Lydia's Hope (13 page)

Lydia’s face tightened. “I wish I could remember it, not just hear about it from someone
else. I would like to stand here someday with my sisters and tell them about it, and
I’m afraid I never will.”

He didn’t know what to say. The storm wasn’t over, and it seemed he could almost see
her younger sisters, standing between him and his Lydia.

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN

C
hloe
arrived at the coffee shop where she’d arranged to meet Seth Miller well ahead of
the appointed time, selecting a booth against the far wall, away from both the door
and the kitchen. She didn’t want this conversation to be overheard, not that it was
likely this late in the afternoon. The shop was nearly empty, with only one table
occupied by a pair of older women who began gathering their shopping bags together
even as Chloe sat down.

Good. She gave an order for tea to a bored-looking waitress and leaned back, trying
to compose her thoughts.
Get a grip, Chloe.
She’d been feeling like a scull adrift on the river since that conversation with
her grandmother. It was time to regain control, preferably before she encountered
Seth Miller again.

Their previous meeting at the museum had degenerated into a blur of words and emotions.
This time she would be calm, cool, and in charge. Despite the fact that the man’s
credentials had checked out, she had no intention of letting down her guard with him.

The server brought her tea, setting the mug down with a disgruntled clunk. Maybe she
figured the amount of tip she’d receive for a single cup of tea was hardly worth the
bother. Chloe sugared, stirred, and wrapped her hands around the mug, finding its
warmth soothing. Despite the late afternoon sunshine radiating from the sidewalks,
a chill had settled deep inside her, someplace where even the tea couldn’t reach.

Seth had sounded surprised to hear her voice when she called. Natural enough, since
she’d thrown him out of her office, something that was probably a first for the museum’s
staid premises. Maybe she should . . .

The thought drizzled away as she spotted him striding across the street toward her.
He moved quickly—he’d be here in a moment, and she wanted a chance to see him before
he saw her.

Light brown hair, stylishly cut, glinted gold where the sun hit it. He’d probably
been blond as a child. He moved well, was lithe and athletic-looking, and his suit
was the rising-young-executive type she saw every day on the street.

He loomed for a moment outside the glass door and then he was there, his gaze zeroing
in on her across the room. His determined footsteps suggested a man headed straight
for what he wanted, regardless of obstacles in his way, an impression strengthened
by his square jaw and the intensity of his slate-colored eyes.

“Ms. Wentworth.” He paused at the table, his look wary, reflecting the way they’d
parted.

“Please, sit down.” She was satisfied with the coolness of her tone. He didn’t need
to know how off-balance she felt. “Thank you for meeting me.”

“My pleasure.” He slid into the booth opposite her.

The server approached, a little more quickly this time, and accepted Seth’s order
for coffee with a smile instead of a sigh. Amazing, the effect of a good-looking male.

“I take it you’ve done some investigating of your own,” he said.

“What makes you say that?” she parried, not sure she wanted him knowing how thoroughly
she’d checked into his bona fides.

“Why else would you get in touch with me?” His smile provided more warmth than the
tea had.

Be careful,
she reminded herself. A charming smile would be his best asset if he was trying to
put something over on her.

“Yes, I did. You appear to be who you claim to be.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I suppose I should say thanks.”

She made a gesture of dismissal. “You can hardly blame me for being cautious when
someone turns up out of the blue and claims to know something about me I don’t know
myself.”

“No.” His eyes grew serious. “I don’t blame you. It must have been quite a shock,
hearing you have two sisters. I assume you confirmed that, as well?”

“I found their birth records.” She hesitated, but he’d no doubt guessed what she’d
do. “And I spoke to my grandmother. She told me it was true.” If the words sounded
as if they’d been chipped out of ice, she couldn’t help it.

His coffee arrived, the server lingering until Chloe gave her a frosty look. Seth
glanced at his cup, then hers.

“I see you like tea. Your sister Lydia always drinks tea in the afternoon. She says
she can’t have coffee keeping her awake when she has to get up early.”

Chloe wasn’t sure how she felt about being compared to this unknown sister. She eyed
Seth cautiously. Apparently he knew Lydia well, by the sound of it.

“You’re a friend of my . . . of Lydia’s, I take it?”

