by Mary Ellis
“Ach, the next one will be.” Rosa kissed the infant before settling her into the crook of Hope’s arm.
As Hope tucked the blanket beneath the tiny chin, her tears fell unchecked. “You don’t understand,” she whispered. “There’ll be no boys for me—not after what I have done.” The words strangled in her throat. “God is punishing me just as He punishes all who disobey Him.”
Rosa perched on the edge of the bed. “I doubt He would punish a sixteen-year-old girl. You had no choice.” She slipped an arm around her friend’s shoulder.
Hope shook her head violently. “We always have a choice. I could have refused. I could have run away. Now, because of my shame, I’ll never give Stephen a son.”
“Hush,” Rosa demanded. “Stop those tears. You don’t know what God has planned. No more worrying. You must have faith.”
Faith. Hope looked into Rosa’s eyes. The woman had lost so much. She had been married for five years without the blessing of a child. And then, two years ago her husband, Uriah, had died and left her alone. Alone and struggling, both financially and emotionally.
And yet here she was talking to her best friend about faith. About trusting God, no matter what the circumstances. If Rosa could have faith, Hope certainly could.
She nodded and swallowed hard. “You’re right. There’s no place for wallowing in self-pity. You’ve given me the perfect name for our new little one—Faith.” She brushed a kiss across the downy head. “And faith is what I shall have.”
Chapter Two
Within two days Hope returned to most of her housewife duties. Stephen would still carry heavy cases of canning jars up from the cellar, and Josie did most of the weeding and harvesting in the garden, but Hope resumed cooking, cleaning, and ironing for her family. Rosa offered to come over each laundry day for the next month, and Hope’s sister Rebecca volunteered to stay for several weeks—an offer Hope declined.
Baby Faith was thriving. Stephen loved the name, so when the midwife returned the next day, she completed the birth certificate. One week later, on a morning sunny and mild, Hope fixed a plate of sandwiches for Stephen’s lunch, packed her four daughters into the buggy, and drove to her mamm’s farm, a dozen miles away.
Hope spotted her mother near the barn. “Guder mariye,” she called. “I brought the newest Bowman to see you.”
Mamm shifted the basket of tomatoes to her other hand and hobbled toward the buggy as fast as her bad knees would allow. “Good morning to you. I wondered when I’d see my new kinskind.” She paused with a hand on her hip as the Bowman daughters sprang from the buggy. “If you didn’t show up by noon, I would have told Silas to hitch the team to go to you. I started to worry something was wrong.” Martha handed the basket to Emily and took hold of Josie’s arm for support. Together they moved slowly toward the house.
“Everything went smoothly, no problems. And here is little Faith.” Hope shifted the baby closer and peeled back the cover.
Martha chuckled. “Look at those eyelashes. This one will be a beauty like the other three.” She patted the top of Greta’s head. “Faith is a gut name too—none in the family yet and we’re up to fourteen kinskinner.”
A grimace pinched her features “Let’s go inside. I’m ready for a cup of coffee.”
Hope prodded Emily and Greta down the path. “Your knees acting up again?”
Martha waited until they were in the kitchen to reply. “Ya, I knelt in the garden yesterday. Even though I used that foam pad you bought, it still was a mistake. When I couldn’t get up, your daed had to pull me to my feet. But I couldn’t bear to leave plump, ripe vegetables hanging on the ground.”
“Folks drop by often to visit. Send somebody young out to finish the rows.” Hope placed the coffeepot on the burner to reheat while Josie set out cups, milk, sugar, and a plate of chocolate chip cookies.
“Suppose that’s what I should do, but I hate not keeping up with my own chores.” She angled a grin at Josie. “Danki, dear heart. Now let me hold that boppli; I’ve waited long enough.”
Martha performed her own inspection of Faith, making sure all appendages were accounted for. “I’m your Grossmammi Klobentz,” she whispered into the baby’s ear. “And it will be my pleasure to spoil you terribly.” She turned back to Hope. “She’s on the thin side, but as long as she nurses well, that should take care of itself. God bless you, Faith Bowman.” She kissed the tiny nose lightly, then settled her in the baby carrier they’d brought in. “How did Stephen take the news?” Martha asked as Faith drifted back to sleep.
