[2016] The Precious Amish Baby

by Faith Crawford

  What if something had happened to him? Cynthia felt sick with worry. She thought of Amos, Japheth’s friend who was to be their witness in the ceremony. He had known all their plans, surely if something had happened to Japheth, Amos would have let her know? Her legs and hands were stiff from standing in the cold for so long. She could no longer feel her ears or her nose.

  Two hours later and Cynthia was not only worried but fearful too. She was miles away from home and she knew no one in Camden town apart from the dour woman who ran the boarding house where Cynthia had spent the night. The sound of doors creaking open caught Cynthia’s attention and she turned towards the church doors.

  The preacher, adorned in his garb was busy locking up the double doors for the day. Cynthia’s mouth went dry and tears filled her eyes. He turned and frowned as he noticed her standing a little way away.

  “Are you alright Missus?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

  Cynthia, unwilling to admit to anyone that she had just been stood up, nodded vigorously.

  “I’m well, thank you. I was waiting for someone but I reckon they got held up, so I’ll just be on my way,” she said, her voice shaky.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Yes, thank you for your concern.”

  Cynthia turned and hurried away knowing if she stayed a minute longer speaking to the man of God who should have married them that afternoon, she would break down into bitter tears. She walked fast, her mind a whirl of questions. How could he do that to her, knowing how much she had given up to be with him?

  Images and bits of conversation came to her mind. Japheth had initially insisted that they run off together without having their union solemnized. After all, who would ever know? Let’s just have fun Cynthia, he had pleaded. But Cynthia had been adamant and he had finally come to see things her way. Cynthia had been raised to fear the wrath of God and while she knew that marrying non-Amish would not tear her away from the Lord, she knew that immorality would.

  Now she wondered if he had ever had any intention of marrying her. Thank God for how she had been raised for no matter how much they kissed, Cynthia had not allowed it to go further than that. Not that she had not been tempted, but her fear of burning in hell, as the Bishop had constantly warned, was greater that the temptation of the body.

  A blanket of sadness and loneliness enveloped her. She felt alone in the whole world, which she was. She missed the routine of back home. She and her sisters would be busy preparing the family supper and when it was ready, the whole family would gather for prayers and a blessing on the food.

  Afterward, they would clean up supper dishes and then meet up in the living room, where they would sing songs of praise. It had been a simple life and satisfying to Cynthia until Japheth came along. He had brought out feelings in her that she had never thought she possessed.

  There was a boy, Darren, whom Cynthia had known all her life. Darren was a lanky, morose boy whom she usually had nothing to say to and who seemed to be just as uncomfortable with her. It was known without being implicitly said that she and Darren would end up together. Except Cynthia had once read a romantic book, that had made its way among the youth of the community and she had seen a glimpse of love.

  She knew that she and Darren were not even close to being in love. They had nothing to say to each other and even during their Rumspringa, they had steered away from each other.

  Other girls went all out during Rumspringa and took advantage of the freedom it offered them. For Cynthia, Rumspringa passed without much fuss for her. She attended the dances and went straight home afterward, leaving her friends socializing with the boys and drinking alcohol from plastic bottles. All she had ever wanted was to get married and have her own family.

  But she knew that Darren would not be the kind of man to sweep her off her feet. He was a boy as far as she was concerned. Despite her parents being the strict kind, they never pressured her to get married. Some of her friends had got married at fifteen. Whenever Cynthia ran into them, she shuddered and prayed for a different fate for herself.

  Drops of rain came down as she walked and in minutes it turned to torrents of rain. By the time she got to the boarding house, she was dripping wet, her tears flowing freely down her cheeks. She had never been as frightened as she was at that moment. She did not know how long the money in her purse would last. Cynthia hurried past the reception area, entered the dim hallway and made for her room at the end of the long corridor. As soon as she entered, she flung herself on the bed and allowed the sobs to come freely.

  What a fool she had been! Her mamma had warned her about trusting the Englischers. She had been right. Except that knowledge was of no use to her now. She recalled her and Japheth’s conversations about moving to the East and with time how they would buy their own little farm. Japheth had described a charming life, with chicken laying eggs for their breakfast, dairy cows for their milk and a land so fertile one could grow anything.

  The plan had been for Japheth to work as a ranch hand in one of the sprawling farms in the east and together they would save up every penny they earned towards their own farm. Numb with exhaustion, Cynthia felt her eyes grow heavy and she allowed herself to drift off to sleep.

  She woke up later, to find her eyes blinded by a stream of light from the window. The events of the previous day came to her mind and she closed her eyes, praying that when she opened them again, she would find herself back home in the room she shared with her two younger sisters.

  Chapter Two

  Cynthia sat stiffly in the restaurant, feeling self-conscious at having no companion. Half the tables were occupied and in the one nearest to her, sat four young women like herself whispering amongst themselves. She kept her head lowered, concentrating on the dry bread and tea that was her breakfast.

  She chewed her bread slowly, the taste of it escaping her taste buds, as she contemplated her next move. He had to come. A small part of her brain clung to the belief that something had happened to delay Japheth. As soon as he could, he would come to her. She just had to be patient. The larger part of her brain insisted that he was never coming.

