[2016] The Precious Amish Baby

by Faith Crawford

  He nodded, looking back out over the dirt road that stretched out in front of their house. “I’m glad.” He looked back at her again. She didn’t think he sounded glad. “You know, Scott was an idiot for leaving you behind like he did. You’re a pretty woman.”

  Martha instantly felt uncomfortable.

  “You’ve got pretty eyes and a pretty mouth. Nice voice. You look good in your dresses, too, especially that white one with the different colored flowers on it.” He grinned at her. “I bet you’d look good out of that dress, too.”

  Martha was speechless. She had no reply. She opened her mouth but couldn’t think of a thing to say. She wasn’t flattered by what he’d said. She was more disgusted than anything.

  “I…I…” She couldn’t say anything. She was immensely grateful when Margie came out just then and set down a fresh plate of cookies on the small table.

  “I think it’s been a fairly productive week,” she said in her soft, friendly voice. She looked over at Martha as she sat down and lost her smile. “Are you all right, Martha? You’re so pale! You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

  Martha swallowed, still in shock. “I…I’m fine, Margie. I…I’m fine.”

  Tim turned and looked at the women, a look of concern on his face that Martha knew better than to believe. “You sure, Martha? We don’t want you feeling ill, now, do we? Do you need some water? Do you need to lay down?”

  The way he said the last two words sent a chill down Martha’s spine. She glanced at Margie to see if her friend had noticed, but it was clear she hadn’t. Her head was tilted to the side and she looked worried for Martha. “Do you need a nap, dear?” she asked.

  Martha closed her eyes for a second, trying to get her wits back. “I…I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. Just had a horrible thought, that’s all. Thought about something I really didn’t want to think about. Something that I hope will never, ever happen to me.”

  She saw the dark look that crossed Tim’s face. As he turned to look down the dirt path again, she saw a deep scowl cover his face. Martha had always been a bit aggressive and forthcoming. She could be as stubborn as any man. The recent trauma she had suffered had weakened her temporarily, but she was just as likely to pick up a gun and shoot a bandit dead as any man, when she felt like her true self.

  She longed for her true self and was happy to see that she was at least able to subtly defend her honor. If this conversation had taken place while she was committed to Scott, she would have told Margie immediately what had happened and would have told Scott when she got home. She would also have known exactly what to say back to Tim. She would not have been speechless.

  But she found herself in a weakened position, unable to truly keep her mind on one track. She felt helpless, betrayed and rejected. She felt like there was something incredibly wrong with her and that she would never be accepted and loved by a man who was truly a man and not a selfish pig.

  She vowed to speak to Margie about leaving as soon as possible. They would brainstorm and find a way. There had to be something she could do.

  “Margie, do you want to go to the church with me tomorrow?” she asked, taking a sip of her tea and noticing that it was, in fact, quite cold now.

  “You want to go to the Christ Baptist Church? That’s where my family goes,” Margie said.

  Martha nodded. “Yes, I’d like to go there tomorrow for services. Do you want to come with me?”

  Margie smiled at her. “Of course I’ll go, Martha. I think that sounds like a wonderful idea. Tim, you want to come along with us?”

  Tim snorted, not bothering to turn around to face his wife or Martha. “To church? No. Bunch of sanctimonious know-it-alls. Saints, they think, don’t they? Pure saints. Hypocrites.”

  “I don’t think so at all, Tim,” Martha said, and immediately regretted it. She didn’t have the authority to talk to Tim in his own home that way, especially when she was a houseguest. She glanced at Margie, who shook her head as if to tell her not to worry about it.

  “I don’t, either,” she agreed with Martha, speaking to Tim’s back. “You just hush, Tim. We enjoy our faith. We’re not telling you to have any. You don’t tell us not to.”

  Tim stood up abruptly, sending a signal of fear through Martha, who instinctively shrunk back. Margie just stared at her husband as he turned and stomped into the house, slamming the storm door behind him, grumbling about getting another beer.

  Margie looked at Martha, rolling her eyes. “You know, that man can be a stubborn brute sometimes. I don’t know why I put up with him.”

  I don’t either, Martha thought, but didn’t dare say the words. It was Margie’s marriage to deal with, not hers. It made her feel like perhaps she had dodged a bullet in not marrying Scott. He probably would have been the same way. He had no interest in her Amish faith – never had. She should have known from the beginning that they were unequally yoked.

  ***

  The next morning, a bright sun rose up in the East and cast a beautiful sunrise over the Nebraska sky. Martha watched it come up through the window of her room. She stood in the window brushing her hair, marveling at its beauty. She had not gotten up that early for almost two weeks, the length of time since she had been left at the altar. With still no plan in mind as to how to get out of her current situation, but with all the enthusiasm and desire to do so, she pulled a brush through her long, shiny black hair, pulling it back into a messy braid so that stray strands curled around her pale, slender shoulders, neck and cheeks. She had never cut it, as was tradition in her Amish roots. She doubted she would ever cut it. She liked it long and didn’t even mind that its length kept her hot on warm days. It also kept her warm on cold days.

