A Home for Lydia (The Pebble Creek Amish Series) (27 page)

But Miriam’s questions piled up as the sermon began. She tried to focus, but the preaching seemed like words, just words—empty, hollow, meaningless. Soon they were reading Matthew’s admonition to pray sincerely. “When you pray, do not be like the hypocrites.”

Was that what she’d become? A hypocrite? Miriam felt like a fraud for doubting, for questioning God. “But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you. And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him.”

What did that mean?

“Your Father knows what you need before you ask him.” The words circled in her mind and sank into her heart.

Was it acceptable to cry out with her heart? Did God understand her pain? Had He heard her prayers? Would He answer her cry to save her mother?

The service finally ended.

Miriam felt more exhausted than if she’d cleaned her home from top to bottom. She turned to her mother, ready to explain her tears. She reached for her, tried to snag the sleeve of her dark blue dress, but Abigail was already moving off to help in the kitchen.

Miriam felt small hands pulling on her arm.

“Are you all right,
mamm
?”

“Yes, dear.”

“You were crying.”

“I was feeling a little emotional.”

“
Dat
says I’ll understand when I’m a few years older. He says all girls, all women, go through such times.”

“Your
dat
is a pretty smart guy.”

“I know.” Grace stood on tiptoe and kissed Miriam’s cheek before planting another on her sister, who had begun to squirm and rub at her eyes. “I’m going to find Sadie now, if you and Rachel don’t need me.”

“We’re fine.
Danki
for asking.”

But she didn’t feel fine. She felt like a liar for saying such a thing, even if she had said it so her nine-year-old wouldn’t worry. Rachel’s squirming turned into fussing, followed by howls of hunger, and Miriam sighed in relief. At least she had an excuse to be alone. She hurried from the main room of Esther’s home.

Esther Bontreger, previously Esther Schrocks, had been Miriam’s assistant at the schoolhouse until she’d married. Now she had a
boppli
of her own. Miriam missed their times together—mornings readying the schoolroom, afternoons sharing a lunch, and evenings in front of the fire in their upstairs apartment. She meant to stop by and visit, but she seldom did.

What had her mother said?
“You young girls, you need to learn to be there for one another. Friendship is about more than Sunday socials.”

Here she was, on a Sunday, regretting she hadn’t visited earlier.

Moving down the hall, she knocked on a bedroom door, and when she heard a soft “Come in,” there was Esther, nursing her own infant, who was a month older than Rachel.

“Miriam. Do they need me in the kitchen?”

“No. At least a dozen women are in there. Everything is fine.” Miriam glanced around the tidy little space that had been turned into a room for the baby. A crib was against one wall, a twin bed against the other, and a rocker—where Esther was nursing—was snug in a corner.

“I had to leave the service early. Jake wouldn’t wait. He woke early, so his feeding time is off a little.”

“I don’t mean to disturb you.”

“Don’t be silly. We’re done. Sit here in the rocker. I need to stand and walk with him or he’ll never burp.”

Miriam settled in the chair with Rachel and tried not to notice Esther studying her.

“Difficult service?” Esther asked finally.

“
Ya
.”

“Because of your
mamm
?”

Miriam nodded, afraid her tears would start again if she spoke.

“We’re all praying for her. You know that, right?”

Rachel patted her mother’s
kapp
strings as she settled, content and nursing. Miriam’s tears did start then, and Esther gave her a clean cloth diaper to wipe them with.

“Doc will have the tests back Tuesday?”

“
Ya
. I thought they’d call earlier, but there have been no messages at the phone shack. I’ve checked every day.”

“He would have driven out if he’d heard anything. You know Doc Hanson.”

Miriam nodded, not trusting her voice.

Esther pulled a lap quilt off the side of the crib and placed it over the quilt on the twin bed. Laying Jake on it, she began to change him. Even at four months, the boy was a spitting image of his
dat
—long, thin, with a mop of brown hair and a lopsided grin.

“I want to ask your forgiveness, Miriam.”

“Whatever for?” Miriam looked at the younger woman in surprise. Even after they had birthed their children, and even though they had seen little of each other in the last year, still it was like looking into a mirror. Other than the color of their hair—Miriam’s black and Esther’s the color of wheat—they could have been sisters.

“I should have come by to see you and Rachel.”

“And we should have come to see you—”

“
Nein
. Your hands have been very full. You married into a family, Miriam. One daughter already, a husband, Rachel’s birth, and now your
mamm
is sick. I should have been by, and I meant to come. I wanted to, but every day it seems I have more work than the day before.”

“I understand. My days aren’t so busy. They aren’t as busy as the days at the schoolhouse—”

“Who can forget those?”

