As for marrying in the future, Turner felt he couldn’t risk starting a family of his own, for fear his wife would bear daughters. What if he failed to raise them to stay true to their Amish faith and traditions as miserably as he’d apparently failed to raise his sister? He couldn’t bear that kind of heartache again, nor could he allow his wife to suffer through it, either. No, despite his desire to marry, Turner figured the Lord must have willed for him to remain a lifelong bachelor.
Exhaling slowly, he reminded himself the next day was Monday and he’d be back in his shop with his brothers working at his side. Repairing and modifying buggies, crafting wheels and organizing inventory filled Turner with satisfaction. Unlike in the situation with his sister, there was almost no problem he couldn’t figure out and fix in his workshop.
He lifted a forkful of eggs to his mouth, but they’d already gone cold. What he wouldn’t do for a home-cooked meal—the kind his aunt used to make or his mother before that. He’d received many Sunday supper invitations, but for the past year he’d turned them down, anxious his hosts might question him about his sister. The last anyone in Willow Creek knew, Jacqueline was at Louisa’s in Ohio, and he preferred to allow them to think that was still the case. After living among the Englisch for over a year, she’d have enough explaining to do and attitudes to overcome when—or if—she returned to their community. She didn’t need rumors to begin before she’d even arrived.
Unfortunately, his isolation also meant Turner rarely enjoyed a hearty meal, unless one of his sisters-in-law made it for him. They didn’t know about Jacqueline’s disappearance, either, despite their expressed curiosity about her whereabouts. The three brothers rarely discussed Jacqueline’s absence, even with each other, but Turner knew Mark and Patrick felt as concerned about their little sister as he did and they were equally committed to guarding her against gossip, even if their wives’ questions—especially Rhoda’s—were well intentioned.
As he prepared for bed that night, Turner again reflected on his brief encounter with Tessa’s parents. If he’d been as protective as they were, might Jacqueline still be part of their family and community? Or had he been too strict? Was that what caused her to leave? There hadn’t been any significant conflict between them when she’d gone to live with Louisa. In fact, all three of them had agreed it would be beneficial to have a female influence guiding Jacqueline as she entered womanhood. Turner certainly didn’t blame Louisa for his sister’s running away, but in retrospect, he regretted allowing Jacqueline to leave Willow Creek in the first place. What if by letting her go he’d given his sister the idea she wasn’t dearly wanted, an integral member of their family? Turner shuddered. Once again, he asked the Lord to keep her safe and warm, to guard her against sinful temptation and to bring her home soon.
The pain that had been plaguing Turner all day moved from his forehead down the side of his jaw and into his neck. As his head sunk into the pillow, he decided no amount of distress was worth such physical discomfort. He had to stop worrying, keep praying and start working harder at finding his sister. Meanwhile, he wasn’t going to be his tenant’s keeper, no matter how insistent her mother was.
* * *
When the new day dawned, Tessa practically leaped out of bed. She loved Monday mornings, when she returned to her job at Schrock’s. Initially, because her parents sheltered her so closely, she had little experience interacting with the Englisch, and she barely spoke a word to the tourists. But after two years as a clerk, she’d grown accustomed to the Englischers’ ways and she readily struck up conversations as she assisted them with their purchases. Although she missed her close friend, Anna Chupp, who quit clerking when she got married, Tessa enjoyed engaging with the Schrock family and other Amish leit who consigned their goods in the shop.
“Guder mariye,” she greeted Joseph when she entered through the back door.
“Guder mariye, Tessa,” he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Before you go into the gallery, I’d like to have a word with you.”
“Of course. What can I do to help?”
Joseph smiled wanly. “Your willingness to be of assistance makes it very difficult for me to tell you this, Tessa. But you know our holiday sales weren’t what I hoped they’d be this year. Now that Grischtdaag has passed and Englisch schools are back in session, there will be fewer tourists passing through Willow Creek until the weather warms. I’m afraid I temporarily have to reduce your hours.”