  She’d been to Margie’s Baptist church a few times before. They often spoke about the dangers of being sent to the pit of Hell. She didn’t enjoy those sermons very much. She prayed that the sermon she would hear today would be about forgiveness and how to be a forgiving person, as well. She felt it would be impossible to forgive what had been done to her if she could not forgive herself for the wrong she had committed. She felt guilty for leaving her parents and her Amish community. What had happened to her almost felt like justice. Was God punishing her for what she had done?

  She refused to believe that. He was a good and loving God. She was sure he had forgiven her but that the trauma she was suffering was a direct consequence of the decisions she’d made. It didn’t have to do with God punishing her. It was the natural order of things and how they had to play out when you didn’t put Him first and let Him guide you down your path.

  She put on a bit of lipstick and powdered her face. Her family would have objected to the use of make-up, but she wanted to feel good about herself and felt better when there was a bit of color to her face, especially since her skin stood out in such contrast to her very dark hair.

  She enjoyed her conversation with Margie on the way to the church. She knew the distraction of being around a lot of people would help carry her through her dark time.

  “It’s a season of darkness for me, Marge,” Martha said, staring out over the land as the small wagon rode along the narrow dirt path.

  “I’m sure it’s very hard for you, Martha.” Margie nodded. “I wish there was more I could say to comfort you.”

  “It’s good to have you here for me, Marge. You listen to me. I’m sure things will work out for me eventually. I just…I just hate feeling so lost and alone and cold.”

  “I know what you mean. It’s so difficult to think about ever being alone after you’ve been with one person for a long time.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I hope it doesn’t happen to me. But Timothy…well, I just don’t know. I can’t divorce him, that would be very scandalous. But sometimes I just find that I’m so unhappy, I wish I hadn’t gotten married in the first place.”

  “I understand. He’s…a strange character.”

  Margie nodded. “He is. And sometimes I find that hard to bear.”


  “He likes to consume a lot of alcohol. It makes him into a different person.”

  “And not the nicest one either.” Margie gave her a strange look. “You know, I’ve been thinking…”

  Martha raised her eyebrows when Margie handed her the reins. “Take these for a moment. I want to show you something.”

  Martha took the reins and watched as Margie picked up her handbag. She pulled out a folded newspaper and unfolded it, looking for a specific page. When she found the page, she folded the newspaper to bring a certain section to the front. “I was going to bring this up to you after church but…well, there’s no time like now. I think this is the solution to your problem.”

  Martha traded the reins for the paper. She looked at the circled ad, reading it quickly.

  “I should travel to the West and marry a strange man?”

  “He’s wealthy. And he has a child. He needs someone.”

  “We were just talking about how hard marriage is.” Martha was somewhat amused.

  Margie gave her a small smile. “It’s the only option you have, though, isn’t it? You do want to be married. And this man needs a wife or he wouldn’t be advertising for one.”

  Martha looked at the ad again. It was short and to the point. A man in his late twenties, a ranch-owner, looking for a bride to help care for his two-year-old daughter, Emma.

  “I’ll pray on it,” Martha said, looking up at Margie. “Thank you for bringing it to my attention. I really will think about it.”

  Chapter Three

  Michael Martin stood at the edge of the fence, watching George, the horse trainer, as he held on to the rope. He was turning in circles as the horse at the end of the rope galloped around him, shouting encouraging words. It was a fine-looking horse. Michael was glad he had bought him.

  “Mr. Martin!” He heard someone calling behind him and turned to see his housekeeper, Morgan Dunn, waving at him from the front porch of the ranch house. He waved back and started to walk to where she was. She cupped her hands around her mouth so that he would be able to hear her. “Emma is calling for you, sir!”

  Just the thought of his daughter brought a smile to his face. He was glad the little girl looked more like him than her mother. Emma’s mother Alexis, Michael’s ex-wife, had run off with another man six months previous, and he was still aching about it. He knew from the beginning that Alexis was a wild card. The name her parents had chosen for her signified her personality well. She was a free spirit, stubborn to a fault and angry more often than not. What she was angry about, he was unsure.

  He had tried to give her everything. He had bent over backwards, in fact, for the five long years of their marriage, to make her as happy as he could. But there had always been something wrong. He was never quite good enough.

  Although he knew that he deserved a good woman who would truly love him, he was so far unable to let go of his past. He’d been so sure of their love, so sure that his marriage would improve with time, so sure that Alexis actually loved him and would calm down after a while.

  But she hadn’t. She’d been carrying on with another man behind his back and, when she left, she made sure to make him aware that it was all his fault, that he was the one to blame for the ruination of their marriage and their lives., even though it was her who had chosen that path. And she’d left her baby daughter behind. It said a lot about her character.

  He wished he could just forget all about it. But he’d had no luck with that so far.

  Morgan was waiting on the porch steps. She smiled at him. “Are you feeling all right today, Mr. Martin? You look a little down.”

  “Not feeling too good, Morgan, thank you for asking.”

  “Oh dear. Do you need anything? Can I get you some crackers, a cup of hot tea or coffee? Is there anything I can do?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Thank you, though.”

  “Maybe you are tired. Perhaps you should get some rest this afternoon.”

