Lydia's Hope (20 page)

* * *

“
L
ook,
some of the strawberries are blossoming already.” Mamm knelt in the berry patch, one
hand cupping the tiny white blossoms with their yellow centers. “You’ll have ripe
berries in a month, for sure. Earlier than usual.”

“If we don’t have a hard frost.” Lydia worked her way down the row of plants, pulling
out the weeds that had sprung up through the straw. “It has been a beautiful spring,
ja?” She tilted her head back, letting the afternoon sun warm her face even as the
breeze teased the hair from under her kapp.

Daad had come over to help Adam expand the run around the chicken coop, and Mamm had
arrived as well, bringing a loaf of nut bread. She’d said she just wanted an outing,
but Lydia suspected she really wanted to see how Lydia was doing now that she’d had
a couple of days after the lunch with Chloe on Saturday. Yesterday had been the off
Sunday when they didn’t have worship, and she and Adam had gone to his family’s for
supper, so she hadn’t talked to Mamm since Saturday.

She shielded her eyes with her hand. “I hope the boys aren’t getting in the way of
that chicken netting.”

“You worry too much, Lydia,” Mamm chided. “You know Adam and your daad won’t let them
get hurt.”

“You’re a gut one to talk. I seem to remember you doing quite a bit of worrying when
my brothers were that age,” she teased.

“More of the worrying when they were a little older,” Mamm said, smiling. “Once they
got to daring one another to do things, that was. You most likely talked them out
of plenty of mischief we never heard about, ain’t so?”

Lydia smiled, thinking of her rambunctious brothers. “I tried to head them off a time
or two. But I think Daad was always one step ahead of them anyway.”

She was relieved to be back to talking naturally with Mamm. She couldn’t let Chloe
be such a sensitive subject between them. She must speak naturally about her Englisch
sister, too.

“I was thinking this morning that you were right about Chloe.” She tucked straw under
the leaves of one of the larger plants. “I shouldn’t expect her to be close all at
once. It will take time, and I have to be patient.”

Mamm looked pleased. “I think that’s the best way. You’ll write to her. Tell her all
about life here, so she sees that the Amish are just people, like any others.”

“Do you remember Chloe from when she was small?”

“Ach, of course I do.” Mamm, bending over to inspect the rhubarb that had sprung up,
nodded briskly. “Such a pretty child, with those big eyes and soft hair. She had a
head of hair when she was born, I remember, not bald like some babies.”

“It would be nice if she came here, so you could talk to her.” For an instant Lydia’s
voice faltered. Would that happen? She longed for it so much.

“When you write to her, you must tell her that I remember her.” Mamm seemed to hesitate
for a moment. “And since we’re talking of remembering, I think you have forgotten
about stopping to see your great-aunt.”

Lydia sat back on her heels. “I did forget. I’m sorry. I’ll go over tomorrow. I want
to see what else she remembers about my sisters.”

“Lydia Beachy.” Mamm’s voice had an edge that made her look up in a hurry. “Can you
think of nothing else? You should be going to see your great-aunt as a kindness to
her, and not for what you think you can get from it.”

For an instant, Lydia could only stare. Her cheeks went hot. “Ach, Mamm, I’m sorry.
You’re right. That was thoughtless of me.” She paused. “I guess I have been thinking
of little else, but that’s natural, isn’t it?” She couldn’t seem to help the slightly
defensive note in her words.

“Ja, I’m sure it is natural. Still, you can’t let your excitement about your sisters
affect your duties to others.” Mamm eyed her, as if checking to be sure her words
were hitting home.

Lydia lowered her face. Mamm was right, of course. But she was right, as well. How
could she stop thinking about Susanna and Chloe?

“I still have apple-currant jelly left from last year. I’ll take a jar to Aunt Sara.”
Maybe that would make amends. “I know that’s her favorite.”

“Ja, gut.” Mamm gave a short nod. “Why don’t you send a couple of jars to Chloe, too?
It would give her a taste of the orchard.”

Lydia pictured the worldly-looking young woman who’d toyed with her food at the restaurant
on Saturday. “I don’t know. She’s so . . . citified. I don’t know that she’d have
a taste for something so plain.”

“You send them,” Mamm said firmly. “A gift from the heart is always cherished.”

Would it be? She’d hate to think of Chloe joking with her friends about the gift her
Amish sister had sent. But Chloe surely was too kind for such an action.

“Here come the boys, running like they always do,” Mamm said in the indulgent tone
that was reserved for her grandchildren.

Daniel raced through the orchard with David a couple of steps behind, holding his
straw hat so it wouldn’t blow off. They were laughing, their faces alight with fun,
and Lydia’s heart clutched with love for them.

