Lydia's Hope Page 6

  He slowed, peering out the window, and she leaned forward to do the same. Along one side of the road was a wide, shallow creek that meandered over flat rocks on its way toward the Susquehanna River. The shops and houses were on the other side of the road, facing the stream, and the shops seemed to be in the first floors of buildings that had once been houses, for the most part.

  “There,” Ben exclaimed. “That’s it.” He pulled to the curb in front of a two-story frame house with a wide front porch. Several rocking chairs were arranged on the porch, as if inviting you to sit and watch the world go by, and an assortment of decorated milk cans and birdhouses had dangling price tags.

  Lydia slid out of the car and stood on the sidewalk. Ben leaned over to speak to her through the passenger-side window.

  “If you have a lot of shopping to do, don’t worry about me. I’ll just go find a cup of coffee and read my newspaper.”

  “I should be ready to go in an hour.” She started to ask him to pick her up here, but maybe that wasn’t such a good idea, depending on how things went. She glanced around, looking for inspiration.

  Main Street started a gentle upward slope beyond the shop, and about halfway up, there was what looked like a small park with benches.

  “I’ll plan to meet you at that little park in an hour,” she said.

  Ben gave her a look that was downright puzzled. “You sure you don’t need more time? I don’t mind waiting.”

  “No, that’s enough time.” Either she’d have met her sister or not by then, have told her or not.

  “If you say so.” Ben raised his hand and pulled back out into traffic.

  If her insides didn’t stop shaking, Lydia figured she’d go in there looking half-sick, and that wasn’t the impression she wanted to make. She probably wouldn’t tell Susanna anything at all. She’d just enter the shop, look around, and then buy something so that she could engage Susanna in conversation. To her little sister, Lydia would be nothing but another customer.

  Unless she decided to tell Susanna the truth, of course. Shutting her mind to that possibility, Lydia mounted the two steps and paused. From this angle, she could see across the backyards of the other buildings to where the river gleamed, wide and imposing. Susanna had picked a pretty place for her business, it seemed.

  But she shouldn’t stand here gawking. Lydia crossed the porch and entered the shop. She stopped just inside, still clutching the door. A small bell tinkled musically at the door’s movement.

  If she was going to look like a casual shopper, Lydia decided she probably should have checked out the items on the porch, but it was too late now. She closed the door and ventured into the shop.

  The main section had probably been a parlor when the house had been a home. Now it was a display area for an array of crafts and artwork that Lydia found almost dizzying in their variety.

  Clusters of dried flowers hung from hooks, emitting a faint aroma of summers past. A small oval table held a collection of pots and vases, no doubt handmade, in colors ranging from the palest milky white to a deep, rich burgundy.

  She touched a burgundy pot that was nearly the color of the dress she wore. The glaze was smooth and cool under her fingers, and she could feel the slight ridges made by the potter’s hands. The touch was oddly calming, and Lydia desperately needed calm before she looked into her sister’s face for the first time. Or at least, the first time that she would remember.

  Susanna or her partner would probably be in the back, where the cash register sat, but no one hurried forward to interrupt her browsing. Probably they were used to folks looking around. Birdhouses, napkin holders, and wooden boxes of all sizes marched across a shelf, while a large woven basket was piled high with quilted pillows.

  A few steps carried her away from the scent of the dried flowers and into the stronger aromas of an arrangement of scented candles. Her gaze was caught by a wooden mantel clock similar to the one Adam was making, and the price tag on it took her breath away.

  “May I help you find something?” The words were spoken in Englisch, but the speaker was undeniably Amish. She rose from a rocking chair in the corner, and Lydia’s heart seemed to stop. This had to be her sister Susanna, didn’t it?

  “I . . . I thought I’d just look around for a bit.” Obviously she wasn’t very skilled at acting a part.

  “Of course. Take your time. Just call me if you need any help. I’m Susanna.”

  “Denke.” Lydia’s voice came out a bit shaky, and she turned away quickly. Looking through a stack of quilted place mats gave her something to occupy her hands while she stole covert glances at her sister.

