perfect loaf of bread. There was no reason why someone like Eve and someone like Gideon shouldn’t be attracted to each other. No reason at all.

  “Do you think you can talk to him about choring?” Dat asked. “I’d be happy to pay.”
<
br />   “Ask Gideon?” She lifted her chin, determined not to let jealousy stand in the way of friendship. He’d been good to her—to her dat. “Ja, of course. I’ll head down soon.”

  Lydia waited until Gideon moved to the barn with Blue. Then she made Dat a cup of tea and went to her room to freshen up. She ran a brush through her hair, telling herself that her emotions were a tangled mess after losing her mem and she shouldn’t get wrapped up in Gideon. Or who caught his fancy. Her heart raced as she thought about staying here and helping Dat. Would she have to face emotions like this every day? Being around people meant dealing with them…and figuring out her temporary place in the midst of them.

  In three days she’d remembered things she hadn’t in six years. She remembered the joy of being a daughter, a like-minded friend. She remembered the care of a community. She remembered the soft touch of her dat’s hand on her cheek. She remembered the joy she’d brought her mem—joy she shared openly in her Promise Box letters and notes. She’d never experienced such emptiness as she did over the loss of her mem.

  She also remembered what it was like to be interested in someone. She’d been so focused on her career she hadn’t given herself time to date, no matter how often Bonnie told her she “needed to get out and meet a nice guy.”

  Lydia twisted up her bun, pinning it, and then put on a long skirt and T-shirt. She remembered, too, how it felt to be an outsider. In Ohio she’d looked the same on the outside but internally was vastly different than those good people in her community. Here people knew she was different. They had no expectations she couldn’t fulfill.

  Lydia sauntered to the hooks hanging on the wall and grabbed a sweater, knowing the air would grow chilly in the afternoon.

  She headed down the dirt road, thinking of the editing work waiting for her back at the house. What would life be like without constant deadlines? While it was work she was good at, since being in Montana she hadn’t missed it. Instead it seemed like an unnecessary chore. How many beautiful summer days had she spent inside poring over ink on paper? Too many.

  She lifted her face to the fading sunlight, as if discovering its warmth for the first time, and quickened her steps.