Chapter 31
L ydia woke with a start not knowing where she was. She expected to smell the aroma of her mam’s breakfast or the farmland fragrances and sounds she had come to know over her lifetime. She struggled to reach consciousness.
The air had been cool when she’d fallen asleep, but the room was now warm and toasty, thanks to the furnace. Would she have been content to live on the farm if her parents had a furnace? No, that was not the deciding factor.
Her thoughts meandered to Jonathan, and she felt an unexpected tingle. Yet she had not contacted him for months and months. He had no idea where she was. Her rebellious nature had refused to ask his permission. And why should she? If she married him, he would be the head of the household, and she would need his approval on everything. Not fair, she told herself. But Jonathan was not like her domineering dat, who had ruled the family with an iron fist. She supposed that’s why Dat was such a respected and trusted minister.
She heard Denny’s breathing turn jagged, and she flopped on her back. Having a nightmare perhaps. Lydia had endured enough of those. She wondered what Denny was dreaming about. Probably Alec. It was obvious that Denny was smitten with him. She was a beautiful woman, although Lydia doubted Denny realized that fact. And to be fair, Denny’s parents had both died recently. Lydia should show more sympathy. Denny had cried and cried at the funeral—unlike Maureen, who’d remained stoic. And Maureen had let slip that Denny’s bookstore was floundering, headed for bankruptcy.
Lydia wondered what it would be like to own a little shop. She could sell fabric and quilts, even if she didn’t make them herself. In fact, she could quilt when business was slow. If she married an Amish man, the shop would be considered his, even if she ran it and did all the work. But so what, as long as she didn’t have to muck out stalls. That was one thing she liked about Jonathan. He was soon to inherit his parents’ cornfields. His father was retiring next month and moving into the dawdi haus , attached to the main house with a breezeway between them. Lydia actually liked his easy-going parents, and she knew they liked her and expected her to be their daughter-in-law. But she had found ways to delay their marriage. Now that she could drive a car, the Englisch life tempted her to join it rather than the Amish church with its hard wooden benches. She was enjoying this plush bed and quilts. But what would she do now that Maureen had fired her? Find another job and live in a sparse apartment house? Maybe Denny would share a small cottage with her. Nee , not Denny. Or she would leave an ad at the grocery store.
She glanced at the clock with its illuminated face blaring at her. Five already. Not that it was really five at home, but no matter. She had promised to help make breakfast and would fulfill her obligation. She turned on her bedside lamp and was glad to see that Denny had not been disturbed. Lydia found clean clothes—skinny jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt—and then slipped out of the room, careful to close the door quietly. As she strolled down the hall and descended the stairs, she was surprised to hear voices ahead. Molly, a mug of coffee in her hand, greeted Lydia with a smile.
“Good morning,” Lydia said. “How did you get here?”
“On foot. I live nearby with my parents. The snow has not let up. It’s still coming down fiercely. But I thought I might be needed here.”
“To cook?”
“No, I prefer to serve what someone else has prepared,” Molly said. “I eat mostly raw fruits and vegetables. And fish.” She turned toward a white-aproned young man at the sink and dishwasher. “Malcolm here trudged through the snow to wash dishes.”
A young man in his late teens with long, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail bobbed his head and grinned at Lydia, who raised a hand in return and sent him a smile. He reminded her of the neighbor’s son back in Lancaster County.
“Have you come down to prepare the meals?” Molly asked Lydia.
“Yah, I thought I would help if the hotel was short on staff.” Lydia wondered if she should run up and ask Maureen’s permission, but Lydia doubted she would be awake yet. “I see someone has made coffee,” she said.
“Malcolm did. Please help yourself.” Molly poured some into a mug and handed it to Lydia.
“Any other new guests or employees show up while I was sleeping?” Lydia asked.
“No, like I said, the snow has increased, and a wind from the northeast has picked up. The worst storm I can ever remember.”
“We have got to at least feed the newlyweds,” Lydia said.
“They put a Please Do Not Disturb sign out and a card saying they wanted breakfast at nine. If it’s available.”
“Did they say what they wanted?”
“Yes, it’s right here.” Molly placed their order on the counter.
