The Promise Box (2 page)

“Ma’am.” A male voice.

Lydia jumped. She spun around and watched the man who strode toward her. Dark hair
peeked out from under a brimmed hat, along with the deepest brown eyes she’d ever
seen.

The lump in her throat grew larger as the wind rustled his dark hair. A hero walking
toward her in long strides. Had she wandered onto a movie set?

She shook her head. She was grieving, not blind.

“Listen, Bonnie, I’ll call you right back.” Without waiting
for a response, she hung up her cell phone and stepped forward, blowing out a breath.
A red curl brushed against her cheek, and she ran her fingers through her hair, trying
to tame it.

The man hopped the fence and stood before her. Lydia tilted her head and offered a
smile, willing her beating heart to calm. He was handsome, yes, but most likely taken.
All great guys were. Besides, she hadn’t come to West Kootenai for romance.

“Ma’am. You should put that camera away.” His voice was firm.

Her smile fell. “Excuse me?”

“I saw you taking photographs of that Amish home over there, and I think you should
put your camera away.”

Her mouth dropped open.

He took another step forward, eyes fixed on hers.

“Sir, I don’t know who you think you are…” She took a step back and gritted her teeth.
“Maybe you should introduce yourself, and maybe you should have asked me about who
I am. Perhaps I have every right to take a photograph of that Amish home. Did you
ever consider that?”

She took another step backward toward the driver’s side door.

He stilled, his narrowed gaze widening. “Ma’am…wait.” His voice softened and he stretched
a hand toward her.

She’d heard about men like this. Switching from dominance to passivity as a way to
get one’s guard down. Was this really about the camera, or something else? She glanced
to her right, then her left. Not another soul in sight. No one to hear her scream…

Her lips tightened and she raised a flattened palm toward him. “You’re right. I’m
sorry. I’ll be on my way.” She took another step back.

“Ma’am—” He lunged toward her. “—you’re gonna—”

Her foot sank into the forgotten puddle. As her ankle twisted, Lydia’s body fell sideways,
no longer under her control. She released the camera as she reached back to catch
herself. The bite of gravel dug into her hand, stinging, but it slowed her fall as
she tumbled sideways almost as if in slow motion. Her arm, side, and hip sank into
the gravel of the road. A splash, and cold water from the puddle chilled her foot
and lower leg.

The man was instantly beside her, kneeling. His mouth downturned, he placed a hand
on the top of his head. “Ma’am, are you okay?”

He reached for her ankle, unhindered by the water and mud. His touch was warm. She
jerked her foot away.

“I was going to say ‘Other than my bruised pride’ I’m fine, but it’s awfully cliché.”
She straightened. “But I suppose that’s where clichés come from—they’re used because
they work.”

The rumble of a chuckle started deep in his throat. “Then I suppose I shouldn’t tell
you to ‘look on the bright side.’”

“‘The bright side’ meaning all I have is a wet foot and damp clothes? And you think
that’s funny?”

He grinned.

Lydia wiped the splattering of mud from the bridge of her nose and eyelid and shot
him a glare.

“Is this how your mother taught you to treat a lady?”

“Mem taught me many things, and respecting all God’s people is one thing fer sure.”
Another chuckle bubbled up. “But I’m certain if she was standing here, even my mem
would have a hard time not laughing. Or should I say, she’d ‘back me up.’”

“Funny or not, you should be ashamed of yourself for just standing there—worse than
tossing around overworked and uninspiring clichés and not helping me up.”

“
Ja
, of course.” He reached a hand to her, his grip warm,
strong. With a soft tug he pulled her gently to her feet, allowing Lydia to catch
her balance so she wouldn’t have to scramble or fall into him, thus protecting her
insult from further injury.

As soon as she was able, she pulled her hand away. Surely the fluttering of her heart
was due to the fall. The last thing she needed was to be attracted to a Montana mountain
man. “You should have just said there was a puddle.” She narrowed her gaze and raised
her voice. “You should have known better.”

He dropped her hand like it was a poisonous snake, and when she focused on his eyes
the humor was gone. They’d darkened under lowered lashes. Sadness? Shame?

The man stepped back. He held her camera in his other hand.

“You saved it.” Her words were no more than a whisper.

“I figured you could clean up, but I didn’t want your camera busted.” He looked down
at it with curiosity.