  Cynthia knew if she paid mind to that part telling her that she was abandoned in an unfamiliar town, she would scream and never stop. The restaurant slowly emptied as people finished their meals and left for their day’s jobs. Cynthia refused to think further than that moment. What she would do once she had finished her own breakfast.

  “I like this one, older, handsome gentleman of means who wishes to make the acquaintance of a young lady, possessed with good looks and character.”

  The four voices giggle in unison. Cynthia piqued her ears.

  “Maggie did it, you know and she’s now in Colorado living happily with her handsome husband. Imagine that—a mail order bride.”

  “What if he turns out to be a rogue? Or worse, a liar and he’s as poor as a church mouse?”

  Cynthia was intrigued. From the corner of her eye, she saw the four heads of the young women bent over a newspaper spread out on the table.

  “I won’t take that kind of risk.”

  “Me neither, I have my hands full with handsome young men lining up to court me.”

  The four women all agreed that they would not take the route that their friend Maggie had taken to be a mail order bride. Cynthia, desperate to know more was just about to ask if she could join them when they pushed back their chairs in unison and left the restaurant. She almost wept at what she saw as a lost opportunity until she spied the newspaper they had carelessly left on the table.

  Cynthia grabbed it and spread it out on her own table. Her eyes scanned the open pages and she saw advert after advert of gentlemen from the east looking for mail order brides. She had never heard of the term but the more she read, the more Cynthia understood the concept. Cynthia downed the rest of her now cold tea, folded the newspaper and left.

  The boarding house was right next to the restaurant and she walked in quick, short steps straight to her ro
om. In her room, she carefully laid the newspaper on the bed and started to read, paying attention to each advert. Next, Cynthia got a pen from her small case and systematically circled the adverts she thought had the most potential.

  She did not have the time or luxury of engaging in a correspondence with a gentleman, ‘getting acquainted’ as most of them put it. Her situation was urgent and after giving the matter a lot of thought, Cynthia decided she needed someone as desperate as herself.

  Her heart pounded as she focused on one particular advert.

  A widower in California seeks a lady to marry, whose prime responsibility will be to care for his small son and to keep house. In return, she will never lack for anything and will be well cared for. If interested in the above terms, kindly write to Clive Stewart at the address below.

  Cynthia’s eyes scrolled to other adverts and she longed for the ones which spoke of love and companionship. Except that the gentlemen in question wanted to get to know the potential bride first before proposing to her. Cynthia’s attention returned to the advert and then she thought of Japheth.

  Her heart ached with the realization that she would never see him again. But now she had to think of her own survival, Cynthia told herself. She had no choice really. When she thought about it, she realized that the Lord had not deserted her. It had been his doing that she had happened to come across the conversation in the restaurant and the newspaper. She kept going back to the advert from Clive until she decided to write to him.

  At the very least, she would go into the union knowing full well that it would not be about love. It saddened her that her life had come to this. She wanted to curl herself into a ball and retreat from the world. She must get over this, Cynthia told herself.

  Sure, she had made a huge mistake, but it did not mean the end of her life. She had to keep going and if that meant entering a loveless marriage, then so be it. Women had lived with worse and they had survived. Besides, the gentleman had mentioned a child and that gave Cynthia the impetus to reach for a writing pad to write the letter.

  She loved children and missed her own younger siblings terribly. A child would go a long way in filling that hole in her heart, which Japheth had left gaping open. She steadied her hand and begun to write.

  Dear Mr. Clive Stewart,

  First of all, allow me to offer my condolences on the loss of your wife. I cannot claim to know the kind of pain you have gone through, but I do understand a little of it as I recently lost my fiancé, after he left me waiting at the altar. I want a fresh start for myself and coming to California would be just wonderful. I love children and I promise to treat your little one as my very own. Children are a gift from our Lord and you’re blessed to have him. I understand that the loss has left you in pain and you feel that you do not have much to offer. The little you do have will be alright with me. I have always dreamt of my own home and with you and your child, I will feel blessed to have a ready-made family. I will end my letter here with the hope that I will hear from you. I’ll be ready to depart as soon as you let me know.

  Sincerely,

  Cynthia Lapp

  The tone of the letter felt a little pushy to Cynthia but she was desperate and she wanted to know her fate as soon as she could. After reading the letter several times, Cynthia folded it neatly, slid it into the pocket of her coat, left her room and went out to the streets.

  The post office was at the intersection and she headed there, her step light and sure.

  “How far is California from here?” Cynthia asked the postmaster, a bespectacled, friendly man in his middle ages.

  “Oh, quite far. I’d say a week’s journey by train, which is of course, dependent on which part of California you wish to travel to.”

  Cynthia was shocked. A whole week’s journey? She murmured her thanks, bought an envelope and stamps and just before giving the letter, suffered a moment of hesitation. Her head felt as though it would explode with pressure. The thought of traveling so far away from all that she knew and held dear frightened Cynthia.

  At least here in Camden town, she knew that half a day and she would be back home. The thought of home reminded Cynthia sharply that she was not welcome there. She had seen banished girls try to return home. No one in the community would speak to them. It was as though they had ceased to exist.

