Reckless Heart (Kauffman Amish Bakery 5.5) (2 page)

A
re you feeling okay?” Barbie Chupp balanced a pile of primers in her arms while studying Lydia with a concerned expression in her dark brown eyes. Though only five foot two, Barbie’s presence filled the room. “You’ve been awfully quiet all day. Did the
kinner
get on your nerves? They were a bit wild, but I think the warm weather gives them spring fever.”

Trying to ignore the monster headache that had haunted her since she’d woken up this morning, Lydia forced a smile and rubbed her forehead. “I’m just a tad bit tired today.”

Barbie grinned. “Did you go to a youth gathering last night?”

“
Ya
.” Lydia snorted with sarcasm. “
Ya
, I did.”

“I remember those days,” Barbie said with a nostalgic expression, missing the sarcasm and absently twirling a brown strand of hair that had escaped her prayer covering. “I still recall when I first met my Stephen. It was as if we were the only ones in the barn that night. He looked at me and I melted.”

Lydia couldn’t help but grin. Her mother always called Barbie a hopeless romantic. Her mother was very wise.

Barbie’s expression was expectant. “Do you have a sweetheart yet?”

Lydia shook her head, but when her temples throbbed in response she regretted the motion. “Not yet.”

“Oh, you will,” Barbie said. “You’re so
schee
and sweet. There’s someone out there for you. And when you meet him it will be the most
wunderbaar
feeling you’ll ever experience.”

Lydia forced a smile, wondering if she really ever would experience something like true love. If so, would it be with Joshua? Or had she ruined that love story before it could begin? Her hand involuntarily returned to her pulsing temples.

She scanned the desk, searching for something to change the subject. She spotted a pile of art projects and pointed to them. “Do you need help grading these? I can take them home and bring them back Wednesday.”

“Oh, don’t be
gegisch
,” Barbie said, waving off the comment with a hand she freed from the pile of books. “I can handle that. I don’t expect you to take work home. You run along.” She gestured toward the door. “I’ll finish straightening up and lock up for the night. You look tired. Go on home and get some rest.”

Lydia hid a wry smile at the suggestion that she’d get rest. Lately, she didn’t know what rest was until she fell into bed.

“I’ll see you Wednesday,” Lydia said, hoisting her heavy tote bag over her shoulder. “Have a
gut
day tomorrow.” As she had every week since qualifying to be a teacher’s assistant following eighth grade, Lydia worked at her grandmother’s bakery each Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday to help provide a steady income for the family. Fortunately, she enjoyed both jobs.

“You have a
gut
day too,” Barbie said, placing the books on her desk. “I hope you’re feeling better soon. Oh, and tell your
grossmammi
I said hello.
Geb acht uff dich!
”

“I will.
Danki
.” Lydia stepped out of the schoolhouse and lifted the skirt of her plain purple dress while negotiating the steps. She breathed in the warm spring air as she moved down the rock path toward the road.

Birds chirped and a horse clip-clopped in the distance. Lydia’s black apron absorbed the warmth of the bright sunshine, and she wished she had a pair of sunglasses to stop the glare from exacerbating the pain in her already aching head.

As she walked toward home, she noticed a large moving van parked in the driveway of an
English
farmhouse that had been empty since the Fitzgerald family relocated last year. A couple of men in matching dark work uniforms carried boxes from the truck toward the large brick home while a little girl with blonde pigtails ran around the yard with a puppy following close behind her.

Lydia smiled at the sight as she continued past the house toward her farm.

“Bitsy!” a little voice hollered. “Bitsy, come back here right now!”

Lydia stopped and turned back just as the puppy and little girl bounded toward her.

“Lady,” the little girl shouted. “Can you please stop my dog? Bitsy! Get back here!”

Dropping her bag on the ground, Lydia squatted. When the dog approached her, she scooped up the little fur ball that, in turn, showered her with kisses all over her face.

“Hi there, little one.” Lydia laughed as the puppy slobbered on her cheek. “You must be Bitsy.”

Out of breath from her trot, the little girl huffed and
puffed as she sidled up to Lydia. “Thank you so much. I thought for sure she was going to run away and never come home. We’re new here so she wouldn’t be able to find her way back if she got lost.”

Lydia handed the puppy over and then swiped her hand down her soaked cheek. “I’m glad I could help. Bitsy is a cute little puppy.”

