The Promise Box (19 page)

F
riday nights at the West Kootenai Kraft and Grocery were a gathering of sorts as those
from the community came to relax after a long week and enjoy the once-a-week buffet.
Chicken, ham, potatoes, vegetables. Just a little of each filled Lydia’s plate. She
could only eat half of what she got, though. Partly because her eyes were bigger than
her stomach, but mostly because her attention was on the handsome man across from
her. Gideon’s thoughtfulness and humor brightened her day. She believed more each
day that God had a good plan for her life with him, and could only imagine good things
for them from this point on.

Lydia was thankful that they had dined early, because by the time six o’clock rolled
around, the restaurant was filled with folks coming for the Friday-night buffet. It
was great seeing the members of the community—and finally feeling a part of it—but
every time she and Gideon started a new topic, without fail someone would approach.
Either a parent of a student with compliments or one of the men of the community who
had a horse question for Gideon.

When Mr. Peachy showed up and pulled up a chair next
to Gideon, Lydia knew it was the perfect time for a bathroom break. She rose.

“Lydia, wait…” Gideon reached a hand to her.

“I’m just using the ladies’ room, but when I get back, why don’t we head back to my
place and check on my dat? I feel so bad leaving him all alone.”

Gideon nodded. “
Ja
. I like that idea. I’ll get us some cobbler to go?”

“Perfect.”

She’d only gotten halfway to the bathroom when a familiar blonde woman in the dry
goods aisle caught her attention. The woman’s smile caused her to pause.

“Lydia, I’m so sorry I haven’t been down in a while to check on you.” Susan Carash—her
closest neighbor—took Lydia’s hands. “Both kids have started sports practice all the
way down in Eureka. My littlest one, Sally, has piano practice down there too. Is
everything all right with you, yer dat?” Susan eyed Lydia’s
kapp
. “We heard from the Sommers about your baptism. I am thankful God drew your heart—isn’t
He amazing like that?”

“
Ja
, yes, I agree…and we’re doing fine, Dat and I.” She pointed to the table in the back
corner. “Gideon comes often.” She couldn’t help but smile. “He’s another blessing
God has gifted me during this time.”

Susan squeezed her hands. “I’m so glad. And I wanted to tell you, too, we have a prayer
meeting every Monday at our house. I would love for you—for Gideon—to come any time.
There are many who attend, and we come together to lift up our requests.”

“I have heard about that.” Lydia nodded, even though she didn’t know how she’d be
able to attend. She’d heard the meetings were attended by Amish and
Englisch
alike, and even
though she personally didn’t mind the idea of Amish and
Englisch
praying together out loud—something the Amish never did—she was the Amish teacher
now. She couldn’t do anything that would cause parents to question her example as
an Amish woman. She couldn’t do anything to lift even one eyebrow of disapproval.

“Well, if you can come…” Susan released her grip.

“Not this week, for certain, but I’d love to have you down to our house for tea. I’d
love to hear your memories of Mem…being her closest neighbor and all.”

“Yes, of course. I would love that. Your mem was a wonderful woman, and Dave and I
pray every day for you and your dat. But I best get home.” Susan reached over to the
grocery shelf she was standing by and grabbed a package of spaghetti. “I didn’t realize
until I had the spaghetti sauce made that I didn’t have any noodles.” She offered
Lydia a quick hug. “I’ll see you around, dear.”

Lydia was slightly jealous to watch Susan pay for her spaghetti and then run out and
jump in her car, driving away. She was slightly jealous she couldn’t join the prayer
meeting either.

I have chosen the better way
, she told herself as she hurried on.
God has me here for a reason…and being Amish is part of that
.

Five minutes later she exited the bathroom. Two of the bachelors, Micah and Amos,
stood by the front counter. She smiled, waved, and was just about to move past when
Micah came toward her.

“Lydia, do you have a second?”

She frowned and paused, looking over at Gideon. He was still talking to Mr. Peachy.
She turned back, offering a half smile to Micah. “
Ja
, I suppose, but not too long. We were just heading out.”

“Oh, I was just wondering how Gideon is doing.”

“How he’s doing?” She shrugged. “Fine, I suppose. I didn’t know anything was wrong.”
She swallowed. Had she missed something important?

Micah steepled his fingers and placed them against his lips while he studied Lydia
with a faint frown. “You mean he didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Well, he found out something really horrible. I was talking to Edgar and the older
man filled in bits and pieces of the story.”

