Lydia's Hope (7 page)

Lydia seesawed back and forth, and by the time they reached the outskirts of Oyersburg,
she’d begun to wish she’d stayed home. What was she thinking, coming here against
everyone’s good advice?

“Here we are in Oyersburg,” Ben said as houses and shops began appearing on either
side of the road. “Where do you want to be dropped off?”

Lydia swallowed, her throat tight. “I’m not sure exactly. I want to go to a particular
shop, but I’ve forgotten its name.” That sounded thin, even to her. “It’s a craft
and gift store run by two Amish women. Do you know it?”

“I might,” Ben said, eyeing her, curiosity written all over his weathered face. “It’s
probably Plain Gifts. I don’t know the exact address, but it’s along this end of Main
Street someplace.”

He slowed, peering out the window, and she leaned forward to do the same. Along one
side of the road was a wide, shallow creek that meandered over flat rocks on its way
toward the Susquehanna River. The shops and houses were on the other side of the road,
facing the stream, and the shops seemed to be in the first floors of buildings that
had once been houses, for the most part.

“There,” Ben exclaimed. “That’s it.” He pulled to the curb in front of a two-story
frame house with a wide front porch. Several rocking chairs were arranged on the porch,
as if inviting you to sit and watch the world go by, and an assortment of decorated
milk cans and birdhouses had dangling price tags.

Lydia slid out of the car and stood on the sidewalk. Ben leaned over to speak to her
through the passenger-side window.

“If you have a lot of shopping to do, don’t worry about me. I’ll just go find a cup
of coffee and read my newspaper.”

“I should be ready to go in an hour.” She started to ask him to pick her up here,
but maybe that wasn’t such a good idea, depending on how things went. She glanced
around, looking for inspiration.

Main Street started a gentle upward slope beyond the shop, and about halfway up, there
was what looked like a small park with benches.

“I’ll plan to meet you at that little park in an hour,” she said.

Ben gave her a look that was downright puzzled. “You sure you don’t need more time?
I don’t mind waiting.”

“No, that’s enough time.” Either she’d have met her sister or not by then, have told
her or not.

“If you say so.” Ben raised his hand and pulled back out into traffic.

If her insides didn’t stop shaking, Lydia figured she’d go in there looking half-sick,
and that wasn’t the impression she wanted to make. She probably wouldn’t tell Susanna
anything at all. She’d just enter the shop, look around, and then buy something so
that she could engage Susanna in conversation. To her little sister, Lydia would be
nothing but another customer.

Unless she decided to tell Susanna the truth, of course. Shutting her mind to that
possibility, Lydia mounted the two steps and paused. From this angle, she could see
across the backyards of the other buildings to where the river gleamed, wide and imposing.
Susanna had picked a pretty place for her business, it seemed.

But she shouldn’t stand here gawking. Lydia crossed the porch and entered the shop.
She stopped just inside, still clutching the door. A small bell tinkled musically
at the door’s movement.

If she was going to look like a casual shopper, Lydia decided she probably should
have checked out the items on the porch, but it was too late now. She closed the door
and ventured into the shop.

The main section had probably been a parlor when the house had been a home. Now it
was a display area for an array of crafts and artwork that Lydia found almost dizzying
in their variety.

Clusters of dried flowers hung from hooks, emitting a faint aroma of summers past.
A small oval table held a collection of pots and vases, no doubt handmade, in colors
ranging from the palest milky white to a deep, rich burgundy.

She touched a burgundy pot that was nearly the color of the dress she wore. The glaze
was smooth and cool under her fingers, and she could feel the slight ridges made by
the potter’s hands. The touch was oddly calming, and Lydia desperately needed calm
before she looked into her sister’s face for the first time. Or at least, the first
time that she would remember.

Susanna or her partner would probably be in the back, where the cash register sat,
but no one hurried forward to interrupt her browsing. Probably they were used to folks
looking around. Birdhouses, napkin holders, and wooden boxes of all sizes marched
across a shelf, while a large woven basket was piled high with quilted pillows.

A few steps carried her away from the scent of the dried flowers and into the stronger
aromas of an arrangement of scented candles. Her gaze was caught by a wooden mantel
clock similar to the one Adam was making, and the price tag on it took her breath
away.

“May I help you find something?” The words were spoken in Englisch, but the speaker
was undeniably Amish. She rose from a rocking chair in the corner, and Lydia’s heart
seemed to stop. This had to be her sister Susanna, didn’t it?

“I . . . I thought I’d just look around for a bit.” Obviously she wasn’t very skilled
at acting a part.

“Of course. Take your time. Just call me if you need any help. I’m Susanna.”

