The Promise Box (3 page)

“Yer mem never doubted you’d return to the Amish for
gut
. She always felt you’d come back. That you’d make this place home.”

Lydia nodded but didn’t answer. How could she? She’d never have a chance at mending
Mem’s heart, and she didn’t want to crush Dat’s hopes too.

G
ideon couldn’t get the woman off his mind. He hadn’t met anyone like her. She’d acted
so confident, so…
Englisch
as she’d parked her car, jumped out, and started taking photos. When he didn’t know
who she was, he didn’t care for her at all, despite her beauty. But she was Jacob
Wyse’s daughter. That changed things. It confused him. Jacob had spoken of Lydie—his
nickname for her—as if she was the most gentle, caring woman on the planet. She was
not an old maid as he’d imagined, and she’d seemed anything but gentle.

Until he saw her with her dat, that was.

It was odd to see an
Englisch
woman clinging to her Amish father. Leaving the Amish usually brought distance to
families, even in the closest of relationships—but not them.

Why had she left? Why would the only child of an Amish couple do that?

He’d made progress with Blue. For the rest of the day he’d worked to get the horse
used to him. To see him as a friend and not a threat. Without a mother around, Blue
had picked up a lot of bad habits. She hadn’t been there to teach him who was friend
and who was foe.

By the end of the day, Blue started seeing him as a friend. Over the next few weeks
and months that bond would grow. Gideon needed to teach the horse that Gideon’s way
was the right way. Blue needed to unlearn a lot of bad habits. For the gelding, it
made no sense why he shouldn’t chase cows, nip at folks, change leads, or most of
all, run and frolic without a care. The horse didn’t realize there was a better way
to interact. Blue needed to learn confidence in Gideon—and in humans. When difficult
situations arose in the future—which they would—the horse needed to know who he should
listen to and trust.

When he’d brushed down Blue and put him in his corral, Gideon couldn’t help but watch
the Wyse house in the distance. Lydia had only exited the house once—to get her suitcase
from her car.

Should I head down there? Maybe offer help for tomorrow night’s viewing?

He considered offering to hitch up their buggy and drive them to the funeral the day
after that. But his
farrichterlich
thoughts got the better of him. She’d seemed none too happy to see him the last time
he’d shown up there.

Instead Gideon headed to the West Kootenai Kraft and Grocery for dinner. It was later
than usual, and most of the other bachelors had come and gone, his cousin Caleb included.
The only people sitting in the dining room of the attached restaurant were two older
Englisch
women deep in conversation and the older gentleman who tended to the front cash register.
Edgar,
ja
, that was his name.

Gideon paused at the doorway to the restaurant, turning over his hat in his hand.
Edgar motioned him forward, pointing to the dining room chair across from him, welcoming
Gideon to sit.

Gideon’s eyebrows arched in surprise—although on second
thought he should have expected that. That’s how things happened in this small community,
he’d soon learned after arriving here. Amish and
Englisch
didn’t just interact at a business level; many became friends. Some Amish even attended
prayer meetings at the Carash house. He’d witnessed that with his own eyes when he’d
stopped by to talk to Dave about training Blue.

Gideon removed his hat and sauntered over to the wooden table with the red-checkered
tablecloth. Gas lanterns hung above each table from previous Amish owners, but electric
Christmas lights had also been strung around the room by the non-Amish owner, Annie.

He sat, and an Amish waitress brought him a menu.

“We have everything tonight except the meatloaf,” she explained. “That went quick
like.”

Gideon eyed the fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans on Edgar’s plate.
“No need for a menu.” He pointed. “I’ll take what he’s having, except I want the whole
thing covered in country gravy.”

The waitress chuckled. “The green beans too?”

Gideon nodded. “
Ja
, that’s the best way. The only way, in fact, Mem could get me to eat my vegetables.”

“You got it.” The waitress shook her head and giggled as she hurried to the kitchen.

“She’s a pretty one.” Edgar pointed to the exiting waitress. “It’s one of the Peachy
girls—Eve. She’s watched passels of Amish bachelors come and go fer years now with
the same look of interest in her eyes.”

“Really?” Gideon glanced back over his shoulder. “I didn’t notice.” Truth was there
were very few women who caught his attention—except for that
Englisch
gal with the red hair and equally untamed disposition. Leave it to him to fancy the
last girl in this area he should take a liking to.

Edgar’s fork scraped on the plate as he scooped his mashed potatoes into a pile.

Gideon breathed in deeply, his stomach rumbling. Even though all the baking was done
in the morning, the connecting kitchen and bakery still smelled of fresh bread, cinnamon,
apples, and strawberry pies.

“What was yer name again, son?” Edgar asked. “There are too many bachelors to try
to keep straight.”

“Gideon.”

