The Englisch Daughter

by Cindy Woodsmall

  She nodded. Being human was strange, really. Finding balance in life, not giving or taking too much, was a lot like making financial ends meet. It took constant effort and reevaluation and fresh starts.

  Roy rose and kissed her forehead. “Chris is sitting on top of the picnic table, facing the driveway with the unloaded rifle lying across his lap.”

  Tiffany was likely to return with at least one thug, and they needed to make sure the guy stayed in his car. Chris wouldn’t point the gun, but he would make himself known. They didn’t like resorting to a show of force, but if the authorities had to get involved for any reason, Roy and Jemima would lose the power to make decisions for Heidi.

  Roy moved the laptop from a high shelf to the kitchen table. “Abigail arrived from school about ten minutes ago, and she’s sitting with Chris for now, talking.”

  “Those two talked half the night, I think.” Jemima lifted the sleeping Heidi to her shoulder and burped her.

  “I’m hopeful Chris is why Abigail never found the one.”

  “Ya, me too.” Mulling over human nature, Jemima put Heidi in the infant car seat that was on the kitchen table. What had caused Tiffany to be so callous toward her baby?

  The constant overwhelming temptation to be selfish and do whatever felt good began early in life. It was impulsive in desire and apathetic toward anything and anyone who stood in its way. But following those natural desires wounded the soul—the God-part of being human that thrived on being loving, kind, respectful, and loyal to everyone, starting with family and branching out from there. When people nurtured any desire that was in opposition to the God-part of being human, they began to lose the good, kind soul and strengthen the mean, selfish soul.

  “I feel sorry for Tiffany. Everyone is born with positives or negatives working on their behalf—a good or bad family, prayers or meanness spoken over them. Seems to me that at least half of Tiffany’s issues today are because she was born with a negative, probably a negative thirty. I was born with a positive thirty.”

  “Ya, I get it. I feel the same, but why she is the way she is isn’t our responsibility. It’s hers. Somewhere along the way, she knew she was making poor choices, and rather than getting help, she went with it.”

  “Ya.” Jemima didn’t want to talk about it anymore. She felt spacey and weird from the emotional inferno. But Tiffany would arrive soon, and Jemima had to pull herself together.

  Abigail tapped on the door and walked inside. “There’s a car coming up the driveway.”

  “Okay, denki.” Jemima straightened the stack of printouts and traced her index finger down Heidi’s face. “She’s so beautiful that one would think she’s ours.”

  “She’s a cutie,” Roy said. “But far more important, she has a calling, and we’ve been tasked with loving and protecting her.”

  “You?” Jemima mocked disbelief. “Tasked with loving and protecting? What was God thinking?”

  Roy winked at her before he turned to Abigail. “You need to be on the stairs and out of sight.”

  Abigail hurried that way with her phone in hand in case she needed to call the police.

  A minute later there was a rap on the door, and Roy opened it. “Tiffany.” He gestured for her to come in.

  “I want my laptop.”

  Jemima picked it up from the table and passed it to her. “We need to talk.”

  “I’ve said all I’m going to. Just hand over Heidi.”

  “Kumm.” Jemima gestured.

  Tiffany went toward the infant car seat, but when she saw Heidi, she stopped cold. “She’s ready?”

  “No,” Jemima said softly. “Look at her. Isn’t she beautiful? She loves being in her bouncer on the floor while the other children are playing around her. Carolyn, our five-year-old, is able to comfort her when no one else can, and she’s begun smiling, and she makes a little throaty noise, as if she’s on the verge of laughing.”

  Tiffany blinked a lot and scrunched her brows, seeming completely taken aback and confused.

  “She has quite a grip when she’s interested in something. When I’m nursing her and she manages to grab a string to my prayer Kapp, she smiles.” Jemima chuckled. “Right then. Looks in my eyes and then goes back to nursing, quite pleased with herself.”

  “You nurse…” Tiffany clutched the laptop to her chest. “That was unnecessary.” She grabbed the handle of the car seat.

  From the other side of the table, Roy clutched the sides from behind the seat, pushing down on it so Tiffany couldn’t budge it.

  “Tiffany”—Jemima caressed Heidi’s cheek—“look at your daughter. Isn’t she worth more to you than a payday?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and she’s mine, so hand her over.”

  Jemima wiggled the printouts in her hand. “We’d like for this talk to be amicable. One day Heidi’s going to ask about her real mom, and I want to be able to say that her mom chose to leave her with us, knowing we’d love her and take care of her in ways her mom couldn’t. She needs to be told that you chose of your own free will what was best for her.”

  “I—”

  “Before you say anything else, I need to tell you that we know everything.” Jemima tapped the thick stack of papers. “Every single thing. All the new messages downloaded, and all the old ones you’d deleted were in a backup file in the library of your computer.”

  Tiffany’s face drained of color.

  “If you need money, earn it the old-fashioned way: go to work,” Roy said.

  “Roy.” Jemima hardly spoke loud enough to be heard, but he looked her way and she shook her head.

  He said nothing more.

