The Promise Box (10 page)

Lydia’s hands trembled, and she turned back to the bed, noting the quilt Mem had made.
Her heart ached knowing that Mem always had the room ready for her. Had Mem known
what she hadn’t—that Lydia could run but God would follow? That she could turn her
back on her Amish ways but the love of her parents and community was a rope, tethering
her to them?

Lydia moved to her bed and sank to her knees, resting her forehead on the mattress,
breathing in the scent of sun and pine from the clothesline. How long ago had Mem
washed the bedding, hoping for her daughter to return? Did Mem have
any idea what would bring her back? Had she understood the bravery it would take to
stay?

The Scripture verse she’d read from Mem’s Promise Box replayed in her mind:
“Be strong and of a good courage…for the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with
thee
.”

It’s too hard
.

She waited for a sign from heaven. A knowing inside. A clear revelation in her mind.
It didn’t come.

Can I ever know for certain? What if it’s the wrong choice?
Staying meant a different life, but did it mean an easier one? She knew that wasn’t
the case.

She thought of both Eve’s distain and Sallie’s welcome. Both would be a part of life
here.
The choice is not an easy life. The choice is…God
.

She pressed her palms onto cool, wooden floorboards. That was it. The heart of what
she’d been running from. She’d felt betrayed. Growing up she followed in Dat and Mem’s
footsteps and loved God with her whole heart. She listened to the preacher’s words
and worked so hard to obey. She’d tried to be good. She
had
been good. But did it mean anything? No matter what she did, nothing could make up
for where she came from. Or the pain she’d caused her birth mother.

Did she deserve what she got?
No.

Lydia covered her face with her hands and lowered her head. Pain moved from her temples
to her jaw as her teeth clenched. She remembered this conflict, these questions. It
had been easier to run than to stand up to God. To tell Him she didn’t understand.
To feel the disappointment that in all His creating and managing and overseeing He’d
let her—and her birth mom—slip through the cracks.

A silent sob shook her body, but instead of the tears that usually came, a new thought
shed light into the dark places.
She moved to the Promise Box again and pulled out the first note, rereading it. Her
life had brought pain to one…but joy to another. She tried to imagine herself from
Mem’s eyes. A gift. A glimmer of light. A promise.

God knew me. He had a plan
.

Why pain had to be part of that plan she didn’t know, but could it be enough to embrace
the truth of what Dat had said: that her life had been the gift to Mem that allowed
her to trust in God’s promises again?

Gentle, soft—like an angel’s kiss—peace settled in Lydia’s heart.

She pictured God. Waiting, just like Mem had, with open arms. Instead of preparing
a room with flowers and fresh sheets, He’d prepared a life for her.

She wanted to return to her faith, and deep inside she had a feeling that returning
to the Amish was the way God was asking her to do that. Not because God could only
be found in the Amish community, but rather because He wanted her to be a part of
a people who dealt with their angst and hopes together.

Lydia blew out a breath, considering what this meant. She’d rent out her condo. She’d
park her car. She could work,
ja
, some…But again she had a feeling that the work she’d been doing—crafting others’
words—was going to take a backseat to writing her story, living the story first penned
by God.

This meant opening her heart, knowing others and letting herself be known, at least
in part. She couldn’t imagine confessing her whole truth, but she could look to God.
She could believe He’d given her to Dat and Mem for a purpose.

And for the first time in her life, that seemed enough.

Gideon sat down with a piece of paper and pen, wishing he could be more like Lydia—a
natural with words. He wanted to write to Dat and Mem—to urge them to share the truth
of that day he got lost in the woods, but he couldn’t figure out how to say the words
without them feeling as if he was judging them, blaming them. If Lydia was here, he
could ask her to write the words for him. Although…could she? How could she help when
he’d rather listen than talk, than confess?

Tonight at dinner she’d entertained him with stories of ferry crossings, tomato ice
cream, and dozens of other interesting facts about Seattle. What he found interesting,
of course, wasn’t that Lydia enjoyed talking about the place, but that she talked
about it in past tense. As if it was her former life. Did she plan to settle in West
Kootenai? Stay here?

