The Promise Box

by Tricia Goyer

  He lowered his head, swallowed hard, and then lifted it again. “I didn’t know what to think at first, because I was there, helping Jacob Wyse build his wife’s coffin, and he had nothing but good things to say about his daughter. I didn’t see it at first…mostly because all I saw was her Englisch car, her Englisch dress, her Englisch ways.”

  Gideon took a breath and continued, realizing he did know her—or at least was starting to. “But things started to change. Maybe it vas her mem’s death, but maybe something else too.” He looked around. “I think for the first time she’s living the truth of who God made her to be. And only God working in one’s heart can bring such transformation.”

  Many faces filled with smiles at his words—except for Mrs. Peachy. Gideon glanced past her. He didn’t know why the woman had reservations about Lydia, but he guessed her Mama Bear instincts for her daughters had something to do with it.

  Ruth Sommer clapped her hands together. “Thank you. That does help.”

  Gideon nodded and then sat back and listened to them discuss Lydia. They discussed her strengths and he liked their logic: she edited books, so surely she knows a thing or two about teaching from them. She’d also been raised Amish and knew all about an Amish school.

  Gideon decided to slip out. He grabbed his hat from the hook and waved his good-bye. This was their decision; he just hoped his words helped them.

  His own comments—his defense of Lydia—put voice to all he’d been thinking. When had he come to admire her so? The change had come as silently as the chilling August nights, pointing to the autumn to come. As Gideon had shared with the Amish couples about Lydia’s transformation, he’d realized he could no longer wait. His words had confirmed in his mind what his heart had been telling him for a while. She was not the same woman who’d driven into their community full of questions and doubts.

  More than that, Gideon couldn’t imagine his life changing for good without her.

  CHAPTER

  18

  “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths,” Proverbs 3:5-6.

  “Ask of me, and I shall give thee the heathen for thine inheritance, and the uttermost parts of the earth for thy possession,” Psalm 2:8.

  Lydia didn’t know which she liked best—the short slips of Scripture that Mem had tucked into the Promise Box, the longer letters that she had written to Lydia, or the notes of Mem’s own thoughts and doubts. Sometimes reading Mem’s doubts helped her most—it helped Lydia know she wasn’t the only one who had questions. She wasn’t the only one who doubted God’s promises at times.

  She pulled out another letter and noticed the date. Just two days after the day she was born. How had she not seen this before?

  Lydia held her breath as she unfolded the letter. It wasn’t folded as neatly as the others and there were spots on the page. Tears?

  I don’t think I can sleep tonight. I’m not sure I can ever sleep again. I don’t want to close my eyes, unless I’m dreaming. All my attention is turned to one thing…one small person.

  We arrived at the small village of Elk Run at noon and even though we’d come a week before the due date, Jacob’s sister—the midwife—was waiting when we arrived. The smile on her face told us the news even before the words. She said the baby had come. Said she was healthy and beautiful.

  “She?” My knees weakened at the word. A daughter. I’d always dreamed of a daughter to read stories to, to bake with, to sit in the garden and whisper secrets with.

  “And the mem?” Jacob had asked. I knew he asked about her health, but so much more too.

  “She is well. She is resting. She asked if you’d come yet.”

  I hoped then that she wanted to see us, to share the joy, but my stomach clenched as the Englisch driver drove us there. Hopefully she didn’t want to see us so she could tell us to our faces that she was keeping the child.

  For as long as I live, I will never forget parking in front of the house. Three little boys wearing Amish clothes, with their blond hair cut straight across, watched us exit the van. I’d only taken two steps toward them when the oldest one—he must have been seven or eight—ran to me.

  “Are you our sister’s mem?” he asked.

  I nodded and smiled. My joy was only tempered with their loss. With their mem’s loss.

  She asked to see me first. Her blonde hair was tucked under a sleeping scarf. She held the sweet baby curled under her neck. I entered, and her smile made me want to cry.

