Sarah's Orphans
Page 10
Mateo didn’t know what he meant by that, but he nodded because Andy seemed to be waiting for him to do so.
It wasn’t as easy for Mia. She cried and clung to Sarah’s neck as they tried to place her in the buggy. Eventually, the bishop peeled her arms away and placed her in the backseat next to Mateo.
Sarah stuck her head in the buggy and said, “I’ll come see you tomorrow. I promise.”
And then they were following the police car into the dark evening. A soft rain had begun to fall, and Mateo realized they were fortunate not to be in the cold, dilapidated barn or the abandoned trailer. But as they turned the corner, with Tommy’s car behind them, he looked back at the house he’d been in since the night before, and he wished with all of his might that they would be able to return.
CHAPTER 27
Sarah was up well before her normal time.
She had the boys’ lunches packed and breakfast on the table. She tried to clean the mess she’d made in the kitchen, but her emotions were tumbling up and down—excitement over seeing Mateo and Mia again, followed by deep sorrow over all that had happened to the two children. Her stomach rebelled when she tried to eat a piece of toast, and her hands shook as she swiped at the counter with a dishcloth.
“How are you doing?” Andy asked.
“Gut. I…I miss them.”
“I know you do. This will work out, Sarah. Somehow it will.”
“I’d like to drive over to the bishop’s. See how they’re doing.”
“I thought you might. I’ll harness Dusty to the buggy after breakfast.”
Everyone was somber that morning. Andy tried to tease Isaac about his hair sticking up, but her youngest brother only stared at the two of them and asked, “When can I see Mateo again?”
“I don’t know. We’re working on that.”
“That’s a terrible answer, Sarah. It’s bad enough about Dat and Mamm, but now I finally have one gut friend, and you gave him away.”
Sarah started to answer, but Isaac wasn’t listening. He bounded up from the table and shot out the back door.
“Leave him be,” Andy said.
Luke reached for the bowl of oatmeal. When he tried to dump some onto his plate, it stuck stubbornly to the large serving spoon. He took his own spoon and pried it loose, before smiling at Sarah. “At least you’re attempting to feed the troops.”
“We’re not troops,” Henry pointed out. “We’re family.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure that Isaac thought Mateo and Mia were family too.”
“After only one night?” Andy shook his head. “I liked them, honestly I did, but they’re not pets, you know. They’re children, and they need a gut home.”
“We have a gut home,” Luke said. He shoved a spoonful of lumpy oatmeal into his mouth so he wouldn’t have to explain himself.
“We do, but that doesn’t mean Gotte intends us to share it with every homeless person we meet.”
“Not that many homeless folks in Cody’s Creek.” Henry reached for a handful of raisins. Instead of putting them on top of his oatmeal, he tossed them into his mouth.
“Everyone will feel better this afternoon,” Andy promised. “We’ll get back to normal faster than you can say Peter Piper.”
But no one was interested in alliteration games. Luke continued to pry his oatmeal out of his bowl, and Henry focused on the raisins and nuts. Sarah didn’t see Isaac again until Luke had started down the lane, headed toward the schoolhouse. As she watched from the window, Isaac ran from the barn and joined him.
She wished she knew how to comfort her brother, but she was in no place to encourage someone else. She’d spent most of the night falling asleep, only to wake and wonder where Mia was hiding. Suddenly she would remember all that had happened, and an ache would pierce her heart. After a time, she’d slowly fall back into a restless sleep only to repeat the cycle an hour later.
All that was behind her, though.
This morning she was going to see the bishop.
She wanted to learn what she had to do in order to bring Mateo and Mia home.
The drive to the bishop’s house calmed her nerves. She’d barely knocked on the door when Mary Beth answered. The woman could be a storybook illustration of an Amish grandmother—matronly, neat, calm. “Levi’s gone to town, but I suspect you’re here to see the children.”
“Is that all right?”
“Of course.” She led Sarah into the living room, where Mateo was sitting on the couch reading a book to Mia.
When they looked up and saw her, a smile burst through their formerly serious expressions.
Mia ran to her, arms lifted high, and said, “Up, please.”
Mary Beth seemed surprised. “First words I’ve heard from her.”
Mateo was a little more reserved, but not much. When she walked to the couch, he threw his arms around her waist, and then he quickly stepped back as if embarrassed by his show of emotion. “Hi, Sarah.”
“Hi, Mateo.”
They grinned at each other a moment. Then Sarah sat and patted the seat beside her. “Say, why didn’t you tell me you can speak English?”
Mateo shrugged. It was a habit of the child’s. Before she’d thought he was merely disinterested. Now it occurred to her that perhaps he was buying time to search for the right word.
He settled for, “I don’t speak well.” As if that was explanation enough, he picked up the book and showed her what he’d been reading.
When they sat together on the couch, the anxiety Sarah had been feeling melted away.
Mary Beth kindly murmured, “I’ll give you all a few moments alone.” She busied herself in the kitchen, and twenty minutes later called them all to the table for a snack. She’d brewed hot tea for her and Sarah and poured milk for the children. In the center of the table sat a plate of oatmeal cookies.