“Denke.” Lydia’s voice came out a bit shaky, and she turned away quickly. Looking
through a stack of quilted place mats gave her something to occupy her hands while
she stole covert glances at her sister.

She was looking for similarities, she supposed, although plenty of sisters didn’t
look that much alike. Susanna had a heart-shaped face and a shy, sweet smile that
showed a dimple in her cheek. Lydia put a hand to her face. She had a dimple in exactly
the same place. Had their mother had one there, as well? For a moment she regretted
the Amish ban on taking photographs, even though she understood the reason.

Susanna’s hair was a darker brown than Lydia’s, drawn back under her snowy kapp, and
the deep blue of her dress matched the color of her eyes.

Lydia moved on to a display of hooked rugs, trying to concentrate on the color patterns
woven through them. When she thought she could trust her voice, she spoke. “Did you
make these?”

Susanna, who’d been tactfully rearranging candles, turned at the question. “Not the
rugs, no. We take many of our crafts on consignment from the makers.”

Lydia nodded in understanding. Katie Brand did that in her quilt shop, too, giving
some of the local quilters an outlet for selling their wares that they otherwise wouldn’t
have.

“Amish crafters, are they?”

“Most of them. A few things are made by Englisch, like the paintings.” Acting on her
interest, Susanna nodded to the pastoral scenes that covered one wall while she came
around the counter. “You are not from Oyersburg, ain’t so?”

Lydia shook her head. Obviously, Susanna would know all the members of her church
district. “I’m in town to do some shopping. I live over in Pleasant Valley.” She watched
for any indication that the place meant something to Susanna, but Susanna’s expression
was one of polite interest. “My name is Lydia Beachy.”

Susanna took a few steps toward her, and Lydia’s heart twisted. Her sister walked
with a definite limp. That must be her scar from the accident, just as Lydia’s lack
of memory was hers. Protective love surged through her, astonishing Lydia with its
strength, and she fought to keep it under control.

“I especially like this painting of the stream and the covered bridge. I know exactly
where that was painted, just above where the creek flows into the river.” Susanna
smiled at the painting, as if imagining herself in the scene.

Did she ever imagine herself in the apple orchard? Or dream of it and wonder why?

“It is lovely. But not for me, ain’t so?” Lydia managed a smile, knowing Susanna understood.
The Amish didn’t hang things on their walls unless they served a purpose besides being
beautiful.

“Were you looking for something in particular?” Susanna’s glance held curiosity. She
probably didn’t get many outside Amish coming in as customers, since it was far more
common for them to make gifts rather than buy them. “Or do you have something you’re
interested in bringing in for the shop on consignment?”

The idea blossomed in Lydia’s thoughts as soon as Susanna said the words—the perfect
reason for her to visit the store not just today, but in the future.

“My husband makes clocks.” She pointed toward the one she’d noticed. “Usually mantel
or shelf clocks. I wondered if you might be interested.”

“I’d be wonderful glad to find another clock-maker.” Susanna’s blue eyes lit with
enthusiasm. Obviously her shop meant a great deal to her. “The man who made that one
is retired, and he’s not producing them any longer. Do you have any of your husband’s
clocks with you today?”

“No, but I could bring one the next time I come to Oyersburg.” And there would be
a next time, she could guarantee it.

“Gut. We’d be glad to have a look anytime. Do you often come here?” Susanna gestured,
as if to take in the town.

“I will be coming more often in the future.” Recklessness seemed to take possession
of Lydia. Why not tell Susanna the truth? She seemed friendly, and once she knew,
Lydia wouldn’t have to make up excuses—

“Susanna?” A footstep sounded as the speaker came through a curtain that screened
off a room at the rear. “Ach, I didn’t realize you were busy with a customer. I wanted
to remind you that it’s nearly time to check on your mamm.”

“It is?” Susanna glanced at the clock. “I was so distracted talking that I lost track.”
She turned to Lydia. “This is Dora Gaus, my partner in the shop. She can answer any
questions you have. I must leave now, but do bring in a clock or two whenever you
can.” She started to the door, her limp more pronounced since she was hurrying. “It
was so nice to meet you.”

“Ja, for me, as well.” Lydia doubted that Susanna had heard her, as intent as she
was on her errand. She swept out the door, closing it behind her.

Lydia let out a breath, feeling herself sag. It was over, and she certainly couldn’t
find any excuse for hanging around until Susanna came back.

“Did Susanna say you might bring some clocks in?” Mrs. Gaus came out from behind the
counter, wearing the black dress often worn by older Amish women, especially if they
were widows. Round and sturdy, Mrs. Gaus had a pleasant smile that warmed her broad
face.

