The Promise Box (13 page)

D
irt rose from the dusty road, and Lydia told herself not to think about the fact that
getting to the West Kootenai store and back would have only taken five minutes if
she could have jumped in her car. But the car had been gone three weeks already, sold
to a high school student in Eureka with a generous grandmother.

The road was lined with trees. Pine, larch. The wooded path opened to a field where
two horses nibbled on bright green grass. At the edge of the road, between the dirt
and the fence, was an apple tree. Its leaves were covered with dust from the road,
but its branches were filled with small reddish-beige apples. Lydia stepped over a
few of the rotten fruits lining the ground and then paused. She glanced up at the
branches. A small gray sparrow fluttered from branch to branch as if overwhelmed with
all the fruit too.

It seemed a waste that so much fruit fell to the ground.

A basket swung on her arm—the one she used to carry her shopping to and from her home.
She set it down, plucked a dozen apples, and set them in the basket with the rest
of her
groceries. She’d make an apple pie later and bring a smile to Dat’s face.

Picking this fruit was similar to Mem’s letters in the Promise Box. While most people
drove by this tree in a car or buggy, she’d stopped to pick the fruit. Mem had done
the same, pausing to capture the memories, writing them down and tucking them inside
her box. Lydia was grateful that she had. Though Mem was gone, Lydia knew her more
than ever. Appreciated her more than ever too.

Dust in the air tickled her nose. Lydia blew out a breath and pulled out the small
notebook and gel pen that she kept inside the basket. She wrote down her observations
about Mem. She also wrote of the smell of the dusty ground and the lightness of the
wind that brushed her cheek like a kiss. She looked at the clouds around her. They
looked like the cotton-candy puffs she’d eaten at the carnival she’d gone to with
Bonnie, and she wrote that down too.

She’d been working on her book diligently. When she wasn’t doing the wash, feeding
the chickens, cooking, Lydia wrote down her memories and contrasted them with her
return. She translated her conversations with Dat, and recorded her reflections on
the letters and Scriptures from Mem’s Promise Box.

The story of her life filled notebook pages, as if she wrote about another. Words
for the next sentence, next paragraph, trailed through her mind throughout the day.
It was almost as if God was walking beside her, pointing out the beauty of everyday
life, and breathing inspiration into her heart. It was new and different. She was
new and different. If someone else would have declared such sudden changes she would
have scoffed. Yet maybe all the time God had been waiting, ready for her to open her
heart.

Lydia knew that not all writing came in such idyllic
moments, and she didn’t want to take it for granted. She didn’t want to waste her
time following her fleshly desires when God had so much He wanted to share. She told
herself that if God had a plan for her and Gideon to be more than friends He would
make that clear in His own time. His promise to His people was that He would be with
them always—not that He’d grant them desires from their preestablished list. She had
learned that from the promises jotted down in Mem’s box.

As she turned at the
T
in the road at the Carashes’ house, Lydia looked to the pasture where Gideon worked
with Blue. Gideon had a saddle on the horse. She stopped in her tracks and smiled.
The horse training seemed to be going well. She grinned at the thought of seeing Gideon
up in that saddle.

When she neared home, Blue trotted her direction. Gideon followed at a distance. Lydia
hadn’t talked to him much lately. He hadn’t been coming around the house, and when
she saw him in the pasture, he rarely paused to visit with her. While her heart pinched
a bit that his interest in her had waned, she knew it was best. Moments with God and
Dat were her first priority, and her time slipped away with the motion of the pen
over paper. The right man would be there at the moment her soul was ready for him.
Shouldn’t she trust God with that?

Blue approached the fence and tossed his head as if in a greeting. She reached up
to pet him and he scooted, enjoying it. Then, with a toss of his head, Blue stepped
back and eyed the basket at her feet.

Lydia chuckled. “Oh,
ja
, I understand. You see my apples.” She reached down and grabbed one and then placed
it on her open palm, offering it to Blue. He eagerly took it from her hand and chewed
it with gusto, eyeing the basket again. She laughed and reached for another one.

“Stop!” Gideon’s voice split the air. Lydia jumped. Blue
didn’t seem bothered by it. He pawed the ground with his front hoof.

“What?” She placed her hand on her hip and watched as Gideon came her way. The way
he stomped over reminded her of the first moment she’d seen him. For the second time,
she couldn’t believe how utterly handsome he was with an angry frown on his face.

Lydia shrugged. “I was just giving him an apple.”

“Just?” Gideon shook his head. “You rewarded Blue for disobeying me. I was teaching
him to listen to my voice commands and when he saw you he bolted.”

“I can’t help it if he likes me.” She offered a coy smile. “It must be my
kapp
. He’s liked me much better since wearing one.”

“I don’t mind that he likes you, but he must learn to listen to me first.”

“
Ja
.” Lydia lowered her head, considering his words. “But—” She looked up again. “—I’ll
make up for it by inviting you to dinner. I’m making fried chicken with apple pie
for dessert.”

“I, uh, wish I could.” Heat rose to Gideon’s face, and he ran a finger under the collar
of his shirt. “But I already accepted an invitation to the Peachys’. In fact…” He
eyed the sun lowering in the horizon. “I best get going and wash up.”

Lydia’s jaw dropped, along with her heart, falling to the ground like one of those
apples. “
Ja
. Have a nice evening.” She didn’t know what else to say. She wasn’t a fool. Eve’s
eyes had been fixed on Gideon. Eve had been watching him playing with the kids after
the last church service at the Sommer house.

Lydia took a step back and picked up her basket. With a wave, she turned and hurried
back to her house. She’d only done what she felt God was asking her to do. So why
did she
feel a jab of pain with every step? Why the sudden tears? One escaped and tumbled
down her cheek and she wiped it away.

As she’d sought God and leaned on Him, she’d secretly hoped He had a plan that involved
Gideon in her life…and that the time for them to build on their friendship would be
soon. She was fine allowing space between them, but if she was honest with herself,
she didn’t want to think of him turning his attentions to another young woman.

She thought about the Scripture verse she’d read this morning, written by Mem’s hand:
“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord,” Jeremiah 29:11
.

This morning the Scripture’s promise had given her comfort, but now she didn’t know.
What if the plans God had for her didn’t involve Gideon? What if she’d been clinging
to the promises too tightly?
What if they
…She didn’t want to consider that they might not come true.

Lydia blew out a breath. Could the promises be trusted? In all the weeks since she’d
decided to return home, return to God, this was the first time the doubt had grown
loud, echoing in her head.

She hurried up to the front door and pulled open the screen. In ten steps she’d crossed
into the kitchen and placed the basket on the floor. For some reason she was suddenly
too weary to think about placing the basket on the counter. Too weary to think about
making an apple pie, much less dinner. She needed comfort. She needed Mem’s words.

Eve waited for Gideon on the front porch of the Peachy house. The front door was closed,
but the windows were open, and Gideon could hear the sounds of Mr. and Mrs. Peachy
chatting inside.

“Dinner is ready,” Eve said as he approached. “I made a
cherry pie. I heard it was yer favorite.” She perched forward on the rocking chair
but didn’t stand.

Gideon mounted the steps, but his boots felt as if they’d been filled with lead. He
rubbed his brow, head aching. He hadn’t slept much from worrying about Lydia, but
most from fretting over how he’d ruined so many lives. Myrna, the children, the community.
One Amish life lost had a ripple effect, but the loss of a father, a husband, was
like a tsunami.

“You do like cherry, don’t you?” Eve’s words interrupted Gideon’s thoughts.

“Oh,
ja
. I’m sorry.” He widened his eyes and pushed his hat back on his head.

“Is it that horse? Is he what troubles you?” Eve rose. “Everyone—my father especially—is
amazed by how quickly he’s falling into line yet. We haven’t seen such a thing. Sadly,
I’ve seen too many untamable horses have to be put down.”

“Wasn’t thinking about the horse. Blue is the least of my worries.”

The scent of fried pork chops and corn on the cob caused his stomach to rumble. Gideon
took a step toward the door. He knew it would be polite to greet Mr. and Mrs. Peachy
since they’d been the ones to invite him to the meal, but Eve hurried toward the door
and placed her hand on the door handle, halting his entrance.

“Is it a
her
, then?”

Gideon cocked an eyebrow, guessing who Eve was talking about, but not wanting to admit
it. “Her who?”

“Lydia Wyse, of course. I see the way you watch her—so enamored by her in Amish dress.”

Gideon took a step back. He knew he was going nowhere until Eve gave him permission.
His thoughts had been more on the truth of what had happened on the mountain all those
years
ago. Nightmares had plagued his few moments of sleep. Worries had filled his waking
hours. Yet he didn’t want to tell Eve that. Let her think that Lydia weighed most
on his thoughts.

He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “There’s a big difference between dressing
Amish and committing herself to the lifestyle. We’ve both known youth during
rumspringa
who’d wear
Englisch
clothes all week and then show up to Sunday service dressed all prim and such in
their Amish dress.”

Eve cocked her head. “Do you really think Lydia Wyse is doing that?”

Gideon didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. He’d been watching. The town had been watching—as
he’d expected they would. Lydia’s changes over the last few weeks seemed sincere.

“
Ja
,” he finally said. “She has changed, but just living as an Amish woman and being
baptized into the church are worlds apart. One is a lifestyle, the other a commitment.
I think she’s far from entrusting herself completely to the community, to our ways.”