The Englisch Daughter

by Cindy Woodsmall

  Jemima pointed at the bassinet, where Heidi was beginning to fuss. “Except she won’t pay. Our children will pay for your mistake if this gets out to the community and you’re shunned. They’ll have to deal with it for the rest of their lives. Can you imagine living under such a stigma?”

  “I don’t want that.”

  “Then we’re in agreement.” Jemima went over to the bassinet and looked in but didn’t pick up the squirming baby. “You have to find her an Englisch home. It’s where she belongs. They won’t question how she was created, and she can grow up in a loving home with a mother and father.”

  “Jem.” His whisper was filled with dismay. “I don’t think I can give her up.”

  “I’m not raising that child. You can forget it, Roy. My children will not watch you be shunned for this. There are good families praying for a healthy baby to adopt. Good people who can’t have kids of their own or who desperately want another. You need to take her to social services. They’ll help you find one of those families. Then she’ll have a stable home life, and so will your older four children. You owe it to them and to me to keep our lives intact.”

  “Aren’t our lives already upside down?”

  “If you give her up, I’ll forgive you.” Even as the words tumbled out of her mouth, they felt wrong. “We’ll put everything in the past and move forward.” Why did her words feel as if they were more of a lie than anything Roy had said?

  Then it hit her. She had no idea if she could actually forgive him. She didn’t even know how much she believed of what he’d told her. But even if she believed all of it, she hated how long he’d withheld this truth from her—hated how often he’d gone to see Tiffany while lying to Jemima about where he was. Could she ever forgive him?

  Did she have any other option?

  Seventeen

  Roy glanced at the clock on the wall of the social services’ private meeting room. It was ten minutes past one o’clock, the time he’d set for the meeting. He’d called yesterday after his argument with Jemima, and he’d been surprised the woman he spoke with on the phone had been able to meet with him and Heidi so soon. But if he had to wait much longer, he’d have to fix Heidi another bottle.

  A pleasant-looking Englisch couple smiled down at Roy from a poster that said in bold text, “Be a foster parent. Save a life!” The meeting room itself was small but cozy with a soft brown couch that he was sitting on, a short coffee table, and two easy chairs. Heidi stirred and began fussing in her car seat next to him on the couch. Did she need a bottle? It wasn’t quite time. Maybe he could get her back to sleep first.

  Roy reached for her with his good arm. He was getting better at unlatching the buckles with one hand. After he released the straps, he used his torso to keep the seat from moving off the couch, and then he scooped her up out of the plastic-and-fabric infant carrier and into the crook of his arm. “Sh.” He hoped that if he bounced her gently she’d fall back to sleep. He’d rather not face this with her wailing. It was going to be hard enough, at best.

  The seven-week-old sighed but didn’t open her eyes. Phew. Heidi must’ve just wanted to be held. He kissed the top of her head through her pink baby hat.

  He didn’t want to give her up. But he’d walked the floors all night, praying. At least half of that time, he’d been holding Heidi. By sunrise he knew what he had to do. He had to put what Jemima needed ahead of what he needed. After hours of praying without ceasing, he’d realized that with Tiffany out of the picture, Heidi’s life could be normal and happy inside a good home. But the same couldn’t be said for his wife. If Heidi stayed, Jemima’s life would never be normal or happy again. She would be forced to care for a child she resented. His community would shun him, and his children would face the stigma of an unfaithful father.

  No. He had to choose his wife’s needs above all else.

  A soft knock sounded on the door, and it slowly opened. “Sorry that I’m a few minutes late.” A woman in her midthirties entered. She had neat shoulder-length blond hair and gentle mannerisms. “I was just finishing some paperwork on another placement.” She smiled at Roy and then tilted her head as she saw Heidi. “Aw, she’s asleep. I’m Jenny. We spoke on the phone.” Jenny sat in one of the easy chairs across from Roy.

  Roy nodded. It’s time. Just stick to the plan. He’d be okay and so would Heidi. “I’m Roy and this is Heidi.”

  “It’s nice to meet you in person. I didn’t realize you were Amish.”

  He assumed he might be the first Amish person, man or woman, to place a child with the state.

  She looked at the baby in his arms. “Heidi looks so sweet.”

  “I…can’t keep her.” Tears threatened, catching him off guard. Were they from sadness or embarrassment? He had to spill the shameful details. “She’s mine, but she’s not my wife’s. I have a copy of her birth certificate on my phone.”

  Jenny nodded. “I understand.”

  There was no way she understood, but Roy wouldn’t explain it. He’d sounded like a liar to his own wife. Why would this woman believe him?

  “Tiffany, Heidi’s mother, abandoned her. I don’t know where she is or how to contact her, but I think she’s using drugs.”

  “It’s okay. We’ll investigate and take care of that.” She waved a folder of papers. “I have some information for you, and we’ll go over the whole process. Do you have any questions before we begin?”

  Roy couldn’t take his eyes off the baby’s face—her perfect button nose, long eyelashes, and pursed lips.

  “Mr. Graber?” The woman leaned in. “You seem to be having second thoughts.”

