The Promise Box (18 page)

He turned the letter over in his hands. If he could have chosen any letter for Micah
to read, this would not have been it. His parents spoke to him as if he were a child,
even though
he was nearly twenty-four. There was no news about the family. There were no words
of hope. His parents meant well, but their message was clear: we are worried about
you, worried about your soul, until you return.

In their eyes he was still the irresponsible child who’d wandered off and caused much
pain. The thought ripped at his gut, especially at having to tell them he had full
intentions of pursuing Lydia as his future bride. And he had every intention of moving
to this community for good.

As he read the letter again he couldn’t help but contrast it with the slip of paper
he’d read by Lydia’s mem’s hand. Both his parents and Lydia’s parents were Amish,
yet while his family offered warnings, hers spoke of promises. Could he cling to those
promises? Were they meant for sons who’d attempted to live right and good, as much
as they were for wayward daughters?

T
he cold Montana air bit at Lydia’s nose as she arrived at school.
Six forty-five a.m
.

September had barely made her arrival when cold winter winds fought for position.
She pulled her coat tight under her chin as she hurried up the steps of the small
log schoolhouse. Arriving at such a time was expected by the teacher. Her students
would arrive by seven-thirty, walking the quiet country roads.

Her flashlight’s beam had lit the way. Unlocking the door, Lydia hurried inside and
moved to the pressurized white-gas lamp. Even though she’d been switching on electric
light switches for the last six years, lighting the lantern was as natural to her
as bringing a spoon to her lips. She turned on the lower knob, followed by the upper
knob. When she heard the hiss, Lydia struck a match near the mantel. Poof, in a second,
the gas exploded with light, and she then hung it on the hook over her desk and hurried
to light the two other lanterns around the room.

She’d spent the last few weeks getting everything ready, working on lesson plans,
decorating the classroom. A smile
touched her lips remembering Gideon sitting cross-legged on the floor helping her
cut out white construction paper clouds to pin across the room. On them she’d written
Scripture verses and one of her favorite sayings as a child:

“When you talk you only repeat what you already know, but if you listen you may learn
something
.”

She’d also found a poem she liked in a book of Christmas poems and plays written by
an Amish woman for an Amish classroom. She considered using the full poem for Christmas,
but before then she pulled out the “Be” phrases and made a nice poster:

Be REVERENT in spirit low

Be GENEROUS, give all you can, then give a little more;

Be THOUGHTFUL of the people who are lonely, old, or sad;

Be READY quickly to respond to special appeals;

Be UNSELFISH—all self-seeking with abandon cast aside;

Be HOPEFUL for the best in life, for hope has wondrous worth;

Be APPRECIATIVE for great riches of Christ and of His love,

It was easier to memorize these sayings than to live by them, but Lydia hoped that
as God allowed her to work with the children, He’d mold her too.

She also decorated the room with alphabet letters, books from her collection, and
a world globe she’d found in Kalispell. Gideon had helped her pin a large paper map
just over the hooks where the scholars would hang their coats and lunch pails.

Lydia considered lighting the fire. Would the children need someplace to warm up after
their long walk in the chilly morning air? She looked at the wood and paper and matches,
wishing she’d taken time to practice at home. Pushing a button
on the heating and air conditioning unit was so much easier. Lighting the fire wouldn’t
be the problem, but staying clean while doing so might prove to be a challenge. She
decided against the fire, just in case any of the parents stopped by. It wouldn’t
do to see the new teacher a rumpled mess.

And that was the least of her concerns. The Amish people in this community knew she
had been living an
Englisch
life for many years. She’d be watched closely. The work she gave would be evaluated—her
dress, her talk—they would all take note to see if anything appeared too worldly.
She patted her
kapp
, ensuring it was in place.

What amazed Lydia was how easily and quickly the specifics of her Amish lifestyle
came back. The rules, down to the smallest detail, including how many folds were in
one’s
kapp
, came back to her as if she’d never left. These trivial things had seemed silly to
her when she entered the
Englisch
world. Yet, being here again, she knew it was for a good cause. To dress the same
meant no one could be prideful. To live a simple life meant trusting in family and
community instead of worldly conveniences.

What mother wouldn’t do all she could to protect her children, to keep them on the
straight and narrow path—even if that meant measuring hems and counting folds in a
kapp
? Lydia’s lip quivered when she remembered Mem sewing Lydia’s school dresses and using
a ruler to measure the length of the hem from the ground.

Lydia placed newly sharpened pencils on each desk. How proud Mem would be to see her
here. Yet as she wrote the first lesson on the board, Lydia also chuckled, imagining
what her neighbors in Seattle would think of how differently things were done.

In Seattle the children caught a school bus right at the front
entrance of the condos. Even though they could see their children from their windows,
parents didn’t let the children stand at the curb and wait. Instead they waited with
them. Or drove their children to school. Her closest neighbor Megan walked her young
son to his first grade classroom every day. What would she think of five- and six-year-olds
walking two miles to school just as dawn broke over the high mountain peaks? Of course
the dangers of Seattle and those of West Kootenai, Montana, were quite different.