  Cynthia had heard of one girl who had taken her own life, unable to bear the pain of the rejection from her family. She could see how that could very well happen.

  “Miss, do you want to send that letter on its way?” the postmaster asked kindly.

  Cynthia shook herself, smiled and handed over the letter. It was done. Now it was up to the good Lord to ensure that Clive Stewart was of the same mind as herself and was desperate for a wife. He was her only hope now, Cynthia thought as she slowly walked down the street, taking in the smells of fresh bread from the bakery.

  When she returned to the boarding house, Cynthia paused at the reception desk.

  “Has there been a letter or message for me, Cynthia Lapp?”

  The woman who ran the boarding house did not even glance up from her writing at the reception desk. She merely shook her head. Cynthia sighed and went to her room to brood in silence.

  Chapter Three

  It came in waves, gradually overcoming him until finally it enveloped him completely, leaving Clive grasping for breath. It was now three months since his Beatrice had left. She had thrown her clothes into her trunk, shouting obscenities at him and Clive had watched her in horror, unable to believe that she would actually leave.

  He knows what love is!

  I want a little excitement in my life and I sure ain’t getting it here!

  He had tried to reconcile the sweet, chatty Beatrice with the bitter woman who stood in front of him accusing him of not loving her enough. Her shiny black hair had flown around wildly as she threw dress after dress into the trunk. Finally, she had shut it with a loud bang, the noise penetrating Clive’s brain.

  “Please my love, don’t leave us,” Clive had pleaded sinking to his knees.

  That had seemed like the worst thing to do. She had glared at him in disdain, hatred shining from her eyes. And he had finally known that Beatrice was leaving. She had grabbed her trunk, lugged it out of their bedroom, without a single glance at their sweet six-month-old baby Nathan.

  As if on cue, he had let out an anguished cry as if he could tell that his mother was leaving him. Unsteadily, Clive had stood up, picked up his son and cradled him in his arms. They had both sat on the bed, tears streaming down their faces.

  It was a cold night, a freezing chill in the air which Clive did not feel. He liked to sit out on the porch at night, lost in his thoughts. He had tried to get Beatrice to enjoy the solitude of sitting on the porch, watching the sun disappear behind the dark clouds. She had accused him of being a sad old man and to make her happy, he had reduced the evenings he spent on the porch.

  After she left, he had blocked out the image of the ranch hand who had run off with Beatrice. It was too painful to think that she had chosen another man over him and Nathan. It hurt Clive that Nathan would grow up not knowing his mother. Just then, a piercing shriek broke the silence. It did not startle Clive. Any time when Nathan was asleep, Cleve had learned to keep an ear alert to his son’s wake up time of nine o’clock, when he took his bottle of milk.

  “I’m coming son,” Clive called out as he walked through the hallway, shadows of his form dancing on the wall.

  Nathan was a year old now and by the time Clive got to the bedroom they shared, he had lifted himself from his sleeping position and was bowling while his plump hands clutched the edge of the cot, his plump legs supporting him.

  “There you go,” Clive crooned, lifting him up and laying him against his chest.

  Clive had learned to be organized and the bottle of warm milk sat in a jug of warm water in the kitchen. He picked it up, knowing his way in the dark and returned to the front room, lit with a single lamp. Clive positioned Natha
n just right in the crook of his arm, and moments later, he was sucking on the bottle contentedly, his eyes already half shut.

  As Clive sat feeding his son, it occurred to him that Mrs. Williamson, Nathan’s carer during the day and the wife of a ranch hand, had mentioned something to the effect that Nathan needed to learn how to drink from a cup. Clive had no idea how to make the transition.

  He had been hoping that by now he would have found himself a mail order bride but so far he had not received a response. Now he wondered at the wisdom of implying that all he needed was someone to mind Nathan and the home. He hated the thought of marrying again but Nathan needed a mother as Mrs. Williamson pointed out every day.

  It was also exhausting for him minding the child throughout the night, especially when he caught a cold. Then in the morning, however exhausted he felt, he had to go out to pasture and see to the cattle. Clive had two full-time ranch hands but with five hundred head of cattle, his help was needed on a full-time basis. Besides, he liked being out there working. Nothing like keeping busy to keep one’s mind from fretting.

  As much as he badly needed a mother for Nathan, Clive did not worry too much about it. What would be, would be. If he found one, well and good, if not, somehow they would muddle through and in good time, even though it was a few years from now, she would come. By placing the advert, Clive reckoned he had done his best in finding a mother for Nathan, the rest was not up to him.

  He gently carried Nathan back to his cot and tucked the blankets around him. Then he bent low and kissed his forehead, warm and sweet smelling. Clive only returned to the front room to blow out the lamp and then returned to his bedroom to change for the night.

  It was mindless living, days merging until months went by. He lay in bed, his eyes staring into the badness. The time before he succumbed to sleep, was when images of Beatrice haunted him. He missed her loud, raucous laugh, rare as it had been. She had an infectious laugh that made you laugh along even though you had no idea what had tickled her.