Caleb slept soundly in the top bunk of their cabin, but Gideon couldn’t sleep. As
much as he enjoyed training Blue and helping Mr. Wyse with the chores, the truths
he and Lydia both battled never strayed far from his mind.

He knew Lydia was adopted. Her dat had shared that information, speaking of the gift
they’d been given. But he’d also overheard it in whispered words: “That’s why she’s
different. No wonder she doesn’t fit in.” No one knew for certain if her birth mother
had been
Englisch
, but that was the assumption. Amish mothers didn’t give up their babies.

He could read her story in her eyes, just as he’d read her edited words in that book.
She didn’t feel as if she fit in. Even the immense love of her parents couldn’t make
her believe otherwise. He wanted to tell her the truth—that she had value—but how
could he when he ran from his own past? Maybe that’s why they got along so well. They’d
become experts at pushing everyone else to the edges in order to protect the thin
veil of self-dignity that hid their pain.

I can’t help her until I discover my own truth. I have to face the pain Mem and Dat
don’t want to share. I have to know
.

He looked at the piece of paper on the table before him. And although he’d planned
on writing a letter to his parents, he thought instead of the words to a hymn from
the Ausbund that his mem used to sing.

When he was younger, Gideon hadn’t understood why she didn’t sing about happier things.
But now it made sense. It was easy to sing to God in the joyous times, but true faith
came when one sought God, praised Him, in hardship. The words from the Amish hymn
moved from his mind to his pen.

Gideon finished the last line and exhaled. He read the words over, letting them sink
in.

There was a stirring from the top bunk, and Gideon glanced up. Caleb turned to his
side and glanced down at him. His dark brown hair stuck up in all directions.

“Are you writing a love letter?”

Gideon shrugged. “Of sorts.”

“Are you fancy on her?”

“You talking about Lydia?”

“Who else would I be talkin’ about?”

Gideon set his pen on the table. He’d have to put off writing Mem and Dat until another
day. “Of course not. She’s
Englisch
.”

“Yer mind says that, but what about yer heart?”

“I’ve only known her a week. Less than that. Besides, she’s going to be back in Seattle
soon and in six months—at the end of hunting season—I’m heading back to Pennsylvania.”

“No one says you have to return. You can work here as well as there.” Caleb sat straighter
and leaned his back against the wall. “
Ja
, my dat said he knew from the first time he saw Mem that she was to be his wife.”
Caleb chuckled. “Of course it took three years for her to figure out the same thing.”

“
Ja
.” The crisp evening breeze shimmied through the open window, and Gideon latched the
window closed and perched on the end of his wooden chair. He didn’t know how to respond.
Didn’t know what he thought. His greatest joy of meeting Lydia mixed with discovering
a man who knew about his past. And finding out he was too coward to face it.

“I do think she’s special.” He put the cap on the pen and tossed it onto the cluttered
counter. “I just wish we were more alike than different.”

And more different than alike
.

“And if things change?”

An image of her in Amish dress and
kapp
filled his mind. He swallowed and told his heart to calm its quickened beat. He wiped
his sweaty palms on his pants and shrugged. It was the only answer he could give.

“Gideon…” Caleb frowned. “You can talk to me. I’m not going to run off and tell her
how you feel.”

Gideon’s steepled fingers rested against his lips while he studied the tack hanging
on the wall of the cabin. His brows lowered as he tried to put his thoughts into words.

“Change can come, but not all change is good.” He rose and slid suspenders from his
shoulders. “The trick is in where you put your trust. Whose voice yer listening to.
If anything, a woman like that could do me in.

“The worst horse isn’t one who tugs on the ropes, Caleb. It’s one that refuses to
submit to teaching. That tries to race off his own direction, not understanding that
true safety comes from one who guides with a gentle hand. There’s nothing I can do
but wait…and pray that God will take these feelings away.”

“You can pray she’ll return Amish,” Caleb mumbled as his head returned to the pillow.

“
Ja
. There’s always that.” Gideon wasn’t going to get his hopes up. And even if she did
return, that didn’t mean she’d care for him as he was beginning to suspect he cared
for her. It would hurt even more knowing he’d be rejected without Lydia not being
Amish as an excuse.

