Weaver went off and married an Englischer, and look at all the trouble it’s caused,
even after all these years. He should have known better.”
Lydia froze, her hand on the railing, unable to move. So that’s what some, at least,
were saying—implying that her parents were at fault for loving each other.
“Scripture also reminds us to speak kindly of one another and to bear one another’s
burdens.” Bishop Mose’s voice was unmistakable. “That’s a teaching we all might do
well to heed, Isaac.”
A little silence followed his words. Her heart eased, Lydia went quickly on into the
kitchen before she could hear anything else.
* * *
Seth found the Pennsylvania German Cultural Museum in Philadelphia with only a few wrong
turns that had him arguing with his GPS. It wasn’t large compared to the city’s art
museum or the Franklin Institute, but it was an attractive brick building with a colonial
air, surrounded by gardens. From the entry, wings branched out dedicated to the history
of German-speaking immigration, traditional architecture, and a genealogical library
that probably appealed to the current interest in tracing one’s ancestors. The Amish
generally didn’t have need for that sort of help, since generations were preserved
in the family’s Bible.
He headed for the information desk and in a few minutes had talked his way through
a maze of hallways into the office of Chloe Wentworth, only to find it empty. The
young intern who’d shown him the way disappeared to locate her, leaving Seth alone.
Just as well, maybe. It gave him another moment’s respite before plunging into a family
situation that Ms. Chloe Wentworth would be justified in considering none of his business.
He glanced around, trying to get an impression of the woman from her office. The museum
clearly put its money into the areas the public visited. Behind the scenes, the offices
and storerooms were prosaic cement block.
Chloe Wentworth’s cavelike space was equipped with a utilitarian desk and chair with
a computer setup. The desk was totally surrounded by shelves filled with reference
books, filing cabinets, and a worktable piled with books and papers. A scholar worked
here, by the looks of the office, and Seth had trouble reconciling the setting with
the sophisticated woman in the photo he’d found.
Seth circled the desk casually, looking for any clue to the personality of the woman
he was about to meet. A small, silver-framed image of an older woman, elegant in silk
and pearls, sat on the corner of the desk—the grandmother, no doubt. A small stuffed
bear wearing a Phillies baseball cap leaned against the photo, drawing a grin. Somehow
Grandmother Wentworth didn’t look much like a Phillies fan, so presumably that was
Chloe.
Footsteps echoed in the hall beyond the door, and by the time the door opened, he
was several feet from the desk, staring at the titles of the reference books.
“Mr. Miller?” The female voice was crisp. “I’m Chloe Wentworth. How can I help you?”
He swung around to face the woman who was Lydia’s little sister, still with no idea
how he was going to broach the reason for his visit, and found himself tongue-tied.
Chloe was a surprise, tripping him up before he’d even begun. Instead of the glossy
but classic beauty in the photo, the real thing definitely had a style of her own.
The auburn hair was short and sleek, and huge black-rimmed glasses masked sea-green
eyes. Her skirt was short enough to warrant a second look at her legs, and the scoop
neck of her sweater revealed a tiny butterfly tattoo on her left shoulder. Chloe’s
appearance was about as far as could be from either Main Line debutante or Old Order
Amish.
He caught hold of himself. He certainly wouldn’t make the right impression by staring
at her. “It’s good of you to see me without an appointment, Ms. Wentworth.” He moved
a step to offer his hand,
even after all these years. He should have known better.”
Lydia froze, her hand on the railing, unable to move. So that’s what some, at least,
were saying—implying that her parents were at fault for loving each other.
“Scripture also reminds us to speak kindly of one another and to bear one another’s
burdens.” Bishop Mose’s voice was unmistakable. “That’s a teaching we all might do
well to heed, Isaac.”
A little silence followed his words. Her heart eased, Lydia went quickly on into the
kitchen before she could hear anything else.
* * *
Seth found the Pennsylvania German Cultural Museum in Philadelphia with only a few wrong
turns that had him arguing with his GPS. It wasn’t large compared to the city’s art
museum or the Franklin Institute, but it was an attractive brick building with a colonial
air, surrounded by gardens. From the entry, wings branched out dedicated to the history
of German-speaking immigration, traditional architecture, and a genealogical library
that probably appealed to the current interest in tracing one’s ancestors. The Amish
generally didn’t have need for that sort of help, since generations were preserved
in the family’s Bible.
He headed for the information desk and in a few minutes had talked his way through
a maze of hallways into the office of Chloe Wentworth, only to find it empty. The
young intern who’d shown him the way disappeared to locate her, leaving Seth alone.
Just as well, maybe. It gave him another moment’s respite before plunging into a family
situation that Ms. Chloe Wentworth would be justified in considering none of his business.
He glanced around, trying to get an impression of the woman from her office. The museum
clearly put its money into the areas the public visited. Behind the scenes, the offices
and storerooms were prosaic cement block.
Chloe Wentworth’s cavelike space was equipped with a utilitarian desk and chair with
a computer setup. The desk was totally surrounded by shelves filled with reference
books, filing cabinets, and a worktable piled with books and papers. A scholar worked
here, by the looks of the office, and Seth had trouble reconciling the setting with
the sophisticated woman in the photo he’d found.
Seth circled the desk casually, looking for any clue to the personality of the woman
he was about to meet. A small, silver-framed image of an older woman, elegant in silk
and pearls, sat on the corner of the desk—the grandmother, no doubt. A small stuffed
bear wearing a Phillies baseball cap leaned against the photo, drawing a grin. Somehow
Grandmother Wentworth didn’t look much like a Phillies fan, so presumably that was
Chloe.
Footsteps echoed in the hall beyond the door, and by the time the door opened, he
was several feet from the desk, staring at the titles of the reference books.
“Mr. Miller?” The female voice was crisp. “I’m Chloe Wentworth. How can I help you?”
He swung around to face the woman who was Lydia’s little sister, still with no idea
how he was going to broach the reason for his visit, and found himself tongue-tied.
Chloe was a surprise, tripping him up before he’d even begun. Instead of the glossy
but classic beauty in the photo, the real thing definitely had a style of her own.
The auburn hair was short and sleek, and huge black-rimmed glasses masked sea-green
eyes. Her skirt was short enough to warrant a second look at her legs, and the scoop
neck of her sweater revealed a tiny butterfly tattoo on her left shoulder. Chloe’s
appearance was about as far as could be from either Main Line debutante or Old Order
Amish.
He caught hold of himself. He certainly wouldn’t make the right impression by staring
at her. “It’s good of you to see me without an appointment, Ms. Wentworth.” He moved
a step to offer his hand,
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