SummerHill Secrets, Volume 1 (62 page)

“Really?” I was glad to hear it.

“Her body’s doin’ fine, but her heart, well, that’s a whole ’nother story.” Rachel’s eyes told the truth. “She’s a-hurtin’ and nothin’—no one—can make the pain stop.”

Miss Spindler glanced at Rachel. “She knows we’re coming, though, right?”

Rachel nodded. “I told her Merry was baby-sittin’ and would it be all right to bring the baby along.”

“And what did she say to that?” Miss Spindler seemed too eager.

Rachel shrugged. “Oh, she didn’t mind. She was glad to hear that company was comin’.”

“Company, eh?” Miss Spindler cackled. And I knew she had something up her sleeve.

Sarah looked a bit pale when she answered the front door.

“Wilkom,” she said, noticing the baby immediately. “Come and sit.”

I carried Charity inside in her infant car seat. Miss Spindler directed me to unbuckle her and take her out promptly. “How would you like to be cooped up in one of them there things?” She waved her hand at it.

Happily, I did as I was told. Being close to Charity—with her nestled in my arms—was the best place to be.

Evidently, Miss Spindler felt the same way. No sooner had I settled into one of Sarah’s hickory rockers, when here came Ruby cooing and carrying on. “Let me hold the little angel,” she said.

Sarah leaned forward, her eyes riveted. “Ach, what a perty baby!”

Rachel, sitting next to Sarah, nodded. “And she’s gut, too, jah?” Rachel remarked.

I smiled. “I think she must be the best baby I’ve ever taken care of.”

“Believe you me, this here little one is a gift straight from the throne of God,” Miss Spindler said. I could tell she meant every word, too. Her eyes beamed as she smiled at Charity.

We chatted with Sarah, talking about the weather and asking about her quilting projects. It was hard not to notice the baby things scattered around the living room, which was as sparsely furnished as most Old Order Amish front rooms.

It broke my heart to see the large, handmade cradle in the corner of the room. I wondered why someone hadn’t put it away. A cradle! What a sad reminder to the young husband and wife. Sad and sorrowful. I had a powerful urge to get up and hide it in the attic!

Sarah stood up, motioning to Rachel. “Wouldja like a piece of pie—black raspberry? I just made it fresh before ya came.”

“I’d love a piece,” Miss Spindler said, glancing at me.

“Sounds good, thanks,” I said.

While Sarah and Rachel were out in the kitchen, Miss Spindler turned Charity over on her stomach, laying her across her lap. “She likes the world upside-down this way,” she said. “I think it helps get the gas off her tummy.”

I had no idea where Miss Spindler had picked up all these tips on baby care. But it touched my heart, seeing Charity so loved by the lonely old woman. How we had misunderstood her!

Sarah carried a tray of dishes filled with large servings of raspberry pie for each of us. When she came to Miss Spindler, whose lap was plumb full with Charity, Sarah offered to hold the baby. “Ya need some space to enjoy yer pie,” she said.

I grinned. It was the very thing Ruby Spindler had hoped for. Her expression gave her away, and I knew the true reason why we’d come to see Sarah today.

Dad was waiting for our talk when I arrived home with Charity. “How was your visit with Sarah?” he asked.

“She seems better, I think.”

Mom took the baby from me and kissed her. “We hoped Sarah’s seeing little Charity wouldn’t upset her unduly.”

I sat on the green paisley sofa next to Dad. “You probably won’t believe it—I know
I
didn’t.”

“What do you mean?” Mom held Charity close. It was as though she were holding her breath, as well.

“Charity was just what the doctor ordered,” I said, using Miss Spindler’s expression. “Sarah literally fell in love with our baby.” I realized what I’d said. “Uh…I mean,
the
baby.”

Dad caught on and, rubbing his chin, said, “Your mother tells me you’ve been wanting to talk about that.”

I was determined to go through with it—my change of heart. And after today, after I’d witnessed the transformation in Sarah Zook, I knew I’d have the courage to spell it out for Dad. For Mom, too.

“To begin with, I’ve been awfully selfish about lots of things around here. But most of all about the baby. Neither of you know it, but last week I prayed a very selfish prayer. When I found Charity in the gazebo, I just assumed she was meant for me…for us.”

Dad folded his hands, giving me his undivided attention. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Mer. You’re just a kid.”

“Dad!”

“In
my
book you are.” He squeezed my elbow. “Go on.”

