Lydia's Hope (21 page)

He hadn’t seen that coming, but now that she’d mentioned it, he understood immediately.
“Yes, sure. You want me to take photos of the boys and send them to Chloe, right?”

“Right.” She gave a decisive little nod. “After all, she is Englisch, so there’s no
reason for her not to look at pictures. And lots of Amish allow their kinder to be
photographed.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Does that group include Adam?”

“I . . . I hope he will understand.” Her cheeks were pink.

In other words, she didn’t intend to tell Adam until after it was done. Well, it wasn’t
his business to tell her how to handle her husband.

“I’ll be glad to take a couple of photos of the boys,” Seth said, pulling out his
cell phone. “Why don’t we do it now? I can send them right away.” Before Lydia had
a chance to worry about it or second-guess herself.

“Ja, gut.” Lydia headed for the barn, and he had to hurry to keep up.

Funny thing. He wasn’t thinking so much about the photos. Or about how Adam would
react when he heard.

His mind was totally caught up in picturing how Chloe would look when she received
them.

* * *

“
W
hat
do you think—here or farther to the right?” Chloe held the illuminated fraktur design
up to the wall, glancing over her shoulder at Kendra.

“If that’s the largest one, it ought to go in the middle. What did you say it was
called again?” Kendra was always good at making a quick decision and she was an expert
restorer, but she had a blind spot when it came to other areas of work.

“Fraktur,” Chloe repeated. She and Kendra had a deal—they each supplemented the other’s
areas of weakness. “The combination of designs and words was only used on special
documents, like marriage or birth certificates. This is the best one we have—it dates
back to 1789.” Her fingers hovered over the intricate designs whose colorful inks
had barely faded over the years.

“It looks like something a monk would have done in copying the Bible back in the Middle
Ages,” Kendra said. She took a step back, eyeing the frame to be sure it was level
as Chloe attached it to the mounting strip.

“It’s probably a descendant of those manuscripts,” Chloe explained. “The early immigrants
brought the custom with them from Germany.”

Lydia might well have a sample of fraktur hanging on the wall of the farmhouse she’d
spoken of. The Amish and Mennonites had done some of the best fraktur to record the
important events in the lives of their families.

“What comes next?” Kendra leaned against the table on which Chloe had put the items
for the current display in the small section allotted to Pennsylvania Dutch folk art.
“You want to work on the pottery?”

“In a minute.” Chloe reached for the folder she’d been carrying around with her. The
room where they were setting up the folk art display was one of the smaller exhibit
rooms, and they had it to themselves at the moment. “I want to show you something
first. I received this last night.”

Kendra pushed herself away from the table and came to look over Chloe’s shoulder as
she opened the folder. Two small, smiling faces looked up at Chloe, and her heart
gave a surprising lurch.

“Adorable,” Kendra said. “Who . . .” She stopped, obviously taking in the boys’ solid
blue shirts, suspenders, and straw hats. “They’re your sister’s boys, aren’t they?”

Chloe nodded, touching the photo she’d printed. “Daniel is the older one, and David
is the younger.” Daniel’s grin showed a missing front tooth. David’s face was still
round and babyish, and dimples indented his cheeks.

“So, you have two little nephews.” Kendra’s gaze was questioning. “To say nothing
of two little great-grandsons for your grandmother. Did you show this to her?”

Chloe shook her head, wondering if she was being a coward. “Not yet. I’m not sure
how she’ll react.”

“You won’t know unless you tell her.” Kendra was practical, as always. “But I thought
the Amish didn’t believe in taking pictures of themselves. How did you get this? Seth
what’s-his-name?”

“Seth Miller. I gave him my e-mail address, and he sent this to me last night. No
message, just the photo. I suppose he took it on a cell phone camera. I just hope
he had Lydia’s permission.”

“Look at those grins.” Kendra smiled. “Who could resist those two? But why do you
suppose Seth didn’t say anything? You didn’t have a fight with him, did you?”

“Not exactly.” But they seemed to set off some kind of fireworks each time they were
together.

Kendra twirled a strand of hair around her finger while she considered Chloe’s face.
“He ought to be happy with you. He got what he wanted. You met your sisters.”