If he noticed she’d changed that sentence in midstream, he didn’t give any indication.
“My mother lives right next door to her now. We’re the same age, more or less, and
we grew up in the same small community.”

She had a sense of something left unsaid—something that perhaps she should probe.
“But you don’t live there now, do you? Your work must take you elsewhere.”

Seth stared down at the black coffee as if it held a secret. “I left when I was eighteen.
I hadn’t been back much until the past few months, when . . .” His frown deepened.
“Some family matters came up that needed my attention, so I’ve been in Pleasant Valley
between business trips. I telecommute, except for a few days a month at the home office
in Chicago.”

“You make telecommuting sound so natural.”

“It is, isn’t it?” He raised an eyebrow, and she thought he relaxed a hair now that
they were talking about business instead of his family.

“Not in my work. I can’t authenticate a piece of eighteenth-century folk art unless
I can see it.” To say nothing of touch it and sometimes smell it as well. The genuine
article had a quality that came through when she held it in her hands.

He nodded, as if accepting her words whether he understood what she did or not. “In
that case, you’ll have to see Lydia in person.”

“What?” She hadn’t expected that, and maybe she should have. “Why do you say that?”

“Isn’t that how you authenticate things?” His lips quirked, and she realized he was
laughing at her. Kendra looked at her that way, too, sometimes, just before she reminded
Chloe that everything in life didn’t have to be authenticated before you could enjoy
it.

She couldn’t help smiling in return, but . . .

“I don’t think that’s necessary. You can tell me about her. Is she married?”

The laughter still lurked in his gray-blue eyes, but he nodded. “To Adam Beachy. They’ve
been sweethearts since they were teenagers. They have two little boys, Daniel and
David, who must be about eight and six. Cute kids.”

Her thoughts seemed to get stuck on those two little boys. Nephews. She had two young
nephews. In an ordinary life she’d have known them since birth, have been buying them
birthday presents and taking them to the zoo. She should have had that chance.

“Why did she wait so long to try and find me?”

“You didn’t know . . . well, you wouldn’t, I guess. Lydia was injured in the accident.
Apparently all of you were, in fact. She had a serious head injury, and she was unconscious
for a long time. When she did recover, she didn’t remember anything of her life before
the accident. The aunt and uncle who took her in told her about her parents, but I
guess they figured that was enough for her to bear.”

“I see.” She did, in a way. Lydia would have been old enough to remember her parents,
had the accident not wiped out her memories. How did a person cope with that knowledge?
“When did she find out she had sisters?”

Seth’s shoulders moved slightly, as if he was shrugging off something unpleasant.
“Lydia just learned a few days ago, by accident. It’s disrupted her life in all kinds
of ways.”

“Yes.” She understood that, didn’t she? “What about the other sister? Susanna?”

“She was taken in by another couple. I understand, from what I’ve heard, that she
was raised to believe they were her parents.”

Chloe’s hands tightened on the mug. So many secrets. Too many. “She should be told.
If Lydia knows how to find her, why hasn’t she told her?” Chloe needed to be angry
with somebody . . . anybody. None of this was fair.

Seth looked faintly harassed. “Look, I don’t have all the answers. I’m just the messenger.
What you need to do is come to Pleasant Valley and talk to Lydia yourself.”

A wave of something that might be revulsion went through her. “No. I can’t . . . I
don’t want to go there.” Her mother had become involved with those people, and as
far as Gran was concerned, they were responsible for her death. Whatever her grandmother
had done, Chloe couldn’t seem to shake off her beliefs easily. “Why can’t Lydia come
here?”

“It’s not as easy as that for an Amish person. She’d have to come by bus or arrange
for a driver, and she’s never been to a city.” Seth’s tone was that of someone explaining
the ABCs to a child. “I doubt her husband would like it if she traveled that far,
and there are the two little boys to think of. She wouldn’t want to leave them.”

“You could drive her.” After all, he’d driven here today, hadn’t he?

“Her husband would like that even less,” he said, his voice dry.

“And I suppose she has to do what he says, as if she were living in the seventeenth
century.” Was that what life had been like for her mother, giving up her independence
to become one of them? The anger that had been bubbling under the surface spurted
through. “Maybe my grandmother is right about the Amish. She says they’re little better
than a cult.”