Outside a large diesel truck pulled up. The rumble of its engine made Lydia unsure
if she’d heard Micah correctly.

“Did you say he found out something horrible?” She thought of Gideon earlier and the
way a romantic smile had tipped up the corners of his lips. He sure didn’t seem like
he’d just heard something horrible. Unless it was something he’d known for a while.
Unless it was something he was trying to hide from her.

Lydia crossed her arms and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking
about. Can you fill me in?”

“I’m not sure…” Micah touched the back of his hat brim, tilting it forward. The look
in his eyes said he wished he hadn’t said anything, but she wasn’t going to let him
get off this easy.

She let out a sigh. “You can’t just say something like that and back down. I mean
if it has you worried…”

“Well, I could tell you, but I have a feeling Gideon doesn’t want you to know. He
might not want your sympathy.”

“Stop.” Lydia raised her hand. “Would you just tell me?”

“I’m not sure where to start. It seems to be that little Gideon was from a large family.
It must be easy to lose one with so many heads to count. Sort of like Jesus in the
Bible. There were
two or three Amish couples who came here with all their kids for vacation many years
ago.”

Micah let out a sigh and shook his head. “There were so many kids running around that
Gideon’s parents thought he was with everyone else. It wasn’t until the evening that
his parents asked around. No one had seen their four-year-old since that morning.”

Lydia gasped. “Oh, that’s just awful.”

“They started a search party right away,” Micah continued. “The fathers and mothers
and some locals headed out. It was already almost dark, but no one wanted to think
what could happen to a little one.”

“Did someone find him?” Worry tightened her chest. Not only to overhear what had happened,
but worry over the relationship she thought they had. She and Gideon had talked about
their childhood many times—why hadn’t he told her before?

Maybe for the same reason you’ve held onto your secrets
. The thought filtered in, but she quickly pushed it away.

“
Ja
, they found him. The next day. He’d wandered about two miles up into the mountain.
Edgar told me all the details. Little Gideon was sleeping under a tree when they spotted
him, as peaceful as if he was at home curled into his own bed.”

Lydia placed a hand over her heart. Why she hadn’t heard this before? Why Gideon hadn’t
told her? “It sounds like the story ended up well.”

“Not at all.”

“What do you mean?”

Micah lowered his head. “Two men spotted him. They also saw a bear—”

“Stop!” Gideon’s voice called over her shoulder, causing Lydia to jump. Her knees
grew weak, and she thought her heart was trying to escape.

“Gideon.” She turned and slugged his arm. “What are you trying to do to me? I’m going
to have a heart attack.” Not only had he scared her, he obviously didn’t trust her.
She could tell from his response that this story—this event—was true. Anger caused
the hairs on the back of her neck to rise.

Gideon stepped forward toe-to-toe with Micah. He pushed a finger into Micah’s chest.
“It’s not what I’m trying to do. It’s what
he’s
trying to do.”

“Micah’s trying to help. Micah’s telling the truth. You should have told me. If I’m
that important to you, you should have…”

Lydia pinched her lips together. Instead of stirring her anger toward Gideon, the
words pointed a finger her direction.

It’s different. I have reasons for keeping my secrets
.

Gideon pressed a hand into Micah’s chest.

Micah leaned back, arching his body over the top of the counter. “What? Are you full
of the
diebel
? I just was asking how you were feeling…now that you know the truth.”

The truth. The two words quickened her heartbeat again. Gideon had hid the truth from
her…whatever it was. She looked into Gideon’s eyes. Pain, betrayal, darkened them.
Then she looked to Micah. What was that she saw? Humor. Anger coursed through her,
but not at Gideon.

“Gideon.” She grabbed his arm gently. “I’ve seen you control yourself with a foolish
horse. I’m sure Micah is a bit more thick skulled, but he’s not worth your anger.”

Her words seemed to move from the top of Gideon’s head and down his body, physically
calming him. He took a step back. “You’re right. You’re exactly right, Lydia.” He
blew out a heavy breath. Then he took her arm and guided her to the door. She followed,
noticing his hand trembling. With quick steps they hurried from the store into the
cool night. The light
was fading and she knew the sun would set before they were halfway home.

They stepped down the wooden-planked walkway, and just as they got to the end of it—to
where the wood met the gravel of the parking lot—Gideon paused. He turned to her,
gently grasping both of her shoulders. “I’m so sorry. I should have told you. I—”

“Stop.” Lydia reached up and placed a finger on his lips. “I shouldn’t have let Micah
prod me on like that. I should have waited. I should have talked to you about it.
I should have trusted you—trusted your heart.”

