Chapter 49
L ydia’s hand shook as she extracted her cell phone and tapped in Jonathan’s number. Neither one of them was supposed to own a cell phone, but they did, against the teachings of the Ordnung. She reminded herself that neither one of them had been baptized into the Amish faith, which helped, but still what she was doing was wrong. She wondered how Jonathan would react. Her best guess was that he would tell her he was courting someone else and no longer cared for Lydia. Which she deserved. She hadn’t contacted him for months. Not even a letter or a postcard as she had promised to do. No answer, so she left a message. She tried to keep her voice upbeat but imagined it through his ears. As she spoke, she considered the fact that he might be ignoring her phone call. Would she blame him? But something in her prodded her on.
“Hello, Jonathan. It’s L-Lydia... calling to say hi. And to apologize for being so rude. I should have called or written to you months ago like I promised. I kept waiting for the perfect moment.” She was lying, and she knew it. “I’m still working for Maureen Cook, taking care of her daughter. Although this might be hard to believe, we are in Scotland on an island called Skye. On the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.” Ach, she wished she had rehearsed her conversation better. “If you can find it in your heart to speak to me, please call so I can fill you in. This trip has gone awry to put it mildly.”
As she stashed her phone, she listened to the silence. She glanced down at her kilt and enjoyed the way it swished at the bottom. Jonathan would not approve, nor would he approve of her hair bobbed short. He would be repulsed no doubt. She considered whether she could hide her hair beneath a heart-shaped cap until they got married. She knew her hair would take years and years to grow back. But she would be forgiven if she repented. One of her friend’s oldest brothers had jumped the fence—left the Amish community and lived as Englischers. Even though they were not allowed to eat at the table with the family, they could dine at a separate table. Their mam had begged them to return to no avail.
She raked her fingers through her hair. Why on earth had she decided to cut it to begin with? But then why had she done so many outlandish things? Always, she had longed for more than the plain life. Enough to steal for it. And be blackmailed. If she went back to Lancaster County, she would confess all her transgressions and be humiliated. Which she deserved to be. Yes. Maybe a kneeling confession before the whole congregation would set her free.
“Here you go.” Mrs. Ross handed her a stack of clean linens, rousing her out of her ruminations. “Tear down the beds and remake them, if you’re still willing.”
“Yah, I am. Happy to.” Enjoying the swish of the kilt against her legs, Lydia followed Mrs. Ross up the staircase. She knocked on a door, waited a moment, then opened it.
“What a mess.” Mrs. Ross harrumphed. “But I suppose they left in a hurry when the electricity went out and will want their money back.”
“I can take care of it.” Lydia would never leave a room in such disarray—the covers and sheets and pillows on the floor. But she was determined to prove to Mrs. Ross that she could take care of anything. As she pulled the sheets off and tossed them by the door, she noticed something on the bed stand. A string of pearls grabbed her attention. She was tempted to take them and hide them in her pocket. She prayed for strength but found none. She took hold of them and felt marvelous cool smoothness like marbles in her hand. But where would she put them? As far as she could tell, this kilt did not have pockets, and the vest had but one small pocket not big enough to hide a string of pearls.
She imagined the scene that would follow if she stole them. Whoever had rented this room would surely call and ask about them. Mrs. Ross might summon the police and have her arrested, which is exactly what she deserved if she took them. Maureen might fire her. Well, of course she would. Lydia would be sent home in disgrace.
Ignoring the pearls, Lydia vacuumed and dusted, then made the bed using neat precise motions to make it as perfect as possible—the way Mam had taught her. Finally, Lydia pulled up the quilt and arranged the pillows. A moment later Mrs. Ross surprised her by opening the door. “That looks beautiful,” the older woman said.
“I found something.” Lydia pointed to the bed table. “In their hurry, someone left a string of pearls.”
“Oh, my, I’m lucky to have an honest girl like you helping me.” Mrs. Ross moved over to her and scooped them up. “Thank you.”
When was the last time someone had called Lydia honest? She was filled with a warmth of pride—not the bad kind of pride that her dat warned her against. Self-respect is what she felt. Now if she could just continue to conduct herself in such a way.
Mrs. Ross led her to several other rooms. With speed and agility, Lydia vacuumed the carpets, dusted the furniture, made the beds, and straightened the areas. It occurred to Lydia that she had learned her most useful abilities at home under the watchful eye of her parents. Not that she could vacuum at home without electricity. In truth, the vacuum was too loud for her ears. She would just as soon sweep and mop the floor.
The Englisch life held too many temptations, and she had already proved to herself that she could not resist them. She was determined to overcome her weaknesses. Starting now.