Her Scandalous Amish Secret
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Jocelyn McClay
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Chapter One
Lydia Troyer straightened her shoulders as she felt the stares drilling through the pleats of her prayer kapp. She wasn’t surprised. She deserved them. Still, it took considerable effort to swallow past the lump lodged in her throat, the one that’d been growing since last night when the bus had dropped her at the hamburger joint that served as the stop for Miller’s Creek. Carefully lowering herself onto one of the hard backless benches that lined the central room of the house where this week’s church was held, she took her seat amongst the other unmarried women of the community.
When her bottom lip threatened to quiver, she bit into it. The lump had been growing for far longer than just yesterday. Shame, homesickness, anguish and contrition had all contributed to it over the past year until it seemed almost as big as the Amish barns that dotted this part of the Wisconsin countryside.
But whereas those barns were usually white, her past was much darker. Lydia dropped her gaze as her throat bobbed again. And these people knew it. She pressed her hand against the nausea that flared in her stomach. Just, not all of it. Not the worst. Which was why she was back.
The shuffling of feet and creaking of wooden benches on the opposite side of the room announced the unmarried men had entered. He would be among them. Squeezing her eyes closed, Lydia drew in a ragged breath. She’d have to face him sometime. She just wasn’t ready. Will I ever be? In such a small community it would be difficult to avoid him though. She’d see him on church Sundays, of course. But as long as she didn’t socialize with the youngies and limited it otherwise in the district...
Ensuring her tension wasn’t echoed in her hand, she gently stroked the back of the sleeping child cradled against her shoulder. Inhaling the sweet scent of clean baby, she rested her cheek on his downy head. Though her heart still raced, she slowed her breathing to match the slumbering cadence of his. He normally brought her tranquility. But today her mind was anything but peaceful.
His presence would raise questions she didn’t have answers for. Quite a switch for someone with her reputation. A bead of sweat trickled down her back. Please don’t let folks discover the truth. At least not all of it. Careful not to disturb the sleeping baby, she shakily exhaled. I should be well acquainted with gossip, after the amount of it I’ve spewed. And now, I’m the topic. What goes around, comes around. Lifting her gaze, she found several looks from the young women in the surrounding area pointed in her direction. None were openly hostile—at least not in church—and a few even looked sincere. All were curious.
“And who is this?”
Though Sarah Raber’s whisper was accompanied with what appeared to be a sincere smile, Lydia flinched.
Licking dry lips, she considered the history she’d come home to address. Sarah had reason not to be friendly. Her family had been one of Lydia’s previous targets. Lydia knew all the nearby young women had their ears tuned so sharply that they could probably hear a mouse squeak in the nearby barn. She forced a smile though her mouth felt stiff as concrete.
“His name is Caleb.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Sarah’s brow lowered in sympathy. “Your cousin’s boy. I’d heard about her passing. How is her mamm doing?”
Lydia pressed what little fingernails she had into her palm to stifle the prickling that threatened behind her eyes. “She’s a wunderbar woman.” Lydia saw Sarah’s gaze shift to the boppeli in her arms. “She was the one who suggested I come home with Caleb.” That part was true at least.
“Well.” Sarah gave her another smile as the vorsinger called out the page number of the first hymn. “I’m sure your family, and others in the community, are glad you’re back.”
Her smile wavering, Lydia nodded. Though she turned her attention to the Ausbund hymnal the girl held open between them, she ached to search the benches on the far side of the room for a certain dark-haired young man. There was one, at least, who she very much doubted was glad she’d returned.
She was back. Jonah Lapp’s heart was pounding. His fingers clutched so tightly on his thighs, the weave of his pants’ fabric was probably imprinted on their tips.
Of all the women in the district, of all those in the surrounding area, why was she the one to tempt him so? He knew better. Still, he couldn’t pull his gaze away.
She looked different. As before, her red hair was sleeked back to disappear neatly into her kapp. But the Lydia who’d left last year, instead of lowering her gaze, would’ve been flirtatiously batting her dark blue eyes toward any man bold enough to meet them. Jonah scowled. She probably had this morning already; he just hadn’t caught her. She’d done that before. Looked at him, and when she knew she had his attention, with a coy smile, flicked her gaze to another male nearby. A muscled twitched in his jaw at the memory.
He studied her with hooded eyes. Her face was thinner. Jonah lowered his brow. She was thinner. Was she ill? Frowning at the twist in his stomach at the possibility, he glanced down to jerk at a thread in the seam of his pants.
What was wrong with him? He had more sense than this. He should’ve forgotten her by now. She’d left. They’d said she wasn’t coming back. That was the only reason that he’d... Resentment rippled through him. He had forgotten her.
But at his first glimpse today, his heart had surged, his breath had caught and all his irrational longings had returned. She was more beautiful than before. Another thing to resent her for, something else to pick at his brain. And he didn’t need another thing to worry about. He’d enough as it was with determining whether to go out on his own or stay at the farm when his daed refused to consider any improvements to the business.
Jonah glanced down the bench where he sat with the other unmarried men of their district. His nostrils flared when he saw his wasn’t the only attention focused on Lydia. He snorted. And why would it be?
Although it’d felt like getting kicked in the belly by a shod horse, it hadn’t surprised him to see her with a boppeli. His illogical turmoil had eased when he’d overheard—Jonah’s ears reddened at his blatant eavesdropping—a conversation relating that it was a cousin’s child. The girl who’d abruptly died in Pennsylvania, where Lydia had been staying for the past year.
He’d cocked an eyebrow at the news that Lydia had taken on the baby. She’d historically been more selfish than that. Having the little one would hamper her favorite pastime. Jonah’s lips twisted. He knew her faults, knew her qualities, few though they be. And he’d loved her anyway.
More fool he.
“Lydia’s back. You know what that means.” The whisper behind him was followed by muffled snickers.
Clamping his arms across his chest, Jonah leaned forward to put distance between him and the sniggering youngies. Under the admonishing glare the commotion had engendered from the vorsinger, Jonah mouthed the words of the slow hymn, but his mind was far from the song that’d been sung second in Amish church services for centuries.
Though it hurt, he wouldn’t have been shocked to discover the boppeli was hers. Lydia had given herself often and easily here in Wisconsin. Why should that have changed when she went to Pennsylvania? He just wished she hadn’t given herself to him. And that he hadn’t made the mistake of thinking it’d meant something. Hunching his shoulders against the heat that rose up the back of his neck, Jonah dropped his gaze. Uncrossing his arms, he concentrated on flexing fingers from his clenched fists one by one.
Ach, she’d made sure he hadn’t lingered long under that misconception.
Blowing out a slow breath, he lifted his eyes and scanned the row of unmarried women, this time bypassing Lydia to settle on a brunette who met his gaze with a raised eyebrow and smile. His shoulders relaxing fractionally, Jonah lifted his lips in an answering one. This was where his future should lie. He’d made mistakes in his past. He wasn’t one to repeat them.
With gritted teeth, he battled the desire that threatened to pull his attention, like a magnet to steel, back up the row of young women, back to the redhead with the boppeli.
Lydia could tell from the way the minister’s voice strengthened and sped up that he was wrapping up the sermon. Her daed had gotten better at them in the year she’d been gone. Henry Troyer had been as surprised as anyone when he’d been selected as a church leader. Not that he wasn’t a gut man, he was. It was too bad she wasn’t more like him than her mother. Lydia ducked her head. His improvement in preaching was probably because it was easier to face a congregation as a minister without her around. At least her daed wasn’t the deacon, who assisted the bishop in disciplinary tasks. Wouldn’t that have put him in a difficult position.
Under lowered lashes, she glanced beyond the married men on the opposing benches to the younger ones seated farther back. Her gaze touched on the faces as she went down the row. She’d kissed him. And him. And done much more than that with him. Her mouth tightened as heat rose up her cheeks. And him. And with him...she inhaled sharply as she locked eyes with Jonah. Stiffening, she dropped her gaze. When Caleb stirred against her shoulder, she lightly patted his bottom, comforting them both.
With Jonah, she’d given everything. And for just a moment, had hoped everything. She’d forgotten her conviction. Always leave them before they leave you. That way, it doesn’t hurt as much. Lydia carefully swallowed as Caleb, settling in again, nuzzled against her neck. At least, that was the philosophy. Obviously not an accurate one. Because it’d hurt anyway.
“I’m surprised to see you working in here instead of attending to some task where you’d be out there.” Ruth Schrock nodded her head toward the window over the sinks as she briskly rubbed a dish towel over a plate.
Lifting her gaze from the soapy water, Lydia glanced out the window to where the young men and a few young women were taking advantage of the early fall weather to gather outside in small groups following the Sunday meal. She set another plate in the drainer. “I asked to work in the kitchen.”
Ruth’s eyebrows rose until they almost reached the auburn hair that swept back under her kapp. Lydia wasn’t surprised. The year-ago Lydia would’ve requested any task that had her mingling with the men. If she’d requested any tasks at all. Her fellow dishwasher eyed Lydia speculatively. Bracing herself, Lydia held her gaze. She blinked when Ruth gave a slight nod.
“How old is the little one? About eight months?”
Under the surface of the sudsy water, Lydia’s hand tightened on the edge of a plate. “There about,” she replied hoarsely. The woman must’ve caught one of her many looks toward the stairway, from where young voices floated down. After the service, Lydia had reluctantly relinquished Caleb to the young girls stationed in one of the upstairs bedrooms. When his tiny brows had furrowed over concerned green eyes at the exchange, Lydia, stifling a sniff, had almost changed her mind and snatched him back. Outside the room, she’d paused, waiting to hear his cry. When there’d been nothing more than the girls’ cheerful voices and soft gibberish of little ones, she descended the stairs, crossing her arms to alleviate their emptiness.
“I’m sure he’s fine. As middle children with several younger siblings, I know the girls are well familiar with little ones and will take gut care of them. If I didn’t believe so, I wouldn’t leave my dochter with them. Although,” Ruth said with a grin, “they probably wouldn’t thank me for it. Deborah seems to have reached the terrible part without reaching the two part. I don’t know where she gets it. Must be from her father.”
Lydia smiled faintly. As far as someone to work beside, she could’ve done a lot worse today than Ruth Schrock. Although blunt, the woman didn’t seem judgmental. But Ruth, a few years older than her, had never been the subject of Lydia’s gossip and might not’ve been aware that Lydia had chased after her husband, Malachi, before Ruth married him.
When she’d taken her place at the sink to wash the piles of resale-shop china as they were returned to the kitchen, many sideways glances had greeted her from the women manning the area. But Lydia kept her head down and her attention on the plates and silverware moving in and out of the soapy water and was soon ignored. It was a good place. With her focus on the sink, she didn’t have to face the young men congregating outside. Nor the young women weaving throughout the crowd who’d previously been particular targets of her venom.
Besides, listening to the babble as women bustled around her, Lydia discovered doing dishes was a good way to catch up on what was going on in the community. Who’d died, who’d had babies, who’d planted a lot of celery in their garden and the speculation of whether it was because the homeowner liked that much celery, or did they have a dochter who might be anticipating a wedding?
“Are you all right?”
Lydia jolted at Ruth’s voice at her elbow. “Ja. I’m fine. I... It just slipped.” Fishing in the water, she found the plate she’d dropped when Jonah’s name was mentioned.
“Careful. It might have broken.”
Brushing suds from the plate, Lydia examined it. “Nee. It looks gut.” Fortunately the china hadn’t cracked. Not like hearts easily did.
She was down to the last few dishes when the sound of male laughter floated in through the open window. A ripple went up her spine at the sound. Lydia focused her attention on scrubbing the pan used for the ham served for sandwiches that day. I’m not going to look. I’m not going to look. But she did. To see Jonah with Rebecca Mast, standing together, their bodies tipped toward one another, their faces smiling. Sinking her teeth into her lower lip, Lydia returned her attention to the pan.
“I’m a believer that cleanliness is next to godliness, but there won’t be anything left of that pan the way you’re working away on it. You keep it up, we’ll have to take it over to Thomas Reihl’s blacksmith shop and have him add some metal back to it.” With a hooked eyebrow, Ruth held out her hand for the container.
Jerking the pan from the dishwater with a splash, Lydia rinsed it. “I just...wanted to do a gut job.”
“I’d say you did.” Ruth leisurely dried the roasting pan as she eyed her. When Lydia didn’t respond, she shrugged. “I’d also say, as I don’t recognize the cry, that your little boy is a mite unhappy. Either that or my Deborah is terrorizing someone.”
“Oh.” Whirling from the sink, Lydia swiped her hands down her apron to dry them and hurried toward the wailing that echoed down the stairs. It was indeed Caleb, who gave a watery gulp of relief at the sight of her. She swept him into her arms, relishing the warm weight of him.
“He’d been fine. I think he just decided he was missing you,” one of the young attendants assured her.
“I’d been missing him, so I guess we’re even.” As Caleb buried his damp face against her neck, she rubbed his back in slow circles. “I think he’s telling me it’s been a big few days for him.” It had for her too. And not only because of the travel from Pennsylvania.
After a quick search failed to locate her daed in the house, she strode to the barn, hoping to find him there. So direct was her focus on her destination, she might as well have worn blinders like a horse. Even so, she could measure the district’s interest in her return by the conversations that paused at her approach and started again in her wake. To her relief, she found her daed in the shade of the open barn, talking with a few other farmers regarding the fall’s harvest.
Her shoulders relaxed imperceptibly when he greeted her with a smile.
“I need to go... I’d like to take him home.” She dipped her chin toward Caleb, who was gazing at the barn’s interior with wide eyes.
“Ja. I suppose so.” Nodding to his associates, Henry exited the barn with Lydia following in his wake. As everyone called out farewells to the minister, it was a slow process. Although they spoke to her daed, their eyes were on her and Caleb. It seemed more like hours than minutes before her daed finally collected his horse and led him into the field lined with rows of black buggies.
Lydia’s shoulders sagged in exhaustion as they reached their own. She’d made it. It was only one day, but still, better than she might’ve expected it to be. Although she wouldn’t always, today she’d managed to avoid several of the folks she’d hurt, including the one she least wanted to face.
She froze when a man emerged from the buggy beside them with a blue-and-white volleyball in his hand.
“Jonah.” Her daed clapped the young man’s shoulder. “I haven’t been able to get to the house the past few days before you left. I wanted to tell you that you’re making gut progress.” Henry turned from the rigid form beside him to Lydia. “Guess I haven’t had a chance to mention it in the bustle since you’ve returned, though you might’ve noticed the change. I’ve decided to add on a daadi haus to our place and Jonah here has been doing a fine job on the carpentry work.”
