A Home for Lydia (The Pebble Creek Amish Series) (17 page)

“So what gives, sis? What’s with the new boss? And shopping? And keeping secrets?” Clara dipped the first dish into the water, careful not to splash any soap onto the sleeves of her dress.

“No secrets.”

“Then why won’t you talk about it?”

“You’ve never been interested in my work before.”

“Why would I be interested in what old Ervin Troyer was doing? How old is this Aaron?”

“Too old for you, I suspect.” Ella walked up beside them and picked up a dish towel. “Do you like working for him, Lydia?”

Lydia thought of his eyes, the one bright smile he’d shared with her, and the way he had of taking over a place all of a sudden. She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter if I like it or not. He’s the boss now, and he’s making big changes.”

She started to rinse a plate, but then she noticed it still had egg on it and handed it back to Clara.

“What kind of changes?” Ella asked.

Lydia gave them a brief outline of what Aaron had in mind.

“Sounds
gut
for our community.” Ella slipped a dried plate into the cabinet. “Most families could use more income. Nearly everyone makes things at home they could sell, and word is that they can’t expect to earn much from Drake.”

“I’m not surprised, based on what Miriam and Gabe said of their meetings with the man.” Lydia elbowed her sister, who had stopped washing and was gazing out the window.

“Ouch.”

“Dishes!”

Clara rolled her eyes but resumed washing.

“If we can get the business Aaron thinks we will, I’m going to have more work than I can handle. Between cleaning cabins, selling goods, and reordering items, we’ll need more help.”

“More help?” Clara’s voice climbed a notch.

“Don’t even think—”

“Why not? I’m a
gut
worker.”

“Since when? You’re washing those dishes with your fingertips when you do them at all.”

“
Mamm
, tell her.”

“Your
schweschder
does need a job.”

“But—”

“It would be a
gut
way for her to mature.”

“Yes, but—”

“And bring in some extra income, which
Gotte
knows we could use.”

“But,
mamm
—”

“
Danki
for thinking of her, Lydia.” Ella reached forward and kissed her on the forehead. She walked around to Clara and kissed her as well. “Clara,
danki
for offering. Does my heart
gut
to see you two girls work together. Isn’t it amazing how
Gotte
provides?”

Lydia’s mind scrambled for a way out of the approaching predicament. “It’s not certain there will even be another job,
mamm
.”

“I understand. But we’ll make it a matter of prayer. I have a
feeling this Aaron Troyer knows what he’s doing, and
Gotte
has a plan. Never forget that. Now I think I’ll go check on your
dat
. You girls finish up here and come join us for our Bible study.”

Clara waited until Ella was out of sight before she collapsed onto one of the kitchen chairs.

“What are you doing? We’re not finished.”

“I am. My hands look like prunes. Disgusting.” She held them up for Lydia to examine, but Lydia didn’t bother. She closed her eyes, wondering if she could go to bed and start this day over. Maybe she could somehow leave out telling her family about the changes at the cabins.

If she could replay the morning, there would be no risk of having to work beside Clara all day, every day.

The mere thought of it caused her shoulders to tense up and a headache to form at the base of her neck. Clara? At the Plain Cabins?

She silently finished the breakfast dishes, and then they walked together into the sitting room. It was nowhere near as big as their old sitting room in their old house out on their old farm. She might be the only one of the children who could remember that. Maybe Stephen remembered. Maybe that was the reason for the anger and sadness in his eyes from time to time.

Maybe he understood what they had lost.

Somehow all six of the Fisher children, Ella, and Menno fit into the small sitting area. They gathered round.

Menno didn’t have enough strength in his lungs to read the Scripture. Farmer’s lung had robbed him of that as it had robbed them of many things. But he was able to open his Bible, run his finger down the page, and find the Scripture he wanted read.

Lydia sat there watching her father’s hands, spotted with age, and thinner now—much thinner. In that moment, a dozen memories passed through her mind and traveled over her heart. Her father holding her hand as he walked her into the schoolhouse the first day, helping her up into the buggy, handing her a Christmas present. His
hands as they dealt cards for Dutch Blitz or helped to birth a calf or smoothed the blankets on her bed.

Her father’s hands had always represented strength to her, but looking at them now—with the strength gone—she realized that, more than strength, they represented love and patience.

Menno leaned forward and set the Bible on the table. He reached for Stephen with his right hand and Ella with his left. Slowly, each family member reached out to the person beside them, until they formed a circle, unbroken.

Wordlessly, they all bowed their heads.

This time when she prayed, Lydia had no problem being grateful. She forgot about being irritated with Clara or worrying about the cabins. She didn’t think to question God’s decisions or fret over what was to come. She closed her eyes, nestled in the warmth of her family, and thanked the Lord that for the moment at least, the circle remained intact.