“My husband enjoys making clocks,” Lydia explained. “Susanna said you’d be interested
in seeing them.”

“Susanna is right, as always.” Mrs. Gaus leaned on the nearest counter, seemingly
prepared for a chat. “She has a gut eye for business, and the smartest thing I ever
did was take her on as a partner.”

“How long have you been in partnership?” She couldn’t display too much curiosity about
Susanna, but surely that question was natural.

“Goodness, it must be over five years, nearer six, now. Susanna and her mamm live
just a block over, so it’s convenient for her.”

Lydia had to venture another question, even at the risk of making Mrs. Gaus suspicious
of her. “I gather from what you said that her mother is ill?”

Mrs. Gaus’s ruddy face seemed to draw down with sorrow. “Cancer, poor soul, and she
isn’t doing well, either. It’s fortunate for her that she has Susanna. Only her daughter
can comfort poor Elizabeth now. The doctor says she doesn’t have more than a few months
left.” She shook her head.

Something seemed to shake inside Lydia, as well, at the close call she’d had. If she’d
obeyed her impulse and told Susanna that Elizabeth wasn’t really her mother, what
damage might she have done to both of them? Bishop Mose had been right, as he usually
was. She couldn’t possibly disrupt Susanna’s life and whatever time her adoptive mother
had left by telling her the truth now.

Still, at least she’d seen Susanna for herself, and she’d made an initial approach.
She’d have to be satisfied with that today.

If she were to reunite with either of her sisters in the near future, it would have
to be Chloe. But how on earth could she locate a baby who’d disappeared into the Englisch
world twenty-five years ago?

C
HAP
TER
F
OUR

L
ydia
couldn’t seem to clear her mind for the rest of the day. Usually her duties stretched
ahead of her in the peaceful routine of Amish life, but not now.

Finally, despairing of accomplishing anything in the house, she went outside. She’d
walk through the orchard, the place that always restored her serenity no matter what
troubled her. Not that she’d ever had a problem like this one before.

Shep, the shepherd mix who considered it his duty to guard the property, rose from
the flagstone walk where he’d been dozing in the sun. He moved to meet her, his tail
wagging lazily.

“You don’t have thoughts that trouble you, do you, old boy?” She patted his head and
ruffled his ears. “Will you walk with me?” She headed toward the orchard, Shep pacing
patiently at her heels.

The boys would be home from school before long, and Adam from work. The farm would
be suddenly busy and noisy, and there’d be no time for reflection. She normally loved
all the hullabaloo, but just now, she needed to think through her encounter, brief
as it had been, with her sister.

Her heart clutched painfully as she pictured Susanna limping across the shop.
God’s will,
the Amish said whenever sudden change happened, bad or good. Susanna would have been
younger than David was now when she was injured. She probably didn’t remember a time
when she could run and jump like a normal child.

Was that why Susanna was still unmarried at twenty-seven? Or maybe she was twenty-eight
now, depending upon when her birthday was. The pain struck Lydia again. She didn’t
know her own sister’s birthday. She took a breath, willing the pain to fade. There
would be some way to find out—the births of each child would be recorded somewhere,
surely.

Most Amish young folks started pairing off in their late teens and married in their
early twenties. Susanna was lovely, probably with a disposition to match, judging
by the sweetness of her expression. Surely there had been boys who’d have seen beyond
the limp to the person.

Lydia stopped under the big tree in the center of the orchard. Its low, spreading
limbs were tempting for the young ones, and she’d had to forbid Daniel and David from
climbing it. Adam thought she was too protective, but she knew how daring her boys
were, and David would undoubtedly follow Daniel right to the top, with neither of
them ever stopping to think about whether the branches could support their weight.

Mamm had told her something about the tree once, when she’d asked a question about
her birth mother. She’d said it was Diane’s favorite place, and she’d given Lydia
an image of Diane and a small Lydia sitting on a low branch, while Diane told stories
to her child.

But that picture had been false, hadn’t it? It had omitted the two younger girls,
who no doubt had been there as well.

Leaning against the trunk, Lydia pressed her palms on the rough bark and tilted her
head to look up through the branches. If there were answers here, she couldn’t see
them. But just over her head, one of the apple blossoms had begun to open its white
petals.

She touched it gently, and her pain seemed to ease. Her senses opened to the soft
hum of insects, to the chatter of a robin as she chased a crow from her nest, to the
gentle snuffling of Shep as he nosed his way through a purplish-blue clump of the
bugle flowers that carpeted the orchard in early spring.