Lydia figured she could make anything on the menu. But Maureen might march down and take over. “Did anyone else spend the night in the hotel?”
“No. And I doubt our chef will come in until the roads are cleared. The way the snow is coming down that could be a while.”
Lydia sprang into action. “I bet I can make everything on the menu plus a delicious breakfast casserole.” She peaked into the stove before turning it on, then set a couple of skillets atop the stove. “What do you have on hand?” She opened the massive refrigerator door and found cheese, ham, and onions. Moments later she was chopping onions and preparing her casserole. Her eyes teared up. She imagined herself as Jonathan’s wife and fixing him breakfast. He would have already gone out and milked their one cow in the barn and brought in fresh eggs. Nothing could compare to the freshness of eggs and milk on a farm. But did she want to get baptized and marry an Amishman? Could she submit to the many Amish rules? Or was her new home here in Scotland?
“Oh no, I haven’t put on the potatoes to boil.” What had Lydia been thinking? Not enough time to cook and shred potatoes and then cool them.
“We have shredded potatoes in the freezer,” Molly said. “Will they work?”
“I guess so.” Although it felt like cheating. “I mean, yes please, that would be very helpful.”
As Molly dug a bag of shredded potatoes out of the freezer, Lydia glanced out the window and saw the snow still falling and swirling in circles as gusts of wind kicked them up. At home it would be melting by now. “Does it always snow this much?” she asked Molly.
“My goodness, no. If anything, we get rain. And to my way of thinking, too much.” Molly gazed out the window too. “But we do have freak snowstorms like this in early spring every decade or so. Let’s hope this one is short-lived.”
“Yah.” Although Lydia could think of worse places to be stuck. She had never enjoyed such luxury.
Tousled-haired Alec stepped into the room. No doubt about it, Lydia found him attractive. Maybe gorgeous was a better word. But he seemed to look right through her as he made his way to the coffee urn. He served himself a cup, then splashed in half-and-half from a small carton.
“How are Princess and her puppies doing?” she asked him in an attempt to initiate a conversation.
“Fine.” He gulped a mouthful of his coffee.
“She won’t want to leave her puppies to go out on a day like today,” Molly said.
“I’m afraid she has no choice.”
Denny straggled into the room. “That java smells so good.”
Alec poured her a cup, and she sent him a pretty smile. “What gets you up so early?”
“Lydia woke me.” Just out of bed, Denny looked lovely.
Lydia cringed. “I’m so sorry. I tried to be quiet.”
“That’s okay, I couldn’t sleep anyway.”
“Want to come downstairs and stay with the puppies while I take Princess out?” Alec asked her.
“Absolutely.” Denny rifled through the refrigerator until she found a carton of whole whipping cream to add to her coffee. She took a sip. “Lead the way,” she said to him. “I can’t wait.”
Lydia listened to their words fade away. She would have loved to go downstairs with them but had not been invited. And she had a task to do right here. She had committed herself to making breakfast. She chastised herself for being so wishy-washy and lazy. She sighed as she located a clean white apron. Maybe her Amish heritage would stay with her forever. Maybe no matter where she lived, she would hear her parents’ words in her ears.
As she sautéed the frozen potatoes in cooking oil, she broke the remaining clumps apart with a fork. Then she got to work shredding cheddar cheese. Minutes later she brought out eggs to beat. The faster she worked, the more she felt anxiety encompass her. She was used to using one hand to break an egg but found that she was not as skilled as she thought she was. Several cracked the wrong way; bits of shell fell into the bowl and sank below the surface.
If she were in her parents’ home, she would turn to her mam and ask her what to do. Mam had a trick to extracting wayward eggshells. Lydia wished she could call her mother, but of course Mam did not have a cell phone nor was there a phone in the home.
Lydia’s nerves were agitated. She forgot what came next in the recipe. She envisioned her mother’s handwriting on a piece of paper, but she could not recall the ingredients or their amounts.
Living without phones or internet access in the home were many of the exasperating laws by which the Amish must live, Lydia thought. Her dat had explained this precept to her many times. The mandates were set in place to keep families and the community together. He would be so disappointed if he could see her now, floundering to make a dish that she thought she knew by heart. Ach, she would do her best because people were counting on her.
