[2016] The Precious Amish Baby

by Faith Crawford

  Nathan slept soundly throughout the night and Clive woke up fairly fresh. He could see visible puffs of his breath as it escaped out of his mouth. Just then Nathan too stirred and Clive quickly slipped on his day clothes.

  “Good morning little one? Did you have a good night?” Clive cooed, standing over the cot.

  He blew kisses on Nathan’s tummy and the boy giggled in response. How could anyone desert such a beautiful bundle of joy? Every morning, when he looked at his son’s face, looking up at him with so much love and expectation, he asked himself the same question.

  Together, they followed the smells of fresh tea brewing.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Williamson,” Clive said.

  “Morning yourself, Mr. Stewart. And how did you sleep little one?” she said, stretching her arms.

  Nathan stretched his little body to get to his carer’s arms.

  “Oh, there’s a letter for you, Mr. Stewart, it’s on the front room table.”

  “Thank you,” Clive said pouring himself a mug of tea from the kettle and returning with it to the living room.

  The letter was postmarked Buffalo, New York State. Clive opened it with neither excitement nor expectation. He pulled out the single sheet of paper and read the contents with a stirring of pity for the young woman. The letter implied that she was in dire straits and needed to be a mail order bride as soon as possible.

  She did not explain why she could not return home, because from the return address, it seemed she was living in a boarding house. Clive pushed away the feelings of concern that were growing like tentacles from deep inside his heart. His only interest was in finding a mother for Nathan and he thought she sounded suitable.

  He felt sorry for her being left standing at the altar, but worse things happened to people. Like Nathan being abandoned by his own mother. He read the letter again and decided that Cynthia Lapp was perfect for him. She was nursing a broken heart and had no room for love any more than he did.

  Clive was not one to dwell on matters and that decided, he got out a writing pad and a pen, from a drawer under the table and scribbled a quick note. From his wallet, he fished out a couple of notes and folded the letter over the money. He would buy a train ticket and put it in the envelope too.

  He downed his tea and stood up. Clive mentally ran through all the things he had to do before he could go into town to post the letter. The cows had to be taken out to pasture and the sheds cleaned out. The good thing about California was that the winters were mild, which ensured that the cattle spent their days grazing rather than locked up in the sheds.

  Clive planted a distracted kiss on Nathan’s forehead, grabbed his hat from a nail at the back of the kitchen door and at the door, he slipped on his boots. Despite his reluctance to get another wife, he felt something akin to happiness that Nathan would, at last, get a mother. As for himself, he had no interest whatsoever in Ms. Cynthia Lapp.

  Chapter Four

  The train shuddered to a halt in a train station marked Pixel Town. Cynthia peered out the window at the crowded platform. Her back and legs ached from sitting down for so long and she could not wait to get off the train to stretch them.

  She felt self-conscious about her looks having traveled for a whole week without a proper bath. She hadn’t had much sleep either, worried as she was about the kind of man that Clive Stewart might be. She waited for the passengers on her carriage to alight, before she took her small satchel and followed them down the steps.

  Cynthia searched the platform for a man who seemed to be waiting for a mail order bride. The one thing that stood out for Cynthia was how many men there in the station. There seemed to be five men to every lady and she realized how hard a task lay ahead of identifying her fiancé.

  “Cynthia Lapp?” a deep voice said from her side.

  She whipped around to find a tall, strongly built man, with the most sorrowful eyes she had ever seen looking down at her. She smiled nervously and struck out her hand.

  “Hello, Sir.”

  His big calloused hand felt protective over her small one. She noted his smart brown suit and tie and felt important having someone dress up to meet her. The state of her own clothing embarrassed her but there had only been a small wash basin on the train. It was not enough to properly clean oneself and besides, there was always someone banging on the door as it stood next to the washroom.

  “I reckon you’ve deduced that I’m Clive Stewart. Welcome to Pixel town, I hope that you will very much like living here,” he said in a formal tone, his expression stern and unyielding.

