The Promise Box (5 page)

L
ydia sat up straight and listened. The dark night outside the window had only one
sound, the occasional hoot of an owl. Her mind was far from quiet. Thoughts pressed
in. Thoughts of life and death. Of being birthed into darkness and fighting it off
her whole life.

Footsteps creaked on the floorboards outside her bedroom door. Was that what had woken
her? West Kootenai was far quieter than her apartment in Seattle. Because of that,
every single noise seemed amplified, drawing her attention.

Dat was up, stoking the fire. He most likely hadn’t been able to sleep. After coming
home and resting he’d gotten some of his color back, but he’d hardly eaten a thing.
She’d have to watch that—watch him. But tonight, at this moment, he was the one still
caring for her and she liked it.

Lydia snuggled into her blankets. She wasn’t alone tonight. Dat was doing his part
to keep her warm. He always did his part.

When she was small, he’d come in to sit and watch her sleep. She must have been ten
years old the first time she realized he was doing it, but even when she felt his
presence there she kept her eyes closed and pretended she was sleeping. Sometimes
he’d hum his favorite hymn, barely audible as it leaked through his lips. It took
nearly six months for her to get up the nerve to ask Mem about it.

“Why does Dat watch me? Do I talk in my sleep or somethin’?”

“
Ne
.” Mem had chuckled. “Sometimes he still finds it hard to believe the
gut
Lord gave you to us. He says his prayers seem to be closest to God’s ear near you…because
your adoption was our first answered prayer.”

Lydia had known from early childhood that she’d been adopted. Mem always called her
“their gift.” It wasn’t until her teen years she understood she’d been a curse first.

“The first answered prayer?” Lydia had asked. “Surely there were more before that.”

Mem had smiled at that comment. “
Ja
, there were other answered prayers, but you were the first that mattered. Really
mattered.”

Another tear slipped out and tumbled onto her pillow. Why hadn’t that memory replayed
when she was sixteen? During her
rumspringa
, she’d thought more of what
Englisch
things she could get away with. She could listen to music. She could drive a car.
She could leave.

As if leaving Mem and Dat would change anything about her birth.

She hadn’t gone far at first. She stayed with a family in town. The husband traveled
for work, and his wife had an online business. Lydia had watched the kids, cleaned,
and soon started editing the woman’s presentations. It got her foot in the door with
the right people, and she never looked back. At eighteen years old when she was offered
a job in Seattle, she left without question. But being here now made her ask herself:
why had she turned her back on the two people she loved most?

Why did I waste all those years with Mem? Years that’ll never come again
.

Lydia cooked Dat breakfast the next morning—eggs, bacon, and toast. He dug in with
gusto, giving her a sense of satisfaction that he found such joy in a simple meal.

She yawned. In Seattle she got into the office by eight o’clock, which meant getting
up at six o’clock. To Dat, that would be sleeping in. As he grew older he started
taking more naps, but he hadn’t yet gotten out of the habit of waking up before the
roosters. Mem used to tease Dat that he needed to wake up early so he wouldn’t miss
his first nap.

Mem
. The house was filled with her things. Mem’s mending in a basket by the rocking chair.
Her favorite mug hanging on a hook in the cupboard. Her shawl folded on the table
by the back door. Lydia pictured Mem wrapping it around her shoulders to go out to
feed the chickens or check on the squash in the garden, or just to step onto the porch
to watch the mountain finches flutter around the yard. But this was Lydia’s kitchen
now, at least for a while. She jotted down notes in her green spiral notebook—memories
mostly, and thoughts about what it was like to be here again. Then she pushed the
notebook to the side.

She’d started a grocery list and considered driving down to Eureka. If she was going
to stay here, she needed a few things from the store. Things she doubted they carried
at the West Kootenai Kraft and Grocery.

Her stomach growled as she thought about the Shoo-Fly Pie Mem had taught her to make.
Mem always called hers the Wet Bottom Shoo-Fly, which wasn’t the same as the Dry Shoo-Fly
that
Oma
Wyse made, which was better for dunking. Lydia
made a mental note to check the cupboards for the ingredients for Shoo-Fly Pie—and
then changed her mind. Maybe she should wait to make Mem’s favorite. Give their hearts
time to heal.

She took a sip of her coffee and glanced at her father. His eyes were fixed on Mem’s
rocking chair. Could he see her there still?

Shoo-Fly Pie. It was the last recipe Mem had sent Lydia in the mail. Lydia had pulled
out the recipe card from the envelope, read the latest West Kootenai news, and had
thrown the letter away. She tucked her fist under her chin and rested on it, thinking
of that now. What had the letter said? She wished she had kept it—kept all Mem’s letters.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Lydia glanced up at Dat. His eyes were on her. Warm, gentle, mournful.

“That’s an
Englisch
phrase if I’ve heard one.”

He chuckled. “We’ve lived around here three years yet. Things as these git picked
up.”

“I was trying to remember the last things Mem wrote to me about. A wedding, I think.
And did someone stop by to help you take down a dead tree in the back?”

“
Ja
. It was the tree yer mem used to have her clothesline on. It had to come down, otherwise
a bad wind would have sent it into our back porch. A number of the bachelors came
by to help…including Gideon.”

