The Promise Box (4 page)

“You all right?”

It was only as she heard the voice that she realized footsteps approached. Lydia turned.
Gideon walked to her, his face a mask of pain.

She opened her mouth to answer, but no words came.

“Forget I asked. Of course you aren’t all right. This day—I imagine this day is the
worst one you can think of.” His gaze told her he understood. What pain had he faced?
She couldn’t ask, not now. If she did the tears would come for certain.

“It’s a bad day, all right.”

“Can I walk you to the Sommer house fer the meal?”

“Walk?”

He sheepishly kicked at a rock on the ground. “I don’t have my own buggy here in Montana.”

“A walk,
ja
—yes. It’s not far. It’ll be…good to stretch my legs. To give my heart space to ache.”
She’d almost said
gut
instead of
good
. It surprised her how quickly her speech wanted to make the natural transition to
the slower cadence and common Pennsylvania Dutch phrases she’d spoken for most of
her life.

Gideon nodded, then turned back toward the cemetery. “I’ll tell yer dat. I’ll be right
back.”

She nodded and watched him go. She then lifted her head again toward the sky and smiled
sadly. Lydia wasn’t sure if
folks got a chance to talk to God when they got to heaven. If so, she imagined Mem
bending God’s ear, telling Him with persistence her daughter, Lydia, needed a
gut
man in her life—an Amish man to bring her happiness.

Yet it wasn’t Gideon’s Amishness that made him so appealing. It was his nature, his
temperament. Lydia had gone on numerous dates in Seattle with guys who had something
to prove. Gideon wasn’t like that. He was gentle enough to calm a stubborn horse,
yet bold enough to stride across a pasture and tell an
Englisch
woman to stop taking photos. For the first time she understood why Bonnie asked folks
about their life stories. Gideon was a protector, yet his gaze could be wary at times,
and it made her want to ask what had happened to make him like that.

If she’d been looking for someone to draw her interest, Lydia would have come up with
a different list of qualities in a man. Now she wasn’t looking, yet in Gideon she
saw qualities that wouldn’t have made her list but would be there from now on.

And as Lydia watched Gideon return with slow, deliberate steps, she imagined folks
did
get to talk to God. She also guessed He listened. Or at least He listened to Mem.
How else could one explain a man like this walking into her life when she felt her
weakest? How else could one explain that with Gideon she didn’t mind being weak—didn’t
mind him seeing the tears that refused to be dammed any longer with missing Mem?

T
hey walked side by side, and Gideon pondered the look on Lydia’s face and the knowledge
that she’d wasted the last years of her mem’s life living an
Englisch
lifestyle. The thought saddened him.

“It was a lovely service.”

“The people here seem nice.” She glanced over at him. “Have you made many friends?”

“A few. I wish more than I have. I tend to shy away from folks. I sometimes find horses
easier to communicate with.”

The path before them transformed from light to dark, light to dark as the shadows
of the trees made a pattern on the dirt roadway.

“Why is that?” she asked.

He glanced over at her, not expecting the question. “Huh?”

“What you said. Why is it that you can communicate with horses better than people
at times?”

Gideon tucked his hands into his pockets. He was quiet for a moment, trying to figure
it out, but he couldn’t think back to a defining moment.

“I jest suppose it’s the way the Lord made me. He made
some who are
gut
with woodworking, and my dat could make a crop grow in the desert. I was always drawn
to horses. Maybe because they’re misunderstood at times. People think horses are naughty
on purpose when really they just have a small need that no one’s paying attention
to.”

Most of the troubled horses he’d worked with were eager to please under the right
circumstances. With people that wasn’t always the case. They could turn around and
hurt or disappoint you even if you did everything right.

Lydia shifted on her feet. Gideon eyed her, and she looked away. Did he see a wounded,
misunderstood creature who ached from her mother’s loss? Did it matter if he did?

“Well,
ja
, that makes sense,” she finally answered. “I feel honored…that you are willing to
risk my friendship.”

“You make it sound as if yer a horrible risk.”