Maybe it was a coincidence that Adam had first kissed her under this tree, or maybe
that had been part of God’s plan for her. If she closed her eyes, she could see Adam
standing there, his beardless face looking so young and serious. He had taken his
hat off, and the sunlight, piercing through the branches, had brought a reddish sheen
to his thick brown hair. She felt herself slip back to those moments in memory.

“You are going to marry me, aren’t you, Lydia?” His blue eyes were solemn, reflecting
the fact that choosing a mate was for life.

She felt as if her chest would burst from the pressure of her love for him. “Ja, Adam
Beachy, I will marry you.” She lifted her hand toward his face tentatively, longing
to touch him and a bit nervous as well.

Adam smiled, as if he’d read her thoughts. He clasped her hand in his and pressed
it against his warm, smooth cheek. “I love you, Lydia,” he whispered.

Her heart seemed to turn over. “I love you, too.” Her voice sounded funny to her,
maybe because her throat was so tight.

Adam kissed the fingers he held, and the pressure of his lips seemed to travel straight
to her heart. Then he lowered his head, and his lips found hers. Her breath caught,
and the world seemed to shrink until there was only her and Adam together. The Garden
of Eden had surely been like this, and she never wanted it to end.

It hadn’t ended, she assured herself, shaking her head a little as she came back to
the present. She loved Adam in a way that the girl she’d been then hadn’t even imagined.
But the events of the past few days had driven a barrier between them, and she wasn’t
sure how to get past it.

How could he not understand her longing for her sisters? But she was at fault, as
well. She should have been more attentive when he’d talked about the loss of his job.
She’d make up for it when he got home, that’s what she’d do. Adam deserved to know
that she understood and cared about his feelings.

A flicker of movement caught her eye. A man was coming toward her across the orchard,
but it wasn’t Adam. It was Seth Miller, Emma Miller’s son.

Shep deserted the flowers to trot over to Seth, sniffing him thoroughly before nosing
his head into Seth’s hand. Did Shep find it odd to see a man in jeans and a knit shirt,
instead of black broadfall pants and suspenders?

“Seth, it is gut to see you. How is your mamm doing today?”

“Improving, I think.” Seth grimaced, his smoothly shaven face expressing concern,
and ran a hand back through the stylish cut of his wheat-colored hair. “She does too
much, I know, but I can’t seem to stop her.”

“No one can,” she assured him. “Emma is a strong woman, and she won’t take kindly
to being told to slow down.”

Emma had had to be strong, bearing all the sorrows she’d had with the death of her
husband and oldest daughter and the decision of her only son to leave the faith, compounded
by all the worry over Jessie’s mental health.

Seth nodded, but Lydia could see that he had something else on his mind.

“Mamm was telling me about your problems with this news about your family. She says
to ask if she can do anything to help.” He looked at her as if she were a kettle about
to boil. “Are you okay?”

Okay?
Not really, but she hesitated to say that to Seth. They had been close friends once,
but the man who stood in front of her didn’t bear much resemblance to the Amish boy
she’d known so well long ago.

“I’m fine. I guess the news is all over the church by now, ain’t so?” She shrugged.
“People will be talking about it.” She should have realized that word would spread
through the Amish grapevine, traveling person-to-person until everyone knew.

“That’s only natural, but they love you and your family. I’m sure they wish you well.”
He studied her face. “Would it help to talk to an outsider, like me?”

“Ja, maybe.” But Seth wasn’t really an outsider, despite the fact that he wasn’t Amish
now. He was still, at some level, the boy she’d grown up with, the boy who’d taken
her home from her first singing. “It’s just so hard to get used to the idea of having
sisters.” Suddenly the words that were on top of her thoughts spilled out. “I saw
Susanna today.”

Seth’s eyebrows lifted. “That must have been difficult. How did she take the news?”

At least Seth assumed she had a right to share the news with her sisters. She shook
her head. “I couldn’t tell her. I wanted to, that’s certain-sure. But her mamm is
very ill, and it didn’t seem right to hand her another burden just now.”

He tilted his head, considering, making her wonder what he might have done in similar
circumstances. “I can understand that, I guess. But at least maybe one day you’ll
be able to tell her.”

“Ja, I hope so.” Lydia nearly bit her tongue. That almost sounded as if she were looking
forward to the death of Susanna’s mother, and that wasn’t what she’d meant at all,
was it?

Luckily, Seth’s thoughts didn’t seem to be heading in that direction. “What about
the other one? Have you talked to her yet?”

She shook her head. “Chloe was taken by her Englisch grandmother when she was just
a baby. That means she was brought up Englisch, and she probably doesn’t know anything
about her real family, since she was so young.” Her throat tightened with the impossibility
of it. “I can’t begin to think how I’d ever find her.”

