by Tricia Goyer
“I have heard about that.” Lydia nodded, even though she didn’t know how she’d be able to attend. She’d heard the meetings were attended by Amish and Englisch alike, and even though she personally didn’t mind the idea of Amish and Englisch praying together out loud—something the Amish never did—she was the Amish teacher now. She couldn’t do anything that would cause parents to question her example as an Amish woman. She couldn’t do anything to lift even one eyebrow of disapproval.
“Well, if you can come…” Susan released her grip.
“Not this week, for certain, but I’d love to have you down to our house for tea. I’d love to hear your memories of Mem…being her closest neighbor and all.”
“Yes, of course. I would love that. Your mem was a wonderful woman, and Dave and I pray every day for you and your dat. But I best get home.” Susan reached over to the grocery shelf she was standing by and grabbed a package of spaghetti. “I didn’t realize until I had the spaghetti sauce made that I didn’t have any noodles.” She offered Lydia a quick hug. “I’ll see you around, dear.”
Lydia was slightly jealous to watch Susan pay for her spaghetti and then run out and jump in her car, driving away. She was slightly jealous she couldn’t join the prayer meeting either.
I have chosen the better way, she told herself as she hurried on. God has me here for a reason…and being Amish is part of that.
Five minutes later she exited the bathroom. Two of the bachelors, Micah and Amos, stood by the front counter. She smiled, waved, and was just about to move past when Micah came toward her.
“Lydia, do you have a second?”
She frowned and paused, looking over at Gideon. He was still talking to Mr. Peachy. She turned back, offering a half smile to Micah. “Ja, I suppose, but not too long. We were just heading out.”
“Oh, I was just wondering how Gideon is doing.”
“How he’s doing?” She shrugged. “Fine, I suppose. I didn’t know anything was wrong.” She swallowed. Had she missed something important?
Micah steepled his fingers and placed them against his lips while he studied Lydia with a faint frown. “You mean he didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“Well, he found out something really horrible. I was talking to Edgar and the older man filled in bits and pieces of the story.”
Outside a large diesel truck pulled up. The rumble of its engine made Lydia unsure if she’d heard Micah correctly.
“Did you say he found out something horrible?” She thought of Gideon earlier and the way a romantic smile had tipped up the corners of his lips. He sure didn’t seem like he’d just heard something horrible. Unless it was something he’d known for a while. Unless it was something he was trying to hide from her.
Lydia crossed her arms and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Can you fill me in?”
“I’m not sure…” Micah touched the back of his hat brim, tilting it forward. The look in his eyes said he wished he hadn’t said anything, but she wasn’t going to let him get off this easy.
She let out a sigh. “You can’t just say something like that and back down. I mean if it has you worried…”
“Well, I could tell you, but I have a feeling Gideon doesn’t want you to know. He might not want your sympathy.”
“Stop.” Lydia raised her hand. “Would you just tell me?”
“I’m not sure where to start. It seems to be that little Gideon was from a large family. It must be easy to lose one with so many heads to count. Sort of like Jesus in the Bible. There were two or three Amish couples who came here with all their kids for vacation many years ago.”
Micah let out a sigh and shook his head. “There were so many kids running around that Gideon’s parents thought he was with everyone else. It wasn’t until the evening that his parents asked around. No one had seen their four-year-old since that morning.”
Lydia gasped. “Oh, that’s just awful.”
“They started a search party right away,” Micah continued. “The fathers and mothers and some locals headed out. It was already almost dark, but no one wanted to think what could happen to a little one.”
“Did someone find him?” Worry tightened her chest. Not only to overhear what had happened, but worry over the relationship she thought they had. She and Gideon had talked about their childhood many times—why hadn’t he told her before?
Maybe for the same reason you’ve held onto your secrets. The thought filtered in, but she quickly pushed it away.
“Ja, they found him. The next day. He’d wandered about two miles up into the mountain. Edgar told me all the details. Little Gideon was sleeping under a tree when they spotted him, as peaceful as if he was at home curled into his own bed.”
Lydia placed a hand over her heart. Why she hadn’t heard this before? Why Gideon hadn’t told her? “It sounds like the story ended up well.”
“Not at all.”
“What do you mean?”
Micah lowered his head. “Two men spotted him. They also saw a bear—”
“Stop!” Gideon’s voice called over her shoulder, causing Lydia to jump. Her knees grew weak, and she thought her heart was trying to escape.
“Gideon.” She turned and slugged his arm. “What are you trying to do to me? I’m going to have a heart attack.” Not only had he scared her, he obviously didn’t trust her. She could tell from his response that this story—this event—was true. Anger caused the hairs on the back of her neck to rise.
Gideon stepped forward toe-to-toe with Micah. He pushed a finger into Micah’s chest. “It’s not what I’m trying to do. It’s what he’s trying to do.”
“Micah’s trying to help. Micah’s telling the truth. You should have told me. If I’m that important to you, you should have…”
Lydia pinched her lips together. Instead of stirring her anger toward Gideon, the words pointed a finger her direction.
