A Home for Lydia (The Pebble Creek Amish Series) (5 page)

Miriam set the lantern on the floor beside the bed. It cast funny shadows across the room. She pulled the flashlight out of Grace’s nightstand and tested the batteries, same as she did every night. Then she set it on top of the nightstand where Grace could reach it if she needed to get up and it was dark.

“Do you know what I was thinking about?” Grace yawned so big
her eyes squeezed shut, even though she was trying to keep them open.

“Gus?”

“No.”

“Hunter?”

“I love that puppy. No, not Hunter.”

“What, then?” Miriam settled on the bed beside her.

Grace liked how Miriam was never in a hurry, even when she must be tired. When her stomach had been
huge
, Grace had worried that she might roll off her bed, but she hadn’t. And now they had Rachel.

“Are we going to have another
boppli
?”

“That’s what you were thinking about?”

“No, but when you sat down I was remembering how big you were before, and how you looked like you had a volleyball under your apron.”

Miriam started laughing, and then Grace started laughing. Soon her dad’s voice came booming down the hall. “You wouldn’t be giggling if you were changing this diaper.”

“I thought she might do that. She usually does an hour after she eats.”

“Should you go help him?” Grace asked.

“Nope. Your
dat
’s a smart guy. He can handle it.”

“So what about it? What about another
boppli
?”

“Usually takes longer than that. Can’t say for sure, but I wouldn’t expect another right away.”

Grace thought about that a minute. Finally she nodded as if it made perfect sense. “I adore Rachel.”

“I know you do. You’re a
gut schweschder
.”

Grace folded her hands to say her prayers. As she was thanking God for her new drawing supplies, she remembered what else she was going to tell Miriam.

“Lydia’s cabins…” She yawned again, trying to keep her eyes open.
“I’d like to go back and draw them. I tried to do it while we were riding home, but it was hard to catch the details, hard to remember.”

“I’m sure it’s difficult to draw while riding in a buggy.”

“Did you see the way the river wound behind the cabins?”

“I did.” Miriam leaned forward and planted a kiss on her forehead.

“The light was just so…”

“It was.”

Grace fought to keep her eyes open. She wanted to talk more with Miriam, but things felt so warm and snuggly and
right
.

“Rest now, dear. If
Gotte
wants you to draw the cabins, He’ll make a way.”

Chapter 4

A
aron thought he would toss and turn in the double bed he found in cabin four. He’d expected dust on the small table, sheets that hadn’t been washed, and a lumpy mattress. He’d thought the inside of the cabins would disappoint him as badly as the outside had.

He was pleasantly surprised.

All of the furnishings were certainly dated. The small table, four chairs, bed, a single nightstand, and one rocker all looked as if they were at least twenty years old.

Which didn’t matter at all because the workmanship was simple and excellent.

The bed was constructed from oak and Amish made. As he peered down and studied the way the headboard was fastened together, he was sure of it. Running his hand down the post, he appreciated the solid feel—no plastics, no fabricated wood.

Had his
onkel
Ervin made it? Had he made all the furniture in this room? Long ago, Ervin had worked with wood—before he’d left the family in Indiana and struck out on his own. His dad had told him some of the history.

Much of it Aaron hadn’t listened to very closely.

At the time he’d been in a hurry to be back in the fields. He
hadn’t had much time for remembering about the old days. Family stories were fine, but what use were they when a field needed planting or a horse was sick? The farm was what concerned him, not old stories about family members he could barely remember. He had been so sure his future lay outside the kitchen window, in the Indiana fields, and now he was here…

He was here and he was clueless.

Pulling out the chair, he dropped his provisions onto the table. Maybe it was his exhaustion, or maybe it was his low expectations. Whatever the reason, the clean room and Plain furnishings helped ease the tension from the day.

Lydia had been right about the food supplies in the office. Basics were there and nothing more. He’d found crackers on the shelves and a package of cheese and sausage in the gas-powered refrigerator. Interesting that the office had a phone but no electricity.

Did their bishop not allow it? Even for businesses?