Tessa’s stomach dropped. “By how much?”
“I can only schedule you to clerk on Saturdays,” Joseph confessed, shaking his head. “If I had my druthers, I’d keep you on full time and release one of the other employees, but of course I can’t do that.”
No, because that would mean releasing Melinda Schrock, the clerk who recently wed Joseph’s nephew, Jesse. Tessa understood family came first.
“I see,” she said plaintively.
“It’s only for a season. When spring rolls around, I’ll have you back to full time again.”
There was only one problem with Joseph’s plan: without a steady income, Tessa wouldn’t be able to pay her rent. She’d have to move back home before spring ever “rolled around.” And once she did that, there’d be no escaping her mother’s matchmaking attempts—not unless she got married, anyway.
Some escape that would be, she thought later as she fidgeted in bed long past midnight, mentally calculating her savings and racking her brain for another temporary employment opportunity, some job she could give up at a moment’s notice in order to return to the shop. In the end, the only solution she could devise was asking Turner if she could postpone making her rent payments until her work schedule picked up again—something she was hesitant to do. Turner had already been more than generous in allowing her and her sister to live there, renting the daadi haus at a fraction of what he could have required. He even reduced Tessa’s rent when Katie moved out. Although she’d be asking for only an extension, not a reduction, of her payments, she didn’t want to take advantage of his benevolence. Nor did she want him to think she was irresponsible; her mother’s recent comments to him on that subject had been humiliating enough.
More than that, Tessa was reluctant to speak with Turner because she harbored a sense of self-consciousness in his presence. When she and Katie moved in, Tessa had developed a full-fledged crush on Turner, who was sinewy and tall and whose tempestuous blue eyes and reticent nature gave him an air of mystery. That he’d been so well respected in the community and so charitable about their rent made her like him all the more. As a result, she tended to become highly animated whenever she spoke to him, sometimes making frivolous remarks because she was nervous in his presence. But he never accepted the sisters’ invitations to share Sunday supper with them and their friends at the daadi haus, and Tessa suspected he was put off by her obvious interest in him. Eventually, she conceded Turner was too unsociable for her liking anyway and she gave up trying to get to know him better.
Indeed, over time she observed how often he wore a scowl across his face. While Turner wasn’t quite ten years older than Tessa, she thought his countenance aged him. It apparently kept people at a distance, too, including his own sister. It was rumored Jacqueline had gone to live with her aunt the year Katie and Tessa moved into the daadi haus, and the girl hadn’t paid her brother a visit since then. Tessa wasn’t altogether surprised. Although Mark and Patrick King were generally congenial, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen Turner smile. She imagined his somber demeanor would have felt oppressive to his teenage sister, especially since Jacqueline was said to be naturally humorous and outgoing.
In any case, unless the Lord directed her toward another solution, Tessa resigned herself to asking Turner for an extension on her rental payments. Scooting out of bed, she put a prayer kapp on over her loosely gathered hair and prayed a simple prayer: Lord, I don’t know what else to do and I really want to stay in
Willow Creek. Please reveal Your will for me in this situation. Amen.
While still on her knees she heard the sound of tires crunching up the snowy lane. Curious, she rose, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders as she made her way toward the kitchen, where she turned on the gas lamp. Meanwhile, a succession of honks came from outside. Tessa couldn’t imagine who would be so rude, but when she opened the door, she spotted a car reversing its direction and heading back toward the main road. She figured it must have been desperate Englischers who were lost and needed help finding their way. But if that was the case, why had the driver honked as if deliberately trying to wake the household, and then left as soon as Tessa appeared, without waiting to receive directions first?
As she was about to close the door, something at her feet caught her eye. She peered through the near dark. It was a basket of laundry, of all things! Tessa was aware Turner paid an Amish widow, Barbara Verkler, to do his laundry for him, but she was perplexed by the absurd manner and timing of its delivery. She lifted the cumbersome basket, brought it indoors and was about to put out the lamp when something inside the basket moved beneath the light cloth draped across the top. A mouse? She didn’t need another one of those getting indoors. Tessa wrinkled her nose and gingerly lifted the fabric.
