A Home for Lydia (The Pebble Creek Amish Series) (6 page)

Lydia started the
kaffi
and placed her mother’s oatmeal cake on the table as soon as she walked inside the office. She had passed by the window and was looking toward the river when she saw Aaron Troyer step out of cabin four’s front door. He stepped into the morning light, hat pushed down over hair that needed a good trimming, and something in Lydia’s heart tripped a beat. She tried to deny the fluttery feeling, knowing no good would come of it, but hopes and dreams stirred regardless of her good common sense.

Best to ignore them and focus on other things.

She had always liked cabin four. It allowed a good view of the bend in the river, but Aaron probably didn’t pause to notice that. He probably saw only the rotten part on the railing that needed replacing. No doubt he noted the fact that the shrubs needed trimming.

Didn’t he think she realized those things? She wasn’t daft. But there was a limit to how much one person could do.

He still hadn’t started toward the office. What was he doing on the porch?

Maybe he had fallen through the rotten rail.

As she began to wonder if she should check on him, he came walking down the steps, frowning at the other cabins as he trudged toward the front of the property.

Humph.

It seemed Aaron woke with the same mood he had carried to bed—a bad one. Well, she’d had customers like him before, she
certainly had a younger brother like him, and she’d once had a boyfriend like him.

The customers never stayed long enough to be more than a passing problem.

The younger brother was bound to grow out of his surly disposition.

And the boyfriend had broken things off when he’d realized Lydia had obligations to fulfill and not much time for buggy rides and Sunday evening singings. She’d come to realize she was better off without him.

But what about handsome Aaron Troyer? How long was he going to stick around?

Her instincts told her not very long.

Then the door to the office rattled open, and she didn’t have to rely on her instincts. The expression on his face told her all she needed to know. He’d be out of Pebble Creek before Monday’s bus left town.

“
Kaffi?
” He stood just inside the doorway, as if he hadn’t decided whether to walk inside any farther.

“
Ya
, and some oatmeal cake from my
mamm
.”

“Smells
gut
.”

Lydia didn’t offer to pour his drink or cut a piece of the sweet
kaffi
cake for him. She wasn’t sure what her role here was, but she didn’t think fetching
kaffi
for the boss was in her job description. At least, it hadn’t been with his
onkel
. She missed Ervin, and once again she found herself wondering about God’s wisdom in taking the kindly old man when He did.

Of course, it wasn’t her place to wonder about God’s decisions, as her mother was fond of pointing out.

Aaron fixed his
kaffi
with two sugars and no cream. Walking back to the table, he cut a large piece of the oatmeal cake—Lydia’s
aenti
called it a Lazy Daisy oatmeal cake. She had never learned why, but as a child she remembered finding a handful of daisies in the
pasture and running into the kitchen so that her mother could add them to the batter.

Aaron didn’t sit but instead stood with his back to the window, next to the table, eating and studying her.

Lydia didn’t speak, figuring she’d let him begin.

“I’m going to need a pen and some paper to make a list of all the repairs that need to be done.”

Lydia walked to the desk and pulled the supplies he needed out of the drawer. She set them on the table in front of him.

“Are the cabins always completely empty?”

“Weekdays, most of them are.”

Aaron closed his eyes, but he continued chewing. Maybe her mother had known what she was doing, sending the cake. Perhaps butter, brown sugar, eggs, and cinnamon soothed the soul when little else could. Maybe they would help with all Aaron would learn today.

“Weekends?” he asked.

“Some better.”

“How much?”

Lydia shifted from one foot to the other. She realized she was responding the way her youngest sister, Sally Ann, did when she was caught in mischief—which was often. Lydia forced herself to stop fidgeting and stand still.

“How much better?” Aaron repeated, refilling his
kaffi
mug and adding another sugar.

She found herself wondering if his family had a history of diabetes.

“Some weekends half the cabins are full.”

“And others?”

“We start with half full, but they leave.”

Aaron leaned against the counter, studying her as he drank his
kaffi
. Was he noticing the ten pounds she’d been meaning to lose? Maybe it had crept up to fifteen. Not that it mattered. He wouldn’t be around long enough for courting, and if he was staying he wouldn’t be courting her. There were plenty of eligible girls in their district to
choose from—girls who weren’t responsible for a family of eight, girls who had better attitudes and thinner waistlines. Worrying about weight was a prideful thing. She shouldn’t care unless it affected her health, which it didn’t. Though at the rate Aaron was devouring her
mamm
’s cake, he might need to be letting out his suspenders in the next year. Did he always eat so much? And so quickly?

He took another drink of
kaffi
. At least he didn’t slurp it. She could not abide a man who slurped, though it wasn’t as if she’d be around him long enough for it to matter. From the look he was giving her, slurping was the least of her problems.

“Why do they leave?”