Chloe nodded. The trouble was that Seth expected a lot more than that from her. More,
maybe, than she was willing or able to give.

“How did your grandmother react when you told her about meeting your sisters?” Kendra
switched to the other thorn in her side.

“She didn’t want to hear it, just like she didn’t want me to go. She’s maintaining
a frigid silence over the whole matter, and believe me, nobody does frigid silence
better than my grandmother.”

Kendra gave a sympathetic nod. “Maybe she has more in common with the Amish than she’d
like to admit. Banning you, in effect.”

Chloe stared at her blankly.

“Come on, surely you’ve heard of banning. Even I have, and I’m totally not interested
in the Amish.” Kendra’s face expressed disbelief.

“I . . . I’m sure I’ve heard something about it. That’s when they throw out people
who don’t go along with all their rules, isn’t it?” Her stomach twisted at the thought
of her sister in that ugly black bonnet. What would happen to her if she just chucked
it one day?

“I don’t think it’s quite as cut-and-dried as you make it sound,” Kendra said. “Weren’t
you ever curious? I should think you’d have wanted to learn all you could about the
Amish. I mean, even before you knew about your sisters, you knew that your mother
had joined them. It seems unnatural not to be curious.”

“I guess it does,” Chloe said slowly. Seth had basically implied the same thing. “My
grandmother was so negative about the Amish that I suppose I didn’t question it. Kids
don’t, for the most part. They accept their situation as normal, because it’s what
they know.”

“I suppose,” Kendra admitted grudgingly. “But I should think you’d have asked questions
at some point.”

“I did once.” The memory came back, falling into her conscious mind as if it had tumbled
out of a closet. “My grandfather was the kindest man on earth. So I asked him why
my mother had gone away and become Amish.”

“What did he say?” Kendra prompted her when Chloe didn’t go on.

Chloe realized she was gripping a piece of redware pottery between her fingers. She
set it down carefully. “He started to cry.” Her voice became choked. “I’d never seen
a man cry before. It scared me so much that I went running to my grandmother.”

“Who promptly blamed you for upsetting your grandfather and scared you so much that
you never asked again,” Kendra said. “Don’t worry, I can fill in the blanks. And your
grandmother is very predictable.”

“She’s not as bad as I made it sound,” Chloe protested. “I’m sure she means well.”

“Means to have her own way,” Kendra muttered, but she caught a look from Chloe and
subsided.

“I suppose I ought to get over those feelings, but it isn’t easy when something’s
so ingrained.” Chloe wasn’t sure when she’d started doubting her grandmother so much.
“When I was a kid, I always wanted to be part of a big family. But this isn’t what
I had in mind.”

“You haven’t been talking to Dr. Dull about it, have you?”

Chloe couldn’t control her smile, although she shouldn’t encourage Kendra. “Don’t
call him that,” she said, with no hope that Kendra would desist. “He’s not dull, he’s
just . . .” She searched for a word.

“Boring,” Kendra supplied. “Look, I have to get back to my own work. If I see one
of those interns, I’ll send him down to help you. Don’t forget about the jazz festival
tonight. And if you want to talk to someone about your family, call the guy who sent
you the photo. You don’t look like you’re thinking of a father when you talk about
him.” She was gone before Chloe could retort.

That was ridiculous. She wasn’t looking for a father figure. And as far as Seth was
concerned . . .

Well, Seth wasn’t anyone’s idea of a father figure, not with the smile of a charmer
and the depth of the seas in his eyes.

She picked up a piece of scherenschnitte, the complex, intricate, lacy patterns that
were cut from paper and used to decorate Pennsylvania Dutch marriage and birth certificates—like
a child’s paper snowflake carried to its most elaborate extreme. She ought to get
these hung, but first . . .

She set it down again. First, she was going to call Seth. Not because she was interested
in him, she assured herself. Just because she hadn’t thanked him yet for sending her
the photograph of Daniel and David. He’d probably risked making Adam, at least, if
not Lydia, angry with him, and she ought to let him know she appreciated it.

