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Forever Home

By Amy Grochowski

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CHAPTER ONE
October, 2016
Lancaster County, Pennsylvania
A sensible Amish woman aspired to marry, as Lydia Miller was
reminded daily.
She also knew any wise Amish woman ought to bypass schemes
destined to failure. Yet here she stood, determined to avoid the first
and ready to plunge headlong into the second.
Lydia sucked in a breath and slid into a seat on the second-to-last
row of chairs under the auction tent. She may not win the bid for
the farmhouse at today’s estate sale, but at least she’d know she tried
everything to keep her business.
The air smelled of autumn—the cooling rest of the earth after
yielding her summer labor. Under the heavy canvas of the tent, the
two-mile stretch of Amish farmland known as Millers Creek was hidden
from Lydia’s view.
A wet trickle of perspiration trailed from underneath her prayer
kapp, then down the back of Lydia’s neck. She almost allowed Ben to
bid for her; but her brother wasn’t familiar with her finances, nor was
his future on the bidding block.
Nay, the task was up to her alone.
The wooden seat beside Lydia creaked under the heft of her neighbor,
Miriam Stoltzfus, who emitted a groan of her own as she sat.
“Have you lost all of your good sense?”
Ever since Lydia’s mamm died, Miriam had taken the mother role
upon herself. Lydia was used to the older woman’s more-often-than-not
good intentions, which were more than Lydia needed at the moment.
“I still have all my wits about me.”
The click of Miriam’s tongue against her teeth issued her contradiction.
Lydia’s vision settled onto the handle attached to her bidder card.
The rounded edge of the re-purposed tongue depressor pressed into
her palm. Lydia prayed a silent prayer of forgiveness for the unkind
urge to use it on the other woman.
“Gott’s will couldn’t be plainer if Moses himself carved it on a stone
tablet for you to read.” Miriam’s prayer kapp bobbed up and down with
the surety of her conviction.
The Almighty’s will? Or Miriam’s? Lydia had to wonder.
Lydia shoved the tongue depressor between her knees for safekeeping
and pressed her lips tight to keep from disrespecting her elder,
who continued in a not-so-quiet whisper. “The sale of this property—
including your Amish Shoppe—is a clear sign the time has come for
you to quit this spinster nonsense and settle down with a goot Amish
husband.”
“And marry whom?” Not your cousin, Hiram Glick. Miriam knew
full well Lydia couldn’t accept Hiram. “I could own a business, not
just rent the building.” Lydia turned to face her neighbor. “You know
why this is important to me.” She didn’t dare say the reason aloud.
Miriam was one of the few who knew the reason for her determination
to support herself.
“Ya, I know. Even so, I tell you, Lydia, this is a mistake. The Lord has
a bigger plan for you. He is not bound by the past. Remember, with
Gott all things are possible.”
“Well then, it’s still possible I might buy this house and save my
shop today.”
Miriam sank with a deflated plop against the back of her seat.
Lydia had the last word, but satisfaction didn’t follow. Miriam’s
words nagged at her conscience. Not the part about signs and plans.
Lydia didn’t believe she deserved such consideration. Rather, she was
struck by the existence of a Power great enough to overcome the past.
If only the past had not bound her.
But she was Lydia Miller, humble mortal.
Lydia shifted in her seat. She’d attended many auctions, but never
bid for anything. She bit her lower lip. Did she know what she was
doing with such a large sum and stakes so high? All the money she’d
earned from five years of teaching in the Amish school had been
poured into renovating the farmhouse into a shop. Now, she had only
her business savings to try and outbid the fancy men here today.
Ouch. Lydia jumped from a sharp jab in the ribs.
“I wasn’t talking about Hiram, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Miriam aimed the offending finger toward an Amish man whom
Lydia had never seen.
Tall with powerful strong shoulders, he stood alone on the far side
of the tent, tapping his straw hat against his leg. The Amish stranger’s
face was tanned and his hair the blackest she’d ever seen. His dark eyes,
set deep under thick brows, met her own. Lydia ducked her head, but
not before she noticed his square, unshaven chin. Unmarried.
“What in the world?” Lydia leaned into Miriam to keep her voice
low. “Now you’d try to match me with a man we don’t even know?”
“He’s Canadian Amish. Beulah Yoder’s grandson.”
“Oh . . . so, you’d have me marry the man responsible for this . . .”
Lydia’s throat tightened. If she attempted to describe what this horrible
day really meant to her, she’d be in tears. She couldn’t afford
the distraction. As far as Lydia was concerned, the man should have
stayed in Canada where he belonged. He hadn’t been around these
parts even when his grandmother was alive. All was fine and dandy if
he wanted to sell his inheritance, but a little more notice would have
been appreciated.
“Maybe he’s a bit responsible, but . . .”
The auctioneer interrupted Miriam by calling for the first bid. Lydia
jumped to join with the rest of the bidders. Was her eagerness too
obvious? She wished her datt were still alive to give her advice.
The rumble of the first bids began like the intermittent thunder
of a faraway storm. As the bidders increased, the fervor pitched faster.
Lydia sat on the edge of her chair as though lightning might strike her.
All of the sudden, the bidding slowed. Several bidders had thinned to
a few, and Lydia was amazed to find herself still alive among them.
She had better free her mind of distractions—the smell of the
straw beneath her feet, the flap of the canvas roof above her . . . Focus,
focus. Wasn’t that what Datt used to say? Focus on the task at hand.
She concentrated on the auctioneer and an Englischer in the corner
of her periphery. She’d met many non-Amish neighbors and businessmen
since opening her shop, but she didn’t recognize this one. Unlike
the Amish stranger who watched with his jaw squared in concern,
this man was relaxed as he upped the price time and again. He was
confident about something, for sure. Was the auction a game to him?
Her pulse buzzed in her ears. This was her life, not an amusing
way to pass the time.
The auctioneer looked at her. The third-to-last bidder must have
bailed. Lydia lifted her card to an amount that squeezed every penny
from her account. She had no collateral or credit for a loan. The bid
had to be her last.
The man countered and waited. So smug.
She had rented the large farmhouse, remodeled it with her savings
from five years as a teacher in the Amish school, and then turned it
into a profitable business. Yet this man waltzed into her community
to buy it right out from under her.
Lydia raised her number.
His expression remained unchanged. He bid again.
She’d go until she saw him sweat. Her card sailed into the air over
and over again.
The Amish men began to murmur. The handsome Amish stranger
was staring at her. With concern or admiration? She couldn’t take time
to wonder. She looked back at her opponent.
The Englisch bidder no longer slouched against the tent pole. He
upped the price. And Lydia countered. The auctioneer’s cadence carried
across a room full of people gone silent.
Miriam grabbed Lydia’s hand and squeezed hard enough to break
every one of her fingers. If the man didn’t bid, Lydia was in worse
trouble than she’d thought possible from this day.
14 FOREVER Home
One last bid. Lydia held her breath. The cotton fabric of her apron
pressed into her palms as she dried them. What would she do if he
didn’t go for it?
The man wiped perspiration from his forehead and raised his card.
“Going, going . . . gone.”
The gavel dropped with a thud, and the echo of splintered dreams
reverberated through Lydia’s heart.
•
End of Excerpt

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