It’s different. I have reasons for keeping my secrets.
Gideon pressed a hand into Micah’s chest.
Micah leaned back, arching his body over the top of the counter. “What? Are you full of the diebel? I just was asking how you were feeling…now that you know the truth.”
The truth. The two words quickened her heartbeat again. Gideon had hid the truth from her…whatever it was. She looked into Gideon’s eyes. Pain, betrayal, darkened them. Then she looked to Micah. What was that she saw? Humor. Anger coursed through her, but not at Gideon.
“Gideon.” She grabbed his arm gently. “I’ve seen you control yourself with a foolish horse. I’m sure Micah is a bit more thick skulled, but he’s not worth your anger.”
Her words seemed to move from the top of Gideon’s head and down his body, physically calming him. He took a step back. “You’re right. You’re exactly right, Lydia.” He blew out a heavy breath. Then he took her arm and guided her to the door. She followed, noticing his hand trembling. With quick steps they hurried from the store into the cool night. The light was fading and she knew the sun would set before they were halfway home.
They stepped down the wooden-planked walkway, and just as they got to the end of it—to where the wood met the gravel of the parking lot—Gideon paused. He turned to her, gently grasping both of her shoulders. “I’m so sorry. I should have told you. I—”
“Stop.” Lydia reached up and placed a finger on his lips. “I shouldn’t have let Micah prod me on like that. I should have waited. I should have talked to you about it. I should have trusted you—trusted your heart.”
His eyes widened at her words, and he pulled her into his embrace. This afternoon he’d given her strength and now—even though he was holding her—Lydia knew their closeness was giving Gideon the ability to go on.
After a minute, Gideon pulled back. He looked down into her face and lowered his head slightly. And just when Lydia was certain he was going to place another kiss on her lips, his mouth parted, and he whispered one word. “Tonight.”
“Lydia, I want to tell you the truth tonight.”
CHAPTER
24
They walked hand in hand, watching the setting sun dip behind the western mountain range, rimming the mountains with pink. With a low voice Gideon told her the rest of the story. About the two men who came upon the bear. About how they distracted the bear and got the creature to run after them to save Gideon, and how the one Amish man—a friend of his family—died after sustaining a fall.
Lydia’s tears came easily, not only from thinking about the man’s wife and children, but also when Gideon shared how his parents had hidden the truth from him. The pain was clear on his face—to have felt the burden all these years and then discover it was worse than he imagined.
“You’d think that they’d be more sensitive toward me,” he said. “After what happened you’d think they’d want to keep a watchful eye on me, that they’d want to keep me close. But that’s not what happened. It’s almost as if they were in so much pain for thoughts of losing me that they didn’t want to go through that again. It’s as if my parents—Dat especially—put a wall around their hearts.”
He pulled something from his pocket and handed it to her.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a letter…from my parents.”
Lydia paused her steps. “Do you want me to read it?”
“I think you should. I’ve tried not to let the words bother me, but even as I’ve been in the pasture, working with Blue, their words played over in my mind.”
Lydia tipped the paper to the dimming sunlight, and her heart ached as she read the letter. His parents said the accident wasn’t Gideon’s fault, but the tone of the rest of the note spoke otherwise. Instead of offering grace, they delivered warnings. She sucked in a breath as she read what they said about her.
Caleb wrote and told his mem that you were fancy on an Englisch girl. Even if she chooses to become Amish again—as Caleb hopes—there are years of influence that have tainted her. We trust you will be wary of this. We know how wolves try to mix within the crowd in sheep’s clothing. Seek the advice of the bishop and trusted leaders.
Her heart clenched in her chest, as if someone had grabbed it with a large fist.
Gideon must have read the pain on her face. “Don’t hate them for what they said, Lydia. They’re worried, that’s all. Their greatest fear is that one of their children will stray from following the Amish way.” He squatted down and picked up a pinecone in his hand, turning it over. Then he stood and hurled it into the empty pasture. “The thing is I’m not sure what they’re most afraid of: one of their children going off the narrow path or how they would look to the community if they had a child like that.”
She spotted an acorn on the road, amazed that something so small could transform into something so powerful—so useful. Instead of throwing it, she tucked it into her pocket.
They turned on the road in front of the Carash house, and she spotted Blue within the corral. The electric lights were on inside the house, and she could see the family gathered around the table for dinner. A television flickered in the corner and it looked like they were watching a movie as they ate their spaghetti. Since the Carashes were Englisch, the children attended a public school in Eureka instead of the Amish school where she taught. Every time she talked to Susan Carash the woman shared something wonderful about what God was doing in her family. And she’d been so kind and warm as she invited Lydia to their Monday night prayer meetings.
Lydia ran a hand down her throat, realizing how outward appearances mattered little. Amish folks could look at the Englisch Carash family and point to the numerous ways they’d succumbed to the world, yet their love for the Lord was clear. Then there were folks like Gideon’s parents, who had generations of children and grandchildren who’ve stayed Amish, yet who lived their lives focused on laws and fear instead of grace.