In amazement, Lydia looked around her. The man’s hat sat at the edge of the mud puddle.
He must have dropped it lunging for her camera. Her gut tightened.

It was an Amish hat.

She studied him more closely, not knowing how she could have missed the clues—the
simple pants and handmade shirt, the suspenders and the long hair over his ears. If
the wind stopped rustling it up, she guessed his hair was cut straight across his
forehead too. It was those deep, dark eyes and the striking features that had caused
her to miss the fact he was one of the Amish bachelors.

The humor in his eyes was long gone. Her heart sank and grew cold as if it too had
been dunked in the muddy puddle. It was obvious something she’d said had cut deep.
But what?

Lydia shook her leg. Mud dripped off the hem of her slacks. “It weren’t—” She stopped,
surprised at how quickly she’d slipped into Amish speech. “I mean, it wasn’t your
fault. Uh…”

“Gideon. My name is Gideon.”

A strong name. A hero’s name
.

She offered a small smile. “My name is Lydia.”

He handed the camera back, and she opened the door and placed it inside her car. “It
wasn’t your fault, Gideon. Thank you for saving my camera. I’m headed to the, uh,
Wyse place. Can you remind me which way to go?”

His eyes moved over her and lingered on her hair as if imagining a
kapp
, then he cleared his throat.

“
Ja
, I know the place. It’s…” He fumbled his words.

What had gotten into him? But he turned away and pointed to the house across the pasture
before she had a chance to read the story his eyes revealed.

Gideon’s mem had told him that someday there’d be a woman who looked so good in the
face it would give him a
bauch
ache and cause his heart to beat double. Gideon placed a hand over his stomach, noticing
it did ache. But he was certain this Lydia was just opposite the type of woman Mem
had in mind.

She brushed her thick, red hair back from her face with her free hand. Her cell phone
was still in her grip.

“Do you mind telling me how to get there?” she said again.

A truck drove by, its wheels bouncing in the mud puddles on the road, sending sprays
of mud in all directions. The woman stepped closer to him so as not to get splattered.
Within arm’s reach. She smelled of vanilla and cinnamon—like his favorite cinnamon
roll.

“The Wyse place? That’s the one you were jest taking photos of.” He pointed. “Can’t
you see it’s right there?”

“I can see it, but I’m trying to remember which turnoff to
take. I know there are several up that way. I don’t want to go knocking on doors and
be a
bodderation
to find the right one.”

“Wait…you speak Pennsylvania Dutch?”

“
Ja
. Yes. Does it matter? It’s my dat, you see. Mr. Wyse is my father.”

Lydia.
Lydie
. He should have known. This woman’s reputation proceeded her. He’d only been in West
Kootenai a day or so when one of the Amish women in town shared the fate of the older
Amish couple. “
Poor Mr. and Mrs. Wyse. Only one
kinder
and she’s gone to the ways of the world
.”

Then, just yesterday, he’d heard from his cousin that Mrs. Wyse had passed. Wanting
to offer his help, Gideon had stopped by and found Mr. Wyse cutting out wood for the
coffin. Even though they hadn’t shared more than small talk before then, Gideon couldn’t
leave the man to do the task alone. And even though Mr. Wyse had refused the help
of a few other men who offered, he allowed Gideon to stay. Maybe because Gideon hadn’t
asked if he could…he’d just walked to the sawhorses and set to work. No one should
be alone at a time like that.

As they worked, instead of speaking of the deceased, the older man had spoken of a
daughter who liked to read, who baked the best apple pies, and who had eyes as green
as the pasture grass. Gideon had pictured an old maid back in Ohio—nothing like this.

He studied the woman’s eyes—just as pretty as her dat had mentioned—then cleared his
throat. “I am so sorry about yer mem. I saw her around the Kraft and Grocery often.
She was a
gut
woman.”

“She is with the
gut…
good Lord now.” Lydia lowered her head and kicked at a pinecone at her feet.

He wanted to ask where she lived—ask more about her—but now was not the time. Heat
rose up Gideon’s neck as he
considered how he’d treated her. “You go past the Sommer place. It’s the large house
over there.” He pointed to the log house with a passel of Sommer boys running around
the front. “A ways down yet, the road will
T
at the Carash place. If you keep going you’ll hit the lake—Lake Koocanusa—so you’ll
want to turn right.”

“Turn right at the Sommer place? Is there a road there?”

“
Ne
, at the
T
, at the Carashes.”

