A Home for Lydia (The Pebble Creek Amish Series) (45 page)

“Have you spoken with Mattie or with Aaron? Have you tried to see Jerry?”

Lydia shook her head as her tears began to fall.

Miriam reached forward and claimed the girl’s hands in her own.

“It would be difficult to see Jerry today, but we can pray for him, Lydia. And we can hire a driver to go see him next week. Or we can write him a letter. I think he would like that.” She waited for Lydia to nod, and then she continued. “Mattie has already left for her home. She didn’t even stay for dinner, but I think she would like to hear from you. I think she could use a
gut freind
right now.”

Reaching in the pocket of her apron, she handed Lydia a fresh handkerchief she kept there for just such emergencies.

“I tried to speak with her, but she walked away, and it’s no better with Clara.”

Miriam wondered if she should share the other reason she’d attended the service today. She waited a few moments, prayed silently, and finally decided it was something Lydia would need to know anyway. “The bishop and Mattie’s parents have asked me to try to help.”

“In what way?” Lydia glanced up, her eyes darting around the yard, looking for the bishop.

“Only to help Mattie to feel more comfortable in the community again. Also they’re concerned, as are your parents, that perhaps Clara is blaming herself for some of what happened.”

“Have you spoken to my parents?”

“For a few moments. I’m going to pick Mattie up tomorrow and bring her to the cabins for lunch. Would you mind preparing something for us?”

“Not at all, but what makes you think she’ll come?”

“Her parents will insist that she come, and I don’t think she’ll say no to me. I’ll give her my most serious teacher look.”

Lydia smiled, but then she shook her head. “Everything has been off since that night. I don’t understand. Things were finally going well.”

“Are we still talking about the girls?”

A slight blush stained Lydia’s cheeks.

“Ahh. So we’re talking about the cabins.”

Lydia smiled, though she still seemed to be fighting it. “You tease more now than you did when you were a teacher.”

“It’s Gabe’s fault. Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know how. I don’t understand what I feel or how Aaron’s acting. I’m completely confused and miserable…and stop smiling! This is serious, Miriam.”

“Of course it is. It’s only that I don’t think you’re alone in your misery. Aaron has been looking more unhappy than Gus does when left alone in our back field.” Miriam peeked out through the featherlike leaves of the willow. “In fact, I see he’s standing over there by David’s buggy, helping to load the church pews.”

Lydia’s head jerked up, and she peered in the direction Miriam indicated.

“Why don’t you go talk to him?”

“
Nein
. I couldn’t.”

“Why don’t we go together? I imagine he has things he’d like to say to you, but he doesn’t know how to begin.”

When Lydia raised her eyes, there was such hope there that it took the breath from Miriam’s chest. She raised her hand, tucked the girl’s hair into her prayer
kapp
, and smiled. Standing, she pulled Lydia to her feet.

“What do you say? We’ll stroll over together.”

Miriam thought she would refuse, but Lydia pulled in a deep breath, plastered on a smile, and squared her shoulders as if she were going to do battle with a stubborn mule.

Which did describe Aaron on a bad day. Miriam nearly laughed at that thought.

But, of course, young love and breaking hearts were no laughing matter. She remembered that herself. It hadn’t been so long since she’d sat in a classroom, watching valentine lunches disappear and wondering why a certain farmer was waiting so long to let his feelings be known. Yes, she remembered all that very well, and it wasn’t a time in her life she cared to repeat. So she laced her fingers with Lydia’s and walked with her toward the man who could either set things right or tear them apart completely.

Chapter 39

G
race was sitting on the steps, watching the men load the benches and holding her baby
schweschder
when her
mamm
and Lydia walked up holding hands. The sight made her smile, as did the realization that she’d again thought of Miriam as her mother.

It felt so natural now that she hardly noticed it anymore. She’d recently had a letter from her
mammi
Sarah, back in Indiana.
Mammi
Sarah said that
Gotte
would want her to treat her new mother with respect, which also included loving her the same as her mother who was in heaven. It didn’t mean she loved her first mother any less.

She’d known those things before receiving the letter. She was nine years old, after all. She wasn’t a
boppli
anymore. Not like Rachel.

She glanced down at the infant nestled across her knees, her thumb tucked in her mouth, her brown eyes staring up at her.

What was Rachel thinking? What would she say if she knew how to speak? And how did she see things? How did the house and the tree and the horses appear to her?

What would her mother, her first mother, think of baby Rachel? Her
dat
had told her they had always planned on a big family. He’d also said that when the midwife had first placed her in her mother’s
arms, she had called her an “angel” and compared her hair to “the chestnut pony.”

Looking down at Rachel, Grace thought her first
mamm
would like her very much, though her hair didn’t make her big sister think of Chance or Snickers. The way the afternoon light was falling across the top of her head, her hair color reminded Grace of Gus.