And his feeling for the beautiful redhead would be yet another part of his heart he’d
have to hide and ignore.

L
ydia arrived at the Kraft and Grocery just past nine o’clock wearing a skirt and simple
shirt. Even though she’d tried on her Amish clothes to see if they still fit, she
decided not to wear them out of the house yet. Instead she thought of the perfect
way to tell Dat. Tomorrow, as he hitched up the horse to the buggy to head for Sunday
church, she would come out dressed in her Amish clothes. Other than Mem’s funeral,
she hadn’t been part of an Amish service for years. He didn’t expect her to go. It
would be a joyful surprise.

But today…today she’d still be considered
Englisch
in their eyes. And in a way she liked that. It would be interesting to see who accepted
her as Lydia and who would only accept her once she again wore Amish clothes.

She liked that the women got together every Saturday. She pushed open the glass door
to the Kraft and Grocery and listened as women’s voices and laughter filled her ears.
Even though it was summer the woodstove in the dining area had been lit against the
bite of the chilly morning air.

Many sets of eyes turned her direction as she entered, and conversations paused for
just a moment. There were mostly
Amish women there, and Lydia figured that in the next thirty minutes or so,
Englisch
women would filter in.

Mrs. Sommer had an empty chair next to her and motioned to Lydia. Her heart leapt
slightly and she hurried forward. To her mind, it seemed a small thing to be accepted
into this group, but her heart felt otherwise. While she had friends in Seattle, there
was something special, different, about the Amish community. Had she missed being
known? Belonging?

“I jest don’t know what we’re going to do.” Sallie Peachy patted her
kapp
as her voice raised above the group. “School starts in less than two months. Do we
have time yet to advertise in
The Budget
?”

“Maybe so,” an older Amish woman was saying. “But what young woman would be interested
in coming all this way jest for an interview? And I don’t feel comfortable hiring
someone without meeting her first.”

What had gotten the women as frazzled as spotting a fox near the chicken coop? Lydia
scooted nearer to Ruth, leaning close to her ear. “What are they talking about?”

“Oh, we jest discovered Emma Litwiller, our teacher, is moving back to Wisconsin to
care for an elderly aunt. We need a new teacher for our school, and no one around
these parts is a
gut
fit.”

“Are you sure there isn’t anyone in the community who’d consider the job?” another
Amish woman asked. Lydia had yet to remember everyone’s name but she knew that would
come with time.

“
Vell
, there is Marianna,” Ruth Sommer chimed in. “Just to fill in until we can get someone.
A few months, maybe. She’ll be traveling to California with Ben for part of the winter.
He’s written some songs and…” Ruth’s voice trailed off, and Lydia put the pieces together.
Marianna’s husband Ben must be the
same musician Mem had written about. Lydia was familiar with his song “Every Warm
Cabin,” and she was surprised that he’d come from the small community of West Kootenai.
After Lydia knew a bit more about him, and his connection to her parents, she had
smiled whenever she’d heard the song around Seattle.

Sallie Peachy lifted an eyebrow and cleared her throat. Her face reflected pity. “But,
Ruth, this is an Amish school. Marianna is no longer Amish.”

Ruth’s mouth opened slightly, then heat filled her cheeks. “Oh,
ja
.” Her words were simple but they carried bucket loads of pain. Lydia’s shoulders
tensed and her heart grew in its ache. She’d brought the same embarrassment on her
mem. The same shame.

Ruth lowered her head and fumbled with a handkerchief on her lap.

Sallie Peachy picked up the conversation, trying to get the attention off her friend.
She spoke of a niece in Ohio who was good with children, but she didn’t know if she’d
be able to come since her mem had just had another baby.

“Besides,” Sallie added, “she lived in the world for a time and has jest recently
been baptized.”

“Jest as long as she
is
baptized.
Is
Amish,” an older woman piped up. “I don’t see the problem. Isn’t it true we are a
new creation when we turn to God…and He remembers our sins no more.”

Lydia placed her palms down on the cool wood of the table, and excitement tightened
her chest. Is that what mattered? Not where you’d been, but who you became before
God. Before the church?