Lydia glanced at the clock on the wall. Did she have time to jot down a few notes
in her notebook before finishing up preparations for the day? She’d already filled
two notebooks with her “book.” At least a quarter of that was devoted to her interactions
with Gideon, whom she looked forward to seeing each day.

Lydia set down her pen, then looked over the short description. True, the children
hadn’t arrived yet, but she’d attended
school herself in an Amish schoolhouse and could imagine the scene.

She pulled out her notes and wrote the arithmetic assignments for the sixth, seventh,
and eighth grades on the blackboard. Then the door opened. The Sommer children arrived
first. Three older boys—David, Charlie, and Josiah—were followed by little Ellie with
rosy cheeks and grayish-brown eyes. Ellie’s fine hair was neatly pinned up under her
white prayer
kapp
. She moved to the front of the room and sat in one of the smallest desks. The boys
moved to various desks around the room, and Lydia assumed they were slipping into
the spots they had last year. Lydia had planned on designing a seating chart, but
it was Mrs. Shelter who’d changed her mind.

“There’s enough change this year with a new teacher,” Mrs. Shelter had said. “Let
the children relax by having some things be the same, familiar, like where they sit.”

Lydia had thanked her for her advice; the older woman was right. After stepping back
into her old way of life, Lydia had found small measures of comfort in simple things
like a familiar mixing bowl or cookbook. Through them, memories had a way of bringing
pleasant times of the past into the present.

The other children arrived until all fourteen sat in their desks.

Andy Shelter, tall and blond, looked to be the oldest of the group. Lydia knew him
because she’d spent last Saturday at the restaurant. Nearly every scholar had come
in that day, and with each one who’d entered, Annie, the owner of the store, had told
her each child’s name and a little about him or her. Andy had many older siblings,
including a sister Sarah who’d been Annie’s best baker until she moved to Ohio, following
an Amish bachelor she’d taken a fancy to.

The next oldest was David Sommer. Even though the
three Sommer boys had different coloring, they had a similar appearance with thin
frames and wide smiles. The middle one, Charlie, walked with a slight limp. What had
happened to him? She’d have to ask Annie.

The two youngest students were girls, Ellie Sommer and Evelyn Shelter, and it was
clear by their wide-eyed gazes that this was their first year of school. Both sat
in the front two desks, clutching each other with firm grips.

“I’m Miss Wyse, and we’re going to start with the Lord’s Prayer.”

Only small Ellie looked confused as if she didn’t understand the directions. Ellie
clutched the hand of her friend Evelyn, and Lydia squatted before them.

“I can help you with the words if you’d like.”

“
Ja
.” Both girls nodded.

On other days Lydia planned to have a student lead in prayer, but today she couldn’t
think of anything more special than leading these young souls in prayer herself.

Lydia led the words slowly, purposefully, and was happy to see the young girls attempting
to say the words with her. She smiled as they continued.

They sang a few hymns next, and Lydia hoped the children
didn’t mind that she was slightly off key. She got the older boys busy in their science
text
God’s Orderly World
, and then had the rest of the children write out their Scripture verse for the week
while she worked on reciting the alphabet with the young ones.

“‘And as ye would that men should do unto you, do ye also to them likewise.’ Luke
6:31,” the middle grades recited to each other.

When she’d finished working on the letters A and B with Ellie and Evelyn, Lydia stood
and looked around. The children were happily at work—each grade in their own way—and
Lydia knew more than she’d ever known that this was where she was supposed to be.

She got out her measuring stick to use as a pointer and was about to move to their
geography lesson when movement outside the window caught Lydia’s attention. “Keep
working, class. I’ll be right back.”

When she hurried to the door, Mrs. Shelter stood on the porch, her back to the door.

Lydia opened the door. A cool breeze hit her face. “Can I help you?”

Mrs. Shelter turned quickly, her eyes wide with surprise. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Lydia.
I didn’t want to disturb you.” She pressed her lips together. “It’s jest that…”

Tears filled Lydia’s eyes as she remembered the letter from her mem. “It’s Evelyn’s
first day of school, isn’t it?”

“
Ja
.” Mrs. Shelter clutched her arms around herself. “I wasna this way with the others.
Maybe it’s because Evelyn is the youngest, but the house seems especially empty today.”

“Tell you what…” Lydia reached a hand to the woman. “We were just going to get started
in geography, and I have some coloring sheets for the little ones. Would you like
to sit and help them while I teach the continents to the older kids?”

“You don’t mind?”

Lydia shook her head. “
Ne
, I understand. Loving mothers sometimes have a hard time letting go. I’m sure Evelyn
will be happy to see you. And I don’t mind help on my first day either.”

With a smile, Lydia stepped aside and welcomed the woman in.

Friday afternoon, Lydia wished the last student a good-bye and “Have a happy weekend”
and then hurried to the chalkboard to put up some of Monday’s lessons. She’d just
written a few words of next week’s memory verse when footsteps sounded behind her.

“Did you forget something?” Lydia turned expecting Andy or one of the older boys.
Instead Gideon stood there with a handful of wildflowers.

A gasp escaped her lips, and the heaviness that she’d carried since last night lifted—not
completely, but some. Enough to make a difference.

