Lydia's Hope (4 page)

Lydia nodded, trying to picture the situation. The Amish community took care of its
own, but it would have been difficult with the accident happening so far away.

“Bishop Mose had gone with us,” Daad went on. “We were so thankful to have him there.
He said each of you kinder must have someone with you to care for you and make decisions,
so your mamm and I went with you.”

“Why?” The word came out before she realized she intended to speak, but it was the
question of her heart. Why had Mamm and Daad been the ones to end up with her?

Daad looked confused at the question, but Mamm seemed to understand right away.

“We thought you felt the closest to us. We’d just gotten married ourselves a few weeks
earlier, and you’d been so excited about the wedding. You’d wanted to help me, and
I let you put some stitches in the hem of my dress, I remember.” Her face softened
with a smile. “It just seemed right.”

“Ja,” Daad said. “One of the Ohio Amish friends, a distant cousin, had been close
with Diane when they lived there. She and her husband stayed with Susanna, your grossdaadi
was sitting with your daadi, and your grossmammi with Diane, with Bishop Mose helping
them. Another cousin and his wife went to the hospital where they’d taken baby Chloe,
but when they got there, she was gone.”

“Gone,” Lydia echoed the word. “But Mamm said both of them lived.”

“Ach, ja, she lived.” Daad reached across to give her hand a squeeze. “I shouldn’t
have said it that way. I mean, she wasn’t there. We learned that Diane’s mother had
come and taken Chloe from the hospital.”

“The Englisch woman,” she said.

Daad sighed and shook his head. “You have to try and understand, Lydia. There we were
in a strange city, trying to tend to everyone. At least we knew the baby would be
safe with her grandmother, even if it was not what Diane might have wanted.”

“No, she wouldn’t have,” Mamm said. “But what could we do? Your parents died, one
after the other. You had to have surgery, and we nearly lost you, too. Susanna was
injured and had to have surgery as well. For weeks all we could do was concentrate
on you.”

The gaze she turned on Lydia was pleading.
Please understand.
That’s what it was saying.

Lydia nodded, her head seeming to jerk like a puppet’s. Her throat was so dry and
raw that if she tried to speak, she knew it would come out in a croak.

“After all was said and done, it seemed natural to say we would adopt you.” Daad pressed
her hand. “You felt like our daughter already. And we would have taken Susanna, as
well, but Jonah and Elizabeth felt just as strongly about her. As for Chloe, she had
disappeared into the Englisch world, and we didn’t think an Englisch court would take
her away from a wealthy Englisch grandmother to give her back to us.”

Daad leaned back in his chair and blew out a long breath. “We should have told you
before, I guess, but when you didn’t remember, it seemed better not to give you more
grief. But it’s over now. I hope you can forgive us for keeping it from you.”

Lydia sat for a moment, trying to digest the whole story. Then she realized that Mamm
and Daad were waiting for something. She held out a hand to each of them.

“I forgive you.” She said the words suspecting that this would be one of those times
when forgiveness had to be repeated again and again before it truly took possession
of her heart. “But how can you say it is over? It is just beginning. Now I have to
find my sisters.”

C
HAPTER
T
WO

A
dam
co
uld see the shock he felt at Lydia’s words reflected in her parents’ faces, as well.

“No, Lydia, you can’t mean such a thing.” Lydia’s daad echoed Adam’s thoughts. “You
are still trying to get used to the idea, ain’t so? When you’ve reflected on this
situation a bit, you’ll see that you can’t do anything about it after all this time.”

“You don’t understand what that news might do to them,” her mother said.

Lydia pushed her chair back, as if she couldn’t be still for another minute. She took
a couple of steps to the counter and then turned, crossing her arms.

“I understand better than anyone, because it is happening to me.” She pressed her
lips together, maybe to keep them from trembling.

