Upon A Winter's Night. Karen Harper

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      He turned to her, nodded wide-eyed, then gestured her toward the bales of straw in the corner. Knees almost touching, they perched on two adjacent ones. Bless him, he seemed instantly intent. His warmth radiated, bathing her in friendship, and she saw in his eyes—something more? In her lap she clutched the envelope with the note and the plastic snow globe with its little scene of a child standing and an angel hovering overhead. An undecorated Christmas tree was off to the side. The liquid inside had gone a bit murky, but if she shook it hard, it still snowed.

      “Last night,” she began, choosing her words carefully, “when I found Miss Keller, she had a damp, blurry note in her hand. I tried to read it then but couldn’t, so I stuffed it in my mitten and didn’t think to look at it again until I got home last night. Very little of it is readable.”

      “And what did it say—the part you could read?”

      She reached into the envelope and extended it to him.

      “You still have it? The sheriff let you keep it?” he asked as he held it up to the kerosene lantern light and squinted to make out the words.

      He glanced at her. She tried hard to blink back tears.

      “Did Sheriff Freeman give you a hard time about not handing this over right away? But why—”

      “I didn’t,” she said, her voice shaking. “I didn’t give it to him—didn’t tell him. I know I should have—have to, but I think it’s about me, the Brand baby. And if so, it says my mother—my birth mother—is still alive and that Victoria must have known something about her, like maybe where to find her. I don’t— It can’t mean, can it—that she is—was my mother?”

      “Victoria Keller? I don’t think she’s ever lived around here before lately.”

      “I know I’m clutching at straws, but I’ve been so desperate to know more about my birth parents. I haven’t acted on it because it would hurt my parents so. Daad would take it personally and Mamm would—I don’t know. She puts on a good front, but she’s very fragile.”

      He nodded. Did he realize that? Most people who observed or knew Susan Brand thought she had a prickly personality and figured it was because of Sammy’s loss. Some thought she blamed herself for that—even blamed God.

      He said, his voice low, “I had a friend when I was in Columbus who researched her roots, as she called them, online. You know, a computer, but that would be tough in this case if you can’t get information directly from your parents. You’d need to hire a researcher privately.”

      “Somehow, I have to get answers on my own.”

      “Like how? First of all, are you sure Victoria wrote this? If she’s as out-of-it as Connor says, couldn’t she have picked it up, found it somewhere in their house, then out in the snow, it got all wet and smeared.”

      “I don’t know! I don’t know where to start. I only know I have to do something. I thought my parents might overhear if I gave it to the sheriff. Then the note would become public property, bring up things I’ve learned not to ask or talk about. Even Bishop Esh told me ‘to learn in whatever state I am to be content.’”

      “That’s in the Bible. But I do have one idea. This friend of mine, Sandra Myerson, who was researching her family tree, is also a writer who was doing a doctoral paper on Christmas customs of immigrant people in the Midwest. She’s a real go-getter.”

      “She’s a doctor?”

      “Not a medical doctor. She’s working on a university degree that will give her the title of doctor so she can teach sociology at the college level.”

      “Oh. So I could write to her with what I know? Maybe trade information about an Amish Christmas for her looking up some things for me? Should I tell her about Old Amish Christmas and how upset our people are about what’s happened to the worldly one? About how Bishop Esh said he’d almost like to kill that other Christmas?”

      “I spent a lot of time trying to convince Sandra that the German immigrant Amish do not have fancy Victorian Christmas trees and lots of wrapped gifts. I explained we have a plain and simple family day without secret Christmas customs. But to most outsiders, I guess Old Amish Christmas is a secret. I’m sure she’d like to meet you, and you can back up what I said. Yet our Christmases are always, well, just plain beautiful.”

      “Yes. Yes, they are. So was she working at the zoo, too?”

      “I met her at a social event there my second year in the city, ironically a Christmas tree holiday extravaganza called Wildlights. We became friends, did some things together. She tried to talk me into going to vet school at Ohio State University by working my way through, but it wasn’t in my plans. I can have Hank phone her for you, ask her to come out to visit. You could meet with her here instead of your house.”

      “Was this Sandra like a social friend? I mean, you dated her?”

      “Something like that, but our lives were on two very different career paths. No way a humble, plain life is for her.”

      Lydia’s heart was beating hard. Her face felt flushed. Had Josh been in love with Sandra Myerson? Had he been heartbroken to leave her when he came back here? He had never mentioned her. Of course, she could have visited here. Still, it sounded as if he hadn’t seen her for a while.

      “Lydia,” he said, his voice gentle, as he reached out to give her the note back, “she didn’t like animals, except her three cats.”

      “Oh.”

      “What’s with the snow globe?” he asked. She could tell he was itching to change the subject. And had he read her mind about his relationship with Sandra?

      “Daad gave it to me a long time ago. He said it was my mother’s. My real mother’s. Someone had dropped it off in the furniture store, but he didn’t know who and said not to ask more about it. I just—I thought I should hide the note with it.”

      “Will you tell the sheriff about the note?”

      “Will you tell on me?”

      “No. It’s your decision, though now you’ve made me an accomplice.”

      She almost smiled at that, but she bit her lower lip. “He—the sheriff said I was to be invited to the private funeral for Victoria. I may ask someone there about it.”

      “Connor?”

      “Maybe his mother.”

      “At least they were trying to do the right thing, taking her in, keeping her there.”

      “Then, would she have run away? I need to know more about dementia, I guess. Yes, if you could have Hank contact your friend for help with tracing my family tree—quietly—I would appreciate that. There must have been newspaper articles about the fatal buggy accident. There always are.”

      “But it would be almost twenty years ago. There was no local paper then. Maybe we could ask Sandra to check the Wooster Daily Record. Do you know the date of the accident or your parents’ names?”

      She shook her head and could not stem the tears. “Not even that,” she whispered. “They СКАЧАТЬ