“Yeah,” the girl said, frowning at the dog. “But she doesn’t listen. My dad says that it’s revenge because I don’t listen, but I don’t know what that means. How is that revenge? I thought revenge was bad.”

Lydia stifled a laugh. “I’m Lydia. What’s your name?”

“My name is Michaela,” the girl said. “When you spell it, it’s Michael with an
A
at the end. I’m named after my grandfather. He died before I was born. My daddy was really sad when he died, so he made sure I was named after him. If I’d been a boy, I would’ve been named Michael. But I’m glad I’m a girl.”

“Michaela is a very nice name,” Lydia said. “How old are you?”

“I’m four.” Michaela looked proud as she shared this information. “I’m going to start kindergarten in the fall. I can’t wait to go to school. My mommy says the teachers don’t know what they’re in for.”

Lydia chuckled at the statement. “I think the teachers will enjoy having you in their classes.” While looking at the pretty little girl, Lydia couldn’t help thinking of Ruthie and wondering if she would ever be well enough to run around the yard and play with a puppy. Lydia leaned over and hefted her bag to her shoulder. “It was very nice meeting you, Michaela.”

Despite the puppy licking her face, Michaela scrunched her nose, tilted her head, and stared at Lydia quizzically,
sizing her up with her blue eyes. “Aren’t you too hot in those heavy clothes?”

“I’m used to it. I’ve always dressed this way, so it’s normal to me.” Lydia pointed toward Michaela’s denim jeans trimmed in pink. “It’s sort of like how you wear jeans. I wouldn’t feel comfortable in pants or jeans because I’ve never worn them.”

Michaela’s eyes rounded. “You’ve never worn jeans?”

Lydia shook her head. “No.”

The little girl gasped. “Ever?”

“Never ever,” Lydia said with a smile.

“How come?” Michaela’s nose scrunched again and her little forehead puckered with curiosity. “I only wear dresses when I go to church on Sundays. I wouldn’t like wearing them every day. I like to play in the mud, and Mommy says that —”

“Michaela!” a masculine voice called.

A tall boy who looked approximately Lydia’s age loped down the driveway toward them. His dark brown hair fell below his ears and was styled similarly to the sloppy style she saw on the teenage
English
boys Lydia had seen come into her grandmother’s bakery.

Approaching them, he smiled. “Hi. Is my little sister harassing you?”

“Tristan, I’m not bothering her,” Michaela retorted with her free hand on her little hip in defiance. “I was just thanking my new friend for stopping Bitsy from running away. She’d never find her way back if she got lost. Don’t you care about Bitsy?”

With a shake of his head, Tristan met Lydia’s gaze and held out his hand. “I’m Tristan Anderson, and this is my shy little sister, Michaela.”

“I’m not shy,” Michaela chimed in. “And I already told her my name.”

Tristan grinned as he continued to hold out his hand to Lydia. “I’m pretty sure she knows you aren’t shy, Michaela.”

Lydia took his hand and gave it a quick shake. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Lydia Bontrager.” She pointed down the road. “My family’s farm is a few houses down. Welcome to Lancaster County.”

“Thank you,” Tristan said.

“You live on this street?” Michaela asked.

“Yes,” Lydia said. “I also teach at the little one-room schoolhouse up the road.”

“Wow.” Michaela’s eyes were wide. “I wish I could go to your school. My mommy says my school is a few miles away.”

Lydia smiled. “I bet you’ll enjoy your school.”

“I’ve never seen a one-room schoolhouse,” Michaela said. “I thought they only had those in the olden days, like on that TV show Mommy and I watch called
Little House on the Prairie
. My mommy said she loved that show when she was little. She’s old.”

Trying to hold in her laughter, Lydia nodded. “I bet that’s a nice show. We don’t have a television, but I’ve read the books by Laura Ingalls Wilder.”

Michaela’s eyes looked as if they might fall out of her little head. “You don’t have television?”

“No,” Lydia said. “I don’t.”

“But how come—” the little girl began.

“Michaela,” Tristan interrupted with a stern tone. “You know what Mom and Dad have told you about asking too many questions. It’s very rude to put Lydia on the spot like that. You need to stop.”

“Okay. Fine.” Michaela sighed. “I’m sorry for being rude.”