Chapter 14

M
iriam frowned at her father.

“She’s old enough,” Joshua said, “and you know it.”

The fact that he was right didn’t settle the feeling in her stomach.

“You were a year younger. Now let her have some fun.” Joshua smiled at her and brushed his fingers over his beard.

“I’ll be careful. I promise. Please.” In the end it was the hopeful look on Grace’s face that convinced her, that and the knowledge that she wouldn’t do it if Miriam had said no.

“All right, but absolutely no trotting. Do you promise?”

“We promise!” Grace ran to the other side of the pasture fence, where one of Joshua’s older mares stood patiently waiting.

“She’ll be fine.” Abigail stood next to her, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders even though the Sunday afternoon was turning warm. The rain had stopped early in the morning, and the sun had finally made an appearance. Abigail was holding Rachel in her arms and smiling. “You loved learning to ride in a saddle.”

“I haven’t done it in years. The horse looks so large and Grace looks so small.”

“You’re looking at it as a mother instead of as an adventure.”

“I guess you’re right. Are you cold,
mamm
?”

“Maybe a tad.”

“Do you want to go inside?” Miriam studied her mother. Had she lost more weight? It occurred to her again that Abigail had grown thinner as she moved into the latter half of her fifties. She didn’t have any extra weight to lose.

“No. The shawl is
gut
. I want to hold Rachel and watch Gracie ride. Now, quit worrying and do stop staring at me that way.”

“Should I be worrying?”

“You sound like your father.”

“He’s worried too?”

Instead of answering, Abigail nodded to the commotion on the other side. “She’s in the saddle.”

And indeed she was. Wearing a pair of her cousin’s britches under her dress, Grace had climbed on to the old mare and was sitting pretty. She clutched the saddle horn as if it had the power to save her from any disaster and broke into laughter when the mare started to move.

Joshua led the horse by a rope, and before they had gone the length of the pasture, Gabe had walked out of the barn to watch. He climbed up on the fence across from them and waved, and then he proceeded to cheer Grace on as if she were in a buggy race.

Grace released one hand from the saddle as she passed their side of the pasture so that she could wave. “I’m doing it! I’m riding.”

“Be careful,” Miriam called.

“I will,
mamm
. But look! I’m doing it.”

The word was said so simply, so casually, and it was followed by another peal of laughter. Miriam knew Grace wasn’t aware she’d even said it. She brushed at the tear on her cheek, wondering if her hormones were still out of whack because of the baby.

“First time?” Abigail asked.

“
Ya
. Well, it’s the first time she hasn’t backtracked and corrected herself, calling me Miriam instead.”

Abigail nodded and smiled. “She’s a
gut
girl, and she’s been through a lot in the last few years. The Lord is healing her heart, in the same way He healed her voice.”

“He is.” Miriam exhaled a big breath as Grace began a second lap around the pasture. Closing her eyes, she placed both hands on the cedar post fence, relishing in the warmth of the wood. It would be nice if she could stop this day, slow it down a little, and keep Rachel and Grace the age they each were right now.

“How are things with you and Gabe?”

Miriam’s eyes flew open. “
Gut
. Why do you ask?”

“Sometimes things are…difficult after a baby.”

Placing her chin on her hands, Miriam stared across at her husband, who had taken to calling out at his daughter as if he were an
Englisch
rodeo clown. “He’s patient with me, especially when I’m emotional. And he helps with the
boppli
.”

“Perfect man, huh?”

“Maybe not perfect. He learned some bad habits while he was a bachelor—like tracking mud into the kitchen and leaving dirty socks all over the house. I found one on the front porch the other day and its mate in the sink. Why in the world—”

“If that’s the worst he does, I’m thinking you can live with it, Miriam.”

Grace passed them again, and Miriam heard herself shout, “Hold on, honey!”

After a moment she added, “
Ya
. It’s only socks. I can learn to live with a little messiness. You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right.”

Rachel began to cry and Miriam took her
boppli
back in her arms.

“I think I smell something terrible.” She laughed. “I better take this girl inside.”

Glancing toward the pasture once more, she saw that Grace was where she’d started and Joshua was helping her off the mare. Gabe had hopped off the fence and was showing her how to unsaddle the horse.

“She’s so small,” Miriam murmured as they turned and walked toward the house.

“Yes, but it’s all the more reason to prepare her.” Abigail shivered slightly and pulled the shawl more tightly around her shoulders. When she did, Miriam noticed her mother’s hands, noticed and thought immediately of old folks suffering from the Parkinson’s disease.

“
Mamm
, are you all right?” Miriam’s heart surged into a double beat.

“Don’t worry, dear.”