Her parents exchanged a swift glance, communicating without the need for speech. “We
were wrong to let it go so long,” Joseph said. “You could have handled knowing any
time since you’ve been grown, just as your mamm and I could deal with it. But the
situation is different for your sisters. For Susanna, at least.”

“Why?” The word burst out of Lydia, and Adam could feel her frustration. “What makes
hearing the truth easier or worse for Susanna? What do you know about her?”

“It’s not just Susanna. It’s her mother, as well.” Joseph stared down at his clasped
hands. “Telling you about her means breaking a promise we’ve kept for twenty-five
years, but I don’t see that we have a choice. Maybe it is a promise we never should
have made, but we did.” He glanced at his wife, as if hoping she would take over the
story.

Anna sighed. “Jonah and Elizabeth Bitler had been close to your mamm and daad when
they lived in Ohio. Elizabeth . . .” She hesitated, a little color coming up in her
pale cheeks. “Well, Elizabeth had lost one babe before birth after another, grieving
so after each miscarriage that the family feared for her health. The doctors said
she must stop trying.”

Adam tried to imagine what it must be like for a married couple to have no children
in the Amish community, where big families were taken for granted. It was hard enough
on him and Lydia, with just the two boys when they longed for more children. To have
none at all . . .

“When she and Jonah were there at Susanna’s bedside during those terrible days, it
was as if Elizabeth poured herself into keeping that poor child alive,” Anna said.
“It seemed sometimes that Elizabeth’s love kept little Susanna breathing.”

Lydia blinked, and Adam could see that the image of her young sister fighting for
life had broken through her absorption in the idea of finding them. “Susanna was badly
hurt?”

“You both were,” Joseph corrected. “You with a head injury so bad the doctors couldn’t
predict whether you would make a recovery, and little Susanna’s leg was mangled so
bad that they feared she’d lose it.”

Lydia’s fingers flew to her lips in an instinctive gesture of compassion. “Did she?”

“No, thank the gut Lord. But from what we heard, the leg was never quite right, either.
Still, she survived, maybe because of Elizabeth’s love and care. When Jonah and Elizabeth
wanted to adopt her, who could say no? The one thing Elizabeth asked was that Susanna
should never know she wasn’t their child.”

“But wouldn’t she remember?” He could see in Lydia’s face the pain she felt that she
didn’t remember.

“Susanna was only three,” Anna said. “At first she asked, ja, but soon she seemed
to forget. When she first called Elizabeth ‘Mammi,’ I thought I’d never seen such
love in a woman’s face.”

“Elizabeth asked for our promise, and we gave it.” Joseph shook his head heavily.
“If we could have seen this day coming—ach, there’s no point in regretting the past.”

Lydia moved, so slightly it was little more than a twitch, but Adam saw it, so closely
was he watching her.

“You said they were from Ohio. Is that where Susanna lives still?”

Joseph hesitated, as if not wanting to answer that question. “No,” he said finally.
“They moved to Oyersburg a few years back. We haven’t seen them,” he said quickly,
as if anticipating the next question Lydia would ask.

A natural one, since Oyersburg wasn’t thirty miles away. Even Adam had been there,
and he wasn’t much of one for traveling.

“So close to me,” Lydia murmured, tears sparkling in her eyes.

“It doesn’t change anything,” her father said. “Susanna has always believed Jonah
and Elizabeth Bitler are her parents. Jonah died only a year ago, and from what we
hear, Elizabeth is very ill. We’ve tried to keep track of them, even though they didn’t
want to get together with us.”

“The poor child,” Anna murmured. “Cancer, her mamm has, and the doctors say there’s
little hope.”

Joseph rose, hands braced on the table. “We understand your wanting to know your sister,
Lydia. That’s only natural. But it would be unkind to both Elizabeth and Susanna to
tell them now, when Elizabeth is so sick, and I know that our Lydia is never unkind.”

Adam saw those words had left Lydia with nothing to say. Whether she was convinced
or not, he couldn’t be sure.