Molly watched her as she stirred her egg concoction. “You need this?” Molly brought out a rectangle baking dish. “Want me to grease it?”
“Yes, thank you so much.” Feeling her heart lubb-dupp as if she had run up a hill, Lydia dumped the shredded potatoes into it and poured her egg concoction over them. Then she sprinkled the cheese over it.
“How long does it need to cook?” Molly asked.
“Only forty-five minutes. Then it needs to sit for ten more minutes.”
“When it’s done, I’ll serve some to the newlyweds if they’re up. I’ll tell them it was made especially for them.” Molly looked to the ceiling. “And we’ll need porridge,” Molly said. “The newlyweds requested it last night. A Scottish breakfast wouldn’t be complete without it.”
“I’ve never heard of that,” Lydia said.
“It’s what you call oatmeal.”
Lydia canvassed the massive kitchen. “Would you please find the oats?” she asked.
“Sure. And we’ll need ham cooked and bacon.” She turned to leave. “Hold on. I’d better see what everyone has ordered first. What was I thinking?” She chuckled. “I normally work only at dinner time.”
“A good idea.” Lydia wondered how she’d manage the rest of the menu. She’d been proud of her cooking abilities, until now. She wondered if she could fulfill them. Her dat had taught her that pride—as opposed to satisfaction and happiness in a job well done—was a sin, and now she knew why. She had acted prideful.
She opened the oven’s door and felt a burst of heat that made her eyes blink. She hoped she’d set the correct temperature. She would linger in the kitchen and keep checking on her casserole while Molly took orders, then brought the food to the dining room. But could the two of them manage? She hoped Malcolm could help.
Alec opened the back door and brought Princess back inside. The poor dog was caked with snow, but she tugged on her leash. When Alec unclipped the leash, she trotted down to the basement. Alec grabbed a clean towel and followed behind her. “I’m coming, lassie,” he said.
He poured himself more coffee, then trotted down the stairs behind Princess. Lydia would have loved to follow him, but she had a job to do. A commitment she shouldn’t have made. And yet she believed that helping others was pleasing to the Lord. In her mind, she saw herself doing such a fine job that the hotel would hire her full-time. Then she could move to Scotland. She had to wonder whether or not this was a zany idea. The way the snow was coming down and the wind blew, she figured she would have plenty of time to mull over the idea.
After ten minutes, Molly returned to the kitchen. “The owner called,” she said, jerking Lydia into the present. “He said he can’t make it in today, which is not so bad for us.” She lowered her voice. “He’s usually in a sour mood and brings with him nothing but negative vibes.”
Lydia was shocked to hear Molly speak this way about her employer. Not that Lydia hadn’t harbored negative thoughts about Maureen. Sure, Lydia was appreciative of Maureen for hiring her, but Lydia would never hire another person to raise her child. Maureen was devoted to her fame and TV program rather than her husband and Amanda. At least she’d brought Amanda on this trip with her. But her own husband would not come with her. What kind of a marriage was that?
Lydia’s thoughts returned to her impossible dream of owning her own business, but she didn’t have the start-up money to purchase inventory. If she were married, her husband could go to the bank and borrow it or might even give it to her if he was wealthy. These were issues that needed to be discussed before marriage. She did not want to die an alde maedel —an old maid. A spinster like her cranky but loveable great aunt.
As she gazed out the window at the continuous snowflakes backdropped by the lightening lavender sky, she thought of Maureen’s stellar career, not that James didn’t demean her as if she were a nobody. Lydia was glad he wasn’t here. She avoided being alone with him the way he leered at her. He made inappropriate remarks to Lydia and told her off-color jokes. Or maybe she’d misunderstood him. Lydia was inexperienced with the ways of the world.
Not true, Lydia reminded herself. She had more experience than most. She was a thief who might go to jail for her criminal activities. She had been blackmailed for over a year, but that didn’t make her any more innocent. She was not a child in the eyes of the law. If arrested for shoplifting and taken to court, the judge would show her no leniency. All the more reason to stay here on the Isle of Skye. She could not imagine that she would be extradited across the ocean for a pair of shoes.
She wished she could confide her many fears in someone she trusted. A lonely place to be, even if her hands were busy.