SummerHill Secrets, Volume 1 (56 page)

Mom interjected, “Your father’s nearly fifty, and we’re both very busy with our present responsibilities.” Her voice grew softer. “Someday,
you’ll
have babies, Merry. When you’re finished with college and have a husband.”

My logical approach was getting me nowhere fast. The tone of Mom’s voice told me she needed an emotional push. Something to jump-start her maternal instincts.

“Okay, let’s just say, for the sake of discussion, that an abandoned baby is found somewhere around SummerHill. And what if that baby is a beautiful baby girl with no one to love her and provide for her?”

Mom’s eyes were transfixed, and Dad was listening intently. I had them!

I continued. “What if the baby is so precious and adorable that the person who found her wants to keep her? And what if the person knows for sure that the baby is meant to be in that person’s life?”

Dad scratched his chin, trying to hide his stunned expression. “My goodness, what a hypothetical situation you’ve cooked up.”

Mom didn’t wait for me to answer. She stood up and walked over to the window. “What would
I
do if I found an abandoned baby?” she asked, redirecting the question. “Well, that’s rather simple, I would think. Right, hon?” She glanced at Dad.

He nodded. “First thing—we’d have to report a missing child. After all, the police should be notified in order to locate the mother.”

Dad had thrown a wrench into my setup. And worse, Mom was following his line of reasoning.

“Well, what if the person who found the baby knew the baby had been purposely abandoned?” I said. “What then?”

Dad mentioned the possibility of kidnapping, completely ignoring my comment. “Unfortunately, babies are taken out from under their parents’ noses every year in this country. Some are sold into the black market. Others are left to die or simply abandoned on someone’s doorstep. How would the person who’d found such a baby know the child hadn’t been kidnapped?” He leaned back on the bed, his hands supporting his head.

I sighed. Why were they making this so difficult? “To begin with, I just said ‘what if ’ the person knew somehow that the baby was
not
kidnapped, but abandoned.”

Dad’s eyes closed as he spoke. “Merry, why don’t you just level with us? Do you know someone who has found such a baby?”

I was frantic! He’d seen through it. I should’ve known Dad would read between the lines. Mom too.

“Guess neither of you was born yesterday.” I started to explain. “Yes, a baby has been found. She’s an adorable baby girl…and she’s ours—God showed me that.” I left out the part about the dream.

I told them the truth. “I was the one who found her—in a wicker laundry basket last night—in the gazebo.”

Mom turned and stared. Dad was sitting upright now, the lines in his forehead creased into a deep frown. “Someone left a baby in our gazebo?”

“Merry, why didn’t you tell us?” Mom asked.

“It’s a long story,” I whispered. But I proceeded to tell them everything, even about the note in my shorts.

Mom gasped. “There was a note, too?”

“I put it in my gray shorts and then forgot and tossed them in the laundry,” I explained. “Silly me.”

Mom put both hands on top of her head. “Oh dear. I found several things in your pockets, but I don’t think I threw them away. I believe they’re still on the counter in the—”

Before she finished, I left the room to find the note. It was exactly the proof I needed. As I rushed through the kitchen toward the cellar steps, I stopped to look out the window. The lights in Miss Spindler’s house were beginning to come on. It was dusk, close to the hour when baby Charity had come to me yesterday. I stared at the tall two-story house an acre away. How I missed my sweet little Charity!

Quickly, I turned and ran downstairs to retrieve the note.

By the end of the evening—after pleading with Dad not to call the police (he did anyway) and giving a complete description of the old pickup and the people in it—I knew there was only the faintest hope for Charity’s future with us. But I hung on to the hope tenaciously, prayerfully. When it came right down to it, the baby’s future rested with the police’s ability to track down a clanking blue pickup with an abusive driver and a tearful young woman. The rest was up to God.

Which brings me to Miss Spindler and the disturbing evening visit with the baby of my dreams.