She glanced down at her garment and touched her
kapp
less hair. “Aren’t I?”

“I have to say that my mem wouldn’t be smiling if she saw this—me with an
Englisch
woman—but if I’ve learned anything about living in West Kootenai for the last few
months, it’s to consider what’s inside more than what’s out.”

She nodded. “‘Don’t judge a book by its cover.’”

“What?”

“It’s an
Englisch
phrase.”

“I know the phrase, but yer not a book.”

Humor crinkled his eyes, and the tension in her neck lessened. Yet even Gideon couldn’t
ease the tautness of returning to the Sommer house for the funeral meal. While Dat
knew these people, she didn’t. What had they heard about her? What
did they expect? Did they know she was leaving in a few weeks? Did Gideon know?

She’d gotten used to spending most of her time outside of work alone. But she realized
in this moment she craved companionship. And Gideon gave her comfort. He was a safe,
solid presence, taller than she remembered. There was something about his dark features
that reminded her of Mark Ruffalo. Not that Gideon or any of the Amish folks would
know who that was. A film star was opposite of all they believed in.

As they walked, buggies filled with families passed. Lydia pictured Mem’s grave a
mound of dark soil now, but she pushed that thought away.

She glanced up at a few buggies and saw eyes set on her. As she made eye contact the
passengers immediately looked away.

“I wonder what they’d think if I decided to stay?” The words escaped from her mouth,
and when they were met with silence, she questioned if she’d really said them.

“Do you care what they think?” Gideon’s voice was raised as if he wanted the closest
buggies to hear.

“Excuse me?”

“Do you care? I mean, I’m sure you weren’t concerned with what others thought when
you left the Amish.”

“
Ne
. I wasn’t.”

“So, I would guess that if you considered staying—returning—it would be because it
came from deep within, and not because you were trying to make others happy.”

Lydia nodded and then paused and cocked her hip with a knowing glance.

Gideon took a few more steps before he stopped and looked back. “What?”

“And you said you can’t communicate.”

“Oh, I can state my opinion,
ja
. I never denied my ability to do that.” One corner of his lips lifted in a smile.
“But the back-and-forth talks are what get me in trouble.” He tilted his head. “After
all, I didn’t ask what you thought about returning to the Amish…and that would be
the only right thing to do.”

She stayed there, watching him walk away, unsure of what to do. When she’d said
stay
, she meant staying to care for Dat. Why had Gideon assumed she meant returning to
the Amish? She remembered Marianna. Surely in a community like this, one could be
Englisch
without the same shunning one received in a community back east. But the way he reminded
her that her choice to be Amish or not was her decision made it almost sound appealing.

The way Gideon
interacted
with her was appealing. Mostly because even though he’d offered to walk her, he wasn’t
coddling her. He’d offered her friendship and not pity on the day of her mem’s funeral.
He wasn’t ashamed to be seen with her even though she didn’t wear a dress or
kapp
.

But how could she tell him her talk of staying in West Kootenai longer than two weeks
didn’t mean she was returning to the Amish? She’d made a point of never saying that.
Never acting like it was such. The last thing she wanted to do was break her dat’s
heart again.

Unless…

She thought of the book Bonnie talked about. Maybe it would be good enough to write
about returning to the community as an
Englischer
.

Lydia sighed and started after Gideon, picking up her pace as she hurried to catch
up. She enjoyed her job in Seattle, but she loved the idea of writing a book even
more. She enjoyed her friends, but there was no one there like Gideon. And then there
was her father. He needed her, and she held the ability to bring him joy within her
grasp.

Maybe Gideon saw something within her gaze she’d yet to acknowledge. Maybe this trip
wasn’t just about burying Mem. Maybe it was about breathing life into parts of her
she’d allowed to die.

She could almost imagine Bonnie’s words. “
Did you run to something or away from something, Lydia?
”

She hadn’t wanted to think about that. It was easier rewriting someone else’s story
than penning her own.

The shared meal was eaten on the church tables—made when extra legs were added to
the church benches—set up around the Sommer house. As with all church meals, the men
sat with men, and the women and younger children sat together.