Edgar nodded and then took a large bite of mashed potatoes. When he’d finished swallowing
he dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “That’s not a common name.”

“Not too common. I knew one other Gideon back in Bird-in-Hand. An older gentleman.”
Did his parents regret naming him “mighty warrior”? Inside he felt anything but.

The waitress returned with a glass of water, then hurried off again.

Edgar rubbed his gray, bushy eyebrows. “I remember a lad called Gideon. His family
vacationed here one summer.”

Gideon chuckled. “Edgar, you have a wonderful memory. Do you remember the name of
every visiting Amish child?”

“No, not close. But I’d never forget that name. Called it a thousand times at least
during the search.” Edgar took another sip from his coffee.

Gideon’s heart cinched in pain, and a strange knowledge came over him. This man had
been there—been part of the rescue team that had found him on that mountain. Surely
there couldn’t be two searches, two young boys with the same name.

He rubbed the back of his neck, and a thousand needles pierced the skin on his arms.
He knew he should ask about that time. That’s what he’d come for, wasn’t it? To know
the truth?

Instead he thought of the stone-cold glare in Dat’s eyes.
Maybe I don’t want to know
.

Gideon nodded but didn’t speak. When his dinner came he ate half a piece of chicken
and some of the potatoes. They talked about other things: the weather, the snow melt,
and the results of the Amish auction a few weeks ago. Gideon knew if he asked a few
questions, this man would be able to tell him all he longed to know—what really happened
those few days—but fear caught the words in his throat and wouldn’t release them.
There was a reason Dat hadn’t wanted Mem to tell him the truth.

Edgar watched him, a knowing look narrowing his gaze. “Yer not eating much.”

“Actually, I’m not too hungry. My eyes must be bigger than my stomach.”

The waitress approached again. “Would you like me to box that up,
ja
?”

Gideon nodded. If he didn’t eat it later, Caleb would. She returned a few minutes
later with a paper plate covered with foil.

“Best get back to the cabin.” Gideon rose. “Caleb will be wondering on me.”

Edgar waved his good-bye, and Gideon could feel the older man’s eyes on him as he
left.

Did Edgar have any idea the young boy was him?

L
ydia sat next to Dat as they drove the buggy the short mile to the neighbor’s house
where the funeral would be held. Mem and Dat’s house was small, and when Amish friends
offered up their place for the funeral, Dat had accepted. It made her feel good that
even though Mem and Dat had only been living in West Kootenai for three years, most
of the town would show up. She and Dat could have walked, but they needed their buggy
to drive to the cemetery after the funeral.

Lydia pressed her sweaty palms flat on her thighs and smoothed the small wrinkles
in her black dress. It was the plainest, simplest dress she could find, but it was
not an Amish dress and cape. She’d pinned up her hair, but she had no
kapp
on her head. Guilt echoed shallowly in her chest. She should be thinking most about
her mother, about her loss, but what weighed heaviest on her mind was walking into
the Sommer house and noting everyone’s eyes on her. She imagined their thoughts:
The
Englisch
daughter has come now, has she? Too bad her mother had to live her last years with
such shame
.

Lydia took in a long, slow breath and told herself to suck it up. It didn’t matter
what they thought. She’d made the right
choice. She had a great career and a good life in Seattle. She had friendships with
her coworkers and knew a couple of neighbors in her apartment complex too. It didn’t
matter that she didn’t have a fine and fancy
Englisch
house. She liked her place decorated simply. It was easier to clean. It gave her
more time for reading and editing.

Still, as the metal buggy wheels rolled over the dirt road, it felt as if the gravel
scraped her heart. They were right, in a way. She could have made a different choice.
She could have been there during Mem’s last days, last years.

The line of buggies came from both directions. Other folks walked, their heads low
and their pace slow as if heavy hearts weighed them down. She supposed they were sadder
for Dat than for Mem. Mem was a good woman—no doubt ushered through heaven’s gates—but
Dat would be living without the wife he’d shared his life with for forty years. Living
alone, without a daughter to depend on.

One man glanced up as they passed on the narrow dirt road, and she could almost read
his thoughts in his gaze:
what old man deserves this?

She quickly looked away and glanced at the bunch of wildflowers laid on newspaper
on the seat between her and her dat. Bringing flowers to a funeral was an
Englisch
tradition, but she needed some excuse for getting out of the house this morning.
Her dat’s low sobs from the bedroom that he now slept in alone broke her heart.

If the rush-hour traffic had moved this slow in Seattle she’d have been tapping her
fingers on the dash, but in this place it seemed normal—right even—that the idyllic
scenery rolled by like a slow-motion film.

