Lydia's Hope (12 page)

Chloe clenched her teeth. “I haven’t been a baby in a long time, Gran. You should
have told me.”

“To what end?” Gran turned toward her, her face as cool and controlled as that of
a marble carving. “I assumed that when you were old enough to understand, you’d try
to find out. If you didn’t, then perhaps it didn’t mean enough to you.”

It was a neat way of putting the blame on Chloe, but she wasn’t accepting it. “Why
would I try to find out when I didn’t know anything about it? I thought I could trust
what you told me about my past.”

“You ought to trust me. I’ve taken care of you since you were a baby.” Her grandmother’s
voice became tart as her detachment slipped ever so slightly. “There was nothing to
be gained by involving you with those people. They certainly wouldn’t welcome any
overtures from you.”

That cool certainty was annoying. “How do you know? My sisters might be looking for
me.”

One of them was, at least. Somehow Chloe wasn’t sure she wanted to tell her grandmother
about Seth Miller’s visit. Maybe she was being overly cautious, but if her grandmother
could keep a secret, so could she.

Her grandmother waved her hand, as if to dismiss the idea. “I doubt that very much.
They’re Amish, and the Amish don’t mix with people like us, people who live in the
normal world.” She moved toward the stairs. “We’ll talk about this another time, when
you’re calmer.”

Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, Chloe would accept being put off, maybe because
she’d been told so emphatically that her rebellious mother had broken her parents’
hearts, and she hadn’t wanted to do the same. She’d confined her rebellion to going
out of state for grad school and dressing in a manner that clearly pained her grandmother.
But she began to think Diane might have had some justification for her actions.

“You took me home from the hospital. Why didn’t you take my sisters? Given everything
you’ve said about the Amish luring my mother into their lifestyle, I should think
you’d have wanted all three of us.”

Gran stopped on the first step, hand resting on the intricately carved cherry newel
post. She sighed, as if giving in to the unreasonable.

“When I received the news of the accident, I went at once to the hospital where you’d
been taken. No one was there with you. The other girls were in different hospitals,
and they were already surrounded by the Amish relatives. There was nothing I could
do.”

Chloe might buy that if not for the fact that she’d never known her grandmother to
accept the idea that there was nothing she could do about any issue. “But if the Amish
are all that you’ve said, how could you just leave them there? They were Diane’s daughters,
too.”

Gran gripped the post, her eyes veiled. Then, as if giving in, she shrugged. “Very
well, if you must have it. The reason I didn’t attempt to gain custody of the other
two is that they were older. They’d already been too influenced by their parents.
After all your grandfather and I went through with your mother, I had no desire to
repeat the experience.” Her lips compressed on the words.

Chloe was speechless. Her grandmother had dismissed a five-year-old and a three-year-old
from her life because of their parents’ influence? She couldn’t find the words to
express her mixed feelings.

“But you . . .” Her grandmother’s face softened. “You were a new opportunity. A chance
for us to raise you properly and to counteract what Diane might have done. Can’t you
understand that we did it because we loved you the minute we saw you?”

She couldn’t, but she also couldn’t ignore the genuine feeling in her grandmother’s
face. It was there, slipping through the facade, and Margaret Wentworth didn’t show
emotion easily. Chloe’s heart twisted.

“I know you love me, Gran.” Her throat tightened. “And I love you.”

“Good. I realize you’re upset now, but believe me, you’ll forget all this in a few
days.”

Chloe nearly agreed, just because she was so used to doing so and because she couldn’t
bear to be at odds with her only family. But this time she couldn’t.

“I’m sorry, Gran, but I can’t pretend this didn’t happen. I can’t.”

Her grandmother stiffened. “You’re determined to find out about those people, I suppose.
I can’t stop you. But I can tell you this—it will end in heartache.” She turned away
in dismissal and went slowly up the stairs, her back straight, her head held high.

Chloe pressed her hand against her stomach, which seemed to be tying itself in knots
over her temerity. Well, she’d stood up to her grandmother, but she wasn’t sure what
she was going to do next, except that it seemed certain she’d be seeing Seth Miller
again.

