and was discreetly holding his hand. A verse came to mind, one that applied to all of us: Then you will know the truth and the truth will set you free.
Ella and Zed insisted on walking us to our car. We bid a last farewell to the others gathered there in the backyard and then walked toward the front with the two teens just as the sun began to dip below the horizon.
“So if you guys get married, can I be a bridesmaid?” Ella asked, linking her arm in mine as we walked.
I could feel my face blushing a hundred shades of red, but James simply grinned and said, “Absolutely, Ella, as long as you’re willing to come to Oregon. I’m thinking maybe we’ll have the ceremony in the orchard.”
Both James and Ella looked at me, waiting for my assent. Nothing would thrill me more than to join hands in marriage with this man there in the heart of my father’s beloved grove of hazelnut trees, in the midst of some of the Creator’s most beautiful handiwork.
“Well, Lexie, what do you think?” Ella prodded me.
I looked from her to James.
“I think someone needs to ask a certain question before someone else is going to start discussing details,” I said.
Zed chuckled and James laughed, but Ella merely pouted.
“I tell you what, Miss Ella,” James said, noticing her scowl. “There is a certain question I’ll be asking someone very soon, so maybe before I do I could text it to you and you could let me know if I’ve worded it romantically enough.”
That drew a small smile from her lips.
“Okay, but remember, it has to be very romantic. Don’t just throw it out there like it’s nothing.”
“Duh, Ella,” Zed chimed in, “why do you think he’s not down on one knee right now? Get a clue. It has to be just right.”
Now it was my turn to laugh, wondering how James and I were suddenly being bulldozed by mere munchkins.
Our time for chatting was done, and at the car we said our final goodbyes to the kids. I would miss Ella, of course, but when I hugged Zed and thanked him for all of his help, I could feel an actual, physical pang deep in my heart. He was my nephew, but I couldn’t tell him. Chances were, he might never find out.
It wasn’t until I was in the car and James had started it up that I realized it didn’t really matter whether Zed ever learned of our special bond or not. To him, family was family, regardless of DNA. That was a truth I had always known, of course, but it didn’t hurt to be reminded of it now.
“Ready to go?” James asked.
I turned and looked at him, at his handsome face, his loving eyes, his furrowed brow.
“What’s wrong?”
He shrugged. “I just want to make sure you’re good. It’s been quite an eventful trip.”
Placing one hand on his arm, I assured him I was better than I’d been in a long time, and I was leaving here in peace this time, not in pain, and that made all the difference.
Relaxing somewhat, he backed the car around and headed toward the main road. As we went down the lane I turned and looked back over the grassy, gently sloping lawn one last time. Hungrily, I took in the image, imprinting it on my mind.
As we pulled away, I thought about pulling out my camera and snapping one final picture but decided against it. I didn’t need a camera to remember this home, these families, this feeling of being so absolutely surrounded in love. I didn’t need to flip through an album to remember the eight babies I’d delivered in Lancaster County either, nor their mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters. I didn’t need photos to recall the peacefulness of these rolling hills, the warmth and vitality of the Amish homes, the complex and fascinating people who shared my blood and my heart. All were pictures I would never, ever forget. Put together, they told my story.
The story I had found at last.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
1. Lexie is surprised to find that her father withheld parts of her adoption story. What was her father’s motive? Do you think he was right or wrong in doing so?
2. What role does Sophie play in Lexie’s life? Does Sophie reveal too little information about the past to Lexie? Or too much?
3. According to the Benchmark Adoption Survey (1997), sixty percent of Americans have a personal experience with