“You’re not rude,” Lydia said. “You’re just curious. I’m certain you’ve never met an Amish person before.”

Michaela shook her head. “We didn’t have them in New Jersey. Everyone there had a TV and went to a big school and they all wear jeans.” She glanced toward the house. “I’m going to go see if Mom needs help. See you later.” Michaela trotted up the driveway.

“Sorry about that,” Tristan said with a smile. “She’s a little overwhelming.”

“She reminds me of my younger sisters,” Lydia said. “I love listening to children talk. They say the funniest things sometimes.”

“They do say funny things, and sometimes it’s at the worst opportunity,” he agreed. “How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

“Three, and they’re all younger,” she said while adjusting her bag on her shoulder. “A brother and two sisters.”

“That’s a big family,” Tristan said. “I only have Michaela to deal with.” He hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his shorts. “So you teach? Are you old enough to be a teacher?”

“
Ya
,” Lydia said. “We graduate from our schools when we’re fourteen. For the last two years I’ve worked as an assistant teacher. How old are you?”

“Seventeen,” he said. “I’ll be a senior this year.”

“Do you like school?”

He shrugged. “I do. My dad’s a college professor.”

“A college professor,” Lydia said. “That sounds really interesting.” She couldn’t help but wonder what Tristan’s life was like. It was so different than living on a farm and never moving from the house in which she was born. “Was it hard to move away?” she asked. “I always wondered what it would be like to have to pack up everything you own and start over somewhere new.”

Tristan folded his arms over his blue T-shirt and looked at her with a thoughtful expression on his face. “Moving is never easy. I really didn’t want to leave my friends before senior year.” He frowned a little. “And I had to leave my girlfriend behind. That was really difficult. We’re going to try surviving a long-distance relationship. I won’t see her until later this summer, but we talk almost every day.”

“What’s her name?” Lydia asked, trying to imagine what his girlfriend would look like.

“Lexi,” he said.

“Lexi?” Lydia said. “That’s an unusual name.”

“I guess it is,” he agreed. “It’s short for Alexis.”

“Alexis,” Lydia repeated. “I like that name. How long have you known her?”

He grinned. “I’d say nearly all my life. We grew up near each other and went to the same schools.”

Lydia couldn’t stop her smile.
Like Josh and me
. “So you must have a lot in common.”

“We do,” he said. “We’ve gone through just about everything together. She knows me better than anyone else.”

“Tristan!” another masculine voice hollered. “Come help carry boxes!”

“I better go,” Tristan said. “It was nice meeting you. Stop by to visit sometime.”

“I will,” Lydia said. “Nice meeting you too.”

While Tristan followed Michaela up the driveway toward the house, Lydia continued her trek home. Despite her continuing headache, she smiled while contemplating Michaela’s funny conversation. The little girl was a very sweet and precocious child. She would certainly liven up a classroom. And she’d enjoyed talking to Tristan too. It seemed like they might have some things in common.

Turning to her left, she looked toward the big white farmhouse where Barbie’s aunt Deborah lived. She saw Deborah on the porch and waved to her as she continued walking home.

Reaching the long rock driveway leading to her house, Lydia sent up a silent prayer for Ruthie, asking God to make her well so she could someday meet Michaela and her adorable puppy.

“They seem really nice,” Lydia said to her mother while washing the dinner dishes in the kitchen sink.

“Michaela is four, like Ruthie, and she says the funniest things. She told me everyone in New Jersey has a television, and she can’t believe I teach in a one-room schoolhouse.”

“Uh-huh,”
Mamm
said while wiping the table.

Lydia wondered if her mother wanted to discuss something with her, but she’d remained reticent while Lydia yammered on and on about the new neighbors in hopes of inspiring her mother to talk. Instead of giving Ruthie a bath, her mother had asked Irma to watch Ruthie so she could help Lydia in the kitchen. Lydia assumed there was a reason behind her mother’s sudden interest in kitchen cleanliness, but she hadn’t really spoken since they began their cleanup.

“Tristan seems really nice,” Lydia continued as she scrubbed a pot. “He seemed interested in what I said. Plus, I’m just happy to see someone move into the Fitzgeralds’ house. It’s such a pretty brick home. I’ve always wondered how many bedrooms are in it.”

“Uh-huh,”
Mamm
repeated, still running the washcloth over the table.