“You really don’t need to tell me the names. I don’t know these people, and that doesn’t
help.”

“
Ja
.” His gaze narrowed. He knew many women like this. Impatient and quick tempered.
Mem had told him that hard work and humility shaped a woman’s character, and that’s
why soft, pretty girls were hard to live with. His sympathy lessened, and he wished
his attraction would do the same. “I wouldn’t expect it to matter to you.”

The woman jutted out her chin, ignoring his comment.

He tried again. “Go past the first house. Turn right at the
T
at the second house. You should see yer parents’—yer dat’s—house on down there in
a small clearing.”

“Great. That’s all I needed to know.” She lowered her head and slipped into her car
without another word.

Gideon shook his head. Not so much as a thank you. He should have figured as much.

He stepped back from the road, and she started the car again and pulled away. He watched
the yellow car speed up, its tires bouncing and splashing through the potholes. He
hadn’t met anyone like her—so independent, yet so in need. He could see that in her
gaze. So beautiful, yet frustrating.

Remember Mem’s advice, Gideon told himself. Stay away from a woman like that—far away
.

No matter how she made his stomach ache.

T
he place looked different than it had last year. The front porch needed a fresh coat
of paint, and wild grasses and wildflowers had intruded, taking over where a manicured
lawn had been before. Yearling pine trees crowded, and just north of the house sat
the fenced-in pasture that that Amish man had been in—doing what, she had no idea.
What did he say his name was? Gideon, yes. Living in Seattle she’d gotten used to
incognizant people, but he didn’t have to be rude.

She parked the car, but her hand paused on the door handle. Fatigue invaded her bones.
She was almost too weary to walk up the steps to the porch. Partly because she’d driven
all the way from Seattle—the most she’d ever driven in all her
Englisch
days at one time. But more than that, because of the realization that Mem’s smile
would not be waiting. No matter what choices Lydia had made, or how poorly she’d acted,
the love in Mem’s eyes had always been the same.

Tension and frustration of a moment before was replaced by a stab of longing. She
thought of Mem rolling out a pie crust at the table and showing her how to transfer
it to the pie pan. She considered Mem’s laughter, ringing like the church
bells down the road from their home when they lived back in Sugarcreek. Many people
had said over the years they never knew a happier woman.

And yet at times Mem’s happiness had brought only frustration. How could she be so
full of joy when Lydia found so much of life a struggle?

“
Lydia
, dochtah
, you are home. Come here, baby girl
,” Mem had said the last time she’d been back. Mem had opened her arms and a smile
had filled her face, as if it hadn’t mattered that Lydia had walked in wearing
Englisch
clothes. And to Mem it hadn’t mattered as much as it probably should. Mem had looked
at her as if she was the most beautiful, special person on the planet.

Lydia released the handle of the door, covering her face with her hands as the tears
fell. She’d chosen to walk away. She’d thought it out and had picked the better path,
hadn’t she? She’d been so sure…then. Her shoulders shook, and her throat grew thick,
hot as it clenched down to hold back the sobs.

Then she heard it. A bumping against the door. She wiped her eyes and looked out the
car window. Her dat stood ten feet away, giving her space. The impatient one was old
Rex. He stood near the door his tail
thump
,
thump
,
thumping
against her car.

She sucked in a breath and blew it out again, holding back the tears. One of Dat’s
Englisch
friends had called her cell phone yesterday. Hadn’t she cried enough since then?

She climbed from the car and was to him in three long strides. Dat had never been
the affectionate one—not like Mem—but he opened his arms and pulled her tight against
him.

“Oh, Lydie. She’s gone,
kinder
. I don’t know what to do now. She’s gone.”

“Dat, I’m so sorry. I should have come to visit. I should have made time. I didn’t
realize…”

“No one knew. The doctor thought she was improving.” His chin and beard quivered.
“It was the good Lord’s time.”

Lydia pressed her cheek against Dat’s chest and nodded, wishing she had an ounce of
his faith. She’d never expected to leave her love for God behind when she’d picked
up and moved to Washington state. Even though she wanted to live in the
Englisch
world, she’d hoped He’d go with her. He had, she supposed, but like most of her Amish
traditions, God somehow became obsolete in a world where hard work, creativity, and
knowing the right people got you far.

“Mem didn’t have a lot of pain, did she?”

“One gasp, it was all I heard. Loud enough to wake me, but it sounded more like surprise
than pain.”