Hope shifted on her feet. “What news?”
Martha frowned. “That he’s got another girl and no sons yet.” She held her cup with gnarled fingers.
Hope’s spine stiffened. “He was thrilled that God graced us with another healthy child. Besides, Josie helps with chores as well as any boy.” She winked at her, which brought a smile to the twelve-year-old’s face.
“Of course she does. You’ve got gut kinner, no doubt about it.” Martha sipped her coffee, not taking her focus off her daughter.
“Josie, why don’t you empty that basket into the sink? I’ll wash those tomatoes later. Then take your schwestern to the garden and finish picking any tomatoes that I might have missed. Be sure to check the low stems where the sweet ones hide.”
Hope smiled and nodded to her girls, then listened to the clock tick-tock until they left the house. Turning to face her mother, her pleasant expression vanished. “What can Stephen say? Of course he wants sons, but there’s nothing we can do.” She inhaled deeply and exhaled with a gush. “After what I did, God will never bring us a boy.” Hope clenched her teeth.
“What do you mean?” Martha’s forehead furrowed.
“You know very well what I mean. God gave me a son and I gave him away.” Hope spoke with surprising vehemence. “Now even if I have twenty kinner, every one of them will be a girl.”
Martha stirred a heaping spoonful of sugar into her coffee. “Ach, you don’t know that. Adoption was the best solution for the situation. You were only sixteen years old and in no way able to care for a child.” The crimson stain on her cheeks indicated the topic shamed her mamm, even after all these years.
Hope splayed her palms flat on the table. “Unable according to whom—Daed?”
“Ya, according to him. A husband is the head of the family. Scripture says so. Silas did what he thought best.” A shaky hand lifted the mug to her lips.
“Best for him and best for the district. He was ashamed of me and wanted to bury the matter.” Hope replaced the cookie on the plate, her appetite gone. “He never thought once about the guilt I would carry for the rest of my life.” Against her will, tears flooded her eyes.
Martha shook her head. “No, dochder. Your father was considering you too. What if no man would marry you? Stephen might not have wanted someone unchaste. Then you never would have had your family.”
Hope felt her face turn ugly. “Instead, I have lived a lie and broken a commandment with my deception.”
Martha Klobentz paled. “You did not lie. No one knew, so no one asked questions.”
“You should know better than to pick and choose interpretations, playing with words as though we can fool God.”
Her mother shuddered at the statement. “Hush now. Don’t say such things.” Martha glanced at the doors and windows. “What’s done is done. Nothing can be gained by rehashing the past. You will only torment yourself.”
“Maybe so, but I can’t see how torment can be avoided.” Hope rose to her feet with as much dignity as possible. “I’d better wash the tomatoes before the next load arrives.”
For several minutes the two women remained silent, each lost in their own memories. “Should I boil water to blanche these? Why don’t we can spaghetti sauce with today’s pickings?”
Martha pushed herself up from the table. “Sounds gut. I’ll fetch the new blanket I knitted for Faith, plus the two dozen muslin cloths I hemmed into diapers.”
As s
he shuffled from the room, a wave of sorrow filled Hope’s heart. She hated arguing with her mamm.
Besides, she was right: nothing could be done about the past.
Rolling over in bed, Hope briefly buried her face beneath the damp pillow. The July heat and humidity made a good night’s rest impossible. Their small battery fan did little to move the air. Stephen had already risen for morning chores, allowing her a few extra minutes of sleep. Baby Faith, however, was not so indulgent. She alerted the household with a piercing wail that her diaper needed changing and she was hungry.
Throwing back the covers, Hope checked the clock. “Goodness,” she exclaimed, “I’d better get a move on.”
This was sisters’ day—a tradition in their district. Women—young and old, married and single—gathered to help a family by sewing, quilting, canning, or cleaning to lighten the family’s burden. Today they were coming to the Bowmans’.