There, bedded snugly on a pillow of clothing and diapers, was a chubby, pink-cheeked, toothless and smiling baby that appeared to be about three months old. The infant kicked her feet and waved her arms, as if to say “Surprise!” But Tessa was beyond surprised; she was so stunned she staggered backward. Was this a joke? The baby flailed her limbs harder now and her smile faded as she began to fuss. Tessa realized the child wanted to be held, and as she lifted the baby from the basket, an envelope slid from the blanket onto the floor.
Sensing it would provide information about whatever prank someone was playing on her—she didn’t think it was a bit funny—Tessa bounced the baby in one arm and opened the envelope with her other hand. The note said:
Dear Turner,
I’m sorry to leave Mercy with you in this manner, but I know I can count on you to take good care of her for a few weeks until I’ve had time to decide what to do next. Please, I’m begging you, don’t tell anyone about this—not even Mark or Patrick, if you can help it.
Your Lynne
Tessa couldn’t believe what she was reading. This baby was intended for Turner’s doorstep, not hers; the driver must have seen the address on the mailbox and assumed Turner lived in the daadi haus. So, who was Lynne? Tessa always assumed there was more to her serious, enigmatic landlord than what met the surface, but she never imagined he was guarding a secret like this. Before she had an instant to contemplate what to do next, someone pounded on the door. Had the driver realized his mistake and returned for the child?
* * *
“Tessa!” Turner shouted urgently, as concerned for her safety as he was annoyed about the disruption to his sleep. “It’s me, Turner. Are you all right?”
When the door opened, Tessa was pressing a finger to her lips. “Shh. You’ll upset the bobbel,” she chastised, gesturing with her chin toward the baby she cradled in her other arm, its face obscured by Tessa’s posture.
Taken aback, Turner lowered his voice and uttered, “A bobbel? What—”
“Kumme inside,” Tessa directed. “There’s something you need to read.”
In the kitchen Turner took the note Tessa thrust at him. He scanned the message and upon noting its signature, a surge of wooziness passed from his chest to his stomach and down to his knees. Lynne—the girlhood nickname he’d given Jacqueline. Feeling as if he was about to pass out, he plunked down in a chair and covered his face with his hands. His first thought was, I’ve heard from Jacqueline. Denki, Lord! But it was immediately followed by a rush of anguish over the circumstances surrounding her communication. His mind was roiling with so many questions, concerns and fears, he felt as if the room was awhirl.
When the dizziness diminished, he opened his eyes. Noticing a torn envelope lay on the table in front of him, he bolted upright again. “Why did you open my note?” he asked.
“If I had known it was meant for you, I wouldn’t have!” Tessa huffed, swaying from side to side as she spoke. Turner could now see the baby clearly; her eyelids were drooping and her long, wispy lashes feathered her bulbous cheeks. “But when someone leaves a bobbel on my doorstep in the middle of the night, I’ll search for any clue I can find.”
“Who? Who left the bobbel with you?” Turner figured it wasn’t Jacqueline—she wouldn’t have made the mistake of leaving the baby at the daadi haus instead of up the hill.
“I assume by the car the person or persons were Englisch, but I didn’t see the driver or if there were any passengers,” Tessa responded. “Don’t you know who Lynne is?”
“Of course I do,” he affirmed, without answering what he assumed Tessa really wanted him to tell her: Who was Lynne? “I just wasn’t sure who dropped the bobbel off.”
“‘Dropped the bobbel off’ is putting it mildly. This kind was abandoned,” Tessa emphasized. “What kind of person does something like that in the dead of winter? If you want, I can stay here with Mercy while you go to the phone shanty.”
“The phone shanty?” Turner repeated numbly. “Why would I go there?”
