The Promise Box (9 page)

The words ended there, and Lydia turned the paper over in her hand. The last few penned
words were squiggly, filled with emotion. The handwriting was always the same as it
had been. Even in the time of Mem’s great illness, she never lost her penmanship.

Lydia refolded the letter in its perfect ninety-degree creases, trying to decide what
she thought of that. Had the bishop heard of her birth mother’s pregnancy and also
Ada Mae’s childless state? Had he used his influence to bring a baby into Ada Mae’s
arms? Or…was it possible that God was behind it?

A chill moved down Lydia’s arms. She knew about Sarah in the Bible, or at least she
remembered some of the story. Sarah was barren, and God sent an angel to tell her
she’d have a son. It seemed easy to think of such things happening long ago. Biblical
characters seemed almost more than human. But could such a promise be sent by God
to someone today? Sent to tell of her coming? Her birth?

Impossible.

Lydia placed the paper back in the box. What did the other dozens of folded notes
say? Today just one occupied her thoughts. Mem’s words weighed on her mind. Her heart
quivered in her chest like an aspen leaf on the wind.

Lydia swallowed hard and turned off the kerosene lamp. Then she snuggled down under
the covers as the last rays of light peeked around the curtains. That’s one thing
she remembered about Montana: the sun set late here in the summer
months. Yet she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Her day had been full of hopes and promises.
When was the last time she could say such? Too long ago to remember.

And it was one promise that filled her mind most as she drifted off to sleep.

She’d been the promise—the promise from a man of God to Mem.

L
ydia woke before dawn and finished the edits on a novel about a group of women who
crossed on the Oregon Trail. She liked that the novel was inspired by true stories.
She was also excited to add depth to one section that involved a ranch hand, Chuck
Trent. As she edited the part where Chuck tried to calm a wild horse, she couldn’t
help but think of Gideon. The gentle way he’d handled Blue yesterday was a perfect
illustration for the fictional character in the book. As she thought of Gideon, “Chuck”
came to life on the page.

As much as she enjoyed others’ words, her own pulsated through her mind. She was eager
to get her contracted work done and sent. Her own sentences, paragraphs, trailed behind
her like a lost puppy, begging for attention.

Lydia bundled the manuscript to send back to Bonnie. After breakfast with Dat, she
walked with eager steps to the West Kootenai Kraft and Grocery. The log cabin-style
building was set at the end of the muddy parking lot. A wooden-planked walkway, just
like the ones she’d read about in Wild West books, led her to a glass-front door.
Her favorite part, though, was the tall log post near the store. On it were arrows
pointing toward
various locations and the distance to them:
North Pole 2,750 miles. South Pole 9,500 miles. Honolulu, Hawaii 3,912 miles. Canada
2 miles
. It was good to know your place in the world.

Lydia entered and approached the older man at the counter.

“Hey, there.” She held up the package. “I’d like to overnight this to Seattle, please.”

“Nope. Not going to be able to do that.” He didn’t glance up from the copy of the
Daily Interlake
newspaper that he was reading.

“Do you have a priority option?”

The older man with gray hair shook his head. “I have a scale and stamps. If you’d
like to do any of those fancy options, you’ll have to go down the hill and cross the
bridge over to Rexford.”

“Just to mail something?”

He looked up at her then and tilted his head, eyeing her curiously. “You Jacob Wyse’s
girl?”

“
Ja
…yes.”

“Then why don’t you jest drive your car there?”

He wasn’t harsh with his words. The way he said it made her want to chuckle.

Lydia twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “I’m, uh, not in a driving mood.”

“I have stamps, then.” He turned the page of the newspaper.

Lydia looked down at the package. In addition to the manuscript, she’d also sent a
note that she might be a little late on the other two manuscripts too. Just as she
wasn’t in a driving mood, she wasn’t in an editing mood either.

“Wonderful, that’ll work. Stamps, then.”

The older man weighed the package, and she paid him for the stamps. He tossed it into
the outgoing mail pile and a weight lifted from her shoulders.

What she was in the mood for was to get back home so she could watch Gideon in the
pasture with Blue and to read more letters in the Promise Box.

She glanced at her watch. It was early. She had time to have a cup of coffee—to watch
the people in the community as they shopped and ate. To take the first steps of getting
to know the folks who called this place home.

Lydia hadn’t thought twice about leaving the Amish, but returning filled her mind
to the top—just like the way Mem filled jelly jars, so that the extra fillings squished
out when she put on the lid.

The breeze ruffled Lydia’s peasant skirt as another customer stepped through the front
door of the West Kootenai Kraft and Grocery. The logger who moved past her smelled
of Old Spice, like her neighbor back in Seattle. Back home, Mr. Montgomery’s scent
always hung around the glass and metal elevator. But here the scent was a brief introduction.
The scents of bacon, coffee, and last night’s fried chicken punctuated her further
steps.