Joseph nodded to Anna, and she got to her feet, clutching the table as if for support.
“We will go now,” Joseph said, his voice heavy. “If there is anything else you want
to know, we’ll talk again, ja?”

Lydia didn’t speak, and Adam felt compelled to fill the gap. “Denke. This was hard
for you, for sure.”

He glanced at Lydia, willing her to make some loving gesture toward her parents.

Lydia nodded, understanding him without words. She went slowly to her parents. She
stopped, and it seemed everyone in the room forgot to breathe. Then she put her arms
around her mamm.

Gut.
Some of the tension in Adam eased at the sight. He couldn’t blame Lydia for being
upset at this discovery, but if she held on to resentment toward her mamm over it,
she’d hurt herself as much as she hurt Anna.

“I’ll walk out with you,” he said, opening the back door and stepping out onto the
porch with Joseph. Dusk gathered in, and the breeze that blew down the valley from
the west was chilly.

Joseph nodded toward the orchard. “You’ll have trees in blossom soon, ja?” He was
making an effort to sound natural, Adam guessed. “Hope we don’t get another hard frost.”

“Hope not,” Adam echoed, going to unfasten the horse from the hitching rail. “I’d
like to get the garden in early this year.”

He wanted to say something comforting to Joseph, but he felt pretty sure Joseph would
be as embarrassed hearing it as he would be saying it.

The door creaked as the women started to come out, and Joseph leaned toward him. “You
will help her understand, ja?” he said quietly.

Adam stiffened. He wouldn’t ally himself against his Lydia, that was certain-sure;
they were all caught in this difficult place because of the decisions Joseph and Anna
had made. But there was one thing he could say from his heart.

“I’ll try to keep her from getting hurt.”

Joseph nodded, seeming satisfied. He helped Anna into the buggy, and in a moment they
drove off down the lane. Adam stood watching until the buggy disappeared into the
dusk. Now he must return to the house and try to help Lydia. He just wished he knew
how. With a wordless prayer for wisdom, he mounted the porch steps.

Lydia was standing at the sink when he reached the kitchen. She wasn’t doing anything,
just staring at the faucet as if she’d forgotten what it was for. She turned at the
sound of his footsteps, her features drawn tight.

“What were you and Daad talking about? Was he asking you to make me see sense?”

“Not exactly.” Some questions were probably safer for a husband not to answer, he’d
think. “I was just telling him that I’d do anything to keep you from being hurt.”

His answer seemed to calm the waters. He could see the tension slip away from her
expression.

“Denke, Adam. But I think the hurt is already done.” Her voice was still tart, so
they weren’t out of the woods yet.

“I know you’re angry with your parents,” he said cautiously. “But whatever mistakes
they made in the past, I think they’re trying to do what’s best now.”

“I know what’s best for me, and that’s finding my sisters.” Lydia threw the dishcloth
she was holding into the sink. Then, apparently unable to leave it there, she rinsed
it out and hung it on the rack.

He waited until she’d finished before speaking. “Do you think that your telling them
is best for your sisters, too?”

He saw the question hit home, saw uncertainty creep in. She hesitated for a long moment.

“I think so,” she said, seeming to try for a sureness she might not feel. “I think
they should have a chance to know me and each other. I’m the oldest. It’s my job to
do it.”

Lydia was a nurturer—that was certain-sure. She cared for her plants and her orchard
just as she cared for Daniel and David. Sometimes he almost thought there was no comforting
left over for him, but that was foolish. He was a grown man, not a child.

And now she wanted to nurture these two unknown younger sisters.

“I know,” he said, his tone careful. “But from what your mamm said, it might do more
harm than good for Susanna just now, ain’t so?”

He was still trying to get used to the idea of these unknown sisters. If things had
been different, if Lydia’s parents hadn’t been killed, he might have known Susanna
for most of her life and be thinking of her now as his own little sister.

Lydia’s eyes clouded. “Maybe so, at least for now. But the little one . . .”