Mia ate half a cookie and proceeded to break the rest into tiny crumbs on her plate. Mateo ate two, and though they tried to steer the conversation to safe topics, he asked, “When can we come to your house, Sarah? Yo quiero…that is, I want to see Isaac.”
Mary Beth sipped her hot tea and allowed Sarah to answer.
“I don’t know at this point, Mateo. I don’t want to lie and say I do know. But I can promise you that I’m trying. Okay?”
“Ya, okay.”
Sarah and Mary Beth exchanged a smile at the Amish emphasis on his first word.
“Will you take Mia to wash her hands, Mateo?” Mary Beth stood and collected their dishes. “After that maybe you can finish reading the story to her.”
Mia was already rubbing at her eyes, but she allowed herself to be led into the other room.
They had barely left the kitchen when Sarah turned to her bishop’s wife and said, “Tell me how to be a Bridge parent. I want to bring Mateo and Mia home.”
CHAPTER 28
It’s not a decision to be made easily,” Mary Beth cautioned.
“I’m sure it’s not, but…but if it meant that Mateo and Mia could come home, I will commit myself to doing whatever is required.” When Mary Beth didn’t respond, Sarah pushed forward. “I’m sure they’ll be fine here, but I would like to bring them back to our house, at least until their mother is found.”
Mary Beth pulled out some crochet work. “Tell me about finding them.”
So she did. She described Mateo running out in front of her buggy, how it had terrified her, how she’d known in that moment that the boy she’d seen was not a figment of her imagination.
“You went into the old trailer?”
“Ya, with Isaac and Luke. Perhaps that’s why they feel so close to Mateo and Mia. We found them there, living in a tower of boxes in the middle of that abandoned trailer. Actually, they ran away when they first saw us. They were frightened, I suppose. Then Mia tripped and began to cry. It was all we could do to convince them to go back inside, and then to leave with us. Mary Beth, they were so cold and wet and hungry and desperate. It’s not a thing you easily forget.”
Sarah thought about that for a moment. She felt restless and needed something to do with her hands while she talked, while she worked out what she was feeling and what steps she planned to take next. She spied a bowl full of potatoes in the sink.
“Do you need those peeled?”
Mary Beth nodded, not the least surprised. “Ya, danki.”
Once she’d washed the potatoes, located a paring knife, and sat back down at the table, Sarah was ready to tell the rest of her story. As she peeled the potatoes, she described the first night, how Mia had fallen asleep in her arms, and the next day’s laundry fiasco, with Paul walking in on a dripping Mateo and a missing Mia.
“He found her squatting on a bottom shelf in the mudroom. I’m not sure why she hides.”
“It’s happened twice here already. Once she was behind the couch, and another time she’d hopped into the tub and laid down with her blanket. I found her sound asleep there.”
“I can’t fathom what’s going through that child’s mind.”
“We’ve had a lot of different children over the years.”
“I always assumed they were distant family.”
Mary Beth smiled. “They felt like family.”
“Why did you never tell anyone about your being Bridge parents?”
“It was a small thing we were doing, and not something we wanted to brag about. There seemed no need to share the children’s story. It was only necessary to love them for a time until they could find their forever home—whether that was back with their natural parents or with an adoptive family.”
“You never wanted to keep them? For your own?”
“Oh, they claimed my heart, some more than others, if that’s what you’re asking. But Levi and I knew from the beginning that our role was to provide a smooth and safe transition, not a permanent home.”
“Would it even be possible?” Sarah paused mid potato. “Could I be a Bridge parent? And if I manage to do that, would they allow me to keep the children, either temporarily or…or permanently?”
“I don’t see why not. It’s true that you have an unconventional home.” Mary Beth picked up her mug of tea, long gone cold, and sipped it. “You’ve been through a lot in the last few years, Sarah. The DHS, Department of Human Services, won’t hold that against you. If anything, it proves your resilience.”
“But…we’ve had to accept help from the church just to get by.”
Mary Beth waved away that concern. “Andy will turn your place into a productive farm. He’s a gut worker, and the land will produce if it’s cared for.”
“Then there’s the fact that they’re not Amish, and we’re not Hispanic.”
“Other Amish have adopted before. There are other concerns, much more important than if you share the same ethnic background or how much money you make.”
“Such as?”
“Can you provide a safe, healthy home?”
“Ya, of course we can.”
“You’ll have to pass a background check, and everyone in the house will need a physical exam.”
“Why?”
“The state wouldn’t want someone who is physically unable to care for children to take on such a task.”
“Can’t they tell that by looking at us?”
“Not always.”
Sarah didn’t know what to say to that. She focused on finishing with the potatoes, quartering them when Mary Beth indicated she should. She rinsed them again, placed them in a pan, covered them with water, and set the pan on the stovetop. It stilled something inside her to know that she’d helped to prepare the children’s meal.
She peeked back into the living room. Both Mateo and Mia were asleep on the couch.
In response to her unanswered question, Mary Beth said, “It will take a while for them to recover both physically and emotionally. Being abandoned, at that age, is not an easy thing.”