“But still they do seem to hurry by…” Miriam stared out the window. Children were running between the tables as the food was placed out and men helped with the carrying of dishes and seating.

“I meant to come and see you as well. My
mamm
…” Fear lodged in Miriam’s throat, but she pushed on. “My
mamm
says we haven’t learned how to be
freinden
yet. That we haven’t learned how to be supportive of one another.”

Esther finished changing Jake and handed him a quilted toy. “Even on a farm, it seems time won’t slow down.”

Smiling, Miriam raised Rachel to her shoulder. “An
Englisch
woman at the cabins yesterday was saying how nice it would be to live the Plain life, because we don’t have to worry about time moving so fast.”

“Probably she has never milked a cow or done laundry the old way. Those things tend to steal hours from your day.”

“I wouldn’t change it, though. Would you, Esther?” Miriam cocked her head, wanting a truthful answer from her friend.

“No. I enjoy our life, and I appreciate the continuity of it. There are days when I wish I could feel less tired so that I could appreciate it more.”

There was a knock on the door, and Esther’s niece opened it. “
Mammi
says you’ll miss all of the food if you don’t get out here, and also she wants to see baby Jake before the meal is over. She says she can’t eat without holding her newest
grandkinner
in her lap.”

“Tell her I’ll be right there.”

Miriam rose too after readjusting her dress. The pain from the service was still in her heart, but she felt better from her time with Esther. How had she forgotten that she wasn’t alone? Others understood and knew what they were going through. They were praying, and their prayers counted.

Whatever Doc Hanson’s tests revealed, at least they wouldn’t have to face it alone.

Chapter 23

A
aron stood when he saw Elizabeth heading toward his table.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes. I wanted to make sure you don’t need a ride back to the cabins.”

“
Nein
. David or Seth will drop me. You’re leaving already?”

Elizabeth’s laughter eased some of the worry in Aaron’s heart. “We’ve been eating for nearly two hours.”

“Oh. True, but I thought the girls would stay and play longer. I promised Beth I’d go with her to see some calves or something…I didn’t quite understand what she was asking.”

“You’re a
wunderbaar
cousin. Beth will run you ragged if you let her, and she’s already been to see the newborn calves.” Elizabeth attempted a smile, but it trembled a little and finally fell away. “We tend to go home early on Sunday afternoons so the girls have plenty of time to rest in the afternoon.”

Her gaze dropped to the ground and back up, darting over the group of family and friends from their church. Aaron was reminded that this must all be very hard for her. She was used to enjoying the meetings and picnics with Ervin.

“Thank you again for all you’ve done at the cabins.”

“It’s a start, Elizabeth, but we still have a long way to go.”

Her smile this time was genuine. “Ervin would be proud, and I appreciate your hard work. I should go. Maybe I’ll see you later in the week.”

Aaron watched the girls run up and join her as she left. Beth turned and walked backward, waving at him as the group moved toward the buggies.

He almost forgot about the other people at his table as he grew drowsy sitting in the warm afternoon sun. He wanted one more piece of apple pie, but he knew from experience it would make his stomach hurt to stuff himself.

Then again, if he went to the dessert table, he’d be able to talk to Lydia. He hadn’t had a private word with her all day. She was surrounded by people every time he glanced her way. First it had been women and children during the service, and then it had been teenaged boys and men since the meal had begun.

He had thought to sit by her when she took a break to eat her own meal, but he hadn’t yet seen that happen. How was a man supposed to speak the things that were on his mind when she was never alone? It had been that way since the four families of
Englischers
had shown up at the cabins. He almost longed for the days when the cabins were empty, which was crazy.

Busy was good. Good for business. Good for Elizabeth, and good for getting him back home to Indiana.

Finally, the crowd at the table where Lydia was serving disappeared.

“Where are you headed?” David asked. The man looked as if he were about to fall asleep in his ham salad. His wife had gone into labor on Friday night, but it had been a false alarm. Good thing too, as the baby still had three weeks before it was officially due to arrive.

“Thought I’d have a look over at the desserts.”

“My wife made the apple pie,” Nathan Glick said. “You should have some. She makes the sweetest pies in Pebble Creek.” The man grinned. Plainly he was still crazy in love, though he’d told Aaron they had been married for more than ten years and had three children.

Aaron glanced at the table again and tried to focus, though the fried chicken was settling and he was beginning to feel even sleepier. Lydia was wearing a dark green dress today. It was exactly the opening line he needed.

He stood and started away from the table.

“Wait,” David called. “Bring me back some of my
fraa
’s oatmeal cookies if there are any left, would you? They don’t last more than a few minutes at my house the way my five
kinner
eat.”