The Promise Box (17 page)

“A farrier?” Lydia searched her memory, trying to remember what that was.

“One of the neighbors down the road needed an assistant. He trained me to take care
of the horses’ hooves, doing the trimming and balancing and placing of shoes. Dat
told me once, ‘Son, if you learn how to shoe a horse and ride ‘im, you’ll
be able to eat.’ He was proud I listened. I remember jest being sixteen and Dat telling
everyone I was part blacksmith, part veterinarian—because a farrier is a bit of both.
I enjoy making sure the hooves are trimmed so they have proper footing. But my greatest
joy is training, especially when I can take a wild horse—one that a person’s considering
putting down—and turn him around.”

Lydia gasped. “Were they thinking of that for Blue?”

Gideon looked away, lifting his head to watch an eagle’s slow, sweeping circle over
the pasture. He didn’t have to say the words. She understood.

He then pointed to Blue. “I’m sure Blue doesn’t understand. There are times he runs
from me. He doesn’t want to submit to the training. He fights against the halters
and ropes, yet I don’t back down. I can’t. The pressure and small amounts of discomfort
I offer him are like a gift compared to what’s in store if I leave him to his own
wild devices.”

Gideon’s words reminded Lydia of something she’d read just this morning. “I ‘will
refine them as silver is refined, and will try them as gold is tried,’” she said.

“Excuse me?”

Lydia stepped forward and placed her forearms on the wooden rail of the fence post,
leaning on it for support. “It’s a Scripture verse that I read this morning. I’m not
sure if you knew, but Mem had health issues for most of her married years. They diagnosed
a heart problem years ago. She lived far longer than the doctors expected her to.
Dat—” Lydia’s voice caught in her throat. “Dat said her will to see me grown was greater
than any heart problem.” A sad chuckle escaped her lips. “She was stubborn like that.”

She reached down and plucked a tall stalk of wild grass from around the fence post.
“But I liked what Mem wrote me
once: God wanted her so purified that she shone. Her desire was that through her shining
God could look down and see His reflection.”

Gideon tilted his head and smiled. “I like that,
ja
.”

“It’s been helping me—Mem’s words and the way she looked at things. It seems she not
only read God’s Word, she turned to Him in prayer, and she waited to hear how what
she read applied to her life.” Lydia leaned forward and rested her chin on the fence
post.

Gideon sighed. “I heard it said once you cannot train a horse with shouts and expect
it to obey a whisper.”

“I love that. And the amazing thing is that those whispers echo—because I can hear
them too, through her pen to my heart.”

Gideon nodded. “My
oma
used to say, ‘We get too soon
oldt
,
undt
too late
schmart
.’ But I’m proud of you, Lydia. You’re listening. Understanding.”

“Now…now I am. But all those years wasted…”

“I understand, Lydia.” He looked at her. “It’s almost like this gelding here and other
challenging cases. They think they need to save themselves. Protect themselves.”

The intensity of his gaze overwhelmed her, and then he quickly glanced away.

“Looking back, I wish I’d made different choices.”

“Don’t we all.” A mournful look darkened Gideon’s face—one she didn’t understand.
She was about to ask him about it, but then Gideon turned to her. “It’s a way of maturing,
I suppose. You wouldn’t make the same choices now as you did then, would you?”

“
Ne
.”

He crossed his broad arms over his chest. “I suppose the thing that surprises me the
most isn’t that we—as humans—make
stupid choices, but that we are allowed to make choices at all. If Blue realized his
strength, he wouldn’t listen to me. He has the ability to overpower me every time.
It’s amazing to think that God gave us that same power too—our free will.”

“
Ja
. Wow. I never thought of it that way.” The words released with her breath. “But you’re
right.”

They sat there for a while, taking in the sight of Blue nibbling on the grass, watching
the eagle’s invisible path, and following the dip of the sun to the west. A contented
peace came over Lydia, and she remembered something she and Bonnie had shared long
ago. Lydia had told Bonnie that she’d know the right man for her when she was just
as comfortable with him in moments of silence as she was in moments of talking. The
only thing was up until a few months ago she’d never figured that man would be Amish.

Gideon made a clicking sound with his mouth, and Blue pricked his ears and trotted
over.

Lydia’s eyes widened. “Did you teach him that?”

“
Ja
.”

Gideon tried to hold back the smile, but he wasn’t doing a very good job. The lightness
of his heart reflected in his eyes.

“You must be proud when you see a difficult horse come so far.”