“Most the time they don’t say.”

“And when they do say?”

Now she turned and began fiddling at the desk, which was already in perfect order.

“Lydia, when they do say anything, how do they explain their leaving?” When she didn’t answer, he walked across the room and stood directly in front of her, close enough that when she looked up she saw that his eyes were exactly the color of her mother’s
kaffi
after she’d stirred a measure of cream into it—a nice warm brown, completely opposite the chill in his voice.

“They must have a reservation,” he said. “If their reservation is for two or three nights, they must have a reason for leaving. Certainly they tell you something when they—”

“Always they give an explanation. All right? They come up with some excuse, and it’s plain that it isn’t their real reason.” Lydia stepped back from the desk. She wanted more distance between them. She had worked here alone for two months now, and she’d found a comfortable rhythm.

Ervin, he knew the way things were. He understood about the
Englischers
. He caught on before she did.

Somehow they had shared the knowledge together, stumbled through it together. They had even scrounged up enough money to keep the place running. Perhaps they had allowed a few repairs to
remain undone, but it had stayed between them. There had been no need for Elizabeth to worry, and Lydia had been able to keep her job.

Now, looking at Aaron, she knew those days were over.

She half turned away from him so she could gaze out over the cabins. “They always tell me something, but I can see the looks of pity,” she said quietly. “They stare at this place as you do, as if they can’t drive away fast enough. As if they can’t possibly rest here or appreciate the flow of the river or hear the cry of the birds. Instead, they run away because of all that is wrong. All that Ervin couldn’t do then, and I still can’t do now. I see it in their eyes, I see their pity, and I don’t know what to say.”

Aaron walked over to the sink and rinsed out his
kaffi
cup.

“Does Elizabeth know? Has anyone discussed this with my
onkel
’s wife?”

She had expected sympathy in his voice. His cold hard tone was almost a relief. He turned and pierced her with his stare.

“No. Your
onkel
tried to protect her from how poorly the business was doing.”

“Tell me where I can find her.”

Chapter 5

O
n Friday mornings Miriam was in the habit of visiting her mother. After she’d seen Grace off to school, she would bundle Rachel up and head in the opposite direction.

Part of her heart tugged when Grace walked down the lane with Gabe. Eli Stutzman still gave her a ride to school. They were at the edge of the school’s boundary, and it was too far for a young girl to walk. Gabe could have taken her, but Grace was in the habit of riding with the Stutzman children, including her best friend, Sadie. Miriam knew all too well the scene that would greet Grace once Eli delivered her to the doors of the little schoolhouse along the banks of Pebble Creek. Having been the teacher there for eight years, she could picture the students tramping inside after pausing to stomp the mud off their shoes. She could practically feel the chalk dust on her fingers. She could hear the children’s voices as she prepared to ring the first morning bell.

She glanced over at little Rachel, riding contentedly in her basket, staring up at her with those beautiful brown eyes. Belle moved down the road at a steady trot, and Miriam’s restlessness began to ease.

There wasn’t even one inch in her heart that regretted giving up teaching to marry Gabe and live in the droopy house with the sad barn…though neither was sad or droopy anymore. But when Gabe
smiled and touched her face in the glow of the lantern light, when he asked her gently what was wrong, she was honest enough to admit she missed the schoolchildren at times.

Grace didn’t require much tending when compared to a classroom full of students. Even the birth of her baby didn’t add a lot of work; Rachel was easy to care for as far as babies were concerned. She slept well. She ate well. Her delivery had been easy.

Miriam wasn’t complaining. She directed Belle into her parents’ lane, though the mare knew the way. They had traveled home every weekend while she taught at the one-room schoolhouse.

Gabe had understood when she’d admitted to being more than occasionally bored. He’d suggested visiting with her mother one day a week. Perhaps there would be additional work once they could put in the summer vegetable garden, but even Gabe’s fields were still too wet for planting. She wouldn’t have that distraction anytime soon.

Her father walked out of the barn before she’d pulled the buggy up to the house. Pepper followed him but then hurried ahead to greet her. The German shorthaired pointer was at her buggy by the time she’d pulled to a stop.

“I think he misses you.” Joshua King had coal-black hair like Miriam, something of an oddity among Plain people. Both his hair and his beard were streaked with gray. Other than that, he didn’t seem a day older than when she had started teaching.

Tying Belle to the hitching rail, he reached for the basket, and his expression softened into wonder. “She’s smiling, eh?”

“At you, apparently.” Her daughter smiled for Gabe and her father, but she had yet to smile for her. As Joshua carried the baby toward the house, Miriam stooped to pet Pepper. “Don’t worry, boy. All the men seem taken with her. You and I still have each other.”

Joshua turned and studied them. “No need to be jealous over a
boppli
. A man naturally feels this way about his
grossdochdern
.”