Lydia sat mostly to herself near some of the other women, taking in the sight. Even
as she sat there she imagined what words she’d use to capture this scene. With black
type on white paper, she’d be able to describe enough of the setting for readers to
be a part of this gathering. Harder to describe would be the jostling of hope and
loss within. The darkness of never again feeling a mother’s embrace contrasting with
the eagerness to find a home with her father again—at least for a while.

Take a step of faith. Be brave. Pick up the pen to your own life
. Her lower lip trembled at the thought.

With one phone call Bonnie could pack up that box of Lydia’s things, load her houseplants,
and rent the place she’d considered home. With one conversation with Dat, she could
call the people in this room her neighbors.

Lydia watched the women in the kitchen and the men
finishing up their plates of food. These folks were all here to honor her mother,
yet she only knew a few names. She thought of their old home in Sugarcreek. Mem was
a friend to many there—did they also grieve or was Mem’s passing just unfortunate
news to be shared at a quilting circle?

An
Englisch
woman with a slight build and a long blonde ponytail approached. She had the swagger
of a cowgirl but a smile that made all at ease in her presence—Amish and
Englisch
alike. Lydia had met Annie, the owner of the West Kootenai Kraft and Grocery, only
a few times, but it was obvious that a few times was all Annie needed to make someone
a friend.

Annie approached and extended her hand. Lydia placed her own in the woman’s. It was
warm. Yesterday, as she’d been enfolded in her dat’s arms, Lydia realized how little
those in her new life had offered a warm touch. Her heart hungered for more.

Annie smiled. “Your mother was a very special woman.”

“Thank you, Annie. I appreciate that.”

“No, dear, I’m not just saying that. She was a special friend, and we grew in our
love of the Lord together. In fact, every Monday after the breakfast rush I’d grab
some pastries made that morning, run over to her place, and we’d have a little Bible
study.”

“My mother…She had Bible study with an…?” Lydia paused, studying Annie’s face, realizing
what words almost emerged.

“With an
Englisch
woman? Yes, or as she would say,
Oh, ja
.” Laughter bubbled from Annie’s lips. “Ada Mae kept to herself mostly when your parents
first moved here, but she warmed up—they usually do.”

“They?”

“Our Amish friends. It’s hard to open up to outsiders.
Well, with what they’ve been taught all their lives. But she came around.”

“So when you studied together…did you study anything special?” Lydia was still trying
to let the idea of her mem studying the Bible with an
Englisch
woman sink in.

“Oh, just what we’d been reading that week in the Bible and studying on our own.”
Annie’s smile faded, and her lip quivered slightly. “I’m going to miss that—miss hearing
your mem’s promises.”

“Her promises?”

“Yes, it was one of her favorite things to share. Seemed not a week went by that she
didn’t point out another promise from God to us. Your mem’s faith was a beautiful
thing. She trusted God even with her health. Even with—” Now it was Annie’s turn to
get a sheepish look on her face.

“Even with me, her only daughter, forsaking the Amish and living in Seattle?”

“Yes. That was heaviest on her heart. Part of it was that you left the Amish community,
but mostly she hoped you would someday love God like you did when you were a child.
She said—”

“Lydia?” A woman approached and placed a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry to interrupt,
but yer dat is looking weary. Gideon said he’d drive you both home. I’ll send some
food with him. You don’t mind, do ya?”

“Mind?
Ne
. I mean no.” Lydia shook her head, and a red curl slipped from its pin. She quickly
tucked it behind her ear.

She glanced over at her dat, and the pain of the day crashed down upon her to see
his thin frame and pale face. When had he gotten so old? Lydia offered a hurried good-bye
to Annie and the other women and then rushed to his side, thankful that Gideon was
already there, leading Dat to his buggy.

Could something happen to Dat too? Her heart dropped into her stomach. She’d never
forgive herself if it did.

Still, as the buggy wheeled out of the yard, Lydia glanced back. What truth had Annie
been about to share? What had been so special to Mem?