Although Hope felt fully recovered, the women insisted on cleaning her house from top to bottom, washing and ironing her clothes, and cooking a few meals. Most had already dropped off pots of soup or casseroles for the first days after Faith’s arrival. Now she would have an opportunity to return pots and bowls and show off her new boppli.
Lifting her squalling infant from the bedside cradle, she set to work changing a sodden diaper, then settled Faith comfortably to nurse.
Hope loved this time of morning. Rocking in a chair handmade by Stephen’s grossdaadi, she prayed and thanked God for her blessings. Then she asked for guidance, along with a healthy dose of patience. During these moments of quiet introspection, her thoughts usually drifted to her firstborn. Please, Lord, guide and protect my son, wherever he is. Draw him close and keep him safe from harm; help him find the peace that can only come from knowing You.
Not that she knew much about peace. Seldom a day went by that Hope didn’t regret giving her firstborn child up for adoption. But a daughter cannot defy her father, especially not a father like Silas Klobentz. If the boy had remained Amish, he would be finished with school and learning a craft or trade by now, or helping Stephen with their herd of Holsteins. He would almost be a man.
Hope squeezed her eyes shut to fight back tears. Given away like old boots in the charity collection bin at the IGA. Her last prayer that morning was for the Englischers who’d welcomed her baby into their home, providing the love Hope hadn’t been able to give. “Be patient, be strong, and know that I am forever grateful.” She whispered the familiar words while stroking Faith’s head.
While the infant nursed, Hope tried to turn her thoughts to other things. Lingering too long in the past hurt too much.
Still, the memories would not leave her. Memories of a dark night when she’d chosen to walk home from a singing instead of riding with one of her bruders. Both Paul and Daniel had been courting young women. She knew neither relished the idea of a young schwester tagging along, eavesdropping on conversations, or watching for stolen kisses in the moonlight. Her sister had already accepted a ride with a beau.
And so Hope had set out on a lonely road by herself, a road without streetlights or porch lights to discourage those with wicked intent.
The pickup truck’s headlights had blinded her when she turned to see who was approaching so slowly.
He had told her he was sick and needed assistance with calling for help.
He’d smiled and spoken in a soft voice.
He’d waved her closer to the truck, indicating she could use his cell phone to call his family. Too late Hope had smelled alcohol on his breath and noticed his glassy eyes. Too late her mind had registered danger from his slurred speech and clumsy movements.
“Aren’t you a pretty lit’l Amish gal? How ’bout you climb up here and get to know a real man for a change. Not one of them sissy Amish boys with the stupid haircut.”
He had laughed, grabbed her by the wrists, and dragged her into the truck cab. He hadn’t listened to her pleas for mercy. He cared nothing for her tears. In the darkness he barely looked at her face, yet managed to change her life forever. Now shame and sorrow would stare back whenever she looked into a mirror.
Struggling to her feet, Hope laid Faith in the cradle. The memories might not leave her, but she had three other daughters to look after and work to do.
Within the hour, Josie, Emily, and Greta were bathed, dressed, and finished with breakfast. With his milking finished until evening, Stephen had bolted down his scrambled eggs and toast and headed to the fields. When the first buggy rolled up the Bowman driveway, Hope was standing on the porch waiting, her nightmare banished to the far corners of her mind.
“Welcum,” she called, opening the door wide.
Three women scrambled down. While two hurried toward her carrying cloth shopping bags, one stayed behind to water the horse and turn him into the paddock. “I hope you haven’t cleaned house in anticipation of sisters’ day,” called Rosa. “That’s what we’re here for.”
Rosa’s face showed more enthusiasm than usual. “Where’s that boppli?” Dropping her sacks on the kitchen table, Rosa marched through the house until she found Faith in the crib near the front room window.
Hope trailed after her best friend. How Rosa loved bopplin! A widow at thirty with no children of her own, unless she remarried, she would never know the joy of motherhood.
“Are you going to sleep all day?” Rosa lifted Faith free from her summer blanket. “We need to get busy with our lessons. I see you’ve already discovered the delicious mystery of one’s own thumb.”
The crunch of gravel signaled the arrival of more buggies, so Hope left Rosa to bond with baby Faith.