  She was looking for similarities, she supposed, although plenty of sisters didn’t look that much alike. Susanna had a heart-shaped face and a shy, sweet smile that showed a dimple in her cheek. Lydia put a hand to her face. She had a dimple in exactly the same place. Had their mother had one there, as well? For a moment she regretted the Amish ban on taking photographs, even though she understood the reason.

  Susanna’s hair was a darker brown than Lydia’s, drawn back under her snowy kapp, and the deep blue of her dress matched the color of her eyes.

  Lydia moved on to a display of hooked rugs, trying to concentrate on the color patterns woven through them. When she thought she could trust her voice, she spoke. “Did you make these?”

  Susanna, who’d been tactfully rearranging candles, turned at the question. “Not the rugs, no. We take many of our crafts on consignment from the makers.”

  Lydia nodded in understanding. Katie Brand did that in her quilt shop, too, giving some of the local quilters an outlet for selling their wares that they otherwise wouldn’t have.

  “Amish crafters, are they?”

  “Most of them. A few things are made by Englisch, like the paintings.” Acting on her interest, Susanna nodded to the pastoral scenes that covered one wall while she came around the counter. “You are not from Oyersburg, ain’t so?”

  Lydia shook her head. Obviously, Susanna would know all the members of her church district. “I’m in town to do some shopping. I live over in Pleasant Valley.” She watched for any indication that the place meant something to Susanna, but Susanna’s expression was one of polite interest. “My name is Lydia Beachy.”

  Susanna took a few steps toward her, and Lydia’s heart twisted. Her sister walked with a definite limp. That must be her scar from the accident, just as Lydia’s lack of memory was hers. Protective love surged through her, astonishing Lydia with its strength, and she fought to keep it under control.

  “I especially like this painting of the stream and the covered bridge. I know exactly where that was painted, just above where the creek flows into the river.” Susanna smiled at the painting, as if imagining herself in the scene.

  Did she ever imagine herself in the apple orchard? Or dream of it and wonder why?

  “It is lovely. But not for me, ain’t so?” Lydia managed a smile, knowing Susanna understood. The Amish didn’t hang things on their walls unless they served a purpose besides being beautiful.

  “Were you looking for something in particular?” Susanna’s glance held curiosity. She probably didn’t get many outside Amish coming in as customers, since it was far more common for them to make gifts rather than buy them. “Or do you have something you’re interested in bringing in for the shop on consignment?”

  The idea blossomed in Lydia’s thoughts as soon as Susanna said the words—the perfect reason for her to visit the store not just today, but in the future.

  “My husband makes clocks.” She pointed toward the one she’d noticed. “Usually mantel or shelf clocks. I wondered if you might be interested.”

  “I’d be wonderful glad to find another clock-maker.” Susanna’s blue eyes lit with enthusiasm. Obviously her shop meant a great deal to her. “The man who made that one is retired, and he’s not producing them any longer. Do you have any of your husband’s clocks with you today?”

  “No, but I could bring one the next tim
e I come to Oyersburg.” And there would be a next time, she could guarantee it.

  “Gut. We’d be glad to have a look anytime. Do you often come here?” Susanna gestured, as if to take in the town.

  “I will be coming more often in the future.” Recklessness seemed to take possession of Lydia. Why not tell Susanna the truth? She seemed friendly, and once she knew, Lydia wouldn’t have to make up excuses—

  “Susanna?” A footstep sounded as the speaker came through a curtain that screened off a room at the rear. “Ach, I didn’t realize you were busy with a customer. I wanted to remind you that it’s nearly time to check on your mamm.”

  “It is?” Susanna glanced at the clock. “I was so distracted talking that I lost track.” She turned to Lydia. “This is Dora Gaus, my partner in the shop. She can answer any questions you have. I must leave now, but do bring in a clock or two whenever you can.” She started to the door, her limp more pronounced since she was hurrying. “It was so nice to meet you.”

  “Ja, for me, as well.” Lydia doubted that Susanna had heard her, as intent as she was on her errand. She swept out the door, closing it behind her.