“Not so little now,” he said quickly, hoping to veer her away from that direction.
“Chloe would be a grown woman. An Englisch woman. You couldn’t possibly find her.”
His heart shuddered at the thought of his Lydia going off into the Englisch world
in search of an unknown person.

Lydia pressed her fingers to her forehead. “It’s just so hard.”

“I know.” He did. He had experienced the loss of a much-loved younger brother and
the sense of guilt that went with it. But he could see that Lydia wasn’t thinking
of his loss.

“You know what’s worst of all?” The words burst out of her. “That I don’t remember
them. How could I forget my little sisters? It makes me feel so guilty.”

Her voice broke on a sob. His heart breaking for her, Adam put his arms around her.
Guilt, ja, that he knew.

“Hush, now, that’s ferhoodled, it is, and even the bishop would tell you so. Your
head was hurt in the accident, and you couldn’t remember, no matter how much you might
want to.”

His poor sweetheart. He pressed his lips against the softness of her hair in a gentle
kiss. He would do anything to take this pain from her. But he feared more pain was
inevitable if she tried to piece her birth family back together again.

“Komm,” he said, keeping his voice soothing. “You are exhausted, and it’s no wonder.
I’ll make you a cup of your chamomile tea, and then you’ll go to bed. Time enough
to think it through in the morning, ja?”

She nodded, stifling a sob, and he had a sense of relief. But it was short-lived.
He knew his Lydia. Even if she slept tonight, she’d be back to worrying about her
two little sisters again in the morning.

Later, much later, Adam woke suddenly in the double bed where he and Lydia had spent
every night of their married life. Lydia’s even breathing told him she was sleeping,
and he turned cautiously on his side so he could see her.

A shaft of moonlight filtered through the window, turning her face to silver. Her
expression was serene and remote in sleep, as if she had traveled far from home in
her dreams. For an instant a shiver of fear went through him. He seemed to see his
familiar Lydia drifting farther and farther away, lured by the thought of her two
unknown sisters.

Ach, he was the ferhoodled one, thinking such a thing. Lydia was as close as ever,
her face tilted slightly toward him on the pillow, the loose braids she put her hair
in at night lying like soft ropes against her white nightgown.

Her forehead puckered. Her head moved ever so slightly in a negative gesture, and
she made a soft, distressed sound.

“Hush,” he whispered. “It’s all right.” A bad dream, that was all.

Her lips moved, and a word drifted out on a breath. “Lost,” she said. “Lost.”

Carefully, trying not to wake her, he put his arm around her, drawing her closer so
that she might feel his presence, even in her dream. Lydia gave a little sigh and
seemed to relax, sliding deeper into sleep.

He lay awake, staring into the night. If Lydia persisted in this longing for her sisters,
it would end in tears and heartache. It was bound to. She couldn’t tell Susanna, and
she couldn’t find Chloe. And if she somehow did the impossible and found her, being
rejected by the Englischer that Chloe had become might be harder for Lydia to deal
with than never finding her at all.

He’d promised to love and protect and take care of Lydia all their lives. He certain-sure
would never stop loving her. But with the loss of his job and the helplessness he
felt at the news of her sisters, the protecting and caring for suddenly seemed in
doubt.

* * *

Lydia
spooned oatmeal into the boys’ bowls the next morning, paying no heed to their pleas
to have cold cereal instead. “It’s not summer yet,” she reminded them. “You need a
breakfast that will stick to your ribs to last you until lunchtime.”

David, having already given up the battle, was adding brown sugar and raisins to his
oatmeal. After one last glance at her face, Daniel followed suit. Given the enthusiasm
with which they were soon shoveling the food into their mouths, she suspected their
objections had more to do with the brightly colored boxes of the store-bought cereal
than any real dislike of oatmeal.

Lydia turned to the three lunch pails lined up on the counter. She was so used to
the morning routine that it occupied only half her mind, leaving the rest free for
the same subject that had filled it last night—finding her lost sisters.