SummerHill Secrets, Volume 1 (52 page)

“I prayed about it.”

Her spiritual approach didn’t surprise me. “Tell me more,” I said, sitting on my knees.

“Well, my mother—your grandmother—told me once that she’d started praying for the man I would marry when I was just a toddler.”

“Wow.” This was truly amazing.

“And God arranged everything, right down to the fact that one of those boys started dating another girl his senior year. Of course, I felt that I’d lost a friend, but not my
best
friend—the other boy—who turned out to be your father.”

“Really? Dad was one of the two guys?”

“Are you surprised?”

“So you’re saying you might’ve ended up with someone other than Dad if you hadn’t prayed?”

She looked at me as she spoke. “All three of us were Christians; we all wanted God’s will for our lives. Both boys were perfectly suitable mates.” She smiled. “You get to know that by being good friends, by not being in a hurry. The Lord has a way of making things very clear.”

I thought about what she’d said. Jon, Levi, and I were good friends, too. None of us was in a hurry. But perfectly suitable mates? I had no idea about either one. Besides, I was too young to think about settling down with anyone yet.

I wondered if Mom would start her you’re-too-young-to-bethinking-this-way-about-boys speech, or if she’d actually trust me to make wise judgments on my own. She said nothing, though, and we sat there enjoying the early evening together. Mother and daughter.

A gentle wind whispered through the willows, and I had a strange feeling. A feeling that the secret place would never be quite the same.

It was nearly eight when Mom and I returned to the house. She went into the family room, where Dad had closed things up and turned on the only air-conditioner in the house. I said good-night and headed upstairs with my cats.

The second floor was sweltering. First thing, I opened all the windows in my room. Then I stood looking out across the expanse of field and sky. I hugged myself for a moment, thinking. The chat with Mom had warmed my heart. Was it a new beginning for us?

With July 31 so near, I knew I shouldn’t hold my breath about it. Faithie’s death had muddled things up for nearly the last nine years. Especially between Mom and me. I could only hope that we’d made a breakthrough today in the willow grove. I decided to pray about it.

While I stared out the window, telling God my concerns, I heard a sound. In the distance, but coming closer. The cats raised their heads, cocking their ears. “It’s the jalopy again,” I whispered. “I’d recognize that bad muffler anywhere.”

I waited behind the window curtains, watching. Then I saw it—the old blue pickup. It stopped in front of the house. My heart pounded.

I could see the stranger sitting in the driver’s seat. This time someone was with him. A young woman. No…a young girl not much older than I was.

Then I heard voices. Angry voices.

Shouting. Arguing.

I listened intently, trying to sort out what was being said.

“Go on—do it!” the man ordered.

The girl began to cry. Sad, horrible sobs. She got out of the truck and began to wring her hands in despair, looking into the cab of the truck every so often as though she were checking on something.

The man held up a bundle of laundry. “Do what I told ya!” he demanded.

The girl’s voice was muffled with tears. “Please…no!”

“We haven’t any choice, ya hear?” came the harsh reply.

“But I cain’t…I cain’t.” More heart-wrenching sobs.

The man put down the dirty clothes and leaped out of the truck. He ran around the front of the pickup and grabbed hold of the girl, shaking her. “Now, ya listen here, and ya listen good!”

I’d had enough. I couldn’t stand by and watch this guy get brutal. I ran out of my room and down the front steps. Hesitating in the entryway, I wondered if I should get Dad to come out with me.

“Dad!” I called. “Come here!” Then I remembered. The airconditioner was going full blast in the family room. No way could he hear me.

I dashed down the hall to the kitchen and out to the family room addition. I opened the door and peeked in. Dad was resting against the back of the recliner, sawing logs. Mom was nowhere in sight. She was probably in the shower upstairs, getting ready for bed.

I reached out to touch Dad. Lightly, I tapped his arm. He moved in his sleep slightly. I realized he was out and probably would be too hazy to help even if he did wake up.

Then and there, I decided I couldn’t waste another minute. I turned and ran all the way down the front hallway. The screen door was locked, and I fumbled with the latch for several frantic seconds. Finally, when I got it open, I burst out of the house.