  Lydia let out a breath, feeling herself sag. It was over, and she certainly couldn’t find any excuse for hanging around until Susanna came back.

  “Did Susanna say you might bring some clocks in?” Mrs. Gaus came out from behind the counter, wearing the black dress often worn by older Amish women, especially if they were widows. Round and sturdy, Mrs. Gaus had a pleasant smile that warmed her broad face.

  “My husband enjoys making clocks,” Lydia explained. “Susanna said you’d be interested in seeing them.”

  “Susanna is right, as always.” Mrs. Gaus leaned on the nearest counter, seemingly prepared for a chat. “She has a gut eye for business, and the smartest thing I ever did was take her on as a partner.”

  “How long have you been in partnership?” She couldn’t display too much curiosity about Susanna, but surely that question was natural.

  “Goodness, it must be over five years, nearer six, now. Susanna and her mamm live just a block over, so it’s convenient for her.”

  Lydia had to venture another question, even at the risk of making Mrs. Gaus suspicious of her. “I gather from what you said that her mother is ill?”

  Mrs. Gaus’s ruddy face seemed to draw down with sorrow. “Cancer, poor soul, and she isn’t doing well, either. It’s fortunate for her that she has Susanna. Only her daughter can comfort poor Elizabeth now. The doctor says she doesn’t have more than a few months left.” She shook her head.

  Something seemed to shake inside Lydia, as well, at the close call she’d had. If she’d obeyed her impulse and told Susanna that Elizabeth wasn’t really her mother, what damage might she have done to both of them? Bishop Mose had been right, as he usually was. She couldn’t possibly disrupt Susanna’s life and whatever time her adoptive mother had left by telling her the truth now.

  Still, at least she’d seen Susanna for herself, and she’d made an initial approach. She’d have to be satisfied with that today.

  If she were to reunite with either of her sisters in the near future, it would have to be Chloe. But how on earth could she locate a baby who’d disappeared into the Englisch world twenty-five years ago?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Lydia couldn’t seem to clear her mind for the rest of the day. Usually her duties stretched ahead of her in the peaceful routine of Amish life, but not now.

  Finally, despairing of accomplishing anything in the house, she went outside. She’d walk through the orchard, the place that always restored her serenity no matter what troubled her. Not that she’d ever had a problem like this one before.

  Shep, the shepherd mix who considered it his duty to guard the property, rose from the flagstone walk where he’d been dozing in the sun. He moved to meet her, his tail wagging lazily.

  “You don’t have thoughts that trouble you, do you, old boy?” She patted his head and ruffled his ears. “Will you walk with me?” She headed toward the orchard, Shep pacing patiently at her heels.

  The boys would be home from school before long, and Adam from work. The farm would be suddenly busy and noisy, and there’d be no time for reflection. She normally loved all the hullabaloo, but just now, she needed to think through her encounter, brief as it had been, with her sister.

  Her heart clutched painfully as she pictured Susanna limping across the shop. God’s will, the Amish said whenever sudden change happened, bad or good. Susanna would have been younger than David was now when she was injured. She probably didn’t remember a time when she could run and jump like a normal child.

  Was that why Susanna was still unmarried at twenty-seven? Or maybe she was twenty-eight now, depending upon when her birthday was. The pain struck Lydia again. She didn’t know her own sister’s birthday. She took a breath, willing the pain to fade. There would be some way to find out—the births of each child would be recorded somewhere, surely.

  Most Amish young folks started pairing off in their late teens and married in their early twenties. Susanna was lovely, probably with a disposition to match, judging by the sweetness of her expression. Surely there had been boys who’d have seen beyond the limp to the person.

  Lydia stopped under the big tree in the center of the orchard. Its low, spreading limbs were tempting for the young ones, and she’d had to forbid Daniel and David from climbing it. Adam thought she was too protective, but she knew how daring her boys were, and David would undoubtedly follow Daniel right to the top, with neither of them ever stopping to think about whether the branches could support their weight.