  Jemima turned back to Tiffany. “I want to be clear. You won’t ever get your daughter back, not that you actually want her. But despite the evidence, you could possibly stir up enough trouble that we would lose the right to raise her. A judge could decide that it wasn’t in Heidi’s best interest to be raised Amish.”

  Heidi squirmed and poked out her bottom lip, and Jemima saw compassion flicker through Tiffany’s eyes. Heidi opened her eyes, and when she saw Tiffany, her bottom lip quivered, probably because Tiffany was a stranger.

  “It’s okay, little one,” Roy said.

  Heidi arched her back, trying to see her Daed, who was behind her, and when she saw him, she bounced her hands and smiled.

  “Fine.” Tiffany tossed the papers onto the table. “What do you need?”

  “For today we need you to make a video stating your desire to give up your parental rights and showing your driver’s license. We need you to state your desire for us to raise her, and you’ll sign a few papers. If you’ll meet us at the lawyer’s office to make it all official as necessary, at a date not yet set, then all evidence will disappear.”

  “We’d love to burn the paper, Tiffany,” Roy said. “We don’t want any record of your plots where Heidi could find them one day.”

  Tiffany stared at her daughter, clearly emotional as she faced the truth about herself. “How’d I get to this place?”

  “You need help,” Roy responded. “Who knows what any of us would be like if we’d been raised in your home. You were powerless then, but you’re not anymore. If you’ll get proper help over the next decade, you can come see Heidi and introduce yourself.”

  “You’re a dreamer, Roy,” Tiffany said. “I can’t change. I’ve tried. I have, and how would I pay for the kind of help you’re talking about?”

  He held out the pen to her. “I think you’d be surprised what you could do for yourself if you put your energy into getting better rather than carrying out manipulative, deceitful plans.”

  She took the pen. “Not sure broken people work that way—able to pull themselves up by their bootstraps. But let’s get this done. I want out of here.”

  The next twenty minutes went by quickly.
Abigail recorded a video clip of Tiffany verbally giving up her rights as a parent as well as signing documents.

  Tiffany clung to her laptop as she headed for the door.

  Jemima followed her. “I’ll text you a date, time, and address to meet us at the lawyer’s.”

  She nodded and left.

  Roy embraced Jemima. “We did it!”

  Her head spun, and her legs wobbled like noodles.

  Chris walked inside. “They’re gone. How’d it go?”

  Abigail grinned. “It went well. Let’s call Uncle Mervin and let him and our parents know. Then we should order pizza, play games, and celebrate! The children are fine staying at Uncle Mervin’s for a few hours while we enjoy this victory.”

  Roy grinned. “I like the way you think.” He turned. “Jem?”

  She felt rather detached from her body. “Sure, but I need a minute.” She climbed the stairs, went into her bedroom, and closed the door. They’d won, but the task of raising a child to love and respect herself when her own mother didn’t love her was daunting. Jemima whispered a prayer of gratefulness, and she felt God’s peace surround her like a warm blanket.

  She went to the bathroom sink to wash her face, which felt gritty from the salt in the many tears she’d shed while reading the printouts. She stared into the mirror, determined to be a better person for Roy and her children. Life had already been merely a blink. In a few more she’d be old with grown children. “Show me how to live each day with wisdom and love.”

  “Jem?” Roy tapped on the bedroom door.

  She came out of the bathroom. “Kumm.”

  He opened the door. “You okay?”

  She moved to the side of the bed and sat. “Shaky, dizzy with relief, overwhelmed by the idea of how best to help Heidi once she’s old enough to know she’s not a biological Graber but a chosen one.”

  “We’ll figure it out and stumble our way through, trusting God to fill in the holes we missed.” He grinned. “Let’s celebrate today, and we’ll talk and make plans tomorrow.”

  She already felt better. Roy was very good at loving her, although neither one was close to perfect. They made mistakes regularly, and life doled out plenty of stress along with its joys and victories.

  She patted the bed.

  He smiled and sat down beside her. “Hi.”

  She ran her fingers down his cheek, turning his face toward hers. “Hi.”

  His lips were warm against hers.

  Breathless, she put her forehead against his. “I think we should move Simeon and Heidi into the guest room, name it the nursery, and you move back in with your wife, who is very tired of missing you.”

  “But I’ve been right here.”

  “Have you?”

  “Well, not right here”—he patted the bed—“but, you know, I’ve been close.”

  “I’m saying”—she kissed his neck—“that you should be closer. You want to argue with that?”

  “No,” he whispered. “Definitely not.”

  His lips found hers again and the kiss deepened.

  “Roy? Jemima?” Abigail called. “Daed is on the phone in Uncle Mervin’s phone shanty, and he’d like to talk to you.”

  “Our moment of solitude is up,” Roy teased.

  Jemima chuckled and kissed him again. “Meet me here tonight after the kids are tucked in bed.”

  Epilogue

  Two years later

  Abigail twirled a badminton racket in her hand, catching it by the handle after each spin and feeling the squishy grip. Any moment now, Jemima or Carolyn would retrieve the birdie from the tall grass for the next serve, the one that would determine the winner.