Seth answered his cell phone on the first ring, almost as if he’d been waiting for
her call. “Hi, Chloe.”

So he’d recognized her number or programmed her into his phone, as if he expected
to be talking to her often.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt you when you’re working.”

“Nothing I can’t stop doing for the pleasure of talking to you.” His voice was so
warm it seemed the cell phone was sending off heat.

“I . . .” She cleared her throat and started again. Really, she couldn’t let the man
get to her. “I’m at work, so I can’t talk long, but I wanted to thank you for sending
the photo of the boys.”

“Cute kids, aren’t they?” There was a smile in his voice. “They were busy trying to
convince the barn cat to let them pick up her kittens, so I retrieved them before
someone ended up on the wrong side of her claws.”

“Were they at your place?” Or had he been visiting Lydia? How close a friend was he,
anyway?

“My mother’s. Lydia and the boys had brought some supper over for my mother and sister,
because they’d . . . we’d . . . been out all afternoon.” Something about the way he
said the words sounded as if it was serious.

“I hope nothing’s wrong with your mother.”

“No, we were . . .” Again he stopped, as if editing what he said to her. “She broke
her hip a few months ago, and she’s still on the mend. It was thoughtful of Lydia
to bring supper so Mamm could have a rest.”

His calling his mother Mamm the way the Amish did reminded her that he’d grown up
Amish, and she still hadn’t heard that story. Not that it was any of her business,
of course.

“So, anyway, what are you doing at work today?” He changed the subject as if his family
was out of bounds.

“I’m setting up a new display of Pennsylvania Dutch folk art. The museum owns more
items than it can possibly display, so we keep rotating things in and out of storage.”

“Sounds interesting. I’ll have to stop by and see it the next time I’m in the city.
Maybe you could give me a guided tour.”

“That might be arranged.” She wasn’t flirting with him, was she? “As a thank-you for
sending me the picture. I hope Lydia said it was all right,” she added quickly.

“It was her suggestion. It surprised me, coming from her, but as she said, there’s
no reason why you shouldn’t see a photo of the boys. It’s not as if she wanted it
for herself.”

“Isn’t that kind of silly? I mean, that whole prohibition against photos . . .” She
stopped, reminding herself that Seth had been raised Amish and might not appreciate
yet another negative comment.

“The Amish interpret the Bible in a fairly literal way, and they tend to equate photographs
with the graven images that are forbidden. Although I’ve heard the bishop say that
the harm comes in the attitude—if you displayed a photograph it might be out of pride.”

“It all sounds more complicated than I’d thought.” She was reminded of Kendra’s disbelief
that she didn’t know more about the Amish.

Seth’s laugh sounded a bit rueful. “The Amish may be plain, but there’s nothing simple
about their beliefs. Anyway, Lydia wanted you to have the photo, so I was happy to
take it and send it.”

“And what about Adam?” The stern-faced man who’d said scarcely a word at lunch didn’t
look like someone who’d have a liberal interpretation of anything.

“Yet to be determined,” Seth said, his voice light. “Lydia didn’t say anything to
him in advance. You know the saying, sometimes it’s easier to ask for forgiveness
than permission.”

“She shouldn’t have to do either.” Chloe’s voice was tart with disapproval. Women
had every right that men did to make decisions.

“Well, Lydia doesn’t see it that way, and we have to respect her beliefs.”

“Even when those beliefs are hopelessly old-fashioned?”

“That’s her choice,” he said. “Just as it was your mother’s.”

Chloe’s throat tightened at the thought of everything that had come from that decision.
And everything that was still to come, most likely.

“Have you given any more thought to coming to Pleasant Valley for a visit?” Seth asked.

She might have known he would ask that question if given a chance. “I’ve been busy
with the new display and all.” That didn’t sound like a very convincing excuse, and
it annoyed her that she found it necessary to make any to him. “I said I’d consider
it, and I will.”

He was silent for a few seconds. “I hope so,” he said finally. “Your sister would
appreciate it. Thanks for calling, Chloe.” He hung up before she could say anything
else.

Not that she had anything left to say. She’d been rude. But he’d been pushy, so didn’t
he deserve it?