  Mamm had told her something about the tree once, when she’d asked a question about her birth mother. She’d said it was Diane’s favorite place, and she’d given Lydia an image of Diane and a small Lydia sitting on a low branch, while Diane told stories to her child.

  But that picture had been false, hadn’t it? It had omitted the two younger girls, who no doubt had been there as well.

  Leaning against the trunk, Lydia pressed her palms on the rough bark and tilted her head to look up through the branches. If there were answers here, she couldn’t see them. But just over her head, one of the apple blossoms had begun to open its white petals.

  She touched it gently, and her pain seemed to ease. Her senses opened to the soft hum of insects, to the chatter of a robin as she chased a crow from her nest, to the gentle snuffling of Shep as he nosed his way through a purplish-blue clump of the bugle flowers that carpeted the orchard in early spring.

  Maybe it was a coincidence that Adam had first kissed her under this tree, or maybe that had been part of God’s plan for her. If she closed her eyes, she could see Adam standing there, his beardless face looking so young and serious. He had taken his hat off, and the sunlight, piercing through the branches, had brought a reddish sheen to his thick brown hair. She felt herself slip back to those moments in memory.

  “You are going to marry me, aren’t you, Lydia?” His blue eyes were solemn, reflecting the fact that choosing a mate was for life.

  She felt as if her chest would burst from the pressure of her love for him. “Ja, Adam Beachy, I will marry you.” She lifted her hand toward his face tentatively, longing to touch him and a bit nervous as well.

  Adam smiled, as if he’d read her thoughts. He clasped her hand in his and pressed it against his warm, smooth cheek. “I love you, Lydia,” he whispered.

  Her heart seemed to turn over. “I love you, too.” Her voice sounded funny to her, maybe because her throat was so tight.

  Adam kissed the fingers he held, and the pressure of his lips seemed to travel straight to her heart. Then he lowered his head, and his lips found hers. Her breath caught, and the world seemed to shrink until there was only her and Adam together. The Garden of Eden had surely been like this, and she never wanted it to end.

  It hadn’t ended, she assured herself, shaking her head a little as she came back to the present. She loved Adam in a way t
hat the girl she’d been then hadn’t even imagined. But the events of the past few days had driven a barrier between them, and she wasn’t sure how to get past it.

  How could he not understand her longing for her sisters? But she was at fault, as well. She should have been more attentive when he’d talked about the loss of his job. She’d make up for it when he got home, that’s what she’d do. Adam deserved to know that she understood and cared about his feelings.

  A flicker of movement caught her eye. A man was coming toward her across the orchard, but it wasn’t Adam. It was Seth Miller, Emma Miller’s son.

  Shep deserted the flowers to trot over to Seth, sniffing him thoroughly before nosing his head into Seth’s hand. Did Shep find it odd to see a man in jeans and a knit shirt, instead of black broadfall pants and suspenders?

  “Seth, it is gut to see you. How is your mamm doing today?”

  “Improving, I think.” Seth grimaced, his smoothly shaven face expressing concern, and ran a hand back through the stylish cut of his wheat-colored hair. “She does too much, I know, but I can’t seem to stop her.”

  “No one can,” she assured him. “Emma is a strong woman, and she won’t take kindly to being told to slow down.”

  Emma had had to be strong, bearing all the sorrows she’d had with the death of her husband and oldest daughter and the decision of her only son to leave the faith, compounded by all the worry over Jessie’s mental health.

  Seth nodded, but Lydia could see that he had something else on his mind.

  “Mamm was telling me about your problems with this news about your family. She says to ask if she can do anything to help.” He looked at her as if she were a kettle about to boil. “Are you okay?”

  Okay? Not really, but she hesitated to say that to Seth. They had been close friends once, but the man who stood in front of her didn’t bear much resemblance to the Amish boy she’d known so well long ago.

  “I’m fine. I guess the news is all over the church by now, ain’t so?” She shrugged. “People will be talking about it.” She should have realized that word would spread through the Amish grapevine, traveling person-to-person until everyone knew.