Miss Spindler seemed quite distracted when I showed up on her doorstep. “Come in,” she said, treating me more like a stranger than the close neighbor I was.

“Where’s Charity?” I asked, looking around.

“Ah, you came to see my baby.”

The preoccupied expression on her wrinkled face had me downright worried. “I’ve come to get Charity. My father has just talked to the police.”

“Police?”

I nodded. It seemed as hard for her to accept as it had been for me. “It’s procedure,” I explained. “They’ll take her to Social Services until they can determine where her parents are.” The lump in my throat made it hard to talk. “If she’s declared an orphan or abandoned, Dad’ll talk to his administrative friends on the Social Services board about putting her in temporary foster care—with us, if all goes well.”
And if I can talk my parents into it,
I thought.

“My, oh my,” she muttered, fluttering around in a daze. “Going and reporting Charity missing? Why, the little darlin’s been right here all the time.”

She was crazy-out-of-her-mind distressed. “Miss Spindler…I’m so sorry. I never should’ve—”

“Nonsense! That youngster has been exactly what the doctor ordered. A godsend…yes indeedy,” she said. “This lonely old woman has missed so much in life, and now…” Her words floated away.

She’d mentioned God, and I felt upset. How could she latch on to Charity as though the Lord had sent the baby to
her
? Careful not to let her see my irritation, I nodded, trying to think of something soothing to say. “If we pray,” I said, “and if it’s God’s will—which I believe it is—then Charity will be right back here.”

Miss Spindler’s blue-gray hair was curled up in bobby pins all over her head, and she wore an ankle-length white duster. She sat down in an overstuffed chair, and for a moment I thought she was going to cry. Her voice wavered as she told about going to town to buy an infant car seat, disposable diapers, and blankets. “Aw, you should see her dressed up in her new things. She looks right fine—like an angel, if I must say so myself.”

“You spent money on the baby?” I was truly amazed at her confession.

“Spent the entire afternoon rounding up all sorts of baby things,” she said proudly. “I even stopped to see one of my dear old friends at the nursing home and showed Charity off.” She grinned, showing her gums. “And don’tcha know—I loved every single second of it!”

Poor Old Hawk Eyes. She’s gotten too attached.

“Whatcha lookin’ at, dear?” she asked.

Sadness for the older lady nearly got the best of me as I stood there in her old-fashioned parlor. Quickly, I looked away so as not to embarrass her. “So,” I said in almost a whisper, “that’s where we stand with Charity.”

Without another word, Miss Spindler pulled herself up out of the easy chair and went upstairs. I thought of Dad’s comment earlier this morning about someone coming into Miss Spindler’s house and searching it for spy equipment. The thought helped to lighten my tension.

Miss Spindler was gone only a few minutes before bringing Charity down.

Half asleep, the baby opened her eyes.
Blue as blue can be,
I thought.

“Hello again,” I said, reaching out for her chubby fist. “I missed you so much, but I know Auntie Ruby here took extra-good care of you.”

Miss Spindler was nodding and beaming. “That she did.”

It nearly broke my heart to remove Charity from the old woman’s arms. She helped me wrap Charity in several blankets before we headed out. Then she went about filling the wicker basket full of large cans of formula, diapers, and other baby things, saying she would drop by with the car seat tomorrow.

“There’s a dear,” she whispered as I stepped onto her front porch weighed down with everything. “Good-bye, angel.” She touched the baby’s head lightly. “God be with you.”

I wanted to reach out and hug Old Hawk Eyes. She’d surprised me with her kind, nurturing ways, and I was grateful. “Thanks for your help,” I said before walking out into the night sweetly fragranced with honeysuckle.

“I’ll leave the yard light on for you, dear.” Miss Spindler stood on the porch and watched as I headed down the hill toward my house.

“Thanks again!” I called, knowing full well the people from Social Services would be showing up any minute.

Arriving home, I hurried into the house. Mom was waiting at the kitchen door for me. For
Charity
and me.

