A Home for Lydia (The Pebble Creek Amish Series) (7 page)

“Even when he has so many?” Miriam reached into the buggy and pulled out her quilting bag, and then she hurried to catch up with him, Pepper trotting at her heels.

“Oh,
ya
. More definitely makes it sweeter. Now I know what to expect.”

“Such as?”

“Well…” Joshua carried the basket with one hand as if it weighed no more than a loaf of bread, and he tugged on his long beard with the other. “I know she’ll be starting school soon, so I need to appreciate these little visits.”

“
Dat,
that’s years and years away.”

“I suppose by the calendar you’re right. But in moments of the heart…” He looked to the sky, where a bird lighted in the sugar maple tree near the house. “She’ll fly as quickly as that bird.”

He winked at her before opening the back door, which led into the mudroom.

Miriam stopped him, reaching out and resting her hand on his arm. “How’s
mamm
feeling today?”

“
Gut
. Today is a
gut
day.”

Stepping inside, he hollered into the kitchen, “Abigail, Miriam and Rachel are here.”

“
Wunderbaar
. I just pulled raisin bread from the oven.”

Miriam followed her father into the house. “
Gudemariye
,
mamm
.”

“And to you, dear. How’s Rachel this morning?”

Her daughter chose that moment to let out a healthy cry.

“There now. See? She doesn’t like bread without the icing. She took one look and let out a holler.”

“Joshua King. She did no such thing.”

Miriam took the baby into the sitting room, sank into the rocker, and proceeded with her midmorning feeding while her mother reminded her father of the reasons they were cutting back on his sugar intake.

It was an old lecture—one that had been going on for at least two years.

Although Joshua was good about following Doc Hanson’s recommendations, he seemed to enjoy giving Abigail a hard time about her new recipes. Their conversation in the background was much like the gurgling of Pebble Creek—familiar, pleasant, and comforting.

As Miriam settled Rachel at her breast, Abigail walked into the room and placed a cup of warm tea next to her chair. It was hard for Miriam to believe her mother was fifty-five years old. Though many Amish women tended to gain weight as they aged, probably because their diet was high in carbohydrates and sweets, Abigail had managed to stay small. Glancing at her, Miriam realized again that her mother was too thin. She could stand to gain a few pounds.

She’d talked to her brothers about it at the last Sunday meeting, but they had only shrugged and reminded her that Abigail insisted she was fine. When she spoke with her two sisters-in-law, she’d found they were both concerned too.

Anna, David’s wife, had stopped by and caught Abigail napping in the middle of the day, which was unheard of. Miriam had never known her to nap. And Abigail had confessed to Ida, Noah’s wife, that she’d suddenly begun losing her hair.

Her beautiful thick hair. Unlike Miriam’s coal-black hair, Abigail’s was a light brown. Miriam could remember as a child waiting for bedtime, asking if she could brush it out for her. She’d been awed by the length and weight of it. She’d asked repeatedly when hers would grow past her shoulder blades.

Was her mother ill?

Perhaps they had been worried over nothing. Today Abigail wore a dark gray dress with a black apron, her hair pulled back and tucked into a fresh white prayer
kapp
. She seemed like her old self. She seemed almost healthy and certainly not old. Maybe it wasn’t a focus on appearance that made Abigail seem young. In fact, she practiced humility as much as anyone Miriam had ever known. No, it was something else.

Perhaps it was the way she accepted life.

It could be the calmness in her manners. Miriam had seen her handle many emergencies, such as when Gabe had shown up on their doorstep torn apart with grief that Grace was lost in a winter blizzard.

Abigail could be counted on to be a port in any storm.

When Miriam was a teacher, her mother’s ways had made sense. Since she’d become a mother, she had a lot of questions.

“Your
dat
likes to grumble, but I believe he’s enjoying the new recipes.” Abigail sat down and reached for her knitting. The yarn was a soft pink-and-white, and it looked as if she were making a small blanket. Hard to tell though. Her mother’s knitting skills were far superior to her own and what looked like a blanket could quickly turn into a child’s sweater.

“He eats whatever you fix now? Even the low-sugar recipes?”

“Oh my, yes. Yesterday he asked for me to bake this particular bread. I believe he’s lost the craving for the sweets, but he enjoys giving me a hard time.”

“And his diabetes?”

“His blood sugar level is improving. No longer borderline. He went for another check last week, and he still doesn’t need medicine or daily monitoring according to Doc Hanson.”

“That’s
wunderbaar
news.”