  Michael chuckled. “I’m 29 years old, Morgan, not 7 or 79. I shouldn’t be needing an afternoon nap.”

  Morgan also laughed. “Yes, sir.”

  Michael gave her a sly grin. “But today I might be 7. Maybe I’ll take a nap with Emma when she goes down.”

  “Oh, Mr. Martin! You are funny!” Morgan laughed again, throwing her head back. Michael admired his housekeeper. She had been through a lot in her time and dealt with a lot of loss and heartache. She was as tall as him, with dark hair that was slowly graying, most often pulled back into a ponytail or bun, depending on the kind of work she was doing. She had flashing green eyes and a quick humor that Michael liked quite a lot. If she was twenty years younger, he might just have proposed to her.

  But instead, he’d sent out an advertisement for a bride to come from the East. He hoped that a woman from there would be more refined, more apt to be faithful and loving, instead of self-absorbed and money-hungry. It certainly hadn’t been lack of affection that had caused Alexis to leave. He’d showed her as much love, probably more, than most of the men he was associated with showed their wives.

  He didn’t know what it was Alexis had wanted. He had money, he was handsome by most women’s accounts and he worked hard. He wasn’t a hobo. He owned his big ranch, employed several people to help with upkeep and continued to make good deals and trades so that his business would thrive. What more could she want?

  He knew that she was opposed to his religion. He wondered if that was what had driven her away. Instinctively, he rejected the idea. She wasn’t a bad person, after all. He was sure that much of what had happened was because of his own behavior. He wasn’t sure what it was he’d done but there must have been something. Otherwise she wouldn’t have left.

  Morgan watched Michael as he went into the nursery where his daughter was playing at a small table, her dolls around her. When Emma saw him come in, she scooted out of her chair and ran to him, her arms out.

  “Daddy! Daddy, see my dolls. See my toys!”

  “I see them, sweetheart. I see them.” He met her in the middle of the room and swept her up in his arms. He hugged her and carried her back to the small table, where he deposited her on the chair she’d been sitting on. The remaining three chairs were much too small for his frame, so he dropped to the floor next to the table. “What are you doing?”

  “We’re drawing and coloring!” Emma announced, her blue eyes sparkling at him. He felt a wave of affection for her and openly admired her drawings.

  “These are wonderful, Emma!”

  “You want to color with me, daddy?” Emma gazed at him with the kind of innocence that made his heart melt.

  “I have to work today, darling. I gotta go into town. I think I might have some mail. Do you want to come and get some ice cream?”

  Emma’s eyes opened wide as she took in the concept of getting ice cream. “Oh, daddy!” she said breathlessly. “Ice cream! Ice cream!” She clapped her small hands together and bounced in her seat. Michael laughed. He glanced over his shoulder and caught Morgan still standing at the door watching, a big grin on her face.

  “Shall I get the covered wagon ready for you, sir?”

  “Yes, I think that would be best, Morgan. Thank you.”

  “Yes, sir.” She turned away from them. Michael watched her retreat from the room before turning back to his little girl.

  ***

  The main street was busier than usual. He wondered why. He found a good spot for his horses and wagon to stay while they walked down the sidewalk. He was grateful that the ice cream shop was fairly close to the post office, which was his intended destination to begin with. He would stop at the general store, as well, because Morgan had informed him that the cook had forgotten to restock the salt for the kitchen and it was a necessary item. His cook, a younger woman named Evangeline, was originally from Italy. She only spoke a few words of English, even though she had been living in America for five years now. He’d hired her pretty much as soon as she got off the boat, though she’d had to travel from New Yo
rk first, which was where she arrived. Evangeline, who was more commonly known as Lina, was a loud, boisterous woman. When she played with Emma, people outside could hear her. She also had a habit of singing Italian songs at the top of her lungs while cooking.

  Michael ordered a bowl of vanilla ice cream for his daughter and a chocolate one for himself. He would share his with Emma but, when she got a bowl of chocolate for herself, typically more of it could be found on her face and hands than in her tummy.

  He helped her as little as possible, knowing that she liked to “do it myself!” most of the time. He scooped a couple spoonfuls of his chocolate into her mouth, too, loving the delighted look on her face. After they were full on ice cream, they walked to the post office, where Michael picked up three pieces of mail. He looked through the envelopes, stopping at the second one and glancing at the third quickly before going back to the second one. He stuffed the other two in the back pocket of his jeans and ripped the one in his hands open as they walked out the door.

  His chest was tight as he read through the letter.

  Dear sir,

  I have seen your ad for a bride in the newspaper and would like to inquire as to whether or not you have chosen someone. I would like to fill the position, if it is still available. I am 21 years old, I have dark hair and blue/green eyes. I have enclosed a photograph that was taken of me recently at the Nebraska State Fair in Prince Henry County, which is where I’m from.

  I was going to be married but it did not happen. I am from an Amish community near the town I live in, originally. I have no children. I have not been married before. If you would like for me to come to your home and help you take care of your baby girl, I would be very excited to do so.

  Thank you for your time. I hope to hear back from you soon.

  Sincerely,

  Martha Ann Yoder