The mare moved at a steady pace, and the sun through the trees created a patterned
mosaic on the road. Sitting next
to Dat in the buggy brought a thousand memories. Growing up she’d never thought she’d
leave, but after Lydia discovered the truth, she knew she couldn’t stay, and she’d
bought a ticket to a city as far west as she could go. Being a face in the crowd meant
no one would ask questions. No one would ever know who she really was.

The thing was she knew. And in her running she’d spent too many quiet nights alone
when she could have sat around Dat and Mem’s table. When she could have curled next
to the wood fire under a quilt and chatted with Mem about her day. Now it was too
late.

A cool wind blew, caressing her face. Tears rimmed her eyes. The mare tossed her head
slightly, seeing the line of parked buggies.

Visitation—and the first viewing—had been last night. She’d spent the whole day cleaning
and then had made sandwiches for dinner. Feeling as if she was going to get sick—or
maybe pass out—Lydia had pinned up her hair, washed up, and dressed in a simple garment
before they’d welcomed folks into their home. Mem had lay in a plain pine coffin on
the back, screened-in porch. Lydia had stood silent by Dat’s side, the dust carried
on the breeze through open doorway tickling her nose.

As the women from the community had passed the casket, she’d tried to remember which
ones had helped wash Mem’s body and dressed it in the long, white dress,
kapp
, and apron—the same
kapp
and apron Mem had worn on her wedding day. After the viewing, the local bishop performed
a short service. Even now Lydia couldn’t remember the words. Had she been listening
at all? Not really. Instead, her mind had replayed the many moments she’d spent in
her mother’s loving arms—memories she hadn’t allowed herself to think about for years.

Last night, nearly one hundred people had strolled by her mem’s open casket—almost
everyone in the community, including Gideon, although Lydia did what she could to
not make eye contact with the handsome bachelor. Everyone spoke to her and Dat about
Mem’s kind heart. Mem had that way with folks. You met her once and felt as loved
as her best friend. It was a trait Lydia wished she had picked up…or did she? It was
the
community
part of being Amish that Lydia had fled from.

And now the Amish funeral would finalize all Mem’s years of living.

Dat parked the buggy next to the Sommers’ house. Two men waited to tend to the buggy
for them. She took the wildflowers from the passenger’s seat, and after dismounting
they walked to the front door. Neighbors already gathered inside. Lydia placed her
free hand in Dat’s, and they stepped inside together.

The casket had been carried to the Sommer house. A row of children sat with their
mems. She remembered being their age and attending funerals just like this one. It
had been a normal part of Amish life.

Lydia tried to ignore the stares. Dat released her hand and moved to the living area,
where the men took their seats. There were two seats closest to the casket—one for
him, one for her. At funerals family members of the deceased were allowed to sit together.
But she couldn’t make herself sit there yet—in everyone’s full gaze.

Instead she crossed her arms over her chest as an older woman approached.

“Lydia, I’m Ruth Sommer. This is our place.” She offered a welcoming smile and eyed
Lydia’s clothes. “That’s a pretty dress.”

Lydia studied the woman’s eyes. Her comment appeared to be genuine. Lydia glanced
down at her simple black frock. It wasn’t typical Amish dress, but as close as she
could find without pulling out her Amish clothes. She’d thought about wearing them—to
honor Mem—but she didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.

Ruth motioned to the kitchen. “Lydia, this is my daughter, Marianna.”

Lydia followed her gaze to a young woman by the kitchen sink—an
Englisch
woman. She was pouring a cup of water for a toddler—a daughter, maybe, or a sister?

Marianna stepped forward and offered a sweet smile. “It’s
gut
to meet you. I hope you’ll stay around. And this is my husband, Ben.” A handsome
Englisch
man with bright blue eyes stepped forward, and Marianna nodded knowingly. Even though
Marianna didn’t dress Amish, she wore a simple dress and a head scarf. Her mannerisms
seemed Amish, too, and Lydia guessed it had been in the last few years that she’d
left the Amish to marry this
Englischer
. What amazed Lydia most was that Marianna’s mem seemed comfortable around her daughter
despite her decision to not be Amish. Lydia thought her mem had been the only one
who hadn’t shunned a wayward child, as was expected. Maybe West Kootenai
was
a different place.

Lydia offered a slight smile despite the ache in her stomach. Under any other circumstances
she would have enjoyed getting to know this family. But here, now, her legs grew weak
under her long skirt, and her shoulders and arms ached as if she’d been trying to
hold herself together within the grasp of her own embrace.

“Nice to meet you both. Thank you for opening your home. I best seat myself.”

A silence fell over the place. The service was about to start.

“Here, let me get those.” Mrs. Sommer reached for the wildflowers in Lydia’s hands.
“I’ll put them in water.”