* * *

A
dam
walked toward the strawberry patch in late afternoon, the two boys darting ahead and
then running back to him like a couple of puppies. Most of the day had been wasted,
it seemed, in going from one possible employer to the next, from one end of Pleasant
Valley to the other.

The story was the same everywhere. Folks were sorry; they’d like to be taking on new
workers, but business wasn’t good enough. Maybe in another month they’d be able to
hire.

Another month, and in the meantime, what was he to do? Plenty of work for him waited
around the farm, for sure, but most of it wouldn’t bring in money, at least not right
away.

The Lord will provide. It’s God’s will.

The answers that should comfort him didn’t seem to be having that effect. He should
provide for his family.

Daniel grabbed his hand. “Is it time to uncover the strawberry plants yet, Daadi?
It’s been getting pretty warm, ain’t so?”

“I want to do it,” David said instantly. “Let me help, too.”

“We’ll have a look at them and see how they’re doing.” Adam put his hand on Daniel’s
shoulder for a moment. It was good that the boys took such an interest in the farm.
“Even though it’s been warm, we could still have a frost, you know,” he cautioned.

Daniel nodded solemnly. “Can I uncover one plant? Just to see if it’s growing?”

“Me, too,” David said quickly, squatting down next to the straw-covered bed.

“You always say that.” Daniel’s expression turned a bit mulish. “I thought of it first.”

Adam tapped him lightly on top of his straw hat. “Your little bruder wants to do what
you do, ja? That’s how it goes with brothers.”

A memory slid into his mind, unbidden, of himself and Benjamin at about the same ages
Daniel and David were now. He’d want to be doing something by himself with Daad, but
Benjamin always pushed in. He’d been short with his brother more times than he could
count, and the guilt that accompanied that thought was bitter.

He should have been more patient. He should have provided the understanding and guidance
Benjamin needed. He’d take it all back in an instant if he could, but nobody got to
live their lives over again.

“Daadi? Was ist letz?” Daniel was staring at him. He must have let his face show too
much of his thoughts.

“Nothing’s wrong.” Adam squatted between the boys. Then, because he tried always to
be honest with them, he added, “I was just remembering what it was like when my little
bruder followed me around.”

“Onkel Benjamin, you mean? The one who went away to be Englisch and never came back?”

“Ja.” He put a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder. He’d rather his sons didn’t
know about Benjamin, but maybe it was best that they saw how much it hurt the family
when one person jumped the fence. And he’d certain-sure seen the results of keeping
secrets in this trouble over Lydia’s sisters.

Best to focus on the here and now. He bent over, pulling back some of the straw he’d
put over the berry patch last fall.

“See, there is a plant, nice and green and ready to grow.” He touched a tiny green
leaf. “I think in a few days, if the weather is still warm, we’ll pull the straw off
so the plants can get some sun.”

“But what if it frosts?” Daniel said. He was always a bit of a worrier.

“We’ll leave the straw here, between the plants, so we can pull it back over like
a blanket if the weather turns bad. If not, it will keep the weeds from coming up
and choking the plants.”

Daniel nodded solemnly. David, his attention waning, was already back on his feet.

“I see a blossom in the orchard!” he shouted. “I do, I see one!” He set off running,
and Daniel followed, overtaking him easily.

Adam followed more slowly, his gaze on his sons, and worry crept out of hiding again.
They were his responsibility, his and Lydia’s. This was the life he wanted for them,
living close to the land, living simply, obedient to God’s teachings. If he could
find work, even part-time, that would help to keep their lives the way they were.

Well, if not, they’d get along for a time. His family and Lydia’s would help, though
he hated to ask it of them. And this land and the orchard belonged to them free and
clear, thanks to Lydia’s birth parents.

He reached the boys, who stood staring up into the branches of the big tree in the
center of the orchard. David was pointing.

“See, right there. That blossom is opening.”

“I think you’re right,” Adam said. “It’s the first one, but the others will soon start
to follow.”

“Mammi loves it when the trees are covered with blossoms,” Daniel said. “That will
make her happy again.”