  “She’s beautiful, Ada Mae. I knew she was going to be. And look, red hair.”

  She held the sweet boppli out to me, and tears filled my eyes so much that it took me a minute to blink them away. Then—there she was. Small round face. Red hair. Lots of red hair. I looked to the woman in the bed and the question must have filled my gaze, for she answered it.

  “The, uh, father…his hair was dark. But my mother’s…” She covered her mouth with a quivering hand and relief filled her face. “My mem’s hair was red. What a gut Gott to offer us this gift.”

  I slept on the couch the first night, and Jacob stayed at his sister’s place. I felt helpless when the baby cried in the other room. She wasn’t mine to tend to yet. I felt useless when I knew her mother was nursing her. I’d packed bottles and formula, but would I ever feel like her real mother?

  Yesterday, though, I was dressed and sitting in the living room when she exited with the baby. A bag was packed, and she was already in a car seat for the ride in the Englisch driver’s van that would take us back to the train station.

  Sadness filled the new mother’s face. So much sadness.

  If only my embrace could heal her wounds.

  “I do want to know one thing…before you leave.” The woman’s voice caught in her throat.

  “Ja?” I held my breath. The car seat seemed light compared to the worth of the treasure inside.

  “What…what is her name?”

  “Lydia.” The name released with a breath. “In the Bible she was the first one who believed Paul and who accepted the good news of Jesus. When thinking of names, what we wanted most is a daughter who believes.”

  Lydia moved to Mem’s cupboard, pulling out the ingredients for cracker pudding. She’d been up early thinking about it. Even though nearly two months had passed since Mem’s death, it was the strangest memories and longings that drew her. Mem had been her real mother—there was no doubt about that. She just wished she told her more often when she’d had the chance.

  The note from Mem she’d read last night made her ache for her mother something fierce. In all her growing-up years, Lydia had never doubted Mem loved her, but as she closed her eyes tight, the weight of Mem’s care pressed down on her even heavier than her thick quilt.

  In addition to the cracker pudding, Lydia decided to make a pie. She cut the round for the crust, just as Mem always did, and her eyes teared up to see the long, thin bit of crust that remained.

  “Our secret treat,” Mem would tell her. They’d take the strip of dough, add butter and sugar, and then roll it into a small pinwheel and bake it just so.

  “You got your daughter to bake with, Mem,” she whispered to the empty kitchen, emotion heavy in her throat. And as the pie baked, dozens of other memories filtered through her mind. It would be impossible to be in Mem’s kitchen without thinking of her…remembering.

  “Koon essa,” Mem used to call before dinner. Hearing those words, Lydia would run to the table. The words meant that the food would be gut, plentiful.

  Lydia had gotten the idea to write a cookbook during her first trip to West Kootenai. She’d been away from home long enough to realize that while she knew how to cook and bake, there were dozens—a hundred more—of recipes she wanted for herself, and so she’d sit with Mem and write them down. She also asked Mem to write down her recipes as she cooked.

  The hardest part was that Mem’s manner of cooking was the same as most of
the Amish women she knew. The recipes weren’t written down, but were known from long experience. Lydia had tried to scribble down notes as Mem added flour and spice and lard, but the measurements didn’t matter as much as “it jest feels right.”

  “Mem, how did you know to add an extra tablespoon of sugar?”

  “I knew ’cause it vas jest so.”

  “And shortening, Mem—how much do you add?”

  “The size of an egg.”

  That was the hard part too. Egg sized, handful, pinch, and sprinkling weren’t easy to replicate.

  And with the recipes, Lydia also jotted down familiar Amish sayings. Those had been easier to capture.

  “‘Them that work hard, eat hearty,’” she mumbled to herself.

  Looking back, collecting the recipes, was Lydia’s way to keep close to Mem. It was her safe way of keeping a connection. It made her feel creative too, as she cooked the recipes. But had that cookbook actually hindered her real desire?