If only . . . But she wouldn’t spoil her love for those two with regrets for the babes
she hadn’t been able to conceive.

“I wish I could send a picture of them to Chloe,” she said, then bit her lip, wondering
if Mamm would chide her again.

But her mother seemed to take the comment seriously. “I’ve heard Bishop Mose doesn’t
mind having pictures taken of kinder, so long as they’re not for the parents to keep
and be prideful about. What does Adam say about it?”

“It was just a thought. I haven’t mentioned it to him.” Mostly because she suspected
she knew what he would say. Adam was a stickler for following the rules.

“Mammi, Daadi said we should come and ask you.” Daniel, arriving first, panted out
the words.

“Ask me what?”

“If we can have a snack,” David said, grabbing her apron. “Please, Mammi? I’m awful
hungry.”

“Ach, when aren’t you hungry?” She ruffled his hair, suspecting that this meant Adam
wanted them out of the way for a bit. “Let’s go in the kitchen. I think Grossmammi
is ready for a cup of tea by now, ja?” She glanced at her mother.

“Ja, sounds gut.” Mamm took a boy by each hand. “Walk nice with me instead of running
just this once, ja?”

“Ja, Grossmammi.” Daniel smiled up at her, and David swung her hand.

Lydia followed the three of them as they walked toward the house, smiling at the image
they made.

Image. Picture. If she had a picture of the boys, Seth could send it to Chloe on his
computer, she’d guess. In fact, he’d most likely be able to take it, as well.

What would Adam say if she asked him? On the other hand, did she really need to ask?
It wasn’t as if she wanted the picture for herself.

She considered the idea. It wasn’t right to go behind Adam’s back. But on the other
hand, it would save them an argument, wouldn’t it?

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

T
 hat’s
gut and sturdy.” Adam’s father-in-law gave a shake to the new chicken wire they’d
just stapled to the post. “Like those kinder of yours.” Joseph’s weathered face creased
in a smile as he watched the boys run to Lydia.

“Those two are growing like weeds.” Adam’s gaze lingered on Lydia’s face, glowing
with love as she gave each of the boys a quick hug.

“It made no trouble, having them here with us while we worked,” Joseph said, and Adam
thought there was a question in the words.

“Ja, but I could tell from here that Lydia was worrying about them. She’d be sure
Daniel would staple his finger or David would wind himself up in the wire.”

Joseph chuckled. “That’s our Lydia, for sure. Always worrying about the younger ones.
She was like that with her brothers, too. Ach, you know what that is like as well
as anyone. You are the oldest in your family.”

Adam nodded, unrolling the chicken wire to the next post. What Joseph said was true
enough, and it couldn’t help but make him think of Benjamin. “You can’t always protect
your little sisters and brothers, no matter how hard you try.”

Joseph’s shrewd eyes studied his face. “Some folks find it hard to learn that lesson.”

“Ja.” Adam was struggling with it—that was certain-sure. And it didn’t help that his
daad saw things the same way—Adam was the oldest; Adam should have been able to keep
Benj from making mistakes.

He looked at his boys, just going in the back door with Lydia and their grossmammi.
“I pray I would never blame Daniel if something happened to David.” He bit off the
last word. He shouldn’t have said that, though sometimes Joseph felt more like his
father than his own daad did.

Joseph began setting in the last row of staples. “We all make mistakes with our kinder,
sometimes because we’re thinking too much of how it affects us.” He paused, as if
to let his words sink in. “We just have to do the best we can at the time, and ask
God to keep making us better at it.”

“That’s not easy.” Adam started gathering up their tools and the remnants of wire.
Chickens weren’t the brightest of God’s creatures, and if they left anything they
shouldn’t, the silly birds would try to eat it.

“No.” Joseph blew out a long breath. “Anna has been fretting about whether we did
the wrong thing in not telling Lydia about her sisters to begin with. But we did what
we thought best at the time.”

“I’m sure of it.” Adam led the way out of the chicken yard, fastening the door securely.
Then he opened the hatch between the coop and the yard, letting the birds out again.
They came squawking, unhappy at having been shut in during the day.

“At least things seem to be getting back to normal between Lydia and her mamm,” Joseph
said as they started walking toward the house.

“Ja, they are back to being close.” Adam was glad of that, of course. He just wished
he could say the same about him and Lydia. But they wouldn’t be back in balance until
he got another job, regardless of what was happening with Lydia’s sisters.

Joseph paused at the edge of the apple orchard. “Which tree was it you wanted me to
look at?”

“The big one in the center.” Adam led the way. He’d been concerned about that old
tree this spring, and he trusted Joseph’s opinion on trees as on other things.