“It’s not about pride, Lydia—it’s about stewardship. We’re supposed to take care of
what God puts into our possession. Going forth and subduing the earth isn’t about
forcing yourself. It’s
tending to
.”

“Do you train horses for buggies too?”

“I have.”

“There’s a buggy shop near our old home in Sugarcreek. Mem and I used to walk down
there and watch them work. I remember what a big problem it was when the police asked
them to start installing reflectors because of all the accidents. You’d think our
friends and neighbors were asked to start flying spaceships for all the commotion.”

“I wondered if the buggies are similar to the ones we have in Pennsylvania. I’m always
amazed how almost each area has different styles and standards.”

“Do you want to see photos?”

“Photos?”

Lydia lifted her chin. “You say that word as if I’d just confessed to wearing
Englisch
clothes under my dress and apron.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised.” He chuckled. “If that’s the worst
thing you have to hide, Lydia…if that’s the worst thing, I think we’ll be all right.”

An uneasiness stirred inside her. She thought of the small stack of notebooks tucked
under her bed. They were filled with all that had happened since she’d returned to
West Kootenai. The book of memories she was writing was just something she was doing
for herself—at least she was pretty sure it was only for her. Her plan was to go back
to those notebooks and pull out sections for a book for Bonnie. Sections that wouldn’t
reveal too much, but that would interest readers who weren’t familiar with Amish ways.
Her returning would be a good story…without her spilling all her heart and emotions
into the printed page.

She was writing it as a testimony to what God was doing in her life, and maybe a testimony
to her future children and grandchildren too. But she wasn’t hiding those notebooks,
not really. She’d tell Gideon when the time was right…when she was sure he felt settled
with her and would not be spooked away as easily as an untrained horse.

She didn’t respond with her words, but instead Lydia placed her hand in his and tugged
on it, taking two steps toward her house.

“I’ll show you a few photos. Bonnie—my friend—rented out my condo in Seattle for me,
and she was kind enough to pack up my personal things and send them. But after the
photos I must get dinner started. Dat is used to eating early and going to bed early,
and he’s like a bear. If I don’t provide something, he’ll start foraging around for
himself.”

Gideon tugged back on her hand slightly, and she paused to look at him.

“Does that mean I’m invited for dinner?”

“
Ja
, of course, but I’ve talked enough for both of us today. After dinner it’s your turn.
I want to hear more about your life. I want to hear about what it was like growing
up.”

Her mind was already trying to decide if she wanted to make the potpie like she’d
planned or come up with something easier. But as she turned back toward the house,
something other than her dinner menu was even more worrisome. The briefest flash of
fear crossed Gideon’s gaze. Lydia didn’t understand it.

Maybe I’m just seeing things
.

What about his childhood was so painful to share?

L
ydia made chicken potpie. As soon as the table was cleared Dat excused himself for
the night—even earlier than normal—and Lydia knew the truth. He wanted her and Gideon
to have as much time together as possible.

Gideon sat in her mem’s log rocking chair. Where Mem had been engulfed in the chair,
Gideon’s tall frame made it look as if it were a child’s chair.

His eyes followed her as she washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen. A soft smile
touched his face. She looked back every now and then. Did he pretend the same thing
she did? That this was their house, that she was his wife. The last glance back he
winked at her, and she guessed he was thinking that. Her stomach tingled as she lit
the candles lined up on the table.

“So what brought you to Montana?” she asked as she moved to make both of them a cup
of tea. “Is the hunting as big of a draw as everyone says it is?”

He took the mug of tea and spoon from her and nodded when she offered him sugar.

“I do like to hunt, but I came because my parents visited
here when I was a boy.” He added sugar to his hot tea and stirred it slowly.

“I bet they miss you…being so far.”

“There are thirteen children in my family, and the older six are all married with
little ones. Family gatherings involve half the town and…” He glanced down and placed
his spoon on a napkin on the side table. “With one hundred people there, what does
it matter when one’s gone?”

Lydia’s lips opened slightly. She’d struck a nerve. “Thirteen children?” It was all
she could say.

“It’s a lot,
ja
, but not unusual in our community. It was hard, though. I felt like the invisible
child—the middle of thirteen. Six older than me, six younger. I’m surprised sometimes
when people notice me.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I had no trouble noticing you.”

The sadness on his face brightened, and he laughed. “You really didn’t have a chance
to ignore me, did you?”

She shook her head. “How could I ignore the stranger stomping toward me and telling
me to put away the camera or he’d take it?”