  In contrast, his hair stood on his head, as though a gale had run through it, whipping it from how it had initially been combed. Cynthia stifled a giggle, knowing how inappropriate it would have been to laugh.

  “Shall we get your luggage?” he asked.

  Cynthia nodded and followed him to the luggage compartment. She liked the strain of his coat on his shoulders, which emphasized the muscles on his arms and shoulders. Without planning to, she found herself comparing him to Japheth. In comparison, Japheth seemed like a boy, while everything about Clive, from his confident walk to how he spoke, told her that he was a man.

  It frightened Cynthia a little that she would be married to him. She felt a little inadequate to be his wife. He seemed bigger than life, sure of himself, but then detached from everyone. Then there was the lurking sadness in his eyes. Poor man! He had known more pain that she had.

  She pointed out her trunk to him and when he took it, he gestured to her and turned towards the exit doors of the station. Cynthia obediently followed, unsure of what to make of him.

  He was obviously the silent type or the loss of his wife had affected him so badly that melancholy followed him everywhere. He had not confided in her how he had lost his wife but none of that mattered. Cynthia felt sorry for him and his son. Death was a terrible blow for everyone, even with the knowledge that your loved one was with the Lord.

  He led her to a buggy parked by the side of the road.

  “I reckon we should address each other by our first names, seeing as we’re getting married in the next hour,” Clive said, without looking at her.

  Cynthia gasped. So soon?

  “Is that alright with you?” he said, finally looking at her.

  Cynthia nodded. Wasn’t that what she wanted, marriage?

  She looked down at her crumpled dress in horror. She couldn’t’ get married looking as she did. Clive’s eyes followed her movements.

  “It will just be us and the preacher,” he commented drily.

  How could Cynthia explain it to him? She had longed for her wedding dress ever since she was a young girl. She would hate to remember it wearing the horribly untidy dress she now wore. Tears sprung into her eyes at the thought.

  “Oh, alright, we can stop by the boarding house and you can freshen up,” Clive said, his tone a touch impatient.

  Cynthia nodded gratefully and let him help her up the buggy. Minutes later, they were leaving the train station and went down the main street. Cynthia spied a dry goods store, a hotel and a saloon before they left the main street and followed a road going uphill.

  The buggy came to a stop and Clive helped her out. Cynthia looked at the brown brick house that stood in front of her. A chipped sign identified it as the boarding house. Cynthia fetched her satchel which contained a change of clothes and the dress she had saved to get married in.

  “Wait here, while I make arrangements with the proprietor,” Clive said and made for the entrance.

  Melancholy gripped her heart when Clive left her standing by the buggy. She had left the simple cream dress she had worn for her wedding ceremony with Japheth. She felt teary and as she wiped off the stray tears, Cynthia realized her sadness stemmed from the reception she had received from Clive.

  He was anything but warm and he avoided looking at her or even conversing. He had told her nothing about himself or the town and now she felt like a chicken being led to slaughter. He appeared shortly after
.

  “Everything’s arranged, come on in,” he told her curtly, looking like he would have preferred to be anywhere but where he was.

  She followed him and murmured hello to an older man manning the reception. Clive took long sure strides down a square hallway and then inserted a key into a door and held it open for her.

  “I’ll be waiting outside when you’re ready.”

  As soon as the door shut, Cynthia looked around the sparse room. Then to her delight, she saw a tin bath filled with water on the side of the room. With a squeal, she turned the key and then proceeded to strip off her filthy clothes and immersed herself in the warm water.

  Cynthia was in better spirits when she returned clean and neatly dressed in her best light green dress. It had puffed up sleeves and flared skirts. She had talked herself out of her disappointment. After all, Clive had made it clear in his advert that his only interest was in finding a mother for his son.

  If that was how he wanted it, then so be it, Cynthia thought and walked past the empty reception area with her head held high. She reached outside where Clive had parked the buggy. He was not there and neither was the buggy. Her heart dropped to her knees.