Seth’s face tightened, suddenly bleak and forbidding. “Your grandmother doesn’t know
what she’s talking about, and it sounds as if you’re no better. Are you always that
intolerant of other people’s religious beliefs?”

“I’m not intolerant. But my grandmother said—”

“Your grandmother’s the one who told you a pack of lies about your family,” he interrupted.
“Are you sure she’s a reliable source?”

Chloe experienced a strong desire to throw something at him—so strong it appalled
her.

She took a deep breath. “I don’t want to go to Pleasant Valley.” Her mother had gone
there, had gotten sucked into a life that wasn’t her own. She had died.

Seth seemed to be making an effort of his own to regain control. He gave a short nod.
“All right. You don’t want to go there. What about meeting Lydia on a neutral site?
There are a couple of nearby towns she could get to without much difficulty.”

“I . . . I don’t know.” Meeting Lydia was the logical next step. Why was she so reluctant
to take it?

He studied her, his gaze so intent she could almost feel it, as if he were touching
her skin. Finally he nodded.

“Okay. Think about it. You have my card. If you decide you want me to arrange a meeting,
let me know. I’ll give Lydia your address. She’ll probably want to write to you.”

Chloe wasn’t sure she wanted to receive a letter, but it would be ungracious to say
so. Anyway, it was better than a phone call, or having Lydia show up on her doorstep.

“Isn’t writing a letter a little archaic?”

His lips curved slightly, drawing her attention to that smile again. “It’s an Amish
thing. They write a lot of letters.” He slid out of the booth, putting several bills
on the table.

She picked up her bag. “You seem to know a lot about the Amish.”

“I do.” Again she had that sense that he was laughing at her. “Didn’t you realize?
I grew up Amish.”

She was probably gaping at him, but he didn’t seem to have anything else to say. She
watched as he crossed quickly to the door and strode out of the café. And maybe out
of her life.

She did still have his card. She could call him again. But doing so would mean involving
herself with the sister she’d never imagined having, and she didn’t know if she was
ready to do so.

Chloe was torn, half of her longing to rush off and find her sister while the other
half hung back, clinging to the security of the known. Despite her somewhat bitter
words to her grandmother, she wasn’t really sure she wanted to open herself up to
something that would change her life, for good or ill, in ways she couldn’t imagine.

* * *

Lydia
pulled the tumbling blocks quilt over David, smiling when his busy little body responded
to the familiar motion and relaxed under it. Adam was tucking the matching quilt over
Daniel in the other twin bed. The boys were growing so quickly. Some days it seemed
impossible that they could be eight and six already.

For an instant she felt the familiar ache in her heart for another baby to love, and
she tried to chase it away. She and Adam were fortunate to have two strong, healthy
boys. When and if another baby came to bless their family was up to God.

“Close your eyes.” She smoothed the corn-silk-fine hair back from David’s forehead.
“Prayers are said, you’ve heard a story, now it’s time for sweet dreams.”

“Just one thing,” he said, which was usually a prelude to asking for another story.

“One thing,” she agreed.

David’s face was serious. “Did the violets we picked for you make you happy again?”

The words startled her. “They made me very happy, that’s certain-sure.” She sent Adam
a questioning glance, but his face gave nothing away. “Why would you think I was not
happy?”

David’s lower lip came out, the way it did when he didn’t want to answer.

“Daniel? Did you think that, too?”

Daniel nodded, his face clouding. “You seemed sad today, so we wanted to make you
smile. That’s all right, isn’t it?”

Lydia’s throat tightened. She’d never dreamed she was giving away her emotions to
the kinder. She should never let adult worries affect her family.

“Ja, of course it’s all right. It was a very kind thought, and I love it when my boys
are kind.” She hesitated, not sure what or how much to tell them.

David tugged at her sleeve. “But why were you sad, Mammi? If it was ’cause I spilled
the milk, I’ll be really careful next time.”

“Ach, no, for sure it wasn’t.” She bent to hug him, inhaling the sweet, just-bathed
little-boy scent. “Everybody spills things sometimes. Spills are for cleaning up,
not getting mad about, ja?”