“That’s good to know. I—I am glad in a way that her suffering is over.”

“Suffering?” Dat pulled back slightly and looked down. “No one would call that suffering,
not Mem. Once you came into our lives, daughter, then her heart problems weren’t more
than a bother. You were the best tincture anyone could ask for.”

She nodded, gripping Dat’s shirt. Then the sound of a horse whinnying caught her attention.
She jerked back to look toward the pasture. Gideon strode toward her, the horse she’d
seen running across the field following. She wanted to pick up a rock and hurl it
in his direction. How dare he interrupt this moment!

“I’m sorry to bother.” He held something up. It was small, round, and black, and she
recognized it immediately.

“My lens cap!” She released her dat’s shirt and strode toward Gideon. “I must have
left it on the hood of my car.” Lydia knew she looked a mess. Her face always became
blotchy, as if covered with bright-red chicken pox, when she cried. It didn’t matter.
She didn’t need to impress an Amish man.

When she got closer, he held up his hand, as if wanting her to halt just shy of the
fence. “Hold up,” he called.

She paused.

“I’ve just started working with Blue. He’s a jumpy one. Can be mean too, from what
I hear.” The horse standing next to Gideon was beautiful. He looked gentle, tame—just
like the Amish man.

Looks could be deceiving.

Gideon approached the wooden fence, placed one hand on it, and jumped over it as if
it were a small mole hill rather than a tall fence. That was the second time he’d
done that, and it impressed her still.

He approached and handed her the cap.

“I’m sorry, again, for interrupting. I jest knew you’d be missing it, and I didn’t
want you to wander back and look for it in the dark. There aren’t any street lamps
around these parts, and even the stars and moon are gonna be tucked away behind those
clouds. It’s dangerous on those roads. I mean, if you were trying to look around.”

“Thank you.
Danki
.” She smiled in spite of herself and her mournful mood and tucked the cap in the
pocket of her pants. “I’ll take that advice from a local, and I’ll make sure I don’t
wander the roadside after sundown.”

Gideon ran a hand down the side of his face. “I’m not a local. Jest here for a season.”

“One of the bachelors,” Dat called.

She nodded and bit her lip. He’d been listening in. She didn’t want to glance back
at him. Didn’t want to see hope in his gaze. Soon she’d be heading back to Seattle,
and she didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.

“I appreciate you doing this, but…”

“
Ja
, I’ll let you go.” He climbed back over the fence and
strode to the horse. Gideon didn’t touch the animal, nor offer him a glance, but as
Gideon continued, the horse followed behind at a safe distance.

In silence Lydia and Dat walked to the house. As soon as they entered the front door,
Dat turned back to the window.

“I haven’t seen anything like it.”

She followed his gaze. “What?”

“An Amish man—any man—with that horse. He’s a wild thing. Full of the
diebel
. I tried to pet him a few months ago. He’d come to the fence, and I was feeding him
apples. Went from nice to mean in ten seconds, and bit my hand as I stroked his nose.
Now, in two hours’ time, the horse is following him around like a dog.”

Lydia nodded, but she wasn’t concerned about the bachelor. Instead she took her father’s
hands in hers.

“Are you okay?”

“My hand is fine. My heart…” He sighed, pulling his right hand from hers and placing
it over his chest. “Part of it is missing. Forty years together. I’m not sure what
to do with myself. I’ve been wandering in circles for a day and a night. I keep telling
myself to stop looking for her—”

“Oh, Dat.” Lydia sank down into the chair next to the window. “I feel so bad you had
to be alone until I got here, but you won’t be alone now—for a while. A few weeks
at least. I’m going to stay until you get settled and find your own routine.”

She’d expected him to disagree. To tell her he’d be fine. That had been common. He’d
been the strong one. Even during all of Mem’s illnesses he’d stood on his own two
feet.

“
Ja
,
gut
. I will like having you here.” His words were simple, but she read so much more in
his gaze. He needed her. Dat needed her now like she’d never been needed. He turned
and walked to his favorite chair and sat heavily.

This place would be her home—for a little while at least.

She stared at the window, and her gaze moved to the wild pink roses that bloomed near
the well. Then she glanced to the east and north. The pine trees opened to reveal
the pasture and the mountain peaks in the distance. Though it was June, snow still
clung to those peaks. She’d come here only once a year and stayed a few days each
time. She had forgotten how beautiful it was. Sitting on the front porch would have
been the perfect spot to edit. Why hadn’t she come more often?