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN

L
ydia
stood at the s
ink, swishing the dandelion greens she’d just cut in a pan of water. The trick with
dandelion greens was to cut them early, while they were still small and tender. She’d
fix a hot bacon dressing—

The back screen door rattled, and Adam came into the kitchen, wiping off his shoes
on the mat.

“Look!” She held up a wet handful of greens. “A taste of spring for supper tonight.”

His solemn expression vanished in a smile. “Your favorite, ja? Dandelion greens with
hot bacon dressing.”

“Not just me, I think.” She smiled up at him as he came to look over her shoulder,
relieved that they were thinking in tandem again.

“There’ll be some green onions from the garden in another couple of days, I’d say.”
Adam leaned against the counter, a sign he had time to talk. “You can fix some boiled
potatoes with them.”

“Ja, that will be gut. Maybe some ham to go with.” It had been a favorite spring meal
when she was growing up.

Adam nodded, glancing through the window over the sink. “Where are the boys?”

“They came home from school all excited because Teacher Mary gave them their parts
for the end-of-school program. Daniel insisted they practice in the barn, so we’ll
be surprised.”

“Hard to believe it’s that close to the end of the school year.” Adam was frowning
slightly.

“Don’t worry, we’ll hear all about their parts,” she said. “Can you imagine David
keeping a secret for long?” Her smile invited him to join in her amusement, but he
seemed suddenly far away.

A feather of concern touched her. He was worried about not having found a job yet,
that was certain-sure, and she hated to see him so down.

“Daniel asked me what they should give Teacher Mary for her end-of-year gift.” She
went on talking, hoping she could bring back his smile. “David said he thought she’d
like a baseball, but I suspect that’s really what he wants.”

Adam focused on her. “A softball, maybe, for his birthday.”

She nodded. “Anyway, I was thinking that maybe we could buy Teacher Mary a book. You
know how she loves to read.”

Adam’s face tightened. “We can’t buy everything you think of, Lydia. Baseballs and
books . . .” He stopped, shaking his head, his lips pressed together.

Ach, she was foolish, talking so when Adam was worried about bringing money in. What
had she been thinking?

“Teacher Mary would probably rather have a basket of my jams and jellies anyway,”
she said quickly. “And David can just as well use the ball we have already.”

“I’m sorry,” Adam muttered, making her heart twist. “I’ll find something soon. I promise.”

“Adam, you don’t need to fret about it.” She reached out to touch him, wanting to
comfort him and not sure how. “We’ll make out all right.”

But he took a step away, as if her comforting wasn’t what he wanted, and her heart
hurt even worse.

“I had your daad look at the big old tree in the middle of the orchard while he was
here.” He seemed to push the words out, as if he didn’t want to say them but he had
to.

“Ja?” She looked at him, puzzled.

“The trunk is starting to split. It’s an old tree, not producing like it used to.
Your daad and I agreed that it’s time for it to come down.”

She could only stare at him, trying to process what he was saying. “Come down? You
want to cut down my mamm’s tree?”

“It’s not what I want,” Adam said. “It’s what is the sensible thing to do. You know
as well as I do that trees get old, just like anything else. We wouldn’t want it to
come down in a storm—”

“It’s not going to come down in a storm.” She seemed to have a band around her chest,
constricting her heart, making it hard even to take a breath. “That tree has stood
for years, and it will stand for more. You can’t cut it down.”

“Lydia, it’s only a tree.”

“It’s not only a tree.” Didn’t he see what this meant to her? “It was my mamm’s favorite
place. It was where she told us stories and played with us. It’s my connection to
her.” Tears blinded her eyes. “That’s why you want to cut it down, isn’t it? Because
it reminds you of my Englisch mother!”

Unable to say another word without crying, she ran from the room.

* * *

Adam
knew he’d made a mess of telling Lydia about the tree, just as he’d feared he would.
But what was he supposed to do? Couldn’t Lydia understand that he was only trying
to do what was best? It was ridiculous to think he’d be taking his feelings out on
a tree.