Standing on the porch, I scanned the road where minutes before there’d been a battle raging. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The pickup was gone. Vanished!

“Where’d they go?” Undaunted, I walked around the side yard facing Strawberry Lane.

No pickup and no girl.

Then I hurried around the front to the opposite side yard, facing the willow grove.

Nothing!

I leaned on a giant split log on the woodpile, puzzled. Hadn’t I just witnessed a major fight? And what had that horrible guy been saying? I thought back to the frightening conversation.
Do what I told you!

What did it mean? Was the girl the sick one? Was she too shy to ring our doorbell—to talk to a doctor? Was that it?

I ran out to SummerHill Lane where the pickup truck had been parked, scouring the area. I searched the side of the road, in the grass, and near the mailbox. There was nothing to be found.

I looked in both directions, up the hill toward Strawberry Lane as far as I could see in the early moonlight, and all the way down, toward the Zooks’ farm. Way in the distance, there might have been a tuft of smoke on the road, but I couldn’t be sure in the growing dimness.

How’d they get away so fast?
I wondered.
And why?

I was heading back around the side yard toward the gazebo when I heard another sound. The sound of a kitten fussing.

“Lily White, is that you?” I called. “Here, kitty kitty.” I waited for Lily to come strutting her regal white self, but seconds passed and she didn’t come.

Then I heard it again. This time louder. It didn’t exactly sound like a kitten now, although with all that had just happened, maybe I was too shaken to sort it out.

I searched the area around me, listening, following the sound. “Lily?” I called again, beginning to worry that she’d gotten herself caught somewhere. I turned to look toward the willow grove, but it was getting too dark to determine anything without a flashlight. “Lily, are you stuck?”

The cry came again. And I began to realize it was not coming from the willows. The sound was coming from the backyard. From the gazebo.

I rushed to the white-latticed outdoor room. Inside, I noticed a pile of clothes. My throat turned dry.
Aren’t these the same ones I saw in the pickup—in the stranger’s hands?

Now they were all bunched up in the corner. Yet the sound came from inside the heap of clothes. Cautiously, I approached the mass of laundry, or what I thought to be clothes, and when I focused my eyes in the darkness, I realized these were blankets.

Then I heard a distinct cry and curiously lifted the blankets. “What on earth?” I whispered into the night.

There, in a wicker laundry basket, was a baby!

I reached out in amazement and touched the thin, pink blanket. The small bundle moved slightly under my touch and began to whimper. “Oh, don’t cry,” I said, finding my voice. “It’s okay.” But I knew it wasn’t.

I looked around, wondering if someone was hiding out in the darkness. Was this some kind of crazy joke?

Wait a minute,
I thought.
Those people…those horrible people. Did they do this? Did they abandon this beautiful baby girl?

I stood up and found the tin filled with matches and lit a citronella candle. “There. Now we can see better, can’t we?” I said as much to the little one as to the dusk.

The baby cooed a sweet response, and the sound broke my heart. As I came back to kneel at the foot of the wicker basket, I noticed something. Something I’d missed before. A note pinned to the blanket.

Quickly, I removed the safety pin. And holding the note up to the candle, I began to read.

To the finder: I am two months old. My bottle is in the basket. Please take care of me and love me as your own.

I smoothed the paper and read the words again.
Love me as your own….

I hid the note in the basket and leaned close to the infant girl snuggled inside. Her eyes were closed, and her tiny face was wrapped in an angelic glow.

“You’re beautiful,” I whispered, stroking the satiny cheek. “I will take good care of you. I promise.”

Gently, I searched the basket for a bottle. Babies needed to be fed every few hours. I knew that because my twin cousins seemed to be hungry all the time.

Deep in the basket, I found an eight-ounce bottle filled with milk. The nipple had a plastic cap, and there were several bottles of ready-made formula and some disposable diapers, too.

“Well, looks like someone planned ahead,” I mumbled. But I was worried. Had the baby’s parents truly abandoned her? And if so, why?

The idea of leaving a baby outside alone, even on a warm summer night, angered me. What were they thinking? I sat next to the wicker basket, never taking my eyes off the pink cheeks and the rosebud lips. “You’re the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen,” I whispered. The lump in my throat grew bigger, and I thought I would cry. “How could they leave you?”