“Then this must be your lucky day.” Seth grinned, the old, happy-go-lucky grin that
had intrigued every girl who’d ever come in contact with him back in the old days.
“Because you happen to have a friend who’s Englisch as well, and has just the talents
you need to locate your sister.”

Lydia could only stare at him for a moment, untangling his meaning. “You can find
Chloe?” Surely it couldn’t be as easy as he made it seem.

“Unless she’s gone into the Witness Protection Program, I can practically guarantee
it.” Seeing she didn’t understand, he smiled again. “The Amish do a good job of living
off the grid, but every Englisch person leaves a trail somewhere on the Internet.
Just tell me what you know about her, and I’ll start searching.”

“I do know about the Internet,” she said, her voice tart. “You don’t need to sound
as if I’m a dummy.”

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “You always were good at telling me off, Lydia. Maybe that’s
why I liked you so much.”

She decided it was better not to respond to that comment. There had been a time when
she’d thought she and Seth might end up together, but that had been long ago and very
fleeting.

“I’d be wonderful glad if you can find anything out about Chloe. Her grandmother’s
name was Margaret Wentworth, and she came from someplace around Philadelphia.”

He nodded, seeming to stow the name away in his memory. “How old would Chloe be now?”

She had to stop and figure. “About twenty-six, I’d say. And our mother’s name was
Diane, if that helps any.”

“That’s enough to start with, anyway.” He glanced past her. “Looks as if your family
is getting home, and I’m supposed to be running my mother and Jessie to the grocery
store, so I’ll be off. I’ll let you know as soon as I find something.”

He sounded very confident. She watched him stride briskly off toward the Miller house
before turning away. But then, Seth had always been confident of what he wanted for
himself, regardless of how much it hurt the people who loved him.

* * *

Adam’s
steps slowed as his glance swept the orchard and landed on Seth Miller, walking back
toward his mamm’s house while Lydia looked after him. As far as Adam was concerned,
he already had enough weight resting on his shoulders today. He didn’t want to contend
with Seth, as well.

Seth’s quick, confident stride carried him out of sight in another moment, but not,
unfortunately, out of Adam’s mind. There was not much of the Amish boy he’d been left
in the Englischer Seth was now. But even when he’d worn broadfall trousers and had
his hair cut in his mother’s kitchen, Seth had managed to attract the attention of
the girls and the envy of the other boys. Adam had never felt able to measure up.

Lydia was walking toward him now, raising her hand to wave. He waved back, trying
to put a little energy into the movement. The last thing he wanted was to get Lydia
worrying about him and his job at a time like this.

And it was just plain stupid to let his mind travel back to that first singing they’d
gone to when they were barely sixteen. He’d sneaked glances at Lydia, sitting on the
opposite side of the long table, and wondered if she would ever look his way. And
when they’d taken a break for refreshments, he’d had to force his feet to move toward
her, rehearsing in his mind the words he’d use when he asked if he could take her
home.

But he’d taken so long getting up the courage that he’d reached Lydia just in time
to hear Seth asking the same thing, and Lydia saying yes to Seth, not to him. The
image of Seth helping her up into his buggy was one he’d never gotten out of his head.

“Adam, you’re home early.” Lydia reached him, smiling.

“Ja, the boss gave us our money and said there was no point starting something else.”
He jerked his head in the direction of the Miller place. “What was
he
doing here?”

Lydia’s smile faded, replaced by a wary expression. “Seth? He came over with a message
from his mother, asking if she can do anything.” Fine lines marred Lydia’s smooth
forehead. “Everybody knows, I guess. They’re all talking.” Her lips trembled, and
she pressed them together.

Adam ought to be ashamed, letting himself think of that old jealousy when Lydia was
hurting. He touched her arm, wanting to ease the pain. “They mean it kindly, even
when they do talk. And Emma Miller is a gut woman.”

“Ja, ja, she is. I should go over and see her. I haven’t been there in days.”

That was his Lydia, always thinking of others. “Emma would like a visit from you,
that’s for sure.” He pushed himself to bring up the subject he’d rather she forgot.
“I guess she could talk to you about when you were little. Emma would have been your
mamm’s closest neighbor, ain’t so?”

Lydia nodded. “That’s true.” She seemed to make an effort to smile. “Well, enough
about me. How was your last day?”

Now it was his turn to make the effort to look pleasant, no matter how he felt. “Not
bad. Mr. Owens was real sorry he had to let us go, and he came around and talked to
each one. He said if the orders pick up again, he’ll be wanting to call us back to
work.”