Not that he had feelings of any sort about Lydia’s long-dead mother, Adam assured
himself.

A rustle of movement made him turn. Daniel and David stood in the doorway. His heart
seemed to skip a beat. How much had they heard? Too much, judging by their pale faces
and big eyes.

“Daadi?” Daniel’s voice squeaked. “Was ist letz? Why is Mammi crying?”

“Ach, it’s nothing big.” He tried to sound jovial and succeeded in sounding a bit
ferhoodled. “I had to tell Mammi that the big old tree in the orchard is splitting,
and that made her sad. She remembers sitting in the tree when she was a little girl,
and she doesn’t want to lose it.”

David’s lips trembled. “She sounded like she was mad at you.”

Ach, Lydia, why aren’t you here to cope with the boys? You would do it much better
than I can.

He drew them closer, a hand on each shoulder. “You know, sometimes when we’re upset
about something we take it out on whoever or whatever is closest. Like when you threw
your pencil when you couldn’t get your arithmetic to come out right. Remember?”

They considered that explanation, and he thought they looked a little relieved.

“You can go out and play for a while before chores.” He ruffled their corn-silk hair.
“Go on now.”

They went, but without the release of energy that usually sent them flying out the
door for play. Maybe he should have said more, but he didn’t know what else it could
be. Dealing with hurt feelings was Lydia’s job, not his.

He went to the bottom of the stairs and looked up, alert for any sound that would
tell him what Lydia was doing. He couldn’t hear a thing.

“Lydia?”

No answer.

“I’m going out to the barn. The kinder are outside playing.” Settling his hat squarely
on his head, he walked out, letting the back door bang a little louder than was really
necessary.

Daniel and David were tossing a ball back and forth in the backyard. Adam went on
past them to the barn. The latch on one of the stall doors was loose, and it had best
be fixed before the buggy horse decided to take a stroll.

He checked the latch, discovered that the screw was stripped, and went back out to
the toolshed to get a new one and the screwdriver. The game of catch seemed to be
in recess at the moment. Daniel and David were standing eye to eye, most likely arguing
over who should retrieve the ball. He could see it from here—a white shape gleaming
under the rosebush by the porch.

Leaving the toolshed door open for light, he sorted through the box of screws to find
one the right size. The routine chore was calming, smoothing away the rough edges
of that exchange with Lydia. They would talk about the tree again, calmly. He’d show
her the split that had him and Joseph concerned. Lydia would understand.

Taking the screw and screwdriver, he went back outside and froze. Daniel and David
weren’t glaring at each other. They were rolling on the ground, pummeling each other.

He ran toward them, shouting, “Daniel! David! Stop that at once!” He reached them,
pulling them apart and holding them like a mother cat hauling her kittens by the scruff
of the neck.

“What do you mean by this? Fighting is not how we settle disagreements in this family.”

Even as he spoke he saw Lydia come flying out the door. “Are you hurt?” she said,
looking from one to the other.

“They are not hurt. They are naughty.” He gave them a shake. “Tell your mammi you
are sorry. And tell each other, too.”

“But Daadi, he was supposed to catch the ball. He missed, so he should go after it.”
Daniel seemed disposed to argue.

“You threw it over my head on purpose.” David’s face scrunched up, and Adam suspected
he was trying not to cry.

“I am ashamed of both of you.” His tone was sharp. “If there are any more arguments,
you will both get spankings. You understand?”

“Ja, Daadi,” Daniel mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

“Ja, Daadi,” David echoed. He sniffled. “I’m sorry, too.”

“Go in the house now, both of you.” Lydia shooed them toward the kitchen door. Once
they were out of earshot, she turned to Adam.

“You didn’t need to take it out on them if you’re angry with me,” she snapped.

He blew out an exasperated breath. “That has nothing to do with it. I can’t let them
fight. They must be punished, so they’ll remember that is not how we settle disagreements.”

He spun and headed back to the safety of the barn. He would never understand women,
and this woman in particular.

* * *

C
hloe
parked her car in the garage and walked through the garden to the back door of the
massive Georgian house that had been home except for her years away at school. During
her childhood, the lawn and gardens had been taken care of by an elderly man named
Fred Parsons, who’d shown remarkable patience with a six-year-old who wanted to grow
a tomato plant.