Adam turned to the boy, scanning his face. “Again? Is Mammi not happy today?” He’d
not gone back to the house when he’d gotten back from his job hunt, because the boys
had distracted him.

“Daniel made Mammi sad,” David piped up.

“Did not.” Daniel turned on his brother furiously. “You take that back.” He gave David
a shove before Adam could intervene.

Adam grabbed a boy in each hand, startled at how quickly the quarrel had blown up.
The boys usually got along well, better than most brothers, he’d say.

“Stop now,” he said. Lydia’s sorrow probably had more to do with those sisters of
hers than with anything the boys had done. “Quarreling doesn’t make anything better.
If Mammi is sad, it’s our job to make her happy again, ain’t so?”

“Ja, Daadi,” they chorused, and Daniel hung his head.

“Gut.” He pulled both boys against him in a quick hug as he spotted movement on the
back porch. “Mammi is coming now, I think. What can you do to make her feel better?”

“I saw some violets back by the springhouse,” Daniel said. “Komm, schnell. We’ll pick
some for her.”

Their quarrel forgotten, the two of them raced off. He smiled a little. If only all
their problems were solved as easily. He thought of Benjamin again, and his heart
twisted inside him.

“Where did the boys run off to?” Lydia reached him, and he saw the sadness behind
her welcoming smile.

“They are getting something for you, so when they come back you must be surprised.”
He drew her against him, almost afraid to ask the question. “Has something happened?”

Lydia leaned her head against his shoulder. “I spoke to Seth earlier. He called the
telephone at his mother’s place while I was there.”

It probably wasn’t a coincidence that she’d been there to take the call, but Adam
let that pass. “What did he say?”

“He talked to her . . . to my little sister. He went to the place where she works.”
Lydia paused, staring out across the valley as if she’d look beyond it to the distant
city. “He said it didn’t go well. She didn’t want to believe what he told her. Or
maybe she just doesn’t care. He said that he left the papers with her, and maybe she’d
get in touch with him, but I could tell he didn’t think so.”

A tear sparkled on Lydia’s cheek, and Adam’s heart twisted again with pain. He put
his arms around her, holding her close, his cheek pressing against her hair.

“I’m sorry.” He tried to find the words to comfort her, but he couldn’t, and it made
him feel helpless. And a bit angry at Seth, who’d given Lydia this hope and then snatched
it away. “I hate to see you hurting over this. I wish your great-aunt had never spoken.”

“Don’t say that.” Lydia pulled back a little. “I would rather know the truth, even
if finding my sisters doesn’t turn out the way I hoped. Wouldn’t you?”

“Ja, I guess so.” He’d best be a little cautious. It wouldn’t do to let Lydia know
that he actually felt a bit relieved.

She was hurting now, but it would get better. Maybe she wouldn’t ever forget that
she had a sister out there in the world someplace, but she’d get over her sadness
and their lives would go on.

He leaned against the trunk of the apple tree, studying her face. “The boys spotted
something that will cheer you up. Look, the first blossom is opening.”

Lydia tilted her head back, staring up into the branches of the tree, amazement replacing
the sadness in her face. “Ach, I should have known this tree would be the first.”

“For sure. It’s a special tree, ja?” He took her hands. “I kissed you for the first
time under this tree, remember?” He wouldn’t be forgetting. The Amish took smooching
seriously, and a guy didn’t go around kissing girls, not until he found the one he
thought he’d spend his life with.

“I remember.” She squeezed his hands, smiling so that her dimple showed. “You were
so nervous I thought you’d miss my lips entirely.”

“I hadn’t had enough practice.” He grinned, drawing her closer. “I do better now.”

“Adam Beachy, you can’t be kissing your wife right out here where anyone can see,”
she protested.

“There’s no one around to see.” He stole a quick kiss, and her lips were as sweet
as they’d been that first time.

But when they drew apart, she glanced up into the tree again, and there was something
in her gaze that seemed to put her far away.

“Emma told me something about my mamm, about how she loved this tree. She liked to
sit on the low branch and tell stories to us girls.”

“That’s a happy thing to know, ain’t so?” He wasn’t sure what her expression was saying,
and it troubled him.