Maybe because of the guilt of leaving
.

She’d also assumed it was hard enough for her parents to try to fit into a new community
without her presence. She didn’t want to bring trouble for them by having an
Englisch
daughter hanging around.

There was a worn spot on the other side of the fence, and Lydia guessed the horses
gathered there often for treats of apples. She pictured Dat feeding them, talking
to them.

“This morning I wanted to tell Mem you were on your way…and then I remembered the
reason why you were coming. She wasn’t here to talk to—” He looked at Lydia, eyes
focused. “She was happy with me, but you brought her pure joy. You made her a mother.
God turned something hard into…” His words trailed off.

Lydia swallowed the ache and blinked back the moisture rimming her lower eyelids.
Was the pain in Dat’s eyes not only from Mem’s passing, but from Lydia’s knowing?
Lydia wished she hadn’t found out the truth behind her birth. Maybe then she’d still
be Amish. Maybe then she’d call this beautiful mountain sanctuary home.

Then again, she doubted if she’d ever consider this place home. She’d been raised
in Sugarcreek, Ohio, a place that couldn’t be more different both in terrain and in
lifestyle. While
the people in West Kootenai considered themselves Old Order Amish, their lifestyle
tended toward relaxed living among the
Englisch
. Since it was a young community compared to most, and everyone was from someplace
back east, they welcomed outsiders.

Also, as she’d witnessed with her dat, since the men had to preach and lead in the
community—while raising their families and working full time—they were thankful for
help from new arrivals. A slight smile curled Lydia’s lips as she remembered how her
dat had found himself in the pulpit just two months after moving into the area, even
though he wasn’t a minister and had never preached an Amish sermon in his life.

For the last three years, instead of flying back to Sugarcreek, she’d driven from
Seattle to West Kootenai. Dat claimed he’d always wanted to live in the mountains.

Not only was being around her parents awkward after leaving the Amish—Mem especially.
Lydia didn’t know this place—well, except for the stories her grandmother used to
tell her.

“
The people are too independent. My sister and her husband moved there in the seventies,
wanting to be part of a new community, but all sorts of horrible, awful things happen
there. Wild animals roam, and more than one Amish man has turned up dead from a bear
.”

Lydia hadn’t stayed around West Kootenai long enough to find out more of the story,
but this time she’d have to stay a few weeks to help Dat. She had no excuse not to.

Two sawhorses stood before the open door of the barn with fresh wood shavings at their
base. The sight pinched her heart. She glanced back at him. “Did you make the coffin
yourself?”

Dat nodded. “Some of our friends offered, but I wanted to do it for her. One last
gift.” Dat choked up this time. He lowered his head and stroked his beard. “Gideon
came to help.”

Lydia pointed back out the window.

“That Gideon?”

“
Ja
. He was in the pasture when I was unloading the lumber.”

“So he knew…”

“Knew what?”

“That you had a daughter who’d left the Amish?”

“
Ne
. I don’t think I mentioned that you left. I talked about you, though.”

“And you didn’t think it was important to mention that?”

“Not really. There were so many more interesting things yet to share.”

Lydia offered a sad smile. His words were true. He didn’t hold back because he was
ashamed of the truth. Dat saw the world in a different light. He focused on the good
things, talked about what was right. Mem was…had been…that way too. And that’s why
Lydia never brought up any more questions about her birth mom. It was easier to run
and to wonder than it was to ask her parents to share about the shame and pain surrounding
her birth.

And now half of that truth had died with Mem. She’d never know the secrets carried
from one mother-heart to another.

Lydia rose and moved to the door. “I’ll get my suitcase.”

Dat stood, but she waved a hand in his direction. “No need to follow—it’s just a small
bag.”

Dat nodded and walked into the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the pot
on the wood cookstove. “You know where to take it. The room is all readied up.”

She paused with her hand on the front doorknob. “You got it ready for me?”

Dat took a sip of coffee and shook his head. “
Ne
, didn’t you know? From the day you left, Mem always made sure your
room was readied for your return. She’d dust, wash the linens every week, and in the
summer she’d put in a vase of fresh flowers, jest in case.”

Lydia’s hand dropped to her side, and the sadness that had been there moments before
grew to numbness. To feel any other emotion would be too overwhelming. Even now she
questioned if she could sleep in that room, knowing.