His eyes widened at her words, and he pulled her into his embrace. This afternoon
he’d given her strength and now—even though he was holding her—Lydia knew their closeness
was giving Gideon the ability to go on.

After a minute, Gideon pulled back. He looked down into her face and lowered his head
slightly. And just when Lydia was certain he was going to place another kiss on her
lips, his mouth parted, and he whispered one word. “Tonight.”

She trembled at the pain in his gaze.

“Lydia, I want to tell you the truth tonight.”

T
hey walked hand in hand, watching the setting sun dip behind the western mountain
range, rimming the mountains with pink. With a low voice Gideon told her the rest
of the story. About the two men who came upon the bear. About how they distracted
the bear and got the creature to run after them to save Gideon, and how the one Amish
man—a friend of his family—died after sustaining a fall.

Lydia’s tears came easily, not only from thinking about the man’s wife and children,
but also when Gideon shared how his parents had hidden the truth from him. The pain
was clear on his face—to have felt the burden all these years and then discover it
was worse than he imagined.

“You’d think that they’d be more sensitive toward me,” he said. “After what happened
you’d think they’d want to keep a watchful eye on me, that they’d want to keep me
close. But that’s not what happened. It’s almost as if they were in so much pain for
thoughts of losing me that they didn’t want to go through that again. It’s as if my
parents—Dat especially—put a wall around their hearts.”

He pulled something from his pocket and handed it to her.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a letter…from my parents.”

Lydia paused her steps. “Do you want me to read it?”

“I think you should. I’ve tried not to let the words bother me, but even as I’ve been
in the pasture, working with Blue, their words played over in my mind.”

Lydia tipped the paper to the dimming sunlight, and her heart ached as she read the
letter. His parents said the accident wasn’t Gideon’s fault, but the tone of the rest
of the note spoke otherwise. Instead of offering grace, they delivered warnings. She
sucked in a breath as she read what they said about her.

Her heart clenched in her chest, as if someone had grabbed it with a large fist.

Gideon must have read the pain on her face. “Don’t hate them for what they said, Lydia.
They’re worried, that’s all. Their greatest fear is that one of their children will
stray from following the Amish way.” He squatted down and picked up a pinecone in
his hand, turning it over. Then he stood and hurled it into the empty pasture. “The
thing is I’m not sure what they’re most afraid of: one of their children going off
the narrow path or how they would look to the community if they had a child like that.”

She spotted an acorn on the road, amazed that something
so small could transform into something so powerful—so useful. Instead of throwing
it, she tucked it into her pocket.

They turned on the road in front of the Carash house, and she spotted Blue within
the corral. The electric lights were on inside the house, and she could see the family
gathered around the table for dinner. A television flickered in the corner and it
looked like they were watching a movie as they ate their spaghetti. Since the Carashes
were
Englisch
, the children attended a public school in Eureka instead of the Amish school where
she taught. Every time she talked to Susan Carash the woman shared something wonderful
about what God was doing in her family. And she’d been so kind and warm as she invited
Lydia to their Monday night prayer meetings.

Lydia ran a hand down her throat, realizing how outward appearances mattered little.
Amish folks could look at the
Englisch
Carash family and point to the numerous ways they’d succumbed to the world, yet their
love for the Lord was clear. Then there were folks like Gideon’s parents, who had
generations of children and grandchildren who’ve stayed Amish, yet who lived their
lives focused on laws and fear instead of grace.

No wonder Gideon didn’t feel as if he were missed at home.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “If anything, you point me to God. You remind me
that He’s a God of grace, and not of rules and orders only.” Gideon took a step closer.
“But not that it matters to them. What will matter is that you were baptized. I haven’t
written to tell them yet, but they’ll warm up. You’ll see.”

“I’m not going to hold a grudge.” She shrugged. “I don’t take your parents’ words
to heart.” She winked at him. “I’d be worried if they didn’t warn you about a young
woman who was
Englisch
so recently.” She sighed. “It’s the other words in their letter that bother me more:
‘
We are eager to have you at home
.’ Because that’s the last thing I want—for you to leave.”

“I think,
ja
, they’re saying that because they want to keep an eye on me. Not that they miss me.”

“Maybe so, but what about you? Do you have plans, Gideon? After hunting season?”

“It depends, Lydia.” He took her hand as they continued on, and grasped it as if not
wanting to let go.

“On what?”

