The Promise Box (20 page)

D
at opened the door as they mounted the porch steps, and a smile filled his face. “Your
Aunt Millie wrote. Annie brought the letter by with dinner.” He held it up. “Your
aunts and uncles from Sugarcreek had a small gathering in memory of Mem.” He stepped
aside, allowing them to enter.

The room was warm, inviting. She paused and offered her dat a hug. “I’m so glad she
wrote and told us. Are they doing well?”

“They planted a rose bush for Ada Mae,” he said. “Yellow roses were her favorite.”

Lydia nodded and the tightness in her throat grew. She and Gideon sat on the couch
side by side, and Dat settled into his favorite recliner, telling them about his day.
He’d gotten the rest of the vegetables out of the garden. He’d had a nap. Lydia smiled
softly and rejoiced inside over the simple things that made up her dat’s day.

Gideon asked about Sugarcreek, their home and family there, and Lydia was glad. It
gave her time to consider how she’d tell Gideon the truth—what she’d say.

“We loved Sugarcreek. It’s pretty there.” Excitement caused Dat’s voice to rise in
volume. “Not like this, but pretty with rolling hills. It’s much bigger than West
Kootenai—four thousand people or so. The first people there were Swiss and German
settlers. Some folks call Sugarcreek ‘Little Switzerland’ of Ohio yet. We had a really
nice farm there. A young couple bought it from us back a few years ago.”

Gideon’s face brightened to see Dat’s excitement. “Sounds as if you liked it. Why
did you move?”

Dat’s eyes widened. “Didn’t you know?” He pointed to Lydia. “Didn’t you tell him yet?”

“Tell him? I’m not sure myself.” She forced a chuckle. “All Mem said is that she heard
about West Kootenai, and it sounded like a real nice place.”

Dat’s forehead folded into wrinkles. “That’s what she told you?”

Lydia leaned forward. “
Ja
, was that not the truth?”

“
Vell
, this place is nice, but the truth, Lydia, is that you were in Seattle. This was
the closest Amish community to you.”

“Of course.” She glanced to Gideon. “And yet I was too busy with deadlines and meetings,
and manuscripts to visit.” Her voice trailed off. “I was running…running from the
truth.”

“I know, Lydia.”

She almost seemed to melt into the couch cushion to hear his words. If she’d ever
wanted to open her heart—her past—to anyone, it was Gideon. She felt a closeness with
him she hadn’t felt before, even after the kiss. She understood. It was easy to share
a kiss. It was harder to share one’s pain and heartache. The same openness she sensed
was reflected in Gideon’s gaze.

“I best git to bed.” Dat rose. Was there more going on
between them than talk of farms and moves to Montana? He bid them good night, then
shuffled into his bedroom.

A few minutes passed, and Lydia’s mind focused on the ticking of the clock. It had
been a long week, and as she sat there her eyes grew heavy. Yet she couldn’t let another
day pass without talking to Gideon. He’d already shared so much.

“See this?” She pulled the acorn from her pocket and held it up. “My heart is encased
by something like this. It’s like there’s a shell around me.”

“Is it because of the secret?”

“
Ja
.” She placed the acorn on the side table and then looked at him. “I’m adopted, Gideon.”

He furrowed his brow. “
Ja
, I knew that.”

“What?” Lydia’s head jerked backward.

“Yer dat told me—the day I was helping to build your mem’s, uh, coffin.”

“He did?”

Gideon nodded. “He shared how much you meant to them. He said they never expected
to have a child. I didn’t think much of it. I didn’t realize it bothered you so.”

“Oh, I’m not bothered too much.” She fiddled with the sleeve of her dress. “I jest
wanted to be honest with you…after hearing your story.”

Lydia shifted in her seat. Could she stop there? She knew she should tell him more,
but how?

“There is more than that, Lydia. I can see it.”

“How could you? How could you know?”

“Because I’ve seen the same look in my mother’s eyes—my father’s eyes—a hundred times.”

Gideon made her a cup of tea, and Lydia took a long deep breath. She’d never told
another soul about her birth mom. Never shared how the truth made her feel…

“There were tears in my eyes when she told me.” Lydia fingered the edge of her apron.
“I’d known for as long as I could remember that I was adopted, but Mem sat me down
and told me there were
circumstances
.” She dared to glance up to Gideon. “I still cringe whenever I hear that word.”

“Was there a reason why she told you?”

“I had just turned sixteen. I told her I was old enough to know the truth.” Lydia
shook her head. “I don’t think there’s anyone, any age, who wants to know a truth
like that.”

Gideon’s eyes narrowed. “Does it have to do with your birth mom?”

Lydia nodded. “I’d always known I was adopted. I look nothing like my parents. Strangers
would always ask, ‘Where did you get that red hair?’ But even when I got old enough
for my parents to explain adoption, I knew they weren’t telling the whole story. They’d
stumble with their words and pass a knowing look between them. Finally, after months
of prodding and fussing, Mem told me my birth mother’s name was Grace. She was an
Amish woman, and I had three older brothers. That didn’t settle anything in my mind.”

Gideon studied her face. Hung on her every word.