  Now that her book—the story of her returning mixed with memories of her childhood—was well under way she wondered why she’d waited so long. Bonnie had known where the true story was. It simply took Lydia putting pen on paper to discover it.

  This place, these people, Dat’s home, returning. There was a story in all of it—just not for the audience she first thought. The message wasn’t what she thought either. She thought Mem had wanted a gut Amish daughter, but in truth she simply wanted one who believed.

  When the pie was finished, Lydia cleaned up the scraps from all her cooking and baking, putting them into a bowl to take to the chickens.

  “I believe You. I want to believe You more,” Lydia whispered as she hugged the bowl of scraps next to her body, stepping outside and hurrying toward the garden. The ruts in the grass were evidence of the day’s events with the church gathering, but her heart and soul felt as if they had been torn up even more—in a good way. Even though tears had flowed as she read Mem’s letter, the words worked as a plow tip, breaking up the hard parts of her heart.

  Reading about the moment that Mem saw her for the first time brought just as much hurt as healing. Mem could do nothing for the other woman’s pain. Had her birth mother ever gotten past the trauma? The loss?

  What about the boys—her brothers. Brothers. They most likely hadn’t understood at the time what was happening. How could a newly widowed woman explain such a thing to her sons? But did they understand now? Did anger fill them?

  Lord, if the dear woman hadn’t already faced enough with the loss of her husband. Why this?

  Lydia entered the chicken coop and scattered the scraps at her feet. The small flock hurried around her, pecking at their dinner as she slipped out of the tall gate, locking it.

  She told herself to focus on the good—celebrate Mem’s joy, Mem’s gift. But like two sides of a coin, the joy of one person—one couple—was another’s pain.

  She also didn’t understand God’s part in it all. For one woman to receive a promise, another had to face heartache. Yet she couldn’t think of that. Evil ruled in the world, and it was only by God’s grace that anything good came out of it. That’s what she needed to focus on—focus on faith. On believing.

  The air smelled of lilacs from the bush behind the house, heavy with flowers. Lydia paused and breathed in, considering how Mem and Dat had chosen her name. She’d never known she was named after a woman who’d believed. She knew it was a name from the Bible, but the meaning encouraged her now.

  She plucked a lilac cluster from the bush and moved around the house to the front door. Lord, help me to live up to my name.

  The empty bowl swinging in her hand hit her leg when Lydia rounded the house and stopped short. Gideon.

  He walked toward her with a long stride. She hadn’t seen him like that except when he was mad at her. Except this time she knew he wasn’t, due to the big smile he wore on his face.

  “Lydia!” he called to her and waved.

  She paused and tilted her head. Gideon was even more handsome when he smiled than when he frowned.

  “Ja? Where are you headed off to? It seems you’re on a mission.”

  “I am. I’ve come to ask you something.”

  “Let me guess: did you want my apple pie recipe? Because that was what I was asked most today.”

  “Ne. I was wondering if you had time tomorrow for a walk?”

  Emotion thickened her throat. “A walk? Like to the store?”

  He removed his hat and ran a hand through his dark hair. Sweat beaded on his brow, and Lydia knew it wasn’t from the heat. If anything, the air was a bit chilly as the sun set.

  “No. A walk to the lake. I would like to spend time with you. I thought it would be nice to talk.”

  She took in a quick breath. “I, uh…”

  His eyes widened, filled with worry. “I mean if you don’t want to—”

  “No, it’s not that.” She waved her hand. “It’s my editor’s mind. I was trying to figure out what word to use. I’d love to, or I’d be honored to. Either way, the answer is yes.”

  He nodded once, then placed a hand on her shoulder. “Ten o’clock?”

  “Make it eleven o’clock, and I’ll pack a lunch.”

  She didn’t think it was possible, but his smile widened.

  He licked his lips. “Will that include a piece of apple pie?”

  Lydia nodded. “Ja. I’m sure there’s an extra piece or two around here. I was saving it for something—someone—special. And you jest might fit the bill.”