But times had changed, and Fred had eventually been replaced by a lawn service, the
vegetable patch turned into flower beds.

Enough maundering on about the past,
she ordered herself.
You ought to be thinking about showing Gran the photograph of Lydia’s boys, and insisting
that for once she sit down and talk to you about your mother.

Why had Diane become Amish? That was really the heart of the matter for Chloe. If
she understood that central fact, she had a feeling everything else would fall into
place.

The back door opened onto a hallway. She could hear the clatter of pans coming from
the kitchen on her left. Nora, the housekeeper, was starting dinner preparations,
which meant Gran was eating in. They could talk.

Her stomach twisted unhappily at the thought. She wasn’t asking anything unreasonable,
surely, in wanting to know about her own mother. That conviction battled the pressure
she felt not to hurt her grandmother.

Chloe reached automatically for the mail that was always placed on the drop-leaf table
beneath the mirror in the front hall. It wasn’t there.

Nora appeared in the kitchen doorway, so on cue that she was like a jack-in-the-box,
popping up at the appropriate point in the music.

“You’re looking for the mail,” she said. “Your grandmother has it.” She jerked her
head toward a closed door, not one of her iron-gray curls moving. “She’s in the library.”

Nora was apparently sending her a message, but what it was, Chloe couldn’t guess.
And she knew better than to ask. Nora operated on her own complicated version of household
ethics, her sympathy often with Chloe but her loyalty to her employer.

The library was the room Chloe most associated with her grandfather. It was there
that she’d gone every Saturday to receive her allowance, counted out in coins at first,
then in larger bills as she grew. There, too, that she’d gone each evening to give
her grandfather a good-night kiss, shepherded by Nora once she’d outgrown a nanny.
Grandfather would be here, in his favorite wingback chair, smoking one of the after-dinner
cigars that were forbidden in the rest of the house.

Shaking off the past again, she entered the library. She half expected to find Gran
at the rolltop desk, but she sat in the wingback chair instead, her neatly shod feet
resting on an upholstered ottoman.

“Hi, Gran.” She bent to kiss one soft cheek. “How was your day?”

“As always.” Gran clipped off the words. She gestured toward the desk. “You received
a letter from Lydia Beachy.”

So that was what was behind the strained atmosphere in the house. Chloe moved quickly
toward the desk and picked up the envelope. It had been opened. For a moment she couldn’t
speak.

Then she found her voice, along with a flicker of anger. “You opened my mail.”

Her grandmother’s eyes didn’t quite meet hers. “I felt it my duty.”

“I’m twenty-six, Gran, not six.” She held the envelope, trying to keep the anger from
building. “When I moved back after grad school, you agreed to respect my privacy.
This is unacceptable.”

“Really, Chloe.” Her grandmother sat up very straight. “It’s not as if I intercepted
a love letter. You have to admit that anything to do with your sister concerns me,
as well.”

Chloe was taken aback at that statement. “You’ve made it quite clear you don’t want
to hear about Lydia and Susanna. Have you changed your mind?”

“No.” The word dripped ice. “The letter is nothing—just inconsequential babble about
her life.”

“Then why did you read it?” Her head was beginning to pound, a frequent result of
trying to win an argument with her grandmother. “You must be a little interested.”

Her grandmother shook her head. “I had to read it to be sure those people were not
trying to sway you into their strange way of thinking, the way they did your mother.”

“Why did Diane become Amish?” Chloe’s pulse was suddenly pounding in her ears. “You
act as if they stole her from her pram. She was a grown woman when she made her decision.
I want to know why.”

“She fell in love, of course.” Gran’s lips curled on the words, as if they didn’t
taste good. “I suppose she had some foolish ideas about giving up her privileged life
and getting close to the land. She might as well have joined a commune. I’m sure she
regretted it every day of her life, but she was too proud to admit it and come back.”

That didn’t mesh with the image Lydia had drawn of their mother’s life. “What makes
you so sure? Lydia seems happy to live that way.”