  Her legs went weak. A thousand half-formed thoughts ran through her mind. Had he deserted her too? Oh Lord, what to do? Pain ceased her chest and her hand flew to it. There was no one around and Cynthia felt as if she was in a bad dream. Then he appeared from the side of the building, walking nonchalantly, leading the horses at a slow pace.

  She almost wept when she saw him.

  “Are you alright?” he asked her.

  Cynthia nodded, not trusting herself to speak. He looked her up and down.

  “You look pretty,” he said and then busied himself helping her into the buggy.

  The church was further on and when they reached it, she stepped out of the buggy and looked at the church in disbelief. It uncannily resembled the one in Camden town where she and Japheth had planned to marry. She trembled involuntarily.

  “Are you cold?” Clive inquired.

  She could not talk, her teeth chattering against one another. Was she destined to be the girl always left at the altar? In the recesses of her mind, she knew her thoughts were irrational; after all, Clive was here with her.

  “I’m just being silly,” Cynthia finally said.

  He nodded as though he understood perfectly.

  “All men are not cowards, Cynthia. The majority of us do keep our word. I’m sorry for what you went through, but such a man did not even deserve you.”

  It was the kindest, nicest thing that anybody had ever told Cynthia and her eyes flooded with tears again. She smiled at him with sincere gratitude.

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you ready to be Mrs. Stewart?” he asked softly.

  “Yes,” Cynthia said, her voice strong and sure.

  Clive handed her his arm and she slid hers in. She felt wonderful as they walked into the small church, her eyes blinking furiously in an attempt to adjust to the change in lighting. In a few minutes, she would be Clive’s wife, Cynthia thought to herself happily. She gave a quick prayer of gratitude.

  Chapter Five

  “Is that your house?” Cynthia asked in a wonder-filled voice.

  The buggy had stopped in front of a finely built frame house, the timber shiny and best of all, a porch that seemed to wrap around the front and sides of the house.

  “Yes,” Clive replied curtly, the earlier warmth they had shared gone.

  Smoke rose from a stone chimney, inviting Cynthia to enter and warm herself by the fire. She glanced at the simple wedding band she now wore on her finger. She was now the mistress of the home, but the thought that she would now live in such a grand house overwhelmed Cynthia.

  The front door opened and a plump woman with a child perched on her waist came out. She stood and grinned at Cynthia.

  “I thought you would never get here,” she said. “Nathan and I have been listening for the sound of the buggy all afternoon.”

  Cynthia immediately felt at home with the woman’s kind words.

  “This is Cynthia Lapp, or Stewart,” Clive said, “And this is Mrs. Williamson, she’s been taking care of Nathan since …”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Williamson,” Cynthia said, walking up the steps and shaking the woman’s hand.

  “Nathan, hello little one,” Cynthia cooed. “Is he afraid of strangers? Can I carry him? Don’t worry, I had little brothers and sisters,” she told Mrs. Williamson.

  “Oh, our Nathan loves people, don’t you little one?”

  Cynthia dropped her satchel and took the child from Mrs. Williamson. He smelt clean and fresh and his light blue eyes looked up at Cynthia. They stared at each other, the moment was big for Cynthia as a wave of love swept through her. If there was one person who needed her, it was Nathan and Cynthia vowed to herself that he would grow up knowing the love of a mother.

  “Babaaa,” Nathan said and the group broke up into laughter.

  “Come in my dear, I’ll show you where everything is,” Mrs. Williamson said.

  The front room alone was larger than the whole of the house she and her family had lived in. Thinking of her family now, Cynthia wondered at how removed from her old life she felt. While she missed them, it was not a constant thought and she had all but moved on. So much had happened to her in the last month that she feared she had become a whole different person from who she had been.