Dear Lord, is this part of Your plan? Did You bring me back for such a time as this?
Will they really accept me
?

“I’ll write a letter, then.” Sallie gave a firm nod. “I’ll let you know what she says.”

Lydia hoped the young woman wouldn’t be able to come. In her younger years, before
the pain of her past was known, she’d dreamt of being a teacher—for a few years at
least. She’d thought that having a job like Miss Yoder, her favorite teacher, would
be both fun and worthwhile. To spend time with the students in and outside of the
classroom. To get to know their families. To travel with
Englisch
drivers on field trips and open up the outside world to the young students in a fun
and safe way, just as Miss Yoder had done for her.

Hearing about the need of the community was as if someone had taken ammonia to the
window to her dreams and cleaned off the layer of film that had built throughout the
years. Walking in the world, driving through rush-hour traffic, losing herself in
the latest sitcom had built up layer after layer of grimy self-interest, blocking
her view into what really mattered.

As the women discussed the role of the teacher, Lydia thought back to a book she’d
edited. The author had urged women to follow their dreams. Through the pages, the
author asked readers to think of their first dreams, as a child, and test them to
see if they were still valid. Whether it was to be an artist, a musician, a baker,
or even the mem of young children, the dreams from one’s young self often aligned
with one’s God-given gifts and pointed to God-penned desires that were cast aside
or forgotten in the reality of life.

She also thought of Bonnie and could almost picture her boss’s wide-eyed excitement.
Not only would Lydia return, she’d also become a teacher? It sounded like the making
of a great book.

As they talked, more women joined them, and excitement built as Lydia listened. Her
mind was racing with lesson ideas
when Mrs. Sommer reached over and patted her hand. Lydia glanced over at the older
woman and noticed the woman’s gaze was directed behind them.

Lydia looked over her shoulder. Gideon had just entered. He looked surprised to see
her sitting among the other women, yet a pleasant smile lifted his lips. He moved
to the back restaurant area, separated from the main dining room by a curtain. Was
it only her imagination, or was there an extra lightness to his step?

She motioned to the waitress and asked for a cup of hot water and a tea bag, trying
to distract herself from the tension building inside. Did the tautness inside come
from a hope that God was leading her? It seemed almost too good to be true that she
could stay and serve in a way that would not only bring joy to her father but help
the community too.

Yet would they accept her?
she wondered again. Lydia looked down at her brown skirt. Not now. Not yet.

Inside, she felt like Blue on that rope, wanting to run back to Seattle but feeling
a powerful source holding her back. Her mind raced in circles, yet was it possible
that Someone held the lead? Someone who loved her very much?

Even though Gideon was on the other side of the restaurant, partitioned off by a half
wall and curtain, knowing he was there took the chill off her heart, just as the woodstove
did in this room. If he was that happy to see her interacting, trying to fit in, then
what would he think when she arrived at church tomorrow in Amish dress? What would
he do when he discovered she wanted to apply for the teaching job too? Would she tell
him right away? Or should she prove herself to be a trusted part of the community
before she brought it up?

Lydia readjusted in her seat, chiding herself for worrying about Gideon. She hadn’t
asked much about his family back
home, his dreams, his goals. She was foolish to think he’d be willing to take a step
closer to her if she chose to be Amish. What if his possible attraction was only that—something
he kept from afar? And after hunting season would he stay? Or would he return to his
friends and family back in Pennsylvania?

She touched her fingers to her lips, knowing she’d still make the same decision. The
decision to return to the Amish wasn’t about him, after all.

More women showed up, and the conversation moved away from the topic of an Amish teacher,
but the women’s tight-lipped smiles proved the worry remained heavy on their minds.
And why wouldn’t it be? A schoolteacher was one of the greatest influences on the
lives of their children. And as she considered that, Lydia’s stomach knotted. It didn’t
matter if she changed on the inside; what mattered was if the others in this community
believed she had.

Would I trust myself if I was in their shoes? Trust enough to let me guide young children?
She lowered her head and folded her hands on her lap.
Ne
. Not yet, but hopefully that would change. Maybe if she sought God more, like she
had as a child, and read about His promises in Mem’s box, the change would come—not
by force but through the gentle, quiet direction of a loving Savior.