Lydia pretended hearing his name didn’t bring a fluttering of butterflies to her stomach.

“Seems like something that would happen. Folks are nice around here. Gideon was kind
to walk with me yesterday, although I hope he didn’t get too much of a teasing from
his bachelor friends.”

They’d had a nice walk, a nice talk, and that was all. But curiosity brightened Dat’s
eyes. What would Dat think if he knew that she and Gideon had briefly discussed her
staying?

Coming Home
. It would be a good title for a book. She’d already started writing down the jumble
of thoughts, feelings, and emotions balled up within her like the yarn in the basket.
Maybe she’d find some answers if she had a chance to get words on paper. Maybe writing
about Mem would ease the loss.

“I was wondering about something, Dat. About Mem’s last words—or your last conversation.
Since she didn’t know what was to come…”

He paused and lifted his head, scanning the timbered ceiling. It took him a few minutes
to answer. It wasn’t because he’d forgotten, she guessed, but because speaking of
Mem was hard.

“She was snuggled into bed already when I came in.” Dat’s emotions sat heavy in his
throat. “I heard something outside and hoped it wasn’t deer because I hadn’t fixed
the fence ‘round the garden yet.”

“Was it deer?”

“
Ne
, jest the neighbor’s dog.”

Lydia nodded.

“And she asked about the beans.”

“The beans?”

“
Ja
, the beans in the garden. There was a frost coming, and she was worried about them.
I told her not to fret, that I’d already covered them in plastic.”

She had to check on Mem’s garden tomorrow. Mem had been a wonderful gardener during
Lydia’s growing-up years, but her plot had shrunk over time as it became harder for
her to tend to it.

“Oh.” Dat sat up straighter and ran his free hand down his beard. “And she had a note
for me. Something to put in the Promise Box.”

Promise Box
. The words sent a tingling sensation down her spine, and she straightened in her
chair. “The Promise Box?”

Dat’s eyes brightened. “
Ja
.” He slowly placed his fork on the table. “I thought about telling you about it last
night, but, well, we both needed quiet, time to grieve.”

“Okay, but what is it?”

He stood and offered the softest hint of a smile. “It’s something I’ve been wanting
to tell you about for a while.”

“Tell me about?”

“It was yer mem’s most special treasure.”

“How come I didn’t know, then?” None of the things her mother had owned were worth
anything. They were just ordinary household items. None were special. Unless her mem
had been hiding something. But why would an Amish woman do that? To live a Plain and
simple life was all her mem knew.

“What could she have that would be considered valuable?”

Dat took slow steps toward their bedroom. “It was a gift fer you,” he called. “She
had a plan yet to give it to you fer your birthday this year.”

Warmth filled Lydia’s chest. She wanted to see it but was almost afraid to. What did
that mean—
Promise Box
?

In less than a minute he returned. In his hands was a simple wooden box. Lydia thought
she’d seen it a few times—sitting on the table next to Mem’s Bible or on top of her
nightstand.

That is the treasure?

He handed it to her and she took it. The wood was smooth but aged as if it had been
held in her mother’s hands a thousand times.

“Did you make the box?”

Dat nodded. “
Ja
, years ago. For our first anniversary, I think. Ada Mae used to use it to keep stamps
and change until she found a better use.”

“Then what did she use it for?”

He shrugged. “You’ll have to find out. Open it…but not here. Later. Give yourself
time. You’ll want quiet. You’ll want to…” He smiled. “I don’t need to tell ya everything.
Jest make it special.”

Lydia spread the old quilt under the tall larch tree and settled under a swath of
sunshine that had managed to slip through the branches. She curled her legs to the
side and tucked her long skirt under her. The breeze was warm. In the distance, Blue
whinnied in the pasture. Lydia was only slightly disappointed that she didn’t see
Gideon in the field with the horse. Although she would have liked to see him, she
mostly wanted to be alone. To discover what was inside the box.

Lydia opened the lid, and her brow furrowed. She’d expected it to have keepsakes,
but instead folded pieces of paper were tucked inside. She opened one. A Scripture
verse.

“
Lo, I am with you alway, Matthew 28:20
,” was written in Mem’s neat script. There was nothing else.

Is this what Mem thought was so special?

Lydia sifted through the papers. Most of them had dates. One of them was thicker,
as if it were a few pieces of paper folded together. A tremble moved up her arms,
through her chest, and settled in the pit of her stomach. The date on the outside:
almost exactly two months after she was born. What secret was tucked inside?

Lydia stared at the words. She read the letter three times, trying to take it all
in. Her mother’s words of love weren’t surprising. She’d known that love. She’d felt
it. She’d seen it in Mem’s gaze. What surprised her was that from those first months,
Mem was already concerned about her discovery of the truth. It wasn’t an easy truth
to understand.

Lydia placed the letter on the quilt and looked past the pasture to the trees and
hills, to the tall, jagged mountain peaks that jutted into the sky beyond. One could
see the beauty of the mountains, yet the hardship of the climb up into them wasn’t
known until the hike started. One could know the pain of revealing the coming truth;
feeling it was something different. Mem had hoped her love was enough to keep Lydia
in their home, to keep her Amish. The hardship of watching her daughter walk away
must have been overwhelming to bear.