“As a young girl, one of my friend’s older sisters got pregnant by an
Englisch
boy during her
rumspringa
. I always thought my birth mother’s story would be more like that. But why would
a woman with three boys already not want her fourth child? Why wouldn’t she want a
girl? After three boys, anyone would want a girl, right?”

Pain filled Gideon’s eyes, and she knew his heart ached. Maybe it was simply a reflection
of the pain in her gaze. Her shoulders tensed, and her legs twitched as if urging
her to get
up and run—run from the story as she’d been doing for the last five years. Run from
the truth. Run from the look of horror that was sure to come in Gideon’s gaze.

Would he look at her differently when he knew?

“There’s no easy way to say it, Gideon. Mem told me that Grace’s husband died of cancer.
It wasn’t long after her third son was born. The community helped to care for her.
She’d taught school—” Lydia paused for a moment. She’d forgotten that. “She’d taught
school before she was married. So many in the community cared for her. After a year
or so Grace started giving away her husband’s things. There was this traveler…” The
words caught in Lydia’s throat. “She saw the man sitting on the bench in front of
the general store. She told him her husband had died—that she had some clothes. Would
he like some?” Lydia lowered her head. “The man seemed eager. She told him she’d get
some things and return.” Lydia covered her face with her hands. “But Mem told me he
must have followed her home. Grace was in shock…after…She didn’t know who to talk
to or how to tell. And then she found out about…me.”

“Oh, Lydia.” Gideon’s arms wrapped around her and he pulled her to his chest. She
closed her eyes and focused on the cotton of his shirt. He smelled of the mountains
and the tall grass that Blue trotted through. It was easier to focus on Gideon’s arms
around her rather than on the story she’d just confessed.

“No woman should ever have to go through such a thing.” His words filled the quiet
room. “But although my heart aches for her, I’m thankful…for you. For your life.”

She tilted her head back and looked up in his face. “That’s
gut
of you to say, but after hearing the truth from Mem, I understood why she didn’t
want to keep me. How could one face such a painful memory every single day?”

“But you were innocent. It wasn’t anything you did that had caused Grace’s pain.”

“
Ne
, but my life—my birth—added to it.” She pushed against him, sitting up. “I suppose
that’s why I was mad at God for so long. Why would a loving God do that? Grace had
already faced enough. How could God have allowed even more pain to happen to a sweet
woman like that?”

Gideon didn’t stay much longer. She could tell their conversations weighed heavily
on him, and she understood.

Lydia walked him to the door, gave him her flashlight to use, and sent him off with
a wave. As she closed the front door she thought about one of Mem’s Scripture verses
that she’d read a month ago. It said, “
The truth shall make you free
.” Ever since then she’d been trying to understand those words. The truth had not
freed her. Not one little bit. And even though sharing with Gideon made her feel closer
to him, she had a feeling of disconnect within herself once again. She was thankful
that Mem’s letter said the red hair was from Grace’s side of the family, but what
about the rest of her? What traits did she have from…him?

She turned out all the lanterns and blew out all the candles but one. The lone flame
lit the way to her room, and she walked down the wooden floor with stockinged feet.
She changed into her bed clothes, but didn’t put on her sleeping handkerchief. That
was one thing she hadn’t gotten used to since returning. She’d been use to combing
out her hair and letting it splay on her pillow as she slept.

Lydia ran her fingers through her hair and then picked up the Promise Box. She didn’t
have enough energy to read one of
Mem’s longer notes. Instead, she pulled out a small, pink slip of paper with a Scripture
verse:

Under the verse Mem had written two sentences:
Write the story. Share His loving-kindness for a thousand generations
.

Goosebumps raced up Lydia’s arms and the tiredness of a moment before disappeared.

Write the story
. She picked up the Promise Box again. Mem had done just that. She hadn’t typed a
manuscript or sought a publisher, but she’d shared her life—her story—in pieces of
paper folded up in a box.

Lydia was returning the slip of paper when she noticed another pink slip. She paused.
Why had Mem written those on pink paper? On the outside of that slip there were the
same words:
Write the story
.

Lydia opened it.

She sat there a minute, thinking of her mem’s words. Lydia had been writing the story
of her return, but she’d considered her words only for herself. But what if her words
were for someone else too? Or more than one person?

Lydia hurried to the dresser and pulled out her small stack of notebooks. Sitting
under them was her cell phone, still turned off, still with half a battery. Three
of the notebooks were already full, and she’d just started the fourth. She wrote in
them every day. The only thing was Lydia wasn’t collecting promises. She was recording
God’s faithfulness in one woman’s life in a way that could be shared with generations
coming after her.

As she flipped through the pages, she was amazed at how much was captured. Her emotions
on the day of Mem’s funeral. Her attraction to Gideon, nearly right from the start.
Her friendships with Amish and
Englisch
.

And as Lydia looked at the record of God’s faithfulness, she knew what she had to
do. She picked up her cell phone and turned it on. How many weeks had it been since
she’d used it?

She saw that she had five messages, but Lydia ignored those. Instead, she typed out
a text to Bonnie.