The Amish Nanny (24 page)

Christy perked up a little at that, which wasn't missed by Alice—or Morgan.

“Not to worry. It's actually quite, um, wholesome. I'd be happy to pass it on when I'm finished.” Morgan looked from Alice to me.

“I'd like to read it,” Christy said.

Alice merely pursed her lips, so Morgan suggested she take a look at it first herself so she could decide if it was suitable for her granddaughter. “I'll be done with it in a couple of days, and then you're welcome to borrow it.”

The book wasn't as big as the
Martyrs Mirror
, but it was large. I wasn't sure Christy would stick with it even if she started it.

“Speaking of reading,” I said. “It's time for our first lesson.”

Christy grunted.

“We'll do long division first.”

Christy groaned.

“And then history and then a writing assignment.”

Christy sighed.

“Oh, lucky you,” Morgan gushed with sincerity. “Well, maybe not as far as the math, but the history…”

I agreed with her and appreciated her being so positive—minus her math comment—in front of Christy. Studying history and geography was the closest I'd come to traveling, until this year.

Twenty minutes later, back downstairs in our cabin and well into our math lesson, I realized Christy had no idea how to do long division. “Didn't you study it at school?” I pressed. Her last teacher had had several years of experience, so I couldn't imagine how this had managed to slip through the cracks.

“I think so,” Christy answered. “But I didn't get it then, either.” She had probably been too distraught after her mother died to focus much on schoolwork. She'd no doubt missed a lot of days because of her heart problem as well. When I was child, some years my condition had kept me home for weeks at a time. The difference between me and Christy, though, was that I so loved learning that even when I had to miss class, I still kept up with the work.

Focusing on my young charge, I wrinkled my nose. I hadn't prepared myself to teach her long division. “Let's see.” I did my best but soon realized the problem was that she didn't know her multiplication tables either, at least not well. She always came up with the answer eventually, but every time was a struggle. Encouraged by my assessment, I quickly made some flash cards from the paper I'd brought, explaining I would create a complete set in our spare time. If I could drill her enough to imbed these multiplication tables in her brain, I knew long division would be a piece of cake.

I was totally engrossed in the lesson and couldn't believe it when Christy said, “It's noon.”

Surprised, I looked at the clock on the bedside table. She was right. How had three hours disappeared so quickly?

After lunch, Daniel, Christy, and I headed toward the rec room to play Ping-Pong. Daniel said he needed to forewarn us that he'd studied Ping-Pong in college and was quite good. That made me laugh. Was that the sort of thing I'd missed out on by not having a higher education?

“For a gym credit,” he said in his own defense. “We also did bowling, horseshoes, and shuffleboard.”

Daniel said that if we had another person, we could play teams, so along the way we drafted a reluctant Morgan to join us. First up were Daniel and Christy against Morgan and me. Though Christy had never played Ping-Pong before, she mimicked the way Daniel held his paddle and was soon slamming the ball with a flourish. She also laughed and giggled a lot, showing a playful side I hadn't seen in her before.

She also grew far braver, at one point openly mimicking Daniel as she tucked her foot behind her and swung for the ball.

“Is that really how I look?” he cried.

“No, wait. I left something out,” she said. Then she did it again, only this time as she swung she called out, “Give me your weak, your tired, your poor people!”

We all exploded in laughter, even Daniel. Soon our game was done, with Daniel and Christy the victors.

“How about we play Round the World this time?” Morgan proposed, explaining a game that sounded as though it would have us running around the table a bit. We played it for a while, and it did. Eventually I dropped out, saying I needed to take a break.

Christy pointed her paddle at Daniel. “You and me, how 'bout it? Two out of three?”

He agreed, so Morgan stepped back to stand and watch with me.

“Looks like someone has a crush going,” she said softly from the corner of her mouth.

I nodded, a little surprised at Morgan's confiding tone. She'd seemed so distant before. Knowing she was right, I wondered if Alice should say something to Christy, or if that would be my responsibility.

“Harmless enough,” Morgan added. “And what a nice guy for her to be crushing on, huh?”

I thought of my girlhood crush on Will and relaxed a little.

“She hasn't noticed whom Daniel
is
interested in, though.”

My eyebrows raised, I turned toward her. “Pardon?”

“I have knack for this sort of thing. You don't see it, do you?” Her hazel eyes were serious.

I shook my head.

“You,” she told me, crossing her arms, her paddle bumping against my side. “She's crushing on him and he's crushing on you.”

“That's ridiculous,” I said, but as I spoke, Daniel looked my way, a smile spreading across his face.

The next morning Christy, Alice, and I went up on deck for a walk and some fresh air. The storm had completely passed—or we had passed it, I wasn't sure which—and the sky was a startling blue again, nearly the same color as the sea. The ocean glistened in the sunlight.

We found Morgan by the railing and joined her. Gripping the metal bar, Alice tilted her face heavenward, the ribbons of her
kapp
trailing down her neck. “Doesn't the expansiveness of this make you think of the good Lord?” she said. “Except we know the ocean ends while He goes on forever.” Her face glowed as she spoke, and her snow-white hair and bleached
kapp
both lit up under the rays of the sun.

I stole a glance at Morgan, wondering if she agreed with what Alice said, but she stared straight ahead, her face frozen and her eyes focused on the water.