  “I never meant to be with Tiffany.” Hot tears rolled down his cheeks. “I’d been injured, and I was taking strong pain medicine.” Why was he telling her this? What was wrong with him? “A child from a night I don’t even recall. How awful a start in life is that for an innocent baby.”

  Jenny sat upright, fidgeting with the folder of information in her lap. “Mr. Graber, have you done a DNA test on her?”

  Roy wiped his cheeks and took a deep breath. “What?”

  “Do you have proof that this child is yours?”

  “I need proof?”

  “For us to take her? No. Anyone with a child they don’t wish to care for has the legal right to drop off him or her at an approved secure location, and this is one of those locations. But I work with people all the time, and from what little you’ve said, a few things are very clear to me: you don’t wish to give her up, and—”

  “I don’t want to, no.” Instant relief went through him at his honesty. Lying brought so much anxiety. He studied Heidi. “But I need to think of my wife, not me or even Heidi.”

  Jenny set the folder on the table. “Does your wife know about your daughter?”

  He nodded. “Learned about her a few days ago.”

  “Are you and Heidi safe in your home?”

  “Ya—yes, of course.”

  “She has plenty to eat, clean clothes, and a safe place to sleep?”

  “Yes. Definitely.”

  “Good.”

  “My wife is angry with me, but she’s good to her and much better to her than Heidi’s own mother was.”

  “I’ve always heard that the Amish have a special place in their hearts for babies and children. I think I’m seeing that firsthand.” She smiled. “The decision is yours, and I can take her from you right now if that’s what you want. But I think you should do a few things first. One is take her home with you and think about this for a few more days.”

  “You don’t understand. My wife wants Heidi in someone else’s good home, not ours.”

  “I understand. She’s hurt and angry, but we have resources for you if you need them. I can set up counseling for you and your wife.”

  “You have counseling?” Would that actually help him and Jemima? He couldn’t
imagine that an Englisch counselor could have anything to say that would apply to their lives, but maybe he was wrong.

  “We do, and there’s no need to rush into a decision about giving up Heidi. Once she enters the system, getting her back is difficult. But you can easily turn her over in a few days or a week, when you’re absolutely sure that is what you want to do.” She pulled a sheet of paper from the folder. “The other thing I suggest you do is have a DNA test.” She held out the paper to him. “This has the location of labs that would run the test. They may use a cotton swab inside your cheek and Heidi’s or draw a little blood from each of you—I’m unsure which—but the DNA results will verify if she’s your daughter.”

  “You think she might not be mine?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “But if I’m giving her to you, does that even matter? You said it was legal to give up any child.”

  “If we verify she’s yours, you can have a say in releasing her from the foster care system to be adopted, receive occasional letters from her caregivers while she’s in foster care, and possibly have contact with her when she’s older.”

  “I could have contact with her?”

  “It’s likely, yes, depending on a few things. But there’s no possibility of it until she’s eighteen unless we have verification that she is your daughter. It takes only a few minutes to run the test, but it may take a few weeks to get the results. How did you get here today, Mr. Graber?”

  “I hired a driver.”

  “Good. I can call the lab now, just to see if they could get a blood or saliva sample from you and Heidi today. If they can fit you into their schedule, I imagine that your driver could take you by there on your way home.”

  He hesitated, studying Heidi. He’d come here in order to put his wife ahead of his illegitimate child. Should he bring the baby home with him?

  Jenny stood. “I’ll give you a few minutes to think. But there’s no pressure here. The decision is in your hands.” She nodded at him before exiting the room.

  Was the decision in his hands? How could he upend his family’s lives and return with the baby? If he did, his community would soon learn of her and have a multitude of questions, putting his family in the exact scenario Jemima needed them to avoid.

  He closed his eyes and prayed as the minutes ticked by. What was the right decision here? Heidi began fussing. “Sh.” He walked the empty room, swaying her back and forth and praying. One of Roy’s favorite Bible verses came to mind, Isaiah 43:1: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name; you are Mine!

  That meant Heidi was His too. Roy opened his eyes and gazed into the baby’s sleeping face. It was too soon to tell his wife that Jenny believed Heidi might not be his. The results wouldn’t change how many lies he’d told Jemima over the last ten months, and it wouldn’t replace the money he’d taken from her. It might raise Jemima’s hopes, but the results could dash them again. He knew Heidi was his, had never doubted it from the moment Tiffany told him she was pregnant.

  He cupped his hand over the cap on her little head. He couldn’t send Heidi off into the great unknown. Not yet.

  Maybe not ever.

  * * *

  Jemima placed the flatiron facedown on the woodstove and removed the wooden handle. She folded a couple of towels before she put a dress on the ironing board and reattached the handle. Based on the heat coming off the iron, it should be hot enough to work but not so hot that it would scorch the clothes. The first time she’d used one as a teen, she’d burned a hole in her dress. Her mother wasn’t pleased. Jemima pressed it against Laura’s dress and moved it back and forth. The feeling and sight of the fabric releasing its wrinkles was always so satisfying.

  She glanced at the pile of clothes waiting on the table, including Roy’s white church shirts. She’d put those off until last. She felt like burning them.