When she sat back down at the table, Sarah said, “I know something about being abandoned.”
“For sure and certain you do. I’m sorry about your mother.”
“The worst part? It’s easier without her.”
“And that is not how things should be, but we make the best of what we’re given.” Mary Beth put aside her crocheting, walked around the table, and sat down beside Sarah. Reaching for her hands, she held them, squeezed them, and spoke in a calm voice. “The question at this point isn’t whether you can be a Bridge parent. If Gotte has chosen that path for you, He will make it possible. I want you to search your heart. Are you doing this to heal something inside of you? Or are you doing it for the children?”
“Maybe both?” Sarah’s voice sounded incredibly small, even to her own ears.
“That’s certainly possible, but you won’t always be a twenty-three-year-old woman raising her bruders. Andy and Henry and Isaac and Luke will all be on their own within a few years. What you’re taking on, especially if you’re considering permanent placement, is for the rest of your life. Be sure that’s what you want, and that it is what Gotte has called you to.”
“And if it is?”
Mary Beth’s smile eased an ache deep in Sarah’s heart. “We will pray that Gotte makes smooth the path before you.”
CHAPTER 29
Paul’s purchase of the Fisher place closed on Friday morning. The real estate agent claimed it was the fastest sale he’d ever brokered. As for Paul, he was simply relieved that the legalities were done with and he could get to work in earnest.
He didn’t need any help moving in, as he only had a duffel of clothes to take with him and a few items Rebecca had found in their storage room. So he was surprised when he and Rebecca and Joseph drove out to the place in Joseph’s buggy and found a line of tractors and buggies in the yard.
No one had gone inside. Men, women, and even children were milling around, waiting on their arrival. Indeed, they weren’t sure if Paul would be living in the house or the barn.
“The barn,” he admitted. “At least there the rain won’t come through the roof.”
There was much backslapping and congratulations, offers of help and suggestions for contractors. Paul couldn’t explain that he wanted to do the work himself, to do it slowly, and watch life come back into the neglected place. So he thanked them for their suggestions and accepted slips of papers with names and phone numbers, but he doubted he would be contacting anyone.
Once he opened the door to the barn, the women fairly swarmed the place, stocking the shelves in the office with food, placing new sheets on the cot, leaving extra bedding and towels in the bathroom. Half the women cleaned while the other half unloaded items and put things away.
“I didn’t expect this,” Paul confessed to his brother.
“Ya? The women enjoy helping an old bachelor settle down.” With a wink, Joseph followed Paul around the barn to look at the old tractor. They were soon joined by Andy and Luke.
“Henry couldn’t come,” Andy explained. “He’s working a shift at the restaurant in town, but he’s already looked at it. Says it will take a bit of work to get it going, but that it is fixable.”
“I suppose tractors are like horses.” Joseph tapped a rusty spot on the tractor Paul had acquired along with the purchase of the property. Sitting next to it was the bed of an old white Ford pickup that could be attached to the tractor. “Once you make up for the years of neglect, they will last you a long time.”
“Are you going to buy a horse and buggy?” Luke asked.
“One day, but money’s tight at the moment.”
“No doubt you’ll want to get your crop in first,” Joseph said. “Gotte will provide, Paul. Never fear.”
They walked back outside, and Paul found himself looking for Sarah.
He’d heard from
Rebecca what had happened to the Lopez children. His sister-in-law was one of the few who knew the bishop and his wife were licensed foster parents—Bridge parents they were called. She had hurried over to the bishop’s house after Paul had told her about walking in on the laundry fiasco and discovering the two small children. It had been her idea that the bishop intervene and offer support if necessary. Paul doubted it took much convincing. Levi seemed the type to offer a hand whenever one was needed.
A passel of children had accompanied the women, and they were now playing tag in what had once been a horse pasture. He noticed Mateo in the middle of the children, but no sign of Mia. He turned and nearly bumped into Sarah. Mia was plastered to her side.
“I wanted to thank you,” she said, glancing down at Mia and adjusting her coat. She looked everywhere but directly at him. “For helping the day you stopped by.”
“You’re welcome, of course.” He didn’t know what else to say. Though they were to be neighbors, he hadn’t quite been able to figure out Andy and Sarah and their odd family. He’d never known a family to be abandoned by their sole surviving parent before.
Because he couldn’t think of a thing to say to Sarah, Paul squatted down so that he was level with Mia. “How are you?”
He expected her to hide her face in Sarah’s coat. Instead, she stepped closer to him, put one hand on each side of his face, and said, “Up, please.”
It broke the tension between Sarah and Paul as they both laughed. He raised the little girl up in the air. She squealed and clung to his neck.
“She seems taken with you.”
“Ya? I always thought children were afraid of me—too ugly.”
Sarah’s eyes widened, but she didn’t counter his uncharitable description of himself. Now that he thought of it, he sounded like a teenage fool fishing for a compliment. He cast around for something else to say.
“They’re staying with the bishop and his wife?”
“For now.” Sarah’s chin raised a fraction of an inch. “I began my training earlier this week.”
“Training?”