  Cynthia’s mind was split into admiring and cooing to Nathan, and looking at the rooms that Mrs. Williamson was pointing to her. The kitchen was huge and airy with a large rectangular table that could sit up to ten people. Cynthia imagined evenings spent cooking over the stove that sat in a corner of the room, with her family on the table watching her.

  The bedrooms were on the other wing of the house accessed from the front door. Cynthia and Nathan followed Mrs. Williamson as she pointed out each room. When she pushed open the door of the main bedroom, Cynthia did not have to be told that it was Clive’s room.

  The bed was big and on its left side stood a baby cot. Two wardrobes were arranged side by side on one side of the wall. Cynthia noticed her trunk then, placed against one wardrobe. She swallowed a ball of saliva. It suddenly hit home what her marriage to Clive entailed. Mrs. Williamson seemed to sense her discomfort.

  “Let me take him and we’ll leave you to settled in,” she said and took Nathan from Cynthia’s arms.

  The door shut and Cynthia looked about her uncertainly. Then with determination, she went to the wardrobe, flung it open and arranged clothes from her trunk inside the more than adequate space. As she worked, Cynthia wondered what had happened to Clive’s wife’s clothes when she passed on. There was nothing in the room to suggest that a woman had ever shared the room with Clive. She felt grateful for that as she would have felt as though she were stepping straight into the other woman’s shoes, which in essence she was.

  In the kitchen, Cynthia found that Mrs. Williamson had a kettle of tea and some cookies waiting for her.

  “Thank you,” Cynthia said, sinking into a chair. “These smell heavenly and I bet they taste even better.”

  “You need something in your tummy after such a long day.”

  “Papa,” Nathan said, stretching out his plump hands towards Cynthia.

  “He likes you already. You two will get along just fine.”

  Delight filled Cynthia’s heart as she took the child. She bounced him on her lap, her tea and cookies forgotten.

  “Your tea will get cold,” Mrs. Williamson said, leaning her back against a wooden sink.

  “What about Clive?” Cynthia said.

  Mrs. Williamson shrugged. “He’s probably gone to check on the cattle. That man works harder than anyone I know and he has so much already.”

  Cynthia felt a swelling of pride that she had married a hard working man.

  “I’m very glad that you’re here,” Mrs. Williamson said. “This house needs some cheer and wh
o better to do it than the new Missus.”

  “Thank you, I’m glad to be here too.”

  “I spoke to Mr. Stewart and we agreed that as soon as you’re comfortable I can terminate my employment.”

  Cynthia felt a moment of panic. How would she cope by herself, with a big house and Nathan to take care of?

  As if reading her thoughts, Mrs. Williamson said, “You’ll be just fine and if you need any help I’m just a short distance away. It’ll be good to go back to my own farming. I do enjoy growing my own food.”

  “Me too, the whole community grew their own food as well as having cows and chicken for milk and eggs,” Cynthia said, without thinking.

  Mrs. Williamson frowned and Cynthia realized that she had piqued the other woman’s interest. Since leaving home, she had not told a soul about her other life, that she had grown up in an Amish community. Cynthia knew that the rest of the world viewed them as oddities and not wanting to draw attention to herself, she never mentioned it.

  “You come from a kind of community?” she asked.

  Cynthia was at a loss for what to say. After a moment of thought, she decided that she did not want to live a lie and besides what was so wrong about being Amish? She still believed in God, perhaps a less judgmental God than she had been taught and she believed in living a life that was pleasing to him.

  “Yes,” she now said. “I was born in an Amish community…”

  Mrs. Williamson pulled out a chair while Cynthia spoke and she listened to her tale spellbound. Her facial expression changed, sometimes even comically as Cynthia described how she came to leave the community.

  “He did not!” she exclaimed in horror at Cynthia being left at the altar.

  For Cynthia, it felt as though she was recounting another person’s experience rather than her own. It did not hurt at all talking about Japheth and a part of her felt glad that he had not shown up. She thought how God’s blessings sometimes came shrouded in a dark cloud. You only had to wait patiently before the Lord revealed what he had in store for you.