  CHAPTER

  19

  It wasn’t until she’d gotten out all the ingredients for cherry turnovers that Lydia realized she didn’t have enough sugar. She stopped by both the Carash and Sommer houses to borrow a cup, but when neither were home she continued on to the West Kootenai Kraft and Grocery.

  She glanced at the clock on the wall when she entered, hoping Edgar wasn’t in a chatty mood. Sometimes he started in on one of his stories on how things used to be, and while she usually loved hearing his stories, today was not the day. She had a handsome bachelor to bake for.

  The line was long, so Edgar rang her up quickly with a wink and a smile. Yet she’d only taken two steps out the door when a woman approached her. She knew the woman’s name was Mrs. Shelter, but Lydia had only chatted with her for a few minutes once during their Saturday morning gatherings.

  “Lydia! Yer jest the person I wanted to see. In fact, I was going to stop here to drop off a letter to be mailed, then I was walking down to yer place.”

  “Oh, well, I am heading home now, but I won’t be there long…” Lydia didn’t elaborate on why. News spread quickly in these parts, and if she were to mention Gideon, the folks in the community just might have them engaged and be planning their wedding by midnight.

  “It’ll jest take a moment of yer time, but there’s something we’d like you to consider.”

  Lydia touched her kapp, making sure it was in place. “We?”

  “Ja, us parents in the community.”

  Lydia nodded and stepped to the side to let other customers pass. Mrs. Shelter joined her, and they stood by the big ice cooler on the porch of the grocery.

  “We had a meeting last week at my house to discuss the new teacher. We had one young woman who was supposed to come for an interview, but she cancelled. It was at church yesterday when someone brought up yer name, and we met again last night.”

  Tingles moved up Lydia’s arms. “Ja.”

  “We know that there is much happening—the loss of yer mem, your returning—but we wondered if you’d consider teaching this year?”

  “Me?” She placed her free hand over her heart and swallowed. Even though it’s what she’d hoped for, she was honestly surprised. Did they see the changes? Did they trust her? She blinked back tears, thankful it was so.

  “Are you all right, dear?”

  “Ja.” Lydia nodded her head. “I’d love to be considered. If you’d like me to sit for an interview…”

&nbs
p; “Ne.” The older woman smiled. “There were enough folks there to give you a good word—Ruth Sommer, Katie Plank, Sallie Peachy. Even one of the bachelors.”

  “One of the bachelors?”

  “Oh, ja. Gideon is one of the most respected bachelors in the community. The men of the area are impressed with his work and his lifestyle. My husband asked him to come by so we could hear his thoughts. We’ve seen that you’re friends.”

  Lydia nodded. Was that all they thought? “Yes, yes, we are friends.”

  “Gideon had wonderful things to say. He reminded us that only God working in one’s heart could bring about such transformation as we’ve seen in your life.”

  Lightness filled Lydia. Her feet no longer felt connected to the ground, and she was certain if it wasn’t for the heavy sack of sugar in the grocery basket in her hand, she’d just float away.

  “This was last night?”

  “Yesterday afternoon. That’s why my mission today was to come to you.”

  “And Gideon knew that you’d be offering me this position?”

  Mrs. Shelter pursed her lips. “Hmm, I’m not sure. Actually, I do believe he left before we made the decision, but he knew we were leaning that way.”

  Lydia nodded. No wonder Gideon had been in such a happy mood. No wonder he asked me to go on a walk. He must have great hopes that I’ll be teaching this year. That I’ll be staying around. That gave her hope that he’d stay longer, too, beyond hunting season this fall.

  “Mrs. Shelter.” She reached out and took the woman’s hand, squeezing it. “I would be honored to teach. I know this was no small decision.”

  “Wonderful, dear. Ruth Sommer and I have been chosen to work with you—to help you prepare. I will contact you—and I know it’s short notice. The school year starts in less than three weeks.”