  The sound of a vehicle on the gravel driveway caught her attention. She set the flatiron upright on the ironing board, went to the window next to the front door, and watched the hired driver pull toward the house. Roy was back.

  His story about Tiffany was believable, if he was telling her the truth, and she wanted to believe him. She really did. But that wouldn’t change how betrayed she felt by his months of lies by omission or saying that he was leaving the house for work when he was actually going to her house, or his decision on his own to empty the savings account, or…The list was too long, and it made her head hurt.

  Had it been hard hearted of her to demand that he give up the baby? Maybe. But how could their lives go back to normal until he did? They had so much weighing on them already. The lingering issues of last year’s accident. Roy’s newly broken arm. The disaster of the EHV-1 outbreak. And it was going to take years to catch up financially. The emotional trauma of Roy’s shunning would be beyond what they could deal with. No, the decision was right. Placing Heidi in an Englisch home was better for all of them.

  The car stopped, and the passenger door opened. Roy stood, and even from the window, Jemima could see his grimace of pain. He said something to the driver and then turned to open the back passenger door. No, surely he didn’t…

  He pulled out a car seat, hung it on his good arm, and started walking to the house.

  Jemima gaped, sorting through a dozen emotions. She took a deep, steadying breath and walked back to the kitchen. Something had been niggling at the back of her mind all day. She figured that it was from all the heavy emotions she’d been dealing with, but, no, it was a hunch that she didn’t want to acknowledge: Roy couldn’t give up the baby.

  She wanted to scream, but that would wake her napping children. She spread her hands on the kitchen counter, bracing herself. In a few moments the front door opened, and his heavy steps crossed the floor. They stopped near the kitchen, but she didn’t look up. She couldn’t. She closed her eyes.

  “Jemima.” Roy’s voice was gentle. It was the tone he always used when he was about to tell her something disappointing.

  She looked up at him, taking in the sight of him holding the sleeping baby’s car seat. He had a determined look on his face. Clearly he’d made a decision. Who was this man? Who was she? They were so far removed from the people they were when they married all those years ago.

  “I wanted to. I did, but I…I couldn’t do it. I need more time. Maybe forever. I don’t know. Isn’t it possible she’s meant to be here with us?”

  The question stung, and then it remained in the air. Jemima moved back to the ironing board and picked up the iron by its wooden handle. It still had enough heat to smooth the rest of Laura’s dress, so she worked it across the fabric. What could she say to that? She set the iron down on its end and shook out the dress. “Don’t ask me ridiculous questions. You know why we agreed to take her to social services. If our family existed in a bubble, it would be different. But if she stays and the community finds out—”

  “Jemima, I know the consequences, and I’m ready for them. It’s a horrible mess of embarrassment, and if I could take that away for you, I would. Despite how it may seem, it’s not that I love her like I do our children. They are a part of you, a part of our love that began years before Laura was born. But just as God is our Father, He is also Heidi’s, and her future matters.”

  “What about our children’s futures, their emotional and spiritual security? Don’t you think they’re more important than Heidi?”

  “Not to God.”

  Jemima closed her eyes. One, two, three, four. Sometimes she told her children to stop talking and count to four so they didn’t say things they would regret.

  Could she really do it? Let Roy keep his baby by another woman in the same house?

  “Jem?”

  She opened her eyes and faced her husband.

  “Maybe we don’t have to tell anyone she’s mine.”

  The idea sounded reasonabl
e. It would keep their children from being hurt. “The woman who was renting a home on your Daed’s property abandoned her baby. Is that the plan?”

  He looked uncomfortable with the idea, but he nodded. How was their family ever supposed to move past this? Would it be easier to do if they didn’t tell others that Roy was Heidi’s father?

  Eighteen

  Chris looked out the window of the Uber car. It’d been a long ride marked by rolling hills and barns.

  “The scenic route is over.” The driver smiled as he entered the small town square.

  Soon he pulled to a stop in front of the boxing gym. Chris’s coach was outside with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. Chris was halfway out of the car when Mike shouted, “Well, if it isn’t the Amish Floyd Mayweather.”

  Chris closed the car door, stepped up to Mike, and shook his hand.

  Mike took a drag from his cigarette, then flicked it. “Missed you last session.”

  Chris debated whether to tell Mike about all that had been going on. At times they were close, but Chris had far more practice at keeping people at bay, often through a friendliness that was silent on important topics.

  “I know I missed the practice,” Chris said. “Haven’t been able to come here of late.”

  “So, what brings you back?” Mike moved to the gym door and held it open.

  Chris stepped inside. “Well, I’ve got another fight set up.”

  “Still fighting bare knuckle?”

  Chris nodded. “Yeah.”

  Mike pointed at Chris’s busted lip. “Apparently not very well.”

  Chris swatted his hand away. “Do I pay you to bust my chops?”

  Mike laughed. “How beat up are you?”

  “Sore, but I think I’m good. Not completely sure. I hope I can start training for a mid-March fight.” Hope seemed like a strong word. On one hand, Chris wanted to fight so he could follow through on what he’d said he would do and see just what he could accomplish in a fight of this caliber. On the other hand, he didn’t want boxing to come between him and Abigail. “It sounds as if my opponent is quite the boxer.”