Questions sifted through his mind as he sliced the cheese and sausage, placed them on the crackers, and ate until he was full. Chasing his dinner with cold water, he realized the food was exactly what he’d needed—simple but sufficient. Tomorrow he’d figure out a way to cook.

Would he need to cook? How long would he be staying? Was his job to sell the place or to clean it up?

Every time he sought to find an answer, he uncovered three more questions. So instead he pulled off his work boots, washed at the sink, and sank onto the bed, grateful for the firm mattress and soft pile of blankets.

The questions persisted, though.

Things he needed to know about the cabins, about his
onkel
, even about why his father had sent him. As his eyes grew heavier with each persistent hoot of the owl outside his door, his final questions were about the girl.

Except she wasn’t a girl. She was a woman. That much was plain. She no longer had a girl’s body or a girl’s mannerisms.

The first thought embarrassed him and the second made him laugh out loud in the empty room. Lydia Fisher did not appear to be the kind of woman who would easily back down.

Was that why his
onkel
had chosen to hire such a young person to help oversee things? Because of her stubbornness?

How young was she? Why did she have such an explosive attitude?

The questions circled and echoed through his mind as sleep claimed him.

Sleep that seemed to last hours. He dreamed of Indiana, of working the fields and watching the crops grow tall. He could smell the corn, run his hands across the stalks, walk down the rows, and see his shadow in the afternoon sun.

Too soon, sunlight woke him. He felt disoriented, unsure at first of where he was and feeling as if he’d put his head on the pillow less than five minutes earlier. It wasn’t the light that had caused him to sit up in the cabin’s bed, though. It was a noise.

He had been awakened by the sound of a horse and buggy pulling into the parking area. No doubt this had been the manager’s cabin because it was positioned to hear any comings and goings. He groaned and rolled out of bed, pulling back the shade that covered the window.

Looking out, he saw the beast that had nipped him the day before.

The sun was barely over the horizon.

Did she always arrive at work so early? What was her name? Linda? Laura? Lydia.

That was it.

What was she doing here? She must have left when the sun was scratching the first field. Why? Perhaps she was checking on him, to see how late he slept.

Aaron wasn’t about to be outworked by a woman. Running water over his face, he attempted to comb his hair, but he could see by the
small mirror hung over the sink that he wasn’t making it any better. How he looked didn’t matter. Hats were made for covering unruly hair. Quickly brushing his teeth, he searched in his bag for clean clothes, threw them on, and bolted out the front door.

The scene from his porch stopped him cold.

A crane similar to the one he’d seen the night before stood on the far side of the river, catching its morning meal.

Smaller birds called from the trees, some he recognized from Indiana and others he didn’t. He didn’t glance up for long. His eyes were drawn to the beauty upstream, standing in the river near the next cabin.

White as a new moon and easily twenty pounds, the trumpeter swan upended, searching for food. As he watched, the bird’s head darted out of the stream. Stretching its long neck straight, water dripped off its black beak and splashed back into the river. It swallowed once, before upending again.

Aaron could have stood watching for hours, but the cry of a hawk startled him. He turned his head and peered up into the sky, following the sound. When he looked back, the swan was gone. Perhaps he’d found better waters around the bend.

Was every morning like this?

Was all of Wisconsin like this?

He placed his hand on the railing as he leaned forward, and the wood cracked, splintered, and nearly gave way beneath his weight.

It figured.

As he walked down the steps, he dodged two hummingbirds that dove past him, headed for the flowering bushes bordering the far side of the porch, practically taking over that side of the building even up to the roof.

His heart wanted to remain focused on the wildlife. His brain was moving toward work, and he was surprised when his stomach began to gurgle.

Last night’s cracker sandwiches had left him. Their nutrition was as fleeting as the sense of wonder he’d just experienced. Walking past
cabins three, two, and one, which were in desperate need of repair, his shoulders began to tense as he worried over what he should do first.

One thing he knew for certain. It was time to demand some answers. And the one way to do that was to confront his only employee.