“You know, I happened to be in Caleb Brand’s shop the other day.” Joseph’s tone was
casual, almost too casual. “Katie was complaining that their wall clock was broken.
Caleb wondered if you had time to take on the job of fixing it for them.”

Adam had a feeling it wasn’t Caleb who’d suggested that, and he stiffened. “I don’t—”

“Ach, don’t get all stiff-necked about it.” Joseph slapped him good-naturedly on the
shoulder. “So what if I mentioned you to Caleb? He needs a clock fixed and there’s
no harm in making a little money doing the work for him. You have a gift for clocks,
ain’t so?”

“Not sure it’s a gift,” he muttered, not quite ready to give up feeling embarrassed
that his father-in-law was drumming up a job for him. “Daad always called it tinkering.”

“Your daad’s one of those who think farming’s the only job for an Amishman,” Joseph
said. “Ja, the church needs farmers, but it also needs clock-makers. Look at Jesus’
disciples—they didn’t all do the same thing. Fishermen, tax collectors. And Paul,
he was a tentmaker.”

“Ja, that’s so, but . . .” He let that trail off. There was a lot of sense in what
Joseph said. True, he’d like it fine if he could farm full-time, but he couldn’t.

Joseph wasn’t one to beat a subject to death. He walked in silence until they reached
the tree and then tilted his head back, studying it.

“You see what’s wrong, ja?” Adam said finally, to break the silence.

“Ja.” Joseph blew out a long breath, his forehead furrowed. “The tree is old. It had
been bearing for some years even before my brother bought this place.” He leaned closer,
tracing a crack where one of the heavy branches was threatening to break away from
the trunk. “You could prune it and hope for the best, but I’d say it was time the
tree was felled. Otherwise there’s no saying what it might take with it if it comes
down in a storm.”

“Ja, that’s what is in my mind, too.” Adam looked at the younger trees around it.
He’d not like to lose any of those. “But Lydia has a special feeling for this tree.”

“Because of her mamm,” Joseph said, nodding. “Ja, I know. Diane loved this tree. She
said it made her happy because it had weathered a lot of storms and still bore fruit.”
He smiled slightly. “She had an interesting way of thinking, Diane did. Seemed to
me that was a fine description of how a Christian ought to live.”

Adam had to admit there was a lot of truth in what Joseph said, but it didn’t resolve
the problem. “Lydia’s not going to like hearing that the tree should come down.”

“Lydia’s a sensible woman,” Joseph said. “She’ll understand when you explain it to
her.”

Adam wouldn’t like to contradict his father-in-law. But in this case, he had a feeling
Joseph was wrong. He feared Lydia wouldn’t understand at all.

* * *

The
sun was sliding behind the ridge as Seth drove through the village on the way home
from Jessie’s doctor’s appointment, sending long shadows reaching across the narrow
street. He glanced in the rearview mirror to check on his sister.

Jessie leaned against the leather seat. The last time he’d looked, she’d been staring
out the window. Now her eyes were closed, but it wasn’t safe to assume she was asleep.
Her appointments seemed to leave her drained, and it wasn’t unusual for her to say
little or nothing for the rest of the day.

It would be comforting to feel she was making progress, but he couldn’t honestly say
he thought she was. Still, the doctors had stressed that it could be a long process
in Jessie’s case, searching for the right medication and going through rounds of therapy
sessions. Apparently there was nothing simple or straightforward about it.

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Stupid, to think there was a magic pill
that would solve everything, but that’s how normally healthy people tended to think,
he supposed. His mother was more realistic than he was, or maybe just more accepting
of what life threw at her.

He glanced at Mamm, sitting next to him. It seemed to him that she was making a conscious
effort to sit up straight, and her face was drawn.

“Are you in pain?” he asked, keeping his voice low in case Jessie really was asleep.

“No, no.” Her quick response only served to convince him that she was, but she’d never
admit it.

“You should lie down for a bit when I get you home. I’ll take care of supper.”

“There’s no need. I’m fine. Anyway . . .” She let the word trail off, and Seth had
a sense of things left unsaid.

“What is it, Mamm?”

She moved slightly, maybe trying to get more comfortable. “I was chust thinking that
you should probably be getting back to your job. It has been wonderful to have you
close by, but I don’t want you to lose your work. I know how important it is to you.”

If she knew that, she knew more than he did. “It’s not a problem. Remember, I told
you about how much of my work is done on the computer? I can do that anywhere.”

“But you can’t be comfortable, living in a motel when you have a nice apartment in
Chicago,” Mamm protested. She seemed convinced that the perfectly nice upscale motel
was a den of iniquity. “I can hire a driver to take us back and forth to appointments.”

“I know, Mamm. But wouldn’t you rather have me?” He gave her the teasing smile that
had usually gotten him his way. She could, of course, hire a driver, and he’d be happy
to pay. But his mother needed more than transportation right now. She needed support
from family. From him.

