Lorie's Heart by Amy Lillard Page B

to talk to her grandmother and instead she got a box of letters and who knew what else.
    She sucked in a deep breath and reached for the lid. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but the letters were there just as promised along with other mementos tucked between the pages. Ribbons, fancy napkins, even a few pressed flowers. She pulled out the envelope closest to the edge and checked the postmark against the one behind it. It seemed the letters were in no particular order, just stuffed inside, waiting for eyes to read them once again.
    She unfolded the paper, realizing as she did that the letter wasn’t in order. Immediately she recognized her father’s spidery handwriting.

    I can hardly believe that Belinda has been gone a year. I’d like to think she is still with us in spirit. I know I see her whenever I look at Lorie.
    She seems to be adjusting well. That’s the beauty of youth. She will bounce back a lot quicker, but it saddens me to know that she won’t remember her mother.

    Tears filled Lorie’s eyes. She dashed them away and continued to read.

    I wish I could bring her for a visit, but I’m afraid it will only confuse her. Maybe one day she’ll understand that I did this for her. Until then, I’ve enclosed a photograph. It’s not the best, but the Amish don’t allow for their picture to be taken. I had to sneak it when no one was looking. But I wanted you to see how much she’s grown.
    I must go for now. Know that I love you and miss you. Oh, how I wish things could be different. Maybe one day they can.
    Your loving son,
    Hank

    Any doubts she had were dashed in that moment. Or maybe they were hopes that all of this was a terrible mistake. But the proof was there, in her father’s own hand.
    She flipped through the other pages of the letter. There wasn’t much else of great importance, but she enjoyed reading her father’s words despite their lack of answers. But her search dislodged the promised photo.
    He was right. It wasn’t the best picture, taken at an odd angle and grainy as if through some sort of screen.
    She didn’t recognize anything about the photo except her own face. The porch where she stood and the other surroundings were a complete mystery, though it did appear that they were somewhere in the country. She looked no more than four, if even that. Her hair was in pigtails like she had seen many Amish women style their young daughters’ hair. She was a little old for the style. Perhaps her father did it out of necessity. Dads were no good at fixing their daughters’ hair. Or maybe she’d had a haircut that made her locks too short to pull back in a bun. She wore a sage-green dress and a black schlupp schotzli, a pinafore worn by very young Amish girls. Her feet were bare, her smile broad. Despite everything, she looked happy.
    One phrase kept playing over and over again in her head. I did this for her.
    Did what? Convert to Amish?
    That was possible. Perhaps her father had simply wanted to raise her in the close-knit community. He’d decided the best way to fit in was to convert. But why the secrecy? Why did he feel the need to lie to her about her grandmother and owning a car? If converted, why didn’t he convert all the way?
    As much as she wanted it to be true, the theory had too many holes in it to hold water.
    She wanted to sit there all night and examine each letter, but the one she read had been so emotionally draining, she thought it might be days before she could look at another one.
    She should paint.
    The thought popped into her head like an exploding piece of popcorn. She should paint, get all these emotions out and onto the canvas. Surely that would help her move on.
    She pushed herself to her feet, dusted off her dress, and fetched her painting garb. Painting was the one sure thing to get her mind off everything else.

    â€œWhere have you been?”
    Lorie shrugged one shoulder and managed not to