I stared at Charity, who was waving her tiny fists the way she had the night I found her. “Everyone loves this baby. And everyone who sees her wants to get their hands on her—to adopt her.”

Dad nodded thoughtfully.

“You and Mom—what do you want to do about adopting Charity?”

Mom spoke up. “We’ve been thinking and praying all week about it.”

“So have I,” I said, remembering my experience in the willow grove.

“And what have you decided?” Dad asked. “We want your input, as well.”

I was hesitant to just blurt it out. Mom had overheard Miss Spindler talking with me—the day she revealed how Charity had comforted her and made her feel whole somehow. Mom had cried at the old woman’s sentiments.

“As hard as it would be to give Charity up, I think it’s the right thing to do. There are couples waiting—women who can’t have babies. Hurting people…” I couldn’t go on. It was too hard to sit here in the same room as my little foster sister and talk about giving her away.

“We’ve been thinking the same thing,” Mom said softly.

I was relieved.

It was Dad’s turn. “The Lord’s been good to your mother and me—giving us three beautiful babies—and having the blessing of seeing two of them grow up.” He didn’t continue, but it was what he left unsaid that spoke loudest.

Charity would be dearly loved here, but when another family was approved and ready, she would leave us. She would bring love to a couple whose waiting arms were empty.

The next day was the church potluck. We dressed Charity up in one of my old sunsuits with a lace-trimmed sun hat to match. She was the object of everyone’s affection. Even Jon Klein enjoyed talking to her in alliteration-eze. In fact, he and I played our word game until the cows came home. Of course, there were no cows on the church grounds—it’s one of those silly things people say around here.

And Charity? Things
did
work out for her to go live with Curly John and Sarah. Thanks to Dad’s arranging it. They had to have a home study, a caseworker, and a financial statement for Social Services, but when it was finally all said and done, they were the happiest couple this side of the Conestoga River.

I was mighty happy myself. After all, there aren’t many babysitters around who’ll work for nothing. And that’s just what I did. Offered my services to the sweetest baby on SummerHill.

Miss Spindler was elated. She kept making crocheted outfits and booties to match. Perhaps too many, but you couldn’t stop her. She was a giver, I’d discovered. And give, she did!

Skip finally came home from camp, packed up, and left for college. He was fine with the decision to let Charity go.

Now the house is empty…and quiet. Sometimes too quiet. But I’m finding ways to fill it with noise. Like the sleepovers Lissa and I have planned.

As for Lissa’s grammy, she’s coming to Lancaster in October—wants me to take pictures of Lissa when the leaves turn. She’s insisting on paying for my services, which she thought looked mighty professional. Maybe between baby-sitting and picture taking, I’ll have enough experience to land a real job. In the meantime, I’m writing letters to Levi and getting good at Jon’s alliteration word game.

Charity started rolling over and trying to say, “Mam,” which is what the Amish call their mothers. Her name’s been legally changed to Mary Zook. The first name’s for me, except no Amish family would ever spell it M-e-r-r-y. But it’s an honor to have the baby of my dreams with a given name that
sounds
like mine.

As for me, I’m working on the Miss Fix-It label. I’m going to try to be more content with what I have—with what God’s given me. It’s a new beginning.

So is being a sophomore at James Buchanan High. It’s unbelievable what happened when I entered a photography contest. Who would’ve thought that Ashley Horton and I would go head to head over a silly contest—
and
the Alliteration Wizard—in the same month!

But that’s another story….

I’m delighted that you’re reading SummerHill Secrets. Merry Hanson is such a fascinating character—I can’t begin to count the times I laughed while writing her humorous scenes. And I must admit, I always cry with her.

Not so long ago, I was Merry’s age, growing up in Lancaster County, the home of the Pennsylvania Dutch—my birthplace. My grandma Buchwalter was a Mennonite, as were many of my mother’s aunts, uncles, and cousins. Some of my school friends were also Mennonite, so my interest and appreciation for the Plain folk began early.

It is they, the Mennonite and Amish people—farmers, carpenters, blacksmiths, shopkeepers, quiltmakers, teachers, schoolchildren, and bed-and-breakfast owners—who best assisted me with the research for this series. Even though I have kept their identities private, I am thankful for these wonderfully honest and helpful friends.

To learn more about my writing, sign up for my e-newsletter, or contact me, visit my Web site,
www.beverlylewis.com
.

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