A Home for Lydia (The Pebble Creek Amish Series) (29 page)

“You don’t need to understand your employer’s reasoning.” Lydia whacked at a fly with a rolled-up piece of newspaper. “What you need to do is your assigned work.”

Lydia could have sworn she saw Aaron hide a laugh as he stuffed a piece of her
mamm
’s raisin bread into his mouth.

“I’ll hang more bags of water to draw the flies out to the porch. Seth will be here at lunch, and we’re going to begin working on a fishing pier.”

“Seth King?” Clara had written the first postcard. At the sound of Seth’s name, her pen slid across the note.

“
Ya
, Clara. Seth King, and you’ll be owing Aaron ten cents out of your pay for that card you ruined.”

Clara glanced down at the postcard and frowned, as if it had offended her in some way. Sighing dramatically, she dropped it into the wastebasket.

“If you need me, I’ll be spending the morning working on the path along the river.” Aaron picked up two Ziploc bags and filled them with water, added a few drops of oil, sealed them shut, and started for the front porch. Remembering what else he needed, he turned and snagged another piece of bread before he walked outside into the morning sunshine.

There was the sound of a hammer on a tack as he nailed the bags of water to the tops of the windowsills on the porch.

“Does that actually work to keep the flies away?” Clara asked her sister.

“Better than a newspaper. Not to mention I have other things to do.”

“Helping me with postcards?”

“Nope. I’m stocking the Plain Shop.”

“That sounds fun!” Clara practically bounced out of her seat.

“
Nein
. If we don’t have guests staying here, no one will be purchasing the goods I’m moving over to the shop.”

“I thought you said we had reservations every night.”

Lydia had to smile at the pout, which reminded her of the young sister she once walked to school. Clara’s use of the word “we” also amused her. After all, she’d been on the job less than an hour.

“True. We do have reservations every night, but only a few, and we need the cabins to be full, or so Aaron says. I have no idea how we’ll handle so many
Englischers
and their
kinner
.” Lydia filled her arms with quilts, leaving one—the best one, in her opinion—on the quilt rack. They had decided to leave one item of everything for sale in the office, with a sign pointing to the Plain Shop.

“Where did you find this many addresses?”

“Ervin never threw away anything. We have records of guest information going back to the day he opened the cabins.”

“Great. I imagine you have enough for all of these cards.”

“At least.” Lydia could barely see over the stack of quilts in her arms. “Look at it this way. As long as there are cards, you have a job.”

Clara squirreled up her nose. “Can I have a break after I do fifty?”

“Sure. By that time I’ll need help sweeping porches for tonight’s guests.”

Lydia should have felt some guilt for the way she was treating Clara. She didn’t, but she experienced a twang of remorse that she didn’t, which had to count for something.

Carrying the quilts to the shop, she inhaled deeply as soon as she stepped inside. The smell of fresh-cut lumber had always held a certain appeal to her. Maybe because it spoke to those dreams of a home of her own.

Which was silly.

Most young Amish couples did not move into a brand-new house. They usually moved into a rented house in the beginning, or sometimes into a home that a relative no longer needed. Occasionally, the young man had saved up enough to purchase a place, but in those cases it was rarely a new place.

As Lydia shook out the quilts and displayed them on the dowels Aaron and Seth had fastened to the wall the day before, she allowed herself to take a side trip down the daydream trail she usually avoided—the one where she had been courted by a boy, they’d planned their wedding, and they were moving into a home of their own.

Any home would do. A place where any decisions made would be theirs.

One close to family, but with a measure of privacy. Perhaps it would have enough room for children—a few. They would have to add on eventually. She would have a garden out back which she would dote over in the spring and sweat over in the summer. But the fall? The fall would be the time of harvest.

Standing back, she gave the quilts on the dowels a once-over. Quilts on a wall looked strange to her, but these did display well—the simple patterns and green, blue, and black fabric stood out nicely against the unadorned walls.

The quilts she’d sewn, the ones at home in the blanket chest in her room, might not compare in workmanship, but in dreams stitched within their seams? Prayers quilted within their layers?

Ya
. She thought her quilts compared nicely.

By the time Clara joined her in the Plain Shop, Lydia had moved over all of the hand-sewn and treadle-sewn items, the toys David had made, and half of the canned preserves.

“You didn’t bring anything with you?”