“
Danki
. Thank you.” Lydia offered them over. She guessed Mrs. Sommer would put them in a
jar of water and keep them in the kitchen since the Amish never used flowers to decorate
a casket or room where the funeral was held.

Lydia sat next to her father. So many
Englisch
in the room. How did they suffer through the two hours of songs and sermon in German?

They started by reading a hymn, and then the bishop stood for a sermon. Even though
she hadn’t attended an Amish service for many years, being amongst the simple people,
with their deep faith, brought a peace she hadn’t experienced in a while.

The bishop’s voice rose as he scanned the room. His eyes paused on her for a moment
and then continued on. “What a person sows in this life, he will harvest in
ewigheit
. So Jesus says further, ‘
Lasset uns gutes thun und nicht mude warden
.’”

“
He will harvest in eternity
,” Lydia translated in her mind. “
Let us not be weary in doing good
.”

“For the one who sowed good seed, he shall find grace at the time of judgment. He
shall receive a home in heaven—something that can never be stripped away. But if one
sows the worldly seed, his reward is destruction—eternity in hell.”

Lydia’s heart settled at the rise and fall of the bishop’s words. The cadence was
beautiful…not something one heard in everyday life, walking on city streets. Was it
just four days ago she’d been dodging taxis to run across the street and grab a chai
latte from her favorite tea shop?

Her shoulders straightened. Gideon sat with a few of the other bachelors. He glanced
at her and offered a sad smile. Deep folds in his forehead displayed a pained expression
and
compassion for her—for her dat. Seeing that comforted her. Even though their first
meeting had been filled with angst, at least there was a somewhat-familiar face.

Lydia held her emotions captive, binding them under lock and key, refusing to let
them release. Heat surged through her from her effort, and she pretended someone else’s
mem lay in the coffin. Unlike the few
Englisch
funerals she’d attended in which most of the service memorialized the deceased, in
this gathering there was no talk of Mem other than stating her name, the date of her
birth, and the date of her death. Instead the bishop continued on, speaking of Genesis
and God’s creation of man for eternity. And then he shared the verses Lydia had heard
at nearly every Amish funeral:

“‘Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that heareth my word, and believeth on him that
sent me, hath everlasting life, and shall not come into condemnation; but is passed
from death unto life.’

“‘Verily, verily, I say unto you, the hour is coming, and now is, when the dead shall
hear the voice of the Son of God: and they that hear shall live.’

“‘For as the Father hath life in himself; so hath he given to the Son to have life
in himself; and hath given him authority to execute judgment also, because he is the
Son of man.’”

Tears filled the corners of her eyes. Lydia’s heart warmed at those words as if someone
had started a kindling fire deep in her chest. She let out a low sigh. This was a
good message for Mem, but what about her?

When the sermons were done and another hymn was read, it was time to leave for the
cemetery.

Four men, her dat’s friends, carried the casket from the house to the black, horse-drawn
hearse. They sat in silence as Dat drove the buggy. Lydia didn’t know what to say
to bring
him comfort. She doubted any words could. And for the first time since leaving the
Amish a deep missing came to her. As she drove in line with these faithful people
she considered what returning—really returning—would be like. Not only to chronicle
the “stepping into the old ways” as Bonnie encouraged her to do. But to consider the
way of faith she’d left. To consider God.

They approached the small cemetery, and her eyes moved to the grave—an open chasm
waiting for the simple pine coffin. Men from their church had spent the past two days
digging it, coming as they could between chores, the sweat of their labor mingling
with an occasional tear.

The black-dressed members of the community moved from their buggies and circled the
grave. There were no tears now; those would be shared in private.

The bishop said a few more words at the graveside. The whole thing seemed part of
a dream. Lydia had edited books about death, dying, funerals, and grief. Those concepts
were easy to express on the printed page, but in reality the emotions jumbled together.

Anger, sadness, longing, mixed with a hint of joy that Mem no longer faced sickness
or pain. Yet when they lowered Mem’s coffin into the hole in the ground Lydia’s knees
trembled and her stomach turned. The blue sky and green of the trees faded to gray
and the
kapp
s and faces of those around her blurred.

“I can’t watch it. I can’t…”

She turned and walked back down the road, the sound of shovelfuls of dirt hitting
the wood behind her. She refused to look back, to see the reaction of the others as
she walked away. Thankfully Dat didn’t follow as she went to stand by the buggy. The
sky was bright blue and high. Really high, as if God had attached strings to the heavens
and hiked it up.

It was easier in Seattle to think that life was up to her, but here it was hard to
think that. Being in her parents’ home exhibited a faith lived out even more than
spoken. Witnessing her mem’s burial made her wish she could believe like them. How
could they just accept it without question? Mem had told her faith was believing what
she couldn’t see. Yet what she saw—what she knew about herself—was what made the believing
impossible.