“There you are!” said Ida May, the oldest woman in their district. “For a moment we feared you’d gone to the movies, leaving us to do your work without supervision.”
Everyone laughed, including Hope. “And miss the delicious lunch you’ll fix, Ida May? Not in a million years.”
“Don’t puff me up with your flattery.” The old woman’s face broke into a smile. “Why don’t I tackle your ironing basket and leave the scrubbing and window washing to the younger gals? Look at those streaks,” she teased, pointing to a nearly faultless pane of glass.
“I’ll clean the windows, Hope,” piped up a voice from the corner. It was Becky Byler, a shy girl who never ate anything but rabbit food and yet seemed heavier every time Hope saw her.
Hope approached her and gave her shoulders a quick squeeze. “Becky, so gut to see you. Thanks for coming.”
“I’ll use vinegar and water on the windows, then dry them with newspapers,” Becky said. “And I brought a tray of sliced veggies for our lunch.”
“Raw vegetables sound wonderful on a hot day. Danki.”
Hope watched as Becky headed to the stairwell for the bucket. She sent up a quick prayer for the girl and made a mental note to pay particular attention to Becky today.
Chapter Three
While waiting for the women to leave, Stephen cleaned every piece of milking equipment, scrubbed all the feed and water buckets, and swept the barn floor. Now he stood watching the last buggy roll down the driveway. He appreciated their help today, but spending thirty minutes at lunchtime discussing who had the best recipe for stuffed cabbage leaves didn’t interest him.
Hope probably felt the same regarding alfalfa prices whenever she accompanied him to the grain elevator in Paradise. But there were benefits to the visit: Ida May’s potato-bacon soup was excellent, and she had brought so much there was bound to be a big pot left over.
Peeking around the corner to make sure no fraa had doubled back, Stephen sprinted for the house. Lunch had been hours ago, and he was starved for supper.
“Hope,” he called. “Is the coast clear?” He set his straw hat on a peg, but before he could roll up his sleeves to wash, two speeding figures shot through the kitchen.
“Daed!” Greta and Emily hugged him around the waist and knees as though he’d been gone for days instead of hours.
“Did you miss m
e? The barn’s not that far from the house.” He patted each of their kapps.
“Mamm needed me in the house today,” said Josie from the doorway. “Or I would have come to help you.”
He smiled at his shy dochder. “I know you would have, but your place was in here with all the noisy hens.”
“Hens? What hens?” Hope entered from the living room, pulling a clean apron from the drawer along the way. “I noticed no chickens in my kitchen, only sweet ladies who ironed your shirts and cooked plenty of your favorites.” She smiled wryly over the kinners’ heads.
“I’m not sure why the chicken coop came to mind when I came in for lunch, but I refer to good-natured hens, of course.” He kissed his wife’s cheek while she set the table.
“Best change your shirt. That one smells like your horse.” Hope pinched her nostrils.
“I might as well grab one of those freshly ironed ones, since someone went to all that trouble.”
On his way to their bedroom, Stephen paused at the crib. Baby Faith slumbered peacefully under the open window. Her dark lashes fanned across her round cheeks while her mouth formed a perfect bow. Faith’s bright pink coloring at birth had faded to a pale shade of cream. He bent close to kiss her forehead, careful not to wake her. Each time he gazed on a boppli, he felt huge and clumsy as an ox. When he returned, his wife and daughters were waiting patiently at the table. He slipped into his chair and bowed his head.
After their silent prayer, Hope was first to speak. “One of those hens you referred to made meat loaf just the way you like it—with plenty of onions and mushroom gravy.” She handed him a heaping platter.
“Danki.” Stephen placed a slice on Greta’s and Emily’s plates, three on his own, then passed the platter to Josie. He might have preferred not to have so many women in his house today, but he couldn’t deny that the supper they’d provided was a feast: sweet potato casserole, green beans with ham, pickled vegetables, and a heap of corn bread drizzled with melted butter.
He attacked the meat loaf with knife and fork. “You might have to let out a seam or two after this week’s vittles,” he said around a mouthful of sweet potatoes.
