asked him.
“Say what?” Mr. Miller shouted, leaning forward.
Mrs. Miller halfway cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Lexie needs you to translate something.” Sophie motioned my way. Every eye in the room landed on me.
“No need to do it now,” I said, stepping toward him and making sure he could see my lips. “I can bring it by your house later.” I marveled at Sophie’s audacity, butting in about my letter and turning my wanting a little vacation into a search for my birth family and possible involvement with a midwife who was in trouble.
Mrs. Miller stood. “We’re getting ready to go to Boise. To visit our son.” She was always to the point.
“Let’s take a look at it now.” Mr. Miller smiled as he handed his empty plate to his wife and she headed to the kitchen. He was a happy man and always eager to help.
James settled onto the far end of the mauve sofa, beside Mrs. Glick. I stood for a moment, frozen, not sure I wanted all of these people to know what the letter said. Mrs. Miller returned to the room.
“Go on, Lexie,” she said. “We don’t have all day.”
I put my plate on the coffee table and headed down the hall. Every eye in the room was no longer on me when I returned. They were all on the carved box in my hands.
“Oh, my,” Mrs. Glick said.
“I’ve never seen anything like it.” Mrs. Miller plunked back down into the chair beside her husband.
I pulled out the letter and handed it to Mr. Miller.
“Let me have a look at that box.” Mrs. Glick abandoned her plate on the coffee table too and was inching her way to the edge of the sofa, her arms outstretched. I handed it to her.
“Isn’t it amazing?” James asked.
Mr. Schmidt, who sat beside Mrs. Glick, ran his hand over the carved top. “Looks like sycamore wood.”
I’d wondered what it might be.
“But it must have been carved when it was green.” He squinted at the box. “Years and years ago. You don’t see work like this anymore.”
“Look at the turrets.” Mrs. Glick spoke loudly. “And the waterfall.” She pulled it away from Mr. Schmidt and held it so she could see the front. “And the flowers. They’re edelweiss.”
Mr. Miller kept his eyes on the document as he spoke. “Edelweiss? Are you sure?”
Mrs. Glick was too enthralled with the box to answer. I wanted to take it from her but turned my attention back to the letter. “Can you read it?” I asked.
“Most of it.” Mr. Miller paused. “It’s to an Elsbeth. From Abraham, her father.” He squinted. “He says he’s leaving her a place called Amielbach when he dies in hopes she will return home someday.”
A place called Amielbach. That must be the name of the house, the one carved into the lid of the box.
“Does he mention anything about Pennsylvania?” Surely that was where the house was.
“No. He doesn’t say where the property is.” Mr. Miller stretched his back. “The letter is written in high German, mostly. That’s what I learned as a kid. But there are some odd phrases like…” He read words that sounded as if they were German to me—wie and der. Then something like Esel am Berg. He lifted his head. “It means being perplexed by an unexpected situation. But the phrase isn’t high German. It’s considered a Helvetism, a colloquial saying in Swiss German, which is technically an Alemannic dialect.” I must have looked perplexed because he started to speak slowly. “It’s a dialect similar to what’s spoken by a group of Amish in Indiana. It originated in Switzerland, but it’s evolved over the years. And the language the Swiss Amish use today is oral, not written.” For a minute I thought he was going to dive into a full-fledged lecture about the development of German dialects, but then he stopped abruptly as if he remembered he wasn’t teaching.
Sophie’s head swung around, and she looked me straight in the eye. It was a knowing look, but I had no idea what it meant.
“It is from Switzerland.” Mrs. Glick hugged the box. “I knew the flowers were edelweiss.”
Mr. Miller extended the letter. “He goes on and on about being disappointed that Elsbeth is giving up her dream of being a teacher and her opportunity to work as a tutor. Sounds like it was for a wealthy French family. But that’s pretty much it.”
“Does it say why she gave up her dream?” I asked.
Mr. Miller