  A warm spring breeze stirred the air. Horses grazed and frolicked in the nearby pasture. The aroma of leftovers wafted from the picnic table: fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and homemade bread. It’d been a delicious meal with an abundance of chatter.

  Giggles and squeals rose from the backyard, making her smile. Her parents were entertaining Nevin, Simeon, and Heidi by making giant bubbles from a family recipe. The little ones and grandparents were using an array of wands, ranging from the rings for mason jars to Hula-Hoops, to dip into a small blue plastic pool filled with the bubble solution. She had great parents, and she had high hopes that she and Chris would follow in their footsteps.

  Laura was next to her Daed on the “court,” badminton racket in hand, a grin on her face as Roy worked with her on her swing. She had been free of her crutches for some time now.

  Chris moved closer to the net that separated them, stealing Abigail’s full attention. His grin added to the multitude of things she was taking in and cataloging so she could draw strength from these memories during the harder days that life was sure to bring their way.

  “You’re twirling that racket like an expert. Have you been holding back on me?” he asked.

  Abigail glared at him, trying not to smile. They both knew she’d hit air on the past three birdies that had been lobbed her way. “There seems to be a hole in the center of my racket.” She held it up for her husband to inspect.

  He ducked below the net and stopped mere inches in front of her, took the racket, and inspected it. “That’s odd. It appears to be intact.” His eyes met hers, and she recalled dozens of long nights and the silly banter between them. Love was so much fun and definitely worth the price. She pointed at the strings. “Maybe a hole opens as I swing at the birdie.”

  “Ya.” He mocked seriousness. “That must be what happens”—he handed the racket back to her—“because that’s the only way anyone can be that bad at hitting a birdie.”

  She stifled her laugh.

  Chris kissed her forehead. “You can have my racket if you like. It doesn’t have the magical power of the strings disappearing as the birdie comes toward it.”

  “I’m fine. But you just keep making fun of me. We both know I will have my revenge when we play horseshoes and volleyball.” She looked at the racket. What was it about the birdie that made it so difficult to hit?

  Chris put his hands on her hips and lowered his eyes to her belly. She and Chris had a secret. A new life had begun inside her. Everyone would be so excited, but she and Chris wanted to keep that news just to themselves for a while. But because they had been married for eighteen months, her pregnancy wouldn’t be much of a surprise.

  “Got it!” Jemima walked back from the tall grass, holding the birdie in question high in the air, and stepped into the play area. “Why haven’t we cut that grass? It’s not like we’ve been busy.”

  Abigail shook her head. That was untrue, and everyone knew it. What an amazing team her best friend and brother were these days in everything they did, whether it was running their business, raising their children, or even playing games. The storms in Jemima and Roy’s marriage seemed to be in the past.

  “My turn to serve!” Carolyn’s English sounded perfect these days. She held out her hand, and her mother placed the well-worn birdie into it.

  Roy smiled, nodding at Abigail. “Aim at your auntie. She looks distracted, and we need just one more point to win.”

  With a thwack, Carolyn sent the birdie flying, and it sailed toward Abigail. Could she get it? Maybe! She swung, and the birdie went right on by and landed a few feet behind her. She sighed.

  Cheers went up from the winning side, but Chris simply smiled.

  She joined in the cheering. “I’m the best asset your team had!” She chuckled and went toward the picnic table to set the racket on it.

  Chris came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Care to go for a walk?” He kissed the back of her neck, making her shiver and smile.

  She turned to look into his eyes. “Sure.”

  They ambled hand in hand, enjoying a rare afternoon of being completely off the job. Chris worked on the horse farm a few hours each d
ay, and he helped with the food truck, sometimes cooking but generally keeping them well stocked so things ran smoothly. Most of his time, though, went to his true love: running a spectacular equine therapy clinic for the Amish and Englisch. Between supplements from the government and payments from those who had insurance, he made a good income. He’d turned the former poultry barn into a therapy classroom, using it in winter and inclement weather. He was fantastic with special-needs children and their parents, and sometimes he held weeklong camps that made lasting differences for all involved. She’d never imagined someone like Chris being so fulfilled. It altered how she viewed the men and their wives from the recovery house. The men needed to find something they loved, something that made them enjoy giving back into other people’s lives.

  They paused outside the split-rail fence near where Houdini was grazing.

  She looked at Chris. “We’ll blink and our little one will be here, making new memories with us.”

  Chris wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I can’t wait. We planned this well.” He was right.

  “I’m still surprised how much Daed enjoys working with me on the food truck.” Maybe it shouldn’t have been such a surprise. After all, he’d really enjoyed cooking at home with her.

  His work with the food truck had begun naturally with her asking for his help here and there. He had really enjoyed it, and the next thing she knew, he was volunteering his time and was eager to learn how to cook on the truck’s grill and stove tops. Now he knew how to prepare all the recipes, and they paid him for his time. With the three of them—Jemima, Daed, and Abigail—and their hired help, which was mostly young people who’d recently graduated from the Amish school, they managed to run a successful food truck business and still have time for their families and community.