Grace shook her head, causing her
kapp
strings to flap back and forth and Rachel’s eyes to follow them. She didn’t want to think of Rachel being like Gus in any way. That could be a disaster.

It had been nice to read the words of blessing from her
mammi
Sarah. It had been
refreshing
—that was a new word she’d learned last year from Miss Bena. It wasn’t a hard word, but one she hadn’t used before. Now she had five pictures drawn in her book, with the word “refreshing” underneath them. All included some portion of Pebble Creek, and the last one included a corner of the letter from
mammi
Sarah laying on top of the big rock out in back of the cabins where Lydia worked.

Right now, Lydia reminded her of Miss Bena when she was addressing the younger boys in the schoolroom. She was not smiling at all. No, that was wrong—she had a small tight smile. It wasn’t her real one.

Fortunately, she was headed to the buggy and not toward her or Rachel.

It wasn’t as if Rachel could have done anything wrong. Rachel was almost perfect, except when she cried. And most of the time there was a reason for that.

Grace couldn’t think of anything she had done wrong.

“Everything
gut
here?” Bishop Atlee strolled over and sat down beside her on the porch step. His beard reached down to his lap when he was sitting, and his skin was very wrinkly—like Rachel’s when she’d first been born.

“
Ya
. I was thinking how nearly perfect Rachel is.”

“So you like having a baby
schweschder
, do you?”

“I do. I wouldn’t mind having more, even maybe a
bruder
one
day.” Grace glanced up at her parents, who were now standing side by side and smiling at each other. “But we can keep that between us, bishop. There’s no rush.”

“Oh, right. No rush.”

“One baby, a donkey, a puppy, a tom cat, and a mouse are a lot to look after some days.”

“You take care of all those things?”

“Not all of them. My
mamm
mostly takes care of Rachel.” Grace ran a finger over her
schweschder
’s perfect hand, and her tiny fingers reached out and circled hers, sending a river of delight through her heart. “I only watch her for a few minutes when everyone else is busy. And my
dat
mostly cares for Gus.”

“Gus is…”

“The donkey.”

Atlee nodded as if everything was making sense to him now.

“I’m not completely sure why
Gotte
made donkeys.”

The bishop didn’t offer an answer, so Grace pushed on. “At first, I wanted Gus so bad I thought I’d die if I didn’t have him. This was at Mrs. Kiems’ benefit auction.”

“I remember that. Your
dat
won him.”

“
Ya
, because I begged him to enter the woodchopping contest, and I still do love Gus. But now, some days, it seems like he’s more work than he’s worth.”

Atlee considered her words for a moment, combing his beard with his fingers. “No one is useless in this world who lightens the burden of it for someone else.”

Grace glanced up at him in surprise. “Miss Bena taught us that proverb last year. I thought it was talking about people.”

“Could be, I suppose. Or it could be talking about donkeys. You know, Grace, God used donkeys in the Bible as an example for us to learn from—learn humility and service and even obedience.”

“There were donkeys in the Bible?”

“Sure. You remember the donkey Mary rode on…”

Grace nodded.

“And the donkey Christ rode into Jerusalem.”

“
Ya
.”

“There was also Balaam’s donkey.”

“Who?”

“Balaam’s donkey. He saw the angel of the Lord. Numbers twenty-two. You might want to read that chapter. It could give you an entirely different perspective on Gus.”

Atlee placed his hand gently on top of her
kapp
, and Grace felt the same way she did when she stood in the sunlight. Gently he reached forward and did the same to Rachel. He didn’t say anything, but Grace knew, with a certainty, that he was praying for them.

It reminded her of watching Seth’s baptism, which she had questions about. She wanted to ask her parents about the water, and also how old she needed to be. She wanted to ask Seth how he knew for sure when the time was right and if he felt different when the water was pouring down his face.

Smiling, the bishop stood and moved on to speak with David, who was ready to drive off with the church pews. They laughed about something, and her
onkel
climbed up into his buggy.

Grace liked visiting the church on this side of Pebble Creek. Things were certainly different over here—bathrooms inside the house, gas stoves, refrigerators that didn’t have blocks of ice in them. They even had different washing machines, which Grace didn’t understand, but she’d watched her
aenti
and the process certainly looked like something she could get used to.

The west side of Pebble Creek was different, but it seemed like it was also the same. Church had the same songs. Preaching was the same—long! And families were the same—big. Sometimes grumpy and sometimes happy.

Bishop Atlee moved on from the buggy and stopped to help one of the older couples with their mare. He was a nice man.

He reminded her of her
daddi
Joshua. Next to her
dat
, her grandfather was her favorite person in the whole world. Miriam’s
dat
had
taught her to ride in a saddle, to play checkers well enough to beat Adam Lapp, and he never said a word when she climbed trees.