Authors: Tricia Goyer
“Do you think she’s forgotten? How could she ever forget?” Gideon’s voice softened.
“And how could you say you love me and not believe me? To believe some stranger over
me?”
Gideon didn’t say anything. He didn’t turn to face her. His head remained lowered,
his shoulders slumped. He just stood there stroking Blue’s neck as if the horse was
his only friend in the world.
L
ydia pushed Bonnie’s phone number for the tenth time and groaned as the message came
on again: “This is Bonnie. I’m out of the country on a work project. Leave a message,
and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.
Adios!
”
She hung up. She’d left nine messages already. Mostly angry ones. How could her boss
do that to her? How could she ruin everything?
The cell phone battery was getting low but the small pixel envelope reminded her messages
waited. When she’d sent the text, telling Bonnie she was sending her notebooks and
asking her to type up copies, she’d had five messages waiting. Now she had seven.
Lydia dialed voicemail and waited.
Lydia, this is Bonnie. Have you thought any more about writing the book? I have a
publisher in New York that’s interested
.
Lydia, this is Bonnie. It’s been two weeks since your mother passed. I just wanted
to let you know I was thinking of you. Call me if you get a chance
.
Lydia, this is Bonnie. I got the last two books you finished editing. Thanks, friend!
As always, you did a stellar job. Let me know when you’re ready for more work. You
know you’ll always have a place with us
.
Lydia, I hope you’re checking your messages. Laura, the publisher, called me again.
If you have anything—
anything
—she can read, please send it. She knows your work and is talking a six-figure advance.
Just think about how that could help your dat
.
Lydia, please, will you call? If you even have a notebook, scraps of thoughts on paper,
just send it to me. I’ll write up a proposal. I promise this will be worth your while
.
Lydia gasped realizing that that fifth message was left just days before she’d sent
her notebooks to Bonnie.
Of course. Bonnie must have assumed I was writing a book
. Lydia stood, knowing she had to talk to Gideon. She had proof now. She could explain.
Or could she? It was still her word against…well, against everything.
Her phone flashed “Low battery.” She listened to the next message.
Lydia, this is Bonnie. Your writing is beautiful. I know I shouldn’t do this, but
I have a friend who has been questioning her faith. I let her read about your mem’s
promise of a child. She was in tears. I was in tears. I’ll let you know what Laura
in New York says
.
Then Lydia listened to the last message.
Lydia, I’m in Cancun with an author and we’re brain storming a book idea…and enjoying
a little sun. There was a phone
message from Laura. She’s coming to West Kootenai. She wants to publish your book.
She’s your new biggest fan. I’ve got to go
.
Lydia hung up the phone and saw the last of her battery was done. She put the cell
phone back into the drawer, realizing her heart felt as drained.
A car pulled up and parked outside and then came a knock on the front door. Dat answered.
It was a woman’s voice. The woman’s excitement was clear.
Dat came to her room and knocked.
“Come in.” She could barely force herself to say the words.
Dat opened the door and looked in. “Lydia. Someone is here to see you. From New York?”
His eyebrows arched in question.
Lydia had no strength to rise. Her whole body felt numb, including her heart. She’d
ruined…everything. Hurt everyone. Her friends. The man she loved. She’d forsaken the
community. They would never believe her. Never accept her. The words from her teen
years echoed in her thoughts.
You will never, never fit in. You don’t belong with them. You’re not worthy
.
“Dat, can you get her number and tell her I’ll call her in a few weeks. I need time.
Time to think.”
Dat stroked his long beard. “Are you sure?”
“
Ja
, Dat.”
“But she says that she has something you’ll want to hear. Something you won’t want
to turn down.”
“I’m sorry.” She rose and moved to the door. “There are some things worth more than
money and fame. I know that now, and I need to know what God wants me to do…next.”
With a resigned sigh, Lydia leaned back against the wall and dropped her head. Her
eyes slid shut and the tears came. Fresh, hot tears.
Gideon’s words pierced her heart—harsh, accusing. He hadn’t even listened when she’d
tried to tell him the truth.
I don’t belong
. They were the same words that had replayed in her mind for so many years. She thought
she could come back—that she could fit in. She’d done her best, but now? No one would
ever accept her.
How many people had been in the restaurant? What had the woman said? She’d said enough
for Gideon to know that she’d put his deepest secrets on paper. That she’d hidden
the truth. Foolish, foolish. She should never have sent the book to Bonnie. She should
have been like Mem and kept her most precious memories stored up, in a box, for herself…and
maybe for her child someday.