After him, an
Englisch
woman and her daughter walked by.

“Good morning!” Lydia chirped. She pushed her lips up into a smile.

The woman’s steps were lighter as she picked up a grocery basket. “Good morning to
you too.”

Bonnie had told her to take a step of faith. Dat said God had a plan for her. Her
father’s sable brown eyes twinkled when he’d said that. His plan meant here, with
him. What would that look like?

She stepped lightly to the restaurant area, and even though she’d just eaten, the
scent of cinnamon rolls and peanut butter wooed her. More wonderful scents. The kitchen
was open, and an
Englisch
woman rolled cookie dough into balls, setting them onto the pan in nice, even spaces.

The Amish waitress sat at the table closest to the kitchen, filling salt shakers.
Lydia recognized her.

She didn’t look up. “Sit anywhere you’d like.”

“Thanks, Eve.”

Head jerked, gaze narrowed, and Eve’s eyebrows turned down.

Lydia took the table closest to Eve, her skirt catching slightly on the rough-hewn
wooden bench. Light glinted off the window, causing her to blink. She shielded her
eyes and peered out at the rays of light stretching into the lavender-gray sky.

Hope stretched out of her heart, and joy mixed with regret. Joy over imagining Dat’s
face when she told him she most likely would be returning. Regret that she hadn’t
come home sooner. That her stubborn will had enveloped her like a force field. Yet
instead of offering protection, it had kept love and family and community from penetrating
its solid defenses.

“Coffee?” Eve lined up twelve shakers in a neat row but didn’t move.

Lydia shifted in her seat and pressed her open hands on her legs. “Tea, please. Do
you have Earl Grey?”

“Most people drink coffee around here.” Eve rose and set the salt shakers on the other
tables, ignoring Lydia’s table completely, walking around her with a wide berth.

Lydia stomach knotted, and she clenched and unclenched her fists. Had she done something
or said something wrong?

“Whatever tea you have is fine.” Her sing-song tone fell flat. “And thank you…for
bringing that bread by the house yesterday. I know it’s out of your way.”

“It was a nice day out. I wanted to see the lake, so I thought I’d come with the other
ladies.”

“Tomorrow Gideon—”

“No need to waste his time. I can come again.” Eve turned over Lydia’s coffee cup
with a clatter.

Lydia cleared her throat and jutted out her chin. “I know you said Gideon would bring
it by tomorrow, but I told him not to worry. I’m going to bake two loaves later today.
My mother did teach me how to bake.”

“If you say so.”

“I did appreciate your help, and that from the others. All your help. The plum jam
was delicious—”

“We did it because of your father,
ja
. For yer mem’s memory too.”

“I’m thankful my father shared.”

“Dat says we’re to be separate from the world. Folks haven’t paid that enough mind.
I’m not going to fool you to think we could be friends, Lydia.”

And next week? And the week after? What about when—if—I decide to begin wearing my
dress
, kapp
, and apron?

Lydia straightened her shoulders, focusing on the woman’s face. She lifted the white
porcelain coffee cup. “About the tea?”

“I have chamomile. I’ll be right back.”

Lydia pushed back, her shoulders pressing into the hard wood of the bench.
Shouldn’t they think about putting cushions on these benches?

Eve returned with a cup of hot water and a tea bag that looked as if it had been sitting
on the shelf for ten years. She placed a menu on the table, still without a word.
Obviously not everyone would be thrilled by her choice to return.

Lydia pulled out her notepad and pen from her purse, and with one more glance to Eve
she began to write.

Two cups of tea later, Lydia looked at the words in front of her. With pen across
the paper, she couldn’t come up with one reason why she’d want to go back to Seattle.
Yet returning to the Amish, there was something holding her back: faith. Her dat had
asked her to pray about returning, but for some reason, praying was the hardest thing
to do.

Eve was busy in the kitchen, and she’d left Lydia’s tab on the table, informing her
to pay at the front cash register when she left. Lydia wasn’t going to hold a grudge.
She understood the fear of outsiders—especially those who chose to leave the Amish
way.

She grabbed a small handheld shopping basket and considered what she wanted to make
for dinner the next few days. One of her favorite things was potato
gnepp
, which Mem called “old shoes.” She got the ingredients for the dough and more potatoes
for the filling. She also got items for chicken loaf and beef and bean soup—a few
of Dat’s favorites.

By the time she’d finished shopping, the older gentleman was gone, and a young Amish
woman rang her up.

Lydia paid and scooped up the two paper sacks. “
Danki
.”