Lydia made her dat a sandwich of homemade bread and hamburger soup made with leftovers
for lunch. She set the table with the special red plate Mem had bought years ago.
They used it every birthday and during other important events. As she’d walked home
from the store, Lydia knew she could no longer wait until before church service tomorrow
to talk to
Dat. She needed to talk to him about their community’s need, and the only way to do
that would be to tell him her decision.

It was a special day—one Dat had waited years for. Her future would forever change
after this moment.

Lydia ignored the nagging thoughts that reminded her a book was at stake too. She
had that to look forward to also, but she wouldn’t tell Dat about that now. Not yet.
A soft smile played on her lips as she imagined the back-cover copy: “
Lydia Wyse returns to bury her mother, and in rediscovering her Amish roots she finds
her faith again. More than that, she finds her influence matters in the lives of the
children in the community
.”

Lydia nodded. It sounded good to her, and it would sound even better if she also found
the love of her life. But love could not be scripted. It was far too fickle for that.

She shook her head, as if knocking away her fanciful thoughts, and turned to Dat.
“Dinner’s ready!”

Dad rose from his favorite chair, sauntered over, and sat at the kitchen table. After
their silent prayer, he picked up half of the sandwich…and saw the red plate in front
of Lydia. He paused, sandwich mid air, and fixed his eyes on her. “Have we something
to celebrate?”

“
Ja
. I went to the store today, and I hung out with the other ladies. I can understand
why Mem enjoyed living here. There is quite a feeling of diversity—unlike where we
lived in Sugarcreek, where everyone was the same.” She picked up a strawberry and
placed it in her mouth, chewing slowly.

Dat stroked his long beard and eyed her curiously. “And…are you going to have me sit
all day before you tell me what the celebration is about yet?”

Her heart fluttered, and her finger followed the edge of the red plate. “I heard some
news. The schoolteacher is leaving, heading back east.”

“That’s a shame. I heard she’s done a fine job.”

Nervous energy bubbled up in Lydia’s stomach. “
Ja
, well, I was thinking, Dat, that I’d like that teaching position.” She nearly bounced
in her chair like when she was ten and asked her dat for one of the neighbor’s puppies.
Rex had grown and aged, but the exhilaration that surged through Lydia made her feel
young again.

“
Ne
, that’s not possible.” He shook his head and took a bite of his sandwich. “An
Englisch
woman cannot teach Amish children.”

She tilted her head and sighed. Mem would have put two and two together. One look
at Lydia’s face aglow and she would have figured it out.

“I understand, Dat. Do you not think I know that?” She brushed scattered sandwich
crumbs from the plate onto her hand. “And that’s what this is all about. Being back
here—reading Mem’s notes and thinking about life—well, things have changed.”

Dat glanced up at her. His eyes widened slightly. He stopped chewing for a moment,
then placed the sandwich down again. Thick, gray eyebrows lifted. “What are you saying?”
His words escaped as a breath.

“I’ve been thinking about it. Being back here has brought so many good memories. Even
though I jest started reading Mem’s letters, I’m seeing myself—the Amish world—differently
than I have for many years.”

“Just say it.” Dat pushed back from the table. “Yer fluttering around the answer like
a butterfly on Mem’s rose bush out back.”

Lydia smiled, feeling her cheeks plump. “I’d like to rejoin the church,” she said
in a rush of words and air.

Her dat nodded, lowered his head, and then dabbed the
corners of his mouth with a napkin. If it wasn’t for the slight trembling of the napkin
in his fingers and the softest gasp of air, she never would have realized her father
was crying.

“Dat, are you okay?”

He lifted his head slowly and met her gaze. His eyes glimmered with emotion. Seeing
tears brought moisture to hers.

“If only your mem…”

“I know. If only Mem could have seen this day, she would have been so happy. It was
all she wanted.” Pain jabbed Lydia’s gut like a pair of knitting needles. Heat traveled
up her arms—guilt—but she pushed it away. She had to trust in God’s timing.