Not that it would ever happen. Her heart ached over hurting him. Just when he was
starting to heal.
Why do I stay?
Her dat was the only reason she could think of, yet she knew it wouldn’t be too hard
to convince him to go with her. Maybe to another Amish community as far away from
this one as she could find?
Yet another question pounded through her temples even stronger:
But where can I go? Where do I belong?
Lydia must have fallen asleep because when she awoke the last fading light filtered
through the window. She could hear Dat in the kitchen, scrounging up something for
dinner. She knew she should get in there and help him find something. Then again,
pie for dinner never hurt. There was plenty of that.
Before Lydia could face the world—face Dat and tell him what had happened—she needed
something. Needed hope. Lydia looked to the nightstand and was surprised to find Mem’s
Promise Box there. Dat must have brought it in while she slept.
She picked it up, feeling the smooth texture of the wood, and fresh tears trickled
down her cheeks.
“Lord, I need something,” she whispered the prayer. “I need direction. I need help.
I don’t know where to go or what to do. Please, Lord.”
Lydia opened the box and unfolded the next slip of paper, and the words jumped off
the page. A gasp escaped her lips and then the paper fluttered to the polished wood
floor. She leaned down and picked it up.
She sat there for a minute, rereading the words in the gentlest of whispers:
“Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the
son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee. Behold, I have
graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me,” Isaiah
49:15-16
.
Could a mother forget her child?
Wasn’t Gideon talking about that very thing—that her mother would never forget?
Did her mother think of her? Remember her? Surely she must. But what did those thoughts
bring? Pain? Hate? After all, her mother not only had to deal with being raped, but
carrying the man’s baby too.
Go to her
. The words were the softest stirring within her heart and mind.
Find her. Go to her
.
“God?” Lydia looked over her shoulder at her bedroom door, almost expecting her dat
to be there, but it wasn’t her dat.
This was how God spoke, she was learning. Not with an audible voice, but with a gentle
stirring in her mind that she knew wasn’t from her own thoughts.
No. She couldn’t do it. She wasn’t strong enough to do it. Instead, she straightened
her clothes and her
kapp
and hurried to the kitchen. She’d cook something up for Dat. It was the
only thing she could think of to get her mind off the worst day of her life.
Dat stared at her over dinner. “Yer awful quiet tonight.”
“Sorry. I have a lot on my mind.”
He pushed his mashed potatoes around on his plate. “I heard what happened. A few folks
stopped by the house when you were napping. Annie, Ruth—they wanted to talk to you.”
“Did Annie tell you what happened at the store today?”
Dat nodded.
“I didn’t do it, Dat. I wasn’t trying to sell their story to make a name for myself.”
“I know, dear. I never would take that woman’s word over yours, but that’s not what
everyone else is saying.”
“I’m sure everyone knows…and believes the worst. I’m never going to fit in. I’m sure
they’re going to ask me to stop teaching school. Who would want their children taught
by someone they think is exploiting them—their children? I don’t know why I thought
I could fit in. I’ll never fit in. I was thinking…about leaving.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Dat said simply.
Lydia’s head jerked up, and she narrowed her gaze on Dat. He was the last one who
believed in her, cared for her—was he giving up on her too?
“When Annie came by I asked her to book you a train ticket. The train leaves tomorrow
at seven a.m. out of Whitefish.” He pushed a white envelope toward her.
With trembling hands Lydia pulled the computer printout from the envelope. The location
read Pittsburg, Pennsylvania. “I—I don’t understand.”
“There is a small Amish community in a town called Meyersdale. My oldest sister lives
there with her family. So does your mother.”
“My mother?”
“Your birth mother.”
The wind picked up, blowing a scattering of oak leaves and pine leaves against the
front door screen. She tilted her head as she gazed at her father, realizing for the
first time he looked like an old man, his beard more gray than black, deep furrows
on his brow. He didn’t seem sad mentioning the woman. In fact, as Lydia looked closer,
hope lighted his gaze.
“But why?” Lydia’s voice wobbled.
“I’ve told yer mem for years that you needed to go there—to meet Grace. I—”
“Do you know much about her?”
“I know plenty yet. And I think it’s time fer you to know.”
“Is—is Grace going to be sad…mad to see me?”
Dat’s face softened. “Not at all. I’m sure she’s been wondering all these years.”
He cleared his throat. “Like I
vas
saying, I thought you should have gone sooner. You should have known more. Grace
wanted us to tell you her story, but Mem refused. She was afraid.”
“Afraid that it would hurt me to know the truth?”
“Not at all. Afraid that you and Grace would have a special bond. I think Ada Mae
was afraid that a closeness to Grace would draw you away, but I could see that not
knowing caused you to run.”
“Does she know I’m coming?”
Dat nodded. “At least I think she does. Annie contacted a driver to take you from
Pittsburg to Meyersdale. He was going to tell her.”
“But—how did you pay for this?” Lydia stood and hurried
to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I’m sure it cost a pretty penny.”
Dat shrugged. “There’s always a way. Besides, some things are worth more than money.
The truth is worth far greater than that.”
“I don’t know. I’m still not sure if I can go.”
“I heard a bishop preach once that the process for maturing as a Christian believer
happens when we learn to replace lies with truth. It seems you’ve been making up your
own story and the roots have gone deep. Think of truth as a garden hoe. Only truth
can burrow down and dig out the bad. And more than that, truth will fill in all the
empty spaces left by the hole. God’s truth can do it.”
Lydia nodded, understanding. “But after that? What then? I don’t think anyone will
ever believe me again. I don’t think I can stay here. Their stories about what happened
have already taken root in the community.”
“Jest take the steps and do what God is asking you to do, Lydia. Trust Him to take
care of the rest.”
E
xhaustion caused Lydia to sink deeper into the passenger’s seat of the
Englisch
driver’s van. Her eyes had fluttered closed more than once on the drive from Pittsburg
to Meyersdale. After three days on the train that was to be expected, but as soon
as she saw the town’s name written on a small white sign her eyes popped open. Was
it possible that after all this time she’d finally get a chance to meet her birth
mother?
Lydia squeezed her ribcage with both arms. Anger fought with excitement. Anger at
who, though? At Mem for keeping her away from Grace, and Dat for letting her? At Grace
for giving her to another couple, despite the circumstances? At the man who’d violated
Grace, of course. Yet also the realization that if wasn’t for that horrible act she
never would have been born.
What did Grace look like? Did Lydia take after her in any way? What about her brothers?
Did they live near? And what about extended family? She gazed out the window—fully
awake now.
How can I be angry? Mem did what she thought was best. Grace too
. And Dat. She hoped he was right, that this was what
was best for her now. She didn’t want to think about Gideon. She couldn’t think about
him. She didn’t want to think about anyone in West Kootenai or what they thought of
her. She’d cried enough tears on the train. She could only deal with one overwhelming
problem at a time.
Lydia dropped her head back against the seat. Except for small talk, the driver had
been silent most of the two-hour trip. “I should have asked you sooner, but do you
know Grace, the woman I’m going to meet?” she asked the older man.
“Do you mean your mother?”
Lydia gasped. “How did you know she was my mother? Did the lady who hired you tell
you that?”
“No, ma’am. I’ve lived here over ten years. I know all the Amish, including Grace.
If you aren’t her daughter I…Well, you just have to be, that’s all.”
Lydia nodded. She didn’t want to ask any more questions. She wanted to see for herself.
She wanted to hear the story—the truth—from Grace’s mouth.
The van parked at a small, white farmhouse just beyond the Amish school. On the porch
sat three men. All of them were thin, blond, and in their late twenties. All of them
watched the van with eager anticipation.
My brothers
. She studied their faces as she exited the van, amazed they all looked so different.
Although…each had something similar too—similar to the face she saw every day in the
mirror.
Seeing their smiles she couldn’t hide hers, even if she tried. She moved up the sidewalk
and the tallest one opened the gate for her. He extended his hand.
“Lydia, I’m Isaac. I’m the youngest.” He grinned. “Well,
other than you.” Isaac’s eyes matched hers perfectly, as if they were cut out of the
same mold.
“Isaac. It’s a
gut
name—and the first time I’ve ever said the name of a sibling.”
He smiled and then stepped back. The second man stepped forward. He was nearly as
tall as Isaac, and his smile was lopsided, just as Mem claimed Lydia’s smile was when
she was excited about something.
“Lydia. I love that name. And I’ve prayed for you often.”
“Thank you.” She placed a hand over her heart. “I know the prayers helped, even when
I didn’t know about you—about all of you.” She lifted her eyes again. “And what was
your name?”
“
Ja
, sorry. Abram.”
“It’s wonderful to meet you, Abram.”
She looked past him to the man who stood on the top of the porch steps. Tears streamed
down his cheeks and his shoulders shook. She hurried to him and offered him a hug.
Her brother—her oldest brother—had a hard time letting go.
Finally, he released her and stepped back. “I’m Matthew, and I’ve never been considered
a softy before…until now.” Matthew wiped at his cheeks with the back of his hand.
“It’s just that I remember you most. I held you when you were jest a few hours old.
I asked—I begged—Mem if we could keep you, but she said that you were a special gift…and
the best gifts were the ones given away.”
Tears moistened her cheeks. She nodded, not knowing what else to do, to say. “And
where is Mem?”
Just then the screen door squeaked, and Matthew moved to the side. An older woman
stood there, thin with blonde curly hair. Lydia gasped, understanding what the driver
had meant. There was no denying she was this woman’s daughter—no denying at all.
“Lydia.” It was just one word, but it sounded like birdsong after a spring rain.
Lydia took two steps forward and the woman’s arms were around her. Grace clung to
her for a moment and then pulled back. “Won’t—won’t you come inside?”
Lydia nodded. The house was old, simple. It was clean and looked like a dozen other
Amish homes she’d been in. Yet this one was different. This home belonged to her mother.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Grace said. “The guys are heading out for a spell. They wanted
to stay, but I told them I wanted to spend time with you first. So they’ll be gathering
later with their families—well, the oldest two, at least. Matthew is married to Hannah
and they have two boys. Abram’s wife is Miriam, and they have twin girls. Isaac isn’t
married—not yet—but I know our
gut
God has a special woman out there somewhere.”
Lydia nodded, and when Grace motioned to the sofa, she sat. The woman’s smile was
gentle, kind.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” Grace asked.
“
Ne
. Thank you.”
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Grace said.
“
Ja
, me too…although this is different than I thought.” Lydia looked around.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know what to say. I expected tears. I thought it would be hard for you to
see me.”
“Hard?
Ne
, I could hardly sleep. I’ve thought about you so many times. Almost every day.”
“But…after what happened. I’m sure those were bad memories. Mem—Ada Mae—told me the
truth about how you became pregnant.” Lydia sat back, not understanding why she was
bringing this up. She knew she should ask Grace about her
life, their community, but something inside couldn’t talk about everyday things when
the truth of the past hung so heavy on her heart.
“Bad memories…There were some.” Grace lowered her head. “The rape,
ja
. It was horrible. I was so fearful, living on the farm alone with three boys. I blamed
myself for so long. For months, I would replay in my mind what I could have done differently.
Every noise kept me awake. I thought he’d come back. That he’d hurt the boys.”
Grace shook her head. “But that was so long ago. Those fears are only distant memories.
They have no place in my life any more.”
Lydia nodded, surprised in a way that Grace talked about the past without pain twisting
her face. Lydia couldn’t think about what had happened to her mother without pain
filling her stomach. In a way she envied Grace for moving past it…for not clinging
to the pain.
“It’s
gut
to see you. You have my freckles,” Grace said with a smile.
Lydia touched her nose. “
Ja
, I do. I never liked them…until now.”
Grace told her a story about her freckles and how once she’d let her brother play
dot-to-dot on her face. “I thought it was funny when he drew a tree jest like the
one by the
dawdi
house out back, but Mem wasn’t impressed.” She then went on to tell Lydia about her
aunts, uncles, and cousins. There was quite a number and Lydia knew she wouldn’t be
able to remember half of them—and who belonged to whom—even if she tried.
And then, when Grace paused in her story, Lydia scooted forward a bit on the edge
of her seat. “So when you look at me…do you see him?” She placed a hand to her throat
and
fear coursed through her. The words were out. It was the question she wanted to know
more than any other—and she couldn’t believe she’d asked it.
“
Ne
. I see a beautiful young woman. An unexpected gift that offered healing.”
“Healing?”
“
Ja
. For when I wanted to hide in my pain, to lock myself away, God forced me to think
beyond myself and my own fears. I had you to think about. My boys.”
Lydia wanted words to say, but none came. She instead reached a hand out and placed
it on Grace’s arm.
“I only wanted to protect you. Seeing how beautiful you were—holding you—brought healing.
You were an expected gift. A gift from God to help me overcome and survive the experience.”
“Is there a reason…why you didn’t raise me?”
“
Ja
. We lived in such a small community. For weeks I didn’t report the rape, but after
another young woman was violated I knew I had to.” Grace’s hands quivered, and Lydia
reached over and held them, holding them tight.
“I’m so sorry, Lydia. You’d think I’d be over it by now, it’s been so many years.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Lydia’s chin trembled. “I expected it would be hard on you. That’s
why I didn’t want to come. I didn’t want to heap pain upon pain.”
“Dear girl.” Grace removed a hand from Lydia’s grasp and placed it on her cheek. “Seeing
you doesn’t bring pain. Seeing you reminds me that God can turn even our darkest moments
into something beautiful.”
“It’s easy to say,” Lydia sighed, “but harder to believe, isn’t it?”
“
Ja
, I spent many days crying. After Jacob and Ada Mae
took you away I wasn’t sure that I wanted to go on. My sister Betty came and stayed
with me. She tells me now that I’d wander the house—” Grace’s voice caught in her
throat. “In my sleep I wandered the house looking for you.”
“I’m so sorry.” Lydia wished she had something better to say.
“I have to ask.” Grace rose and moved to the window. “Why did you decide to come now?”
“There’s a special man. He…he saw me as something beautiful. He convinced me that
even though I was conceived in a horrible way God had a purpose and a plan for my
life.”
“I believe that too. In fact, it was your life that saved many from more pain.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Even after I heard that another woman had been raped I didn’t want to go forward—even
though I knew the man responsible. Everyone was talking about the other woman’s rape
around town, and I didn’t want them to be speaking of me in such a way.”
Grace turned back and looked at her. “Then I started feeling unwell. I thought it
was the flu. I was knitting with a neighbor and I fainted. She called a driver and
they took me to the hospital despite my protests. I was badly dehydrated. And…”
Lydia placed trembling fingers to her lips. “And they discovered you were expecting?”
Grace lowered her head and folded her hands in front of her. “
Ja
.”
“So did you tell everyone then?”
“I told a few of the women from our church. I needed their prayers. Soon word spread.
The police came and they spoke with me. I told them the truth.”
Grace was silent then, as if she was lost in her thoughts.
“Did they ever catch
him
?” Lydia refused to use the word
father
to describe the man who’d done such a thing.
“
Ja
. I’d heard he’d gotten a job in town. He wasn’t there, but his boss told them where
he lived. As the police were driving there they saw movement at a house. They stopped
to check and he was there, attempting to break into another Amish woman’s home.”
Lydia’s mouth dropped open. “If you hadn’t told…”
“If I had told the truth sooner, another woman would have been greatly hurt that night.
Yet even as I told the police what happened I tried to convince myself that it was
someone else I was talking about. I had no choice at that point but to tell the truth—otherwise
other rumors would have started about my pregnancy.”
“I can’t imagine having a pregnancy under those conditions,” Lydia said.
Grace returned to the sofa and sat down beside her. “The pregnancy became easier as
I separated the act from the child, but there were so many people who didn’t believe
what I said was true.”
“What? Really?”
“
Ja
. Some from the community—Amish and
Englisch
alike—thought I made up the story to hide a secret affair. That’s when I made my
decision about who should raise you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Our community is small, Lydia. I didn’t want you to be raised being ‘that child.’
No matter what story those in the community believed there’d always be comments, looks,
stares. No child should have to face that.” Grace forced a smile. “I talked to my
midwife one day. I thought she might know a couple. Joy bubbled over. You should have
heard her speak of Jacob and Ada Mae. She said they’d been married nearly fifteen
years
with no children. She told of their love for each other and their love for God. I
knew then that they were meant to be your parents.”
“They were
gut
parents.” Lydia pressed her lips together as memories scrolled through her mind.
Times spent cuddled together telling stories. Times with Mem in the kitchen or with
Dat in the barn. They hadn’t been perfect parents, but they’d been
gut
and she couldn’t imagine any couple loving her more. “You made a
gut
decision, Grace.”
“Passing you into the arms of another was an act of love greater than I could do in
my own strength. God was with me.” Grace let out a sigh. “God is with me still.”
Lydia nodded even as her heart filled to overflowing. How had she been chosen to receive
such an amazing gift—not one but two mothers who loved the Lord and sought and followed
Him?
“Darkness is a fact of life on this earth. I’ve had many emotions over the years;
I won’t tell you I haven’t. I’ve been angry at God at times—first losing my husband
and then losing you. I was mad at Him for not protecting me from that man. And I was
mad at myself. I
vas
the one who approached that man, after all. Any way to blame myself, I did. I was
innocent, but I didn’t feel that way.”