The young woman eyed her. “Did you used to be Amish?”

She had opened her mouth to respond when she felt a hand on her arm. She turned to
see a short, older woman in Amish dress with strawberry blonde hair peeking out from
under her
kapp
. She seemed pleasant enough, and Lydia offered a smile.

“Lydia Wyse?”

“
Ja?
”

“I’m Sallie Peachy. I know your parents.” The woman scanned Lydia’s loose sweater
and long skirt, but instead of judgment in her eyes, a soft smile touched her lips.
“You’re sort of like Marianna. She left the Amish too.”

Sallie turned slightly and pointed to a woman in the kitchen.
Instead of a
kapp
, the woman wore a handkerchief over her light brown hair, and she hummed along to
the radio as she kneaded a ball of dough. Her long dress and apron wasn’t Amish, but
it was close. When she turned, Lydia realized it
was
Marianna.

“Uh-huh,” she answered, not knowing how to respond. “So she left the Amish?”

“
Ja
, to marry Ben. Their wedding took place just a few months ago—the most beautiful
wedding. For an
Englisch
one, of course.”

Lydia smiled. “
Ja
, I imagine so.” Was there a purpose for this information? She was certain Gideon
was already out in the pasture with Blue. Had he scanned her parents’ place looking
for her? “Marianna, uh, seems to enjoy her job,” she said, attempting to be nice,
then readjusted her bags in her hand.

“Oh, it’s not her job. She’s just filling in for Sarah, who’s in Ohio right now working
at a bakery. She’s engaged now, too, from what I hear. The two women are best friends,
and when Marianna was in Indiana, Sarah ran the bakery and now with Sarah gone…”

“Marianna is in charge. How wonderful that worked out.” Lydia took a step closer to
the door.

Sallie Peachy frowned. “Are you heading home already?”

“Yes, to put these groceries away and check on Dat.”

“Oh,
ja
, how is Jacob? I heard he had a horrible spill yesterday.”

“He’s
gut
…staying off his feet. A kind bachelor named Gideon is filling in for him.”

“Gideon, eh?” Disappointment on the woman’s face was clear. “I have two daughters,
and my daughter, Eve, considers him a fine man…one of her favorites among the bachelors.”

“He is nice.” She forced a grin. “I’ll let him know you send your regards.”

The woman nodded and then reached out and grabbed Lydia’s arm. “I do have two questions
before you go.”

“Sure.” Lydia paused.

“First, every Saturday all us ladies from the community come for breakfast here at
the restaurant. The Amish ones tend to show up first; I suppose we’re early risers.
But the
Englisch
ladies like to join us too. It’s a nice time of shaaaaring…” The woman stretched
the last word out, and Lydia guessed their sharing time was more effective at spreading
local news than that newspaper Edgar had been reading. Maybe more accurate too.

“I’d like that.”

“And that last thing…” Sallie narrowed her gaze. “Yer not sweet on Gideon, are you,
because in my opinion there have been enough young people leaving the Amish lately.
No offense.”

Lydia shrugged. “None taken.” She bit her lip, trying to figure out how best to phrase
her response. Finally the words came to her.

She cleared her throat. “Mrs. Peachy, I do consider Gideon a nice friend and you can
be rest assured that I have no intention of persuading anyone to leave the Amish.”

“That’s
gut
to know, dear.” Mrs. Peachy patted her arm. “You just never know about young folks
these days. Things aren’t like what they used to be when the thought of not being
Amish didn’t cross our minds. Faith, friendship, community…what’s not to appreciate?”

“
Ja
.” Lydia nodded. “I’m starting to see.”

“We aren’t perfect. God doesn’t expect us to be,” Sallie continued. “Faith isn’t about
having all the answers. It’s about taking one step. The
first
step.”

Lydia moved to her chest and pulled out her Amish clothes.

It had taken her just a few minutes to put the grocery items away. Each moment, urgency
pushed her forward, confirming what she needed to do. Had God sent Sallie Peachy to
the store at that moment to talk to her—just as He had sent that bishop to talk to
Mem all those years ago?

The fabric of the dark-blue Amish dress was light, but the weight of it tugged at
her arms. She slipped out of her skirt and sweater, then slipped the dress over her
head, pinning it up the front. Putting on the Amish clothes was more than just a way
to dress. With it came expectations. A way to live, a way to think, a way to believe.

Belief
. That was still growing in her. Faith would come, she hoped.

Lydia moved to the window. From where she stood she could see only a fraction of the
pasture where Gideon now worked with Blue. Yet just because she couldn’t see him didn’t
mean he wasn’t there. And just because she’d run away from the Amish community—and
from God in a sense—didn’t mean He had left her.