“I assume you’ll want to call someone...like Lynne? Or the Englisch authorities?”
“Neh!” Turner responded so forcefully the baby jerked in her state of near sleep. “Neh,” he repeated in a whisper.
“Why not?” Tessa pressed.
Turner stalled, studying the baby. Even in the dim light and with her eyes closed, she was clearly his sister’s child. With her dark tuft of hair, roly-poly build and snub nose, she looked exactly like Jacqueline did as a baby. “You know we respect the law, but we don’t involve the Englisch authorities in private matters like these,” he said, referring to the general Amish practice of managing their own domestic affairs whenever possible. “Mercy was left in my care because her mamm had an emergency. If you hand her to me, I’ll take her home now.”
Tessa hesitated before placing the baby into Turner’s arms. “Okay, but it will be easier for you to carry her in the basket. Let me fix this one so it’s more comfortable and secure.”
She left the room and when she returned, Tessa emptied the basket before placing a firm cushion on the bottom. Then she showed Turner how to swaddle the baby with a light blanket. She covered the lower half of Mercy’s body with a quilt, emphasizing to Turner that it was only for the short walk to his house. “You probably already know this,” she said, “but bobblin this age mustn’t have any loose blankets in their cradles because blankets can cause overheating or even suffocation.”
Turner shuddered to realize he hadn’t known that. What other serious mistakes might he make?
Placing the contents of the basket in a separate bag, Tessa observed, “At least someone took care to pack windle, clothes, a bottle and some formula. Look, there are even instructions on how to prepare it and what time she eats.”
“Gut, then I should be all set,” Turner said, trying to project assurance.
Tessa arched an eyebrow at him. “Have you ever cared for a bobbel on your own before?”
“Neh, but I raised my sister from the time she was a toddler.”
“That’s not the same as caring for an infant this young.”
Turner knew Tessa was right, but what else could he do? He felt duty bound to honor Jacqueline’s request not to tell anyone about Mercy, so asking his sisters-in-law for help was out of the question. “That’s my private matter to manage and I’d like it to stay that way,” he said pointedly, turning toward the door.
“Wait,” Tessa said. Surprised by the weight of her hand on his arm and the authority in her voice, Turner pivoted to look at her. The skin above the bridge of her nose was dented with deep lines, and worry narrowed her big bro
wn eyes. “Mercy’s sleeping now, but that won’t last long. Joseph has temporarily reduced my hours at the shop, so I just work Saturdays now. If you’d like, I’m free to watch the baby during the day while you’re at work.”
Astonished by Tessa’s willingness to help, Turner wondered if the solution could be that simple. From Tessa’s brief interaction with Mercy, Turner could see how capable she was, but could he trust her to keep the situation a secret? Then he realized since Tessa already knew about the baby’s arrival, he’d have to trust her to be discreet whether or not she cared for Mercy. It would be imprudent to refuse her offer.
“That would be wunderbaar,” he admitted, “provided you don’t tell anyone. I mean it, not a soul. I’ll pay you, of course.”
Tessa’s eyelids suddenly snapped upward like a window shade as she took a step backward. “You needn’t bribe me to keep this a secret, Turner!”
“Neh, I didn’t mean I’d pay you for your discretion—I meant I’d pay you for your time.”
Tessa softened her stance and reached to fiddle with Mercy’s quilt. “That’s not necessary. We’re family in Christ, and you’ve been an excellent landlord to Katie and me. This is the least I can do in return. Besides, I want to help. Really.”
Turner’s ears warmed at her compliment. “And I very much want your help,” he said. “But I insist on compensating you for it.”
“Perhaps... Perhaps we could work out an arrangement with the rent? Since I won’t be earning an income at Schrock’s for several weeks—”
“I’ll waive the next few months of rent entirely,” Turner interrupted. “Now, I’d better get Mercy to the house before she wakes again.”
Minding the Amish Baby Page 2