“
Ya
. We were very thankful. Now tell me about Rachel. What new thing has she done this week?”

The morning passed quickly. Soon they were eating lunch, and she remembered to tell them about picking up Aaron Troyer the night before and to ask them about Lydia.

Miriam saw the look that passed between her parents.

Over the years, she’d learned that look usually meant one of two things—either they knew something about someone they didn’t think it was proper to share, or they weren’t sure it was something Miriam needed to know. She couldn’t imagine why it would be improper for her to know about Lydia, who was once her student, or Aaron, who was a complete stranger.

So they must be worried about spreading gossip. But she didn’t want rumors. She wanted to know how she could help.

“The reason I ask is that Gabe and I were wondering if we could somehow lend a hand to Lydia or Aaron. They seemed somewhat…lost.”

Abigail reached for Rachel and rested the babe against her shoulder, rubbing her back in slow gentle circles. “You taught Lydia.”

“I did. It was years ago, though, and so many girls passed through my schoolroom. Sometimes I have trouble keeping them straight. Lydia I remember because she was a very
gut
student. She especially loved math, which was unusual for girls her age. I don’t recall what happened after she graduated. Didn’t her family move out of our district not long after she finished her schooling?”

When neither of her parents spoke, Miriam fought harder to remember. “It seems I recall the entire family moved to the other side of Pebble Creek, but I can’t recollect why. It seems as if I should know why they sold their farm.”

Joshua glanced at Abigail. The unspoken thing passed between them again, and she nodded her head ever so slightly.

“Lydia’s family lost their farm.” Joshua spoke matter-of-factly as he studied the sunny day outside the kitchen window. “That’s the reason they moved to the west side of Pebble Creek. They bought a smaller place, one with no acreage to work.”

No one spoke for a moment. Miriam became aware of the sounds in the house—the crackling of the fire in the stove and the contented small murmurs coming from Rachel sucking at her fist.

“But, if there was a financial problem, our district would have helped them. There would have been a benefit, or a…” Miriam’s voice fell away as questions filled the space between them.

“Ella and Menno, Lydia’s parents, had their reasons for allowing things to happen as they did.” Abigail gently laid the baby down on her lap. Rachel looked up and smiled—waving her hands. Her head reached Abigail’s knees and her feet were pushing against her
mammi
’s stomach.

Miriam thought she was a perfect little bundle of joy.

She tried to piece together the small scraps of information her parents were and were not saying, but too much was missing. She knew it was no use asking questions. If her parents considered explaining more about Lydia’s family as gossiping, there would be no extracting more information from them. She’d have to try a different tack.

“So Lydia has worked at the cabins for some time?” Miriam asked.

“
Ya
, I believe so.” Abigail reached for her tea. “Her
mamm
tells me she enjoys the work.”

Another piece of information. Abigail still spoke with Lydia’s mother. Why would that be? The more Miriam aged, the less she understood about her parents.

“So this Aaron is here to work in his
onkel
’s place?” Joshua asked.

“
Ya
, but—”

“That’s
gut
. It’s
gut
to see family take care of family. That is the Amish way.” Joshua stood and carried his dishes to the sink.

“But I’m not sure how long he’s staying or exactly what his plans are. How are we supposed to help if we don’t understand the situation? Gabe tried to talk to him last night. He seemed upset when he saw the cabins. I think he expected them to be in better shape.”

“I haven’t been by there in several years myself, but I’m sure Ervin did the best he could.” Joshua bent and kissed his granddaughter on the cheek and then glanced toward the plate of cookies Abigail had wrapped up for Gabe and Grace.

Abigail shook her head once and Joshua shrugged. “Can’t blame a man for wishing.”

Patting Miriam on the shoulder, he added, “I’ll have Belle ready for your trip home in thirty minutes.”

“
Danki
.”

When he was gone, she tried one more time to find out more from her mother, but it was no use.

“Go and see Lydia, Miriam. You young girls, you need to learn to be there for one another. Friendship is about more than Sunday socials.”

“Shouldn’t I know what I’m walking into, though? Wouldn’t it be better if I understood the situation and what Lydia’s needs are?”

“If there’s anything Lydia wants you to know, she’ll tell you. But if she’s on your heart, child, there’s a reason
Gotte
has put her there.”

Chapter 6

A
aron ended up taking Lydia’s buggy because she insisted.

He didn’t want to, but he needed to make his trip to see his
onkel
’s widow as quickly as possible. There was much work to do at the cabins, and he didn’t wish to extend his stay in Wisconsin any longer than was necessary.