Missing Your Smile

by Jerry S. Eicher

  She found the infant department easily and looked for something for a boy. She held up a blue jumper, looked at it, and asked, “What do you think?”

  “Looks fine. Just my color,” he said with a smile.

  “Okay then. Now a bag of disposable diapers and we’re done.”

  She found the right size, and they made their way to the nearest checkout counter.

  Duane pulled out his wallet and pulled out a credit card. “I’m paying half.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “I want in on the charity project,” he insisted.

  They made their way to the car, and he stowed the purchases in the backseat.

  “That was awfully nice of you,” Susan said when they were both in the car and buckled in. “Thank you.”

  “It’s your project, so the thanks belongs to you and Laura. In my business I don’t often get a chance to help out on things like this. It’s a pleasure.”

  From the mall, he drove back downtown and parked on the street. He got out, opened Susan’s door, retrieved the packages, and walked her to the apartment door.

  “I’ll carry these up the stairs for you,” he offered.

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  When they got to the top of the stairs, he set the packages down on the table. “Sunday then,” he said, smiling. “I enjoyed the evening.”

  “Yah,” she said. “Sunday. Thank you for the pizza—and your part in our ‘project.’”

  She walked with him down the stairs and watched as he reached the car. She quickly ducked back inside and locked the door. It wouldn’t be good if Duane saw her watching him leave. Seeing her watching him arrive had been bad enough.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The traffic coming home from church was light, and Susan was glad for the extra time to relax before Duane would show up later that afternoon.

  “Thanks for the ride, Laura.” Susan gathered her things. “It was a nice sermon today.”

  “I suppose it’s different than what you’re used to,” Laura said.

  “Well, it’s not in German. But I like it.”

  “If we could just get Robby to come,” Laura said, sadness in her voice.

  “He’s a nice man. He’ll come around. Look at all the help he’s giving me. The driving lessons even though I’ve scared him half to death!”

  “Robby does have a soft heart.”

  “Yes, he does.” Susan paused. “Laura, would you call Duane for me?”

  “Why?”

  “Well…” Susan felt a blush coming on. “He’s coming over to help me with my GED math studies, and I’ve made him supper. We didn’t talk about supper, but I’d like to invite him.”

  “That’s nice!” Laura opened her cell phone. “He’ll love it, I’m sure. Why don’t you call?” She punched in the numbers and handed the phone to Susan.

  Taking the phone, Susan listened for a moment and then said, “Hello, Duane. This is Susan. I wondered if you’d like to have supper when you come over this afternoon.” After a brief pause, Susan flipped the phone closed and handed it to Laura. “He says he’ll be glad to come for dinner.”

  “You have a good time now. The man is a good catch,” Laura said as Susan got out and shut the car door.

  In shock, Susan watched Laura’s car disappear. Is that what I’m doing? Catching a man? I thought I was just being friendly, but is that the case? Duane had taken her out twice for a meal, and fixing him an Amish supper seemed appropriate. At least in her book. But did it mean more in the Englisha book? Well, it’s too late to worry about that now. Two pies are made and a roast is in the oven.

  Susan climbed the stairs, hearing the squeak at each step. The comfort of being reminded of home could soak deep inside if she let it. And the aroma of the roast coming from the top of the stairs was also a blessed reminder of home.

  Entering the apartment, she went directly to the oven and checked the meat. It seemed fine. Cooking with electricity—especially in her own apartment—was still a novelty. Later she would toss a small salad, finish the mashed potatoes, and prepare gravy. While she had time, she wanted to walk over to Teresa’s to see how she was doing.

  Susan pulled out two large paper bags. In one she put the disposable diapers and the blue jumper. In the other, she tucked in a peach pie. She was saving the pecan pie for Duane. The men at home loved pecan pie, and she hoped the same was true of Englisha men.

  With everything in order, she left the apartment. Crossing the railroad tracks, she located Teresa’s street. The neighborhood made her uneasy. She glanced around for any unsavory characters before heading down the row of crumbling structures.

  Finding the house, she knocked on the rickety door. When there was no response, she opened the door. Teresa had said to just come on in if no one answered. Before she started up the stairs she heard Teresa call out, “Susan, is that you?” from somewhere upstairs.

  “Yes, it’s me!” Susan hollered back.

  “I hoped so,” Teresa said, appearing at the top of the staircase. “I couldn’t imagine who else would be visiting on a Sunday afternoon.”

  “Is your mom in?” Susan asked as she arrived at the top of the steps.

  “No.” Teresa gave Susan a long hug. “I’m so glad to see you. Likely Mom won’t be back till late. She’s working at McDonald’s this afternoon. I’ve been listening to TV preachers this morning. How I wish I could find some Amish preaching, but there isn’t any I could find.”

  “No, Amish ministers wouldn’t be on TV,” Susