Chapter 52
H ad Lydia ever felt lonelier? She doubted it. Not even when her friend Mary told her she hated her. Lydia still wasn’t sure why but had to believe that Mary had a good reason. Lydia could think of many reasons to hate herself.
Her mind swirled like an undertow at the bottom of a waterfall at Ricketts Glen State Park, back in Pennsylvania—a three-hour drive to the north of the farm in a hired passenger van. Her family’s yearly splurge, including tents, a small trailer to carry a week’s worth of food—of course only when Dat could find help for the farm.
Always, she and Jonathan would conspire to camp the same week at the same location. Surely their parents had caught onto their antics because they expected the two to be wed. On those camping trips, often a dozen or so singles, including Lydia and Jonathan, would pair up and sneak away together into the shadows.
Lydia remembered the evening Jonathan first took her hand. His were large and manly. A warmth buzzed up her arm and landed in her heart. They walked together without speaking for ten minutes. Finally, in slow motion, he turned and kissed her. The earth stopped revolving as she’d luxuriated in his embrace.
But would he be repulsed if he found out the truth? That she was a thief and still struggled to remain honest?
She made a decision. She would not act impetuously as she had when traipsing off on this trip. What had she been thinking? She could be baptized and married by now.