“I wasn’t sure I could hold anything. My hands are cramping after writing fifty cards.” Clara held out her right forefinger for inspection. “Look! A blister—”

“Tsk, tsk. I thought you were made of tougher stuff,
schweschder
. Band-Aids are in my desk drawer. Let’s go fetch you one.”

“I like the way this shop looks. It’s hard to believe they built it so quickly. And only Aaron and Seth worked on it?” Clara walked around the room, running her hand along the shelves.

“
Ya
. They worked on it Saturday and yesterday. I suppose they have both participated in enough barn raisings to know how to put up a single room quickly.”

Lydia started toward the door, but Clara wasn’t finished. She sat in one of the rockers Aaron had placed in a corner of the small room. “I know Seth King, but I don’t know him well. He’s about my age, right?”

“
Ya
.”

“Remind me what he looks like.” There was a twinkle in her sister’s eye that suggested she knew very well what Seth King looked like. Seth was a year older, and therefore had been out of school a year longer than Clara. Maybe she’d forgotten what he looked like, but that was doubtful. No doubt Clara saw him at the church services and even at the evening singings, unless Seth didn’t attend those. Maybe Seth was a loner. Clara seemed to enjoy the various activities the group of young people found to do.

Young people? Four, five, maybe six years younger than she was. The way she thought of them made her feel as if she were ready for a
grossmammi
house.

“Well, what does he look like?” Clara asked.

Lydia decided to play along.

“Let me see. ’Bout this high.” Lydia reached above her head four inches or so, until she thought she’d reached around five foot, ten inches. “Sandy brown hair and thin. He’s David’s son, and David is Miriam’s
bruder
. Bad attitude at least half the time.”

“Hmm. Bad attitude could describe several of the boys I know. They usually grow out of it. I’m still having trouble placing him.”

“I bet you saw him at the singing you went to the other night.”

“
Nein
. Seth doesn’t go to singings.” Clara clapped her hand over her mouth as if she’d given herself away.

“Don’t remember him, huh?”

Clara shook her head, as if something didn’t make sense.

“Question?”

“Why is he doing this? Helping out here?”

“I think he’s working afternoons to get some time away from his father. Like you, he’s going through his
rumspringa
.”

“I am not!” Clara’s face blushed a bright red.

“What about that cell phone you keep in the barn?”

“Lydia!”

“Thought I didn’t know, huh?” Lydia turned and started out of the shop.

“I hardly ever use it. Only to call the girls but never boys. And I don’t bring it in the house.” In Clara’s rush to catch up with Lydia, she bumped into the back of her sister.

“Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.” Lydia was staring toward the river at their boss. She needed to talk with him. “If the injury to your finger can wait, let’s walk down to the creek and see who’s speaking with Aaron. Unless you’d rather get back to your postcards.”

Clara’s answer was to tuck her arm through Lydia’s.

It was rare that Lydia felt close to her sister, but she did in that moment. Or maybe it was that she was worried about the
Englischer
standing next to Aaron. Something about the man bothered her, even from a distance, but she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what.

Better they go and confront him together.

Chapter 25

G
race sat on an overturned milk pail as her
daddi
Joshua added feed to the buckets in the horse stalls. Usually she followed along behind him, stroking the buggy horses on the nose and standing on a stool to touch the big workhorses. She’d even feed each one a treat—some raisins or a slice of apple. She couldn’t do it today, though. Today she felt all
trembly
.

So instead she sat on the milk pail, whacking the floor with a stick.

When her
daddi
was done with the feeding, he returned to the front of the barn. Pepper trotted behind him, close on his heels.
Daddi
sat down beside her on an old crate and picked up a sanding block. He didn’t say a word. Instead, he went to work on a large square piece of wood. It was bigger than his lap, and he kept having to turn it to work on it. Pepper dropped to the ground between them, close enough that Grace could reach out and touch his ears, which she had to do.

Who could resist Pepper? The German shorthaired pointer was black with little patches of white and brown. Grace thought Pepper was the closest thing to perfect she’d ever seen. Maybe more perfect than her own dog, Hunter—though it would be hard to choose. She adored those animals, and tonight Pepper almost had the power to make her heart ache a little less.

“Remember when Pepper found me in that snow cave?” Grace asked. Unable to resist the look in the old dog’s eyes, she slipped off her pail to the floor, moved closer so she sat right up against him, and buried her face in his soft, silky coat.

“Sure I remember. That was something.”

“It was a miracle.”