In a few seconds, Mom was talking baby talk and making over Charity as if she’d never laid eyes on such a pretty baby.

“Will you look at those blue eyes,” Mom said as Dad came into the room.

“Now, remember what I said,” he admonished. “Don’t fall head over heels for a baby that most likely won’t be…”

Mom held the baby out to him. Reluctantly, he took Charity and held her up to his face. “Lookee here,” he said, sounding something like Miss Spindler. “Well, what do we have here?”

“So…what do you say?” I said, pushing for an instant decision. “Can we adopt her?”

Mom and Dad were shoulder to shoulder, peering into the face of baby Charity—my gift from God. I tried to make conversation several more times to no avail. It was amazing—a transformation was taking place before my eyes. For people who’d just said they were much too old and had way too many responsibilities to add to their family at this late date, well…the way things looked from my perspective, the Social Services people could wait and show up tomorrow or the next day. Or never.

Suddenly, Dad pushed Charity into my arms. “Here, hold her for a minute.” He dashed off to his study, and I heard him close the door. My heart was in my throat.

“What’s Dad doing?” I asked.

Mom leaned her head close to Charity’s. “Oh, you might just be surprised.”

“What?” I pleaded. “Is he calling someone important?”

“Your father, as you know, is easily swayed when it comes to people with terminal illnesses, emergency situations, and…
babies
,” she reminded me.

“I was counting on that.” I grinned down at Charity. This time she was gazing up at me. “Oh, you’re so pwecious.”

Abednego and his brothers wandered into the kitchen just then. Abednego gave me the evil eye as if to say:
Put that human baby down this instant!

I scolded him. “You get plenty of love and attention. Now, go find your adopted sister!” And I shooed them outside to look for Lily White.

Mom pulled out a kitchen chair for me. “I’d better give Miss Spindler a quick call,” she said. “It would be nice to know when Charity had her last bottle.”

Her words were music to my ears. And as I waited for her to chat with our nosy neighbor, I prayed that the person Dad was talking to on the phone would bend the rules and let us keep Charity until she was free to be adopted. “And if not, Lord,” I whispered, “at least let us keep her tonight.”

It was a long shot, but from what I knew of my heavenly Father, the God of the universe took great delight in performing miraculous feats.

The phone rang just as Dad was coming out of his study. He hurried back to answer it. I waited for him to return, hugging Charity close. Then he called to me. “The phone’s for you, Merry.”

I picked up the kitchen phone, holding Charity in one arm. “Hello?” I said, looking down at the darling baby.

“Hi, Merry.” It was Lissa Vyner. “Just wondered if you got the film developed that you took of me yesterday.”

I’d completely spaced it out. “Not yet. But I’ll get Mom to take it down to the one-hour place tomorrow,” I promised. “It’s just that so much has been happening since you were here. You’ll never believe what—”

Dad was waving at me, signaling to me.

“Uh…just a minute, Lissa.” I handed Charity to Mom.

Dad hurried over and covered the phone with his hand. “Don’t mention anything about the baby just yet,” he advised. “Lissa doesn’t know it, but her dad just did me a big favor at the police department.”

I knew Officer Vyner was on the Lancaster police force. He and Dad had become acquaintances because of Lissa’s and her mother’s attendance at our church. More recently, Dad had teamed up with Lissa and me to persuade him to come to the church potluck next weekend.

“Okay, I won’t say anything,” I said as he handed the phone back to me. I hesitated when I got on the phone again. “So, Lissa, how’s everything?”

“Merry? You were starting to tell me something,” she urged, not letting me change the subject. “You were saying something about all that’s been happening. Did that weird guy in the pickup show up again?”

“That’s not exactly what I was talking about.” I was hedging, not knowing what to say next.

Dad must’ve sensed my distress. “Tell her you’ll call back,” he whispered, moving his hand in a circular motion in midair.