“Ja, you know I would.” She reached across the seat to pat his arm. “I just don’t
want to take you away from your work. And your life.”

“It’s not a problem. My boss doesn’t care where I am, as long as I’m working.”

Peter Wilkins was a good friend as well as a good boss, and he never forgot the people
like Seth who’d stayed with him through the struggles of getting his business off
the ground. True, Pete might like having him close at hand, and there were issues
that could be settled more quickly face-to-face.

But Pete understood that Seth’s sense of responsibility to his family, even if it
was belated, required that he stay here for the time being, at least.

He turned in the lane, relieved that his mother seemed to be giving up the subject.
He didn’t want her worrying needlessly. She leaned forward, peering out the window.

“Look, here is Lydia coming with the boys. It looks as if they are bringing some supper.”

Lydia was carrying a large basket topped with a tea towel, a sure sign that it held
food. Daniel was toting a smaller basket with an air of importance, while David darted
ahead.

“She’s always here.” The snap in Jessie’s voice was never a good sign.

Normally Mamm would correct any of her children who grumbled about a neighbor. Seth
glanced at her. Mamm’s lips pressed tightly together. She obviously wasn’t saying
anything for fear of provoking one of Jessie’s outbursts.

“Lydia has been a good friend,” he said mildly, unwilling to let it go without comment.

He could never forget just how good Lydia had been during that terrible time when
Jessie had broken down entirely, flaring out at the bishop, even, and getting hysterical
when confronted with wrongdoing. That had been the moment when he’d understood just
how much his sister needed care.

Mamm had still been in rehab with her hip, so he’d been the one who had to sign Jessie
into the hospital. He’d been so grateful for Lydia’s calm helpfulness on that miserable
day. That had been what finally woke him to a sense of what he owed his family.

He pulled up to the back porch just as Lydia and her boys arrived. Before he or Mamm
could speak, Jessie brushed past and flew into the house. The two little boys stared
after her.

“Don’t mind our Jessie,” Mamm said quickly. “She is chust tired after the long ride,
ja?”

The boys nodded, their faces solemn. “I got sick one time when we rode in a van all
the way to Lancaster for our cousin’s wedding,” Daniel said.

“That’s probably it,” Seth agreed. “Mamm, you promised you’d have a rest, too.”

“Ach, I did no such thing. Lydia, it is so nice of you to come over.” Mamm pressed
Lydia’s hand in silent apology for Jessie’s behavior.

“We brought some pot roast for your supper.” Lydia gestured with the basket she held.
“And Daniel has a loaf of cinnamon bread.”

“I could have carried it,” David muttered.

“Mammi thought . . .” Daniel began what was probably going to be a comment about the
bread ending up on the ground, but he stopped at a look from his mother.

“Did you know that our barn cat has kittens?” Seth said, hoping to divert their attention.
“She’s had them out already, so she’d probably let you look at them.”

“Can we, Mammi?” In Daniel’s excitement he nearly lost the bread, and Seth rescued
it.

“Ja, but don’t scare her,” Lydia said. “And don’t handle the kittens.”

“We won’t.” Daniel was turning to run toward the barn as he spoke, with David right
behind him.

“Let me carry the basket.” Seth reached for Lydia’s burden, but she went quickly up
the steps with it.

“It’s not heavy,” she said. “I’ll just put it on the counter. It’s wrapped up, so
it will stay warm awhile, or you can heat it up later.”

“Denke, Lydia,” Mamm said. She took off her bonnet and hung it up, her movements slow.
“That is wonderful kind.”

“You do look tired,” Lydia said, her voice warm. “Why don’t you do as Seth said and
have a little rest before supper? I just need to ask him something, and then I must
collect the boys and get home.”

“You are all ganging up on me,” Mamm said, but she was smiling as she went off toward
the stairs.

Seth motioned to the door. “Let’s go out on the porch to talk.” She probably wanted
to discuss something about her sisters, and no one else needed to overhear.

Outside, the breeze set Lydia’s kapp strings dancing, and for a moment she looked
like the young girl he’d taken home from her first singing.

“I’m sorry about Jessie,” he said abruptly. “Sometimes she’s fine, and other times . . .”
He let that trail off, because Lydia knew as well as he did.

“It makes no trouble.” Lydia’s voice was tranquil. “Maybe I embarrass her because
I saw her at her worst. That’s natural enough.”

“I suppose.” It would be too much to hope that Lydia could wipe that day out of her
mind. He certainly couldn’t. “You wanted to talk to me about something?”

“Ja, I do.” She hesitated, seeming at a loss for words for a moment. “Your cell phone—it
is the kind that takes pictures, ja?”