No wonder Gideon didn’t feel as if he were missed at home.
He placed a hand on her shoulder. “If anything, you point me to God. You remind me that He’s a God of grace, and not of rules and orders only.” Gideon took a step closer. “But not that it matters to them. What will matter is that you were baptized. I haven’t written to tell them yet, but they’ll warm up. You’ll see.”
“I’m not going to hold a grudge.” She shrugged. “I don’t take your parents’ words to heart.” She winked at him. “I’d be worried if they didn’t warn you about a young woman who was Englisch so recently.” She sighed. “It’s the other words in their letter that bother me more: ‘We are eager to have you at home.’ Because that’s the last thing I want—for you to leave.”
“I think, ja, they’re saying that because they want to keep an eye on me. Not that they miss me.”
“Maybe so, but what about you? Do you have plans, Gideon? After hunting season?”
“It depends, Lydia.” He took her hand as they continued on, and grasped it as if not wanting to let go.
“On what?”
“If you think we have a future together. Because if we do—”
“Ja,” she interrupted.
He opened his mouth slightly as if not hearing her correctly.
“Ja, I do see a future…with an amazing man. A man who cares. A man who has chosen to love God and do good. A strong man.”
Gideon glanced away. Why did her words make him uncomfortable?
Lydia stood firm, knowing that even though he’d told her the truth, he needed to know some truth too. “Have you read about Gideon lately?”
“Excuse me?”
“Not about yourself, but in the Bible. You were named after the man in the Bible, right?”
“Ja, but what does that have to do with us now?”
“Dad and Mem used to read Bible stories to me when I was young,” she said, “and the story of Gideon has always stuck in my mind. I’m not sure why. Maybe for this moment. Maybe for now.” She glanced up at him. His strength was obvious, but she could tell from his eyes that Gideon still felt like that scared little boy inside.
“Gideon knew how the Lord cared for his ancestors,” she continued. “He knew that God had saved his people from Egypt, but that was ancient history to him. He questioned if God still cared for him, for his family today. In that day that he lived.
“But what God wanted to show him was that He was the same God in Gideon’s day who achieved all the wonders for Gideon’s ancestors. Yet Gideon was too busy looking at his own weaknesses to trust God’s strength.”
He raised an eyebrow and waited. His hand tightened around hers even more, but his steps did not slow.
“It’s easy to try to figure out what others could have done differently,” she said. “We can look back in history and point out their failures and successes, but we forget that we’re making history in this moment. I mean, sometime my descendants—yours—might be reading about our faith jest as I’m reading about Mem’s.”
Gideon nodded. “I know you mean to encourage me with your words, but so far the one biggest impact I’ve had on others has led to their pain.”
“That’s only if you blame yourself. God knew the day of that man’s death, Gideon, even before the day he was born, yet we always like to point a finger. It’s human nature.”
Up ahead, lights were on in their small log house too—kerosene lights. And in the window a lone figure stood. Dat. Tall, thin. He waited for them. She guessed the house was too quiet, and she was again glad she’d stayed—not only for her new job and for Gideon, but also for her father.
She slowed her steps. “One of the books I edited for my work was about how major events in history could have been changed by one person—how ordinary people do matter in the big picture. Like Fredrick Fleet.”
“Who?”
“He was one of the two men in the crow’s nest of the Titanic. Due to a mix up in the last-minute shift of the officers’ assignments, the lookout crew was without binoculars. He was hired for t
he job of being a lookout but was never issued binoculars.
“I remember out of all the stories, that one stuck out to me the most. His father was unknown. His mother abandoned him to run away with a boyfriend, and Fredrick was raised in foster homes. He was one of the men who manned the lifeboats, so he survived, but from what I read guilt plagued him his whole life. He survived when so many others didn’t.”
“It wasn’t his fault.” The words shot from Gideon’s lips. And then he lowered his head. “It wasn’t his fault.” The words appeared to wrap around him like a warm blanket. “This might have been different with binoculars, but we’ll never know.”
“Fredrick did the best he could with what he had available to him. He still saw the berg, he just saw it too late to make a difference.”
“Ja, but my situation is different. I caused the trouble. If I had just stayed put…”
“True, but we’ll never know how things would have been different. We can’t change history. And when I think of Gideon in the Bible, the one thing that stands out is that God saw the truth. God saw him as a mighty warrior even when he couldn’t see it himself.”
“How come you’re able to see the good in everyone else?”
“Everyone else?” She peered up at him.
“Everyone but yourself?”
Lydia stopped short at those words. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“There’s something in your eyes, something you’re not telling me. I have a feeling, Lydia, that I’m not the only one with a secret or two.”
“Yes.” Lydia released a sigh. “There are things. And…” She reached for his arm. She wanted to tell him, but not this way. Not like this. “I—”
“It’s all right.” Gideon studied her face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“No, you should have. If I’m going to give you a hard time, then…” She raised a trembling hand to her forehead. “I just need to sit for a bit.”