Alice and Christy decided to keep walking, but I stayed behind next to Morgan and asked what she was going to do on our third day at sea. She answered she would finish her book and then start another. “I'm afraid that's what my backpack is full of—books.” She lowered her voice. “I was thinking, if it's okay with Alice, that I could read
Jane Eyre
out loud to Christy. In the afternoons. Maybe if we read far enough to get her interested, she'll continue on her own.”

I said I would check with Alice and then asked, “How did you know Christy didn't like to read?”

“Just a guess, based on her reluctance to do her lessons in general.”

I hadn't realized it was so obvious. “
Danke
,” I said.

“
Bitte
,” she answered.

“You speak German?”

“Some,” she answered. “I've studied it for years. I'm hoping to get to practice it, although in Switzerland they mostly speak Swiss German and that's different.”

“Daniel speaks German—and some Swiss German.” I turned my face toward the morning sun.

“He's quite the Renaissance man, isn't he?” She paused and then said, “I wouldn't have thought it at first.”

I wasn't sure what a Renaissance man was and asked.

“Someone who knows a whole lot about a bunch of different things.”

“Oh,” I replied, thinking that probably wasn't a term I'd use for Daniel at all. He was certainly smart and well read, but I doubted he could shoe a horse or mend leather upholstery or grow asparagus or snare a rabbit or lots of other things. My
daed
, on the other hand, could do all of those and then some. No doubt so could Will Gundy.

Seeing the expression on my face, Morgan elaborated. “He's quite proficient in literature, history, languages, music, and art. Like I said, a Renaissance man.”

“Ah,” I replied, understanding. Though I didn't comment, I rather preferred my definition to hers.

Later, back in the cabin, Christy and I sat side by side at our little table, delving into our history lesson. I spread out a map I'd brought and showed her where Zurich was and told her about the beginning of the Anabaptists.

After a while Christy yawned and looked up at me with her big brown eyes. “Can we do math now?”

“In just a minute.” I kept on with the history lesson. When I told her that some of the Anabaptists were drowned for their faith, and that from 1527 to 1535 more than five thousand were martyred, she began shaking her head, her hands pressed against her ears.

“I don't want to hear about that stuff!”

I was startled by her reaction. She'd heard all of this before, dozens of times, if not hundreds. Most recently, she must have read it that day when she was going through the
Martyrs Mirror
—and or at least seen the gruesome illustrations. I reached out and gently pulled her hands from her ears.

“This is your heritage, Christy. It's important. Part of the reason the Anabaptists formed such a tightly knit community is because they were persecuted.” I explained that in many places they hid in caves so they could worship, adding, “Caves we'll get to visit. In person.” Then, pointing at Langnau, I showed how the Mennonites migrated to the Emmental.

“But they were killed too,” she said flatly.

“
Ya
, some of them were martyred.”

“Please can we do math?”

I sat back in my chair, disconcerted. Stories of our ancestors were vitally important to us as a people, and this was the first time I'd ever met anyone of our faith who didn't want to hear more about them.

Taking a deep breath, I decided that perhaps the talk of dying was too much for her. I folded the map, suddenly picturing her mother in the casket, the infant boy who died at birth tucked beside her, dressed in a tiny white gown. I had to admit, Christy Gundy had gone through more than many adults had in a lifetime.

“
Ya
,” I said, smiling. “Let's start with the multiplication table again.” I pulled out the flash cards I'd made and soon we were working through the drills.

After lunch Alice leafed through
Jane Eyre
as Morgan described the main characters and then gave an overview of the story. Once she made clear it had been written more than a hundred years ago and was a classic, Alice agreed it was fine. Christy, who had been listening intently, looked pleased.

We were still in the dining room when Daniel came in, his laptop open in his hands. “I received an email from Herr Lauten,” he said. I knew that the Internet service on board had been spotty and slow, the only signal coming from the ship's tower. Still, Daniel had persisted, and now it seemed he'd finally gotten through.

Alice and I both leaned forward in anticipation. “Did he find the agreement?” she asked.

He shook his head. “He's searched all through his office. Now he's going through other rooms. He did find yet another property journal, and he's hoping it might give him the information he needs. But so far nothing concrete.”

Alice folded her hands together but didn't say anything.

Daniel turned toward me. “He also forwarded a message for you. From…” He sat down at the table. “Giselle.”

I nodded, my heart racing. “My mother's sister.”

Daniel looked back down at his computer and read the message. “She said she's leaving for Germany for an exhibit and she's not sure when she'll return.”

“Exhibit?”

Daniel read it again. “That's what it says.”

“Is she an artist?” Morgan asked.

“Not that I know of,” I responded.

“Is she Amish?” Morgan leaned forward, her arms crossed on the table-top.

“No.” I kept my answer short on purpose. There was no way of saying a little about Giselle without saying too much.

“She lives in the cottage, right? Below Amielbach,” Daniel said.

Before I could answer, he went on to explain about the property to Morgan, saying that it was a gorgeous Swiss estate that had been passed down through generations of my family, all the way to my grandmother, who'd had to sell it to someone else outside the family back in the mid-eighties. I'm pretty sure Morgan's estimation of me changed in that moment. I was no longer Plain Ada. I was someone with a story, or at least, someone whose family had a story.

“So your aunt owns it now?” she asked.

I shook my head. “No, she owns her cottage, that's all. My grandmother gave Giselle that part when she moved to Switzerland. At that same time, my grandmother sold the remaining bulk of the estate to someone else, a Swiss lawyer by the name of Lauten.”

“Well, he bought all of it except for the one piece,” Daniel corrected. “That one very small, very important piece.”