Tears sprang up and I let them fall. Silently, I cried for the baby nobody wanted. And I prayed. “Dear Lord, please help me take care of her. This darling little gift.”

I stopped praying and clutched my aching throat.
A gift! Is the baby truly a gift from God…to me?

My prayer!

Suddenly, I remembered. I’d prayed a prayer this very day—in the dank, dark cellar where I’d taken a shower to cool off. What exactly had I said to God?

I pondered my words.
What
had I prayed? Something about finding it in His will to help me. I hadn’t specifically asked for a person—certainly not a baby—to fill the hole that Faithie’s death had left in me. But now that this incredibly marvelous baby was here, I was beginning to wonder.

The light from the candle on the table cast a soft pink glow on the sleeping infant. She stirred peacefully, and as I watched, something in me longed to hold her. Strong feelings of responsibility and of love sprang up in me. I’d never felt like this about a baby. Typically, babies scared me to pieces, made me uncomfortable. When they first had come for a visit, even my baby cousins, Ben and Becky, made me nervous.

I gazed at the baby in her wicker bed. She was different somehow. “Let’s make sure you’re all right,” I said, reaching into the basket.

I brought her up into my arms. She lifted her tiny fist and waved it in the air. I put my finger next to the plump little hand, and she grabbed hold with a mighty grip. Slowly, I carried her to the table, where the citronella candle sent out its rosy glow. I wanted to get a better look at the sleepy bundle.

There in the candlelight, I pulled back her limp blanket and saw only the lightweight cotton undershirt and diaper she wore. I placed my hand on the soft chest and tummy.

“I think it’s time to give you a name,” I said. “I’ll name you Charity. Baby Charity.”

My words, the loudest I’d spoken, must’ve startled her because she opened her eyes. I looked down into the bluest eyes I’d ever seen—as blue as the heavens. Charity squinted at the candlelight as if to say:
I’m trying to say hello, but it’s too bright.

I wrapped the pink blanket around her again and picked her up, moving back into the shadows of the gazebo, away from the light. “Do you like your name?” I whispered, almost cooing as I spoke to her. “It fits you.” I sighed. “You don’t know it, but I had a twin sister named Faith. I think she would be very happy to know that you’ve come to me.” Again the tears fell, dripping off my chin onto Charity’s baby blanket.

Now that she was here—this amazing gift from God—what was I going to do with her? I was sure Mom and Dad had already retired for the night. A quick glance at the house confirmed that. Mom probably thought I’d already gone to bed. And Dad? Well, he’d been zonked out earlier. I envisioned him stumbling up the back steps to bed, exhausted as usual.

For years now, I’d gone to bed on my own without the old childhood tucking-in ritual. I think it was Mom’s way of letting me grow up, spread my wings. Although, if I’d been honest, I would’ve told her I missed it—being covered up and kissed good-night.

I leaned down and kissed Charity’s soft forehead. “I know what we’ll do. We’ll sleep outside together, right here. It’s a nice, warm night, and this way, you won’t wake up my parents. They don’t need to know about you just yet.” I wanted to savor this precious moment—my special time with Charity—just the two of us. Before anyone else found out. At least for tonight, she belonged to me.

I kept talking softly to her, the way I did to my cats, who by now were probably sacked out on my bed. “We’ll sleep together here in the gazebo, over in the corner just like Faithie and I did once.” I caught myself before I said more. But I couldn’t stop the memory.

That splendid night was as clear as though it were yesterday. It had been one short month before Faithie died. She’d begged to sleep out under the stars in the gazebo. We were really young—seven, going on eight, but surprisingly, Mom and Dad had agreed. They’d left their windows wide open. Just in case we needed something.

Thinking back, I was sure it was a granting of a “last wish.” My parents knew Faithie was dying, and she could be mighty determined sometimes.

Rachel Zook had joined us that night. Rachel’s mother had insisted that she bring along her pony and tie him to the gazebo railing—to alert us if there were strangers lurking. But we never feared. Barely slept, either. We were three kids having a good time. One of the last good times before…