“They say you’re supposed to bring apples for the teacher, but Blue ate them all.”
Gideon extended the flowers to her—wild roses and daisies mostly. “So I brought these
instead.”

“Thank you.” She reached out and took them in her hands, breathing deeply. “They’re
beautiful.”

He straightened the collar of his clean work shirt and offered her a wink. “I also
made reservations for the finest dining establishment in town.”

Even though they’d spent every day together since that picnic at the lake, she still
wanted to pinch herself. This had to be a dream, didn’t it? It was hard to imagine
that someone so wonderful had chosen her. And yet from the words he used and the care
he offered, Gideon had made his intentions known. He saw a future for them…just as
she saw it.

Lydia gazed up at him, weariness creeping up her bones. “So Annie’s saving us the
table in the back corner with a view of the mountains out of two windows?” She needed
to sit. To put her feet up. To have a moment of silence, but from the eagerness in
Gideon’s face she couldn’t tell him that.

He stroked his chin and grinned. “
Ja
, how did you know?”

She winked. “That is the best table in town. It sounds like the perfect evening. I’ll
just have to tell Dat—”

“Already got that covered yet,” he commented. “I stopped by earlier and talked to
Annie. She’s going to deliver a meal to him herself.”

She rubbed her tight neck. “That’s sweet of her, and sweet of you for thinking about
it.”

“I’m glad you think so, but…” Gideon took a step closer, looking into her face. “Are
you all right?” Concern filled his gaze.

Lydia shrugged. “It’s been a long week. A
gut
one, but long. The kids are bright, but those boys…It’s hard to get them to settle
down at times.”

Gideon reached up and cupped a hand on her cheek. She leaned into it.

“I can come whip them into shape if you’d like. You don’t mind me bringing in a few
ropes and halters, do you?”

Lydia laughed and then blew out a deep breath. She closed her eyes and took another
step toward Gideon. He dropped his hand from her cheek and wrapped both arms around
her, pulling her close. She gripped the front of his shirt, drawing from his strength.

“It’s more than that. But yer the only one I can share this with. I’ve been reading
more of Mem’s notes, and it’s so hard. To read her words, to know her heart.” She
shook her head.

“
Ja
, I can only imagine. They say that grief goes through stages. The missing isn’t going
to go away anytime soon.”

“I wish…” Lydia let the words drop. What she really wished was that she hadn’t been
so self-focused when she was a teen. Lydia had only considered her feelings, her pain.
Not once could she remember ever thinking about how hard it was for Mem to tell her
the truth.

But it was more than that. Lydia gripped Gideon’s shirt more tightly and pressed against
one of the buttons with her thumb. She was also mad at Mem. Mem had written everything
down in letters, but why hadn’t she talked to Lydia about some of these things? Mem
could have said,
“Lydia, it’s hard for me to tell you the truth
” or
“I’m afraid you’ll love your birth mother more than me…but I have loved you every
day of your life
.” It might have made a difference. Lydia released a shuddering breath. She didn’t
understand why parents had to hide their pain. It’s not like their kids believed them
to have their whole act together. Or believed them to be perfect. These same kids
lived with them, after all. A bit of truth from Mem might have gone a long way.

Lydia soaked up Gideon’s embrace, and when she felt strengthened, she stepped back.
Her stomach rumbled, and
she placed a hand over it. “Did you say something about dinner?” She forced a smile.
“I shared my lunch with Eli Yoder, who forgot his.”

“
Ja
.” He turned and offered his arm. “I believe this is how the
Englisch
do it.”

Lydia slipped her hand into his arm. “I think so, but it’s possible for us Plain folks
to be jest as romantic.”

“Do you think so?” Gideon paused his steps, looking down at her. “Because I’ve never
done this before.”

“Done what?” She gazed up at him, noticing his hair rumpled under his hat.

“I’ve never taken a woman on a date in a restaurant. I’ve never opened my heart.”
And then his eyes softened. “I’ve never done this.” With his free hand he ran a finger
down her cheek. The touch warmed her, soothed her soul, reminding her that the pain
of the past did not have to ruin today—this moment with this man.

“Or this.” He slid his finger under her chin and tilted it up toward him.

Lydia swallowed, anticipating what was to come.

“Or this.” He bent closer, and her hand went to the nape of his neck, holding the
place where his dark hair met the warm skin of his neck.

She closed her eyes, accepting his kiss. His lips were soft, but the passion behind
the kiss could not be denied.

They stood in the middle of the classroom, yet they could have been in the middle
of the Kraft and Grocery for all it mattered to her. Gideon was the only thing on
her mind. His taste, his touch. Since their first picnic three weeks ago she’d wondered
when—not if—this was going to happen. Their first kiss.

After a moment he leaned back, and her eyes fluttered open. “Flowers for the teacher,
um-hum. You offered more
than flowers, Gideon.” She smiled, feeling more of the tension she’d been carrying
ease.

“
Ja
, well.” His voice was husky. “How did I do?”

She released his nape, ran her hand down his neck, and then squeezed his arm. “
Gut
, real
gut
.” She winked. “This teacher gives you an
A
.”