“If you think we have a future together. Because if we do—”

“
Ja
,” she interrupted.

He opened his mouth slightly as if not hearing her correctly.

“
Ja
, I do see a future…with an amazing man. A man who cares. A man who has chosen to
love God and do good. A strong man.”

Gideon glanced away. Why did her words make him uncomfortable?

Lydia stood firm, knowing that even though he’d told her the truth, he needed to know
some truth too. “Have you read about Gideon lately?”

“Excuse me?”

“Not about yourself, but in the Bible. You were named after the man in the Bible,
right?”

“
Ja
, but what does that have to do with us now?”

“Dad and Mem used to read Bible stories to me when I was young,” she said, “and the
story of Gideon has always stuck in my mind. I’m not sure why. Maybe for this moment.
Maybe for now.” She glanced up at him. His strength was obvious, but she could tell
from his eyes that Gideon still felt like that scared little boy inside.

“Gideon knew how the Lord cared for his ancestors,” she continued. “He knew that God
had saved his people from Egypt, but that was ancient history to him. He questioned
if
God still cared for him, for his family
today
. In that day that he lived.

“But what God wanted to show him was that He was the same God in Gideon’s day who
achieved all the wonders for Gideon’s ancestors. Yet Gideon was too busy looking at
his own weaknesses to trust God’s strength.”

He raised an eyebrow and waited. His hand tightened around hers even more, but his
steps did not slow.

“It’s easy to try to figure out what others could have done differently,” she said.
“We can look back in history and point out their failures and successes, but we forget
that we’re making history in this moment. I mean, sometime my descendants—yours—might
be reading about our faith jest as I’m reading about Mem’s.”

Gideon nodded. “I know you mean to encourage me with your words, but so far the one
biggest impact I’ve had on others has led to their pain.”

“That’s only if you blame yourself. God knew the day of that man’s death, Gideon,
even before the day he was born, yet we always like to point a finger. It’s human
nature.”

Up ahead, lights were on in their small log house too—kerosene lights. And in the
window a lone figure stood. Dat. Tall, thin. He waited for them. She guessed the house
was too quiet, and she was again glad she’d stayed—not only for her new job and for
Gideon, but also for her father.

She slowed her steps. “One of the books I edited for my work was about how major events
in history could have been changed by one person—how ordinary people do matter in
the big picture. Like Fredrick Fleet.”

“Who?”

“He was one of the two men in the crow’s nest of the
Titanic
. Due to a mix up in the last-minute shift of the officers’
assignments, the lookout crew was without binoculars. He was hired for the job of
being a lookout but was never issued binoculars.

“I remember out of all the stories, that one stuck out to me the most. His father
was unknown. His mother abandoned him to run away with a boyfriend, and Fredrick was
raised in foster homes. He was one of the men who manned the lifeboats, so he survived,
but from what I read guilt plagued him his whole life. He survived when so many others
didn’t.”

“It wasn’t his fault.” The words shot from Gideon’s lips. And then he lowered his
head. “It wasn’t his fault.” The words appeared to wrap around him like a warm blanket.
“This might have been different with binoculars, but we’ll never know.”

“Fredrick did the best he could with what he had available to him. He still saw the
berg, he just saw it too late to make a difference.”

“
Ja
, but my situation is different. I caused the trouble. If I had just stayed put…”

“True, but we’ll never know how things would have been different. We can’t change
history. And when I think of Gideon in the Bible, the one thing that stands out is
that God saw the truth. God saw him as a mighty warrior even when he couldn’t see
it himself.”

“How come you’re able to see the good in everyone else?”

“Everyone else?” She peered up at him.

“Everyone but yourself?”

Lydia stopped short at those words. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“There’s something in your eyes, something you’re not telling me. I have a feeling,
Lydia, that I’m not the only one with a secret or two.”

“Yes.” Lydia released a sigh. “There are things. And…”
She reached for his arm. She wanted to tell him, but not this way. Not like this.
“I—”

“It’s all right.” Gideon studied her face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it
up.”

“No, you should have. If I’m going to give you a hard time, then…” She raised a trembling
hand to her forehead. “I just need to sit for a bit.”

“
Ja, ja
, of course.” He placed an arm around her and led her home. The moon made its presence
known as the last rays of sunlight slipped away. The biscuits, chicken, and peas that
Lydia had eaten at dinner turned into rocks in her stomach. Yes, it was easy for someone
to hold a mirror up for another. It was harder when the mirror was turned, and the
reflection was one’s own.