“I’m sorry about that. I have a problem with tourists. That’s what I thought you were.
Living in Bird-in-Hand, well, millions of folks come through there every year. They
take photographs, even though we ask that they ought not be taken. They stare at us.
Follow us. Treat us like animals in a zoo, when we’re just trying to live our normal
lives.”

“That happened some in Sugarcreek, but I guess I never thought of it much.” Lydia
smiled at him. “Mem told me that everyone wanted to take photos of me because they
liked my red hair. I didn’t realize until later that the color of my hair had little
to do with it. The style of my dress and the life my parents and I lived mattered
far more.”

Gideon shrugged. “Maybe other people aren’t as bothered by it. I talked to my brother
once, and he said he didn’t mind the stares. He didn’t mind being different. He always
felt like we had something better than everyone else, and that’s why they were drawn
to us. But I do think it’s wrong when
Englischers
try to make money off our ordinary lives. How would they like it if we rented tour
buses and drove up and down their streets gawking?”

“I suppose I never thought of it like that.” Lydia took a sip from her tea. “I’m from
a smaller community that not many know about—nor talk about much. I did have photos
taken of me when I was younger, but when I got older no one paid much attention to
a plain-looking, freckle-nosed Amish girl.”

“Lydia. You’re anything but plain.” From the look in his eye she could see Gideon
meant it.

“That’s kind of you to say.” They sat for a while, Gideon rocking in the chair and
she sitting on the sofa. She felt close to him—this day had built that closeness.
She could picture a future with him.

Lydia pressed her lips together. “Want to know a secret?” She sucked in a breath as
soon as she released them. The words splashed a cold dread on her face. What she had
to share was special. Did she really want to invite Gideon in?

“
Ja
. Yes, of course.” He smiled and leaned forward. He looked so happy, so hopeful. How
could she not share?

“All right. I’ll be right back.”

Lydia hurried into her bedroom and picked up her Promise Box from the bedside table.
She took off the letter from the top—the one that she’d read over and over. The one
in which Mem talked about meeting her birth mom and claiming Lydia as her own. She
wasn’t ready to share that with Gideon. Not yet. She hadn’t even told him she was
adopted. She hadn’t told
anyone here in West Kootenai. The people she grew up with in Sugarcreek knew, but
even then they didn’t know the whole story. A cold shiver ran down her spine over
telling anyone that, even Gideon.

She entered the living room with the box in hand. “This is something special, and
I wanted to tell you about it. My mem, you see, had a bishop promise her that God
was going to give her a child, and that day she wrote down the promise. In the months
and years to come she wrote down more promises—mostly from God’s Word.” Lydia’s voice
caught in her throat.

“That’s amazing, Lydia. The promise…how beautiful,
ja
.” Gideon’s eyes were on her as he said those words, and then he held out his hands,
and she placed the box in them. He caressed the wood as if she’d just handed him priceless
jewels. “It’s amazing, don’t you think, how something so simple can mean so much?
I can imagine how much this means to you. Did you always know about it?”

“
Ne
.” She shook her head. “Only recently. Dat knew. But it wasn’t until Mem’s death…”
She let her voice trail off. “I’m glad, though. I wouldn’t have appreciated it before.
It’s like water in a desert. The most refreshing water comes after you’ve been thirsty
for so long.”

Gideon reached up and fingered a red curl that had slipped from her
kapp
. “You do have a way with words.”

“Do you want to read one of the promises?” she asked. “There are some Scripture verses
near the bottom I haven’t opened yet.” There were more letters, too, that she hadn’t
read, but she didn’t tell him that. She needed to wait on those. She needed to read
them first.

She opened the Promise Box and reached her hand near the bottom. She pulled out a
scrap of paper that was folded in
half and handed it to Gideon. He opened it and leaned closer to the candlelight on
the side table. He cleared his throat.

“‘
And they that know thy name will put their trust in thee: for thou, Lord, hast not
forsaken them that seek thee
.’” He paused and looked at her. “I’m not sure if I’ve ever read that Scripture. I
like it.”

He read it again, silently.

Hope swelled in her heart, pushing worry to the edges.

He looked to her. “Focusing on God’s promises. It seems we don’t do that enough, do
we?”

“I know. And the more I read it, the more I realized it’s just what Mem would do.”
Lydia was about to ask Gideon about his parents—did they have a similar faith? But
she could see something in his eyes. That underlying sorrow. She wouldn’t ask. At
least not tonight. Hopefully they had days, and weeks, and much longer than that together.
For now she wanted to focus on this moment…on the promises in Mem’s box and the unspoken
promise of their growing relationship that this day had brought to her heart.

Gideon stood in misery as he leaned against the doorframe, preparing to leave. He’d
tried to pretend that he was just enjoying the conversation, but all he could think
about was if he could pull it off. If he could leave everything in Pennsylvania and
come here…because he didn’t want to live a day without Lydia. A lump the size of a
pinecone filled his throat.

“I had a wonderful evening—a wonderful day,” Lydia said. “And I wanted to tell you
that if I’m busy over the next couple of weeks it’s only because school will be starting
soon, and it will take a lot of work to get things ready. I wanted you to know
that. I didn’t want you to think that if I didn’t have time…that I, uh, didn’t care.”

“I understand.” Gideon gazed into her green eyes. “I know you care. More than that,
I can see it in your eyes.”

“
Gut
. I’m glad. I, uh, feel the same.”

He walked home then, with a lightness to his step. The night air was cold, but a large,
full moon lit his path. When he reached his small cabin, light flowed out the windows.
Caleb was inside with Micah. They were playing a game of checkers when he entered.
Caleb glanced up only briefly, but Micah’s gaze lingered, as if he’d been waiting
to tell Gideon something important.

“You’ve been gone all day,” Caleb commented. “Some of us had target practice. We went
looking for you but couldn’t find you. You weren’t at the store…weren’t at the Carash
place.”

“I was with Lydia.” Gideon couldn’t help but smile as he said her name.

“The
Englisch
girl?” Micah asked.

“She’s not
Englisch
anymore. She was baptized into the church. If you had been there yesterday, you might
have seen that.” He spat the words.

“King me.” Micah placed his red checker in the home spot. Then he shrugged. “I was
tired. It’s been a long week over at Log Works.”

“There are many excuses for not following the Lord.” Gideon couldn’t help but say
it. Like many Amish bachelors, there was pride in the set of Micah’s jaw when he was
around
Englischers
. A pride that came by following the rules of the Amish lifestyle since childhood.
But dressing Amish and showing up to church when it was convenient wasn’t enough.
Lydia was helping him see that.

Micah scoffed. “
Ja
, well, I live a good life. And if I was
like you, I might go to church often if I needed to do lots of confessing. For turning
my heart to a woman who has been tainted by
Englisch
ways. More than that, if I was guilty of killing someone.”

Hearing his words, Gideon sunk down on his cot. His lower gut ached as if someone
had just punched him. His breaths came shallow and ragged.

Caleb jumped to his feet, taking a step toward Micah. “Who do you think you are? There
is no need for that. You need to apologize for saying such a thing. As if Gideon could
be capable. I’ve seen a horse rear up and gash his cheek, and my cousin didn’t even
raise his voice.”

Micah leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. He didn’t argue
with Caleb. He didn’t have to. He sat there with a smirk, waiting for Gideon to tell
the truth.

“He’s right.”
But how did Micah know?

Gideon leaned his elbows on knees. “I didn’t kill someone, but I caused the death
of a man.” He then went on to explain about getting lost. About the search parties—those
things he’d already known his whole life. Then, in a low voice, he explained what
Edgar had told him.

Caleb’s eyes widened as he listened. He pushed the checker game to the side, and his
face paled to an ashy gray as Gideon finished.

“So you see…it’s my fault.”

“
Ne
. Not really. I mean getting lost doesn’t mean you meant anyone any harm. You were
just a kid.” Caleb shook his head.

“My mind knows that. But tell it to my heart.”

Micah jutted out his chin. “Does Lydia know? Have you told her yet?”

“That’s between us, isn’t it? What I want to know is how you know.”

Micah stood and reached into his pants pocket. He pulled out a white envelope and
waved it in the air. “I’m sorry, but Edgar stuck this letter in my mail. Yer mem’s
handwriting looks jest like my mem’s. I didn’t even realize until I started reading
that it wasn’t for me.”

Gideon didn’t have to ask if Micah had read the whole thing. It was clear he had.
Not that he blamed him. Who wouldn’t read such a thing? It was like racing to an accident
to see who’d been hurt and how bad.

Micah rose and placed the letter in Gideon’s hands. Then—as if sensing he needed time
alone—the two men rose and left. Caleb’s face was a mask of sadness, confusion. But
Micah seemed almost glad to see Gideon brought low. Why? Did he honestly think he
could get a chance at Lydia’s heart by kicking Gideon to the ground?

Their checker game sat half finished on the table. Looking at it, Gideon let out a
low sigh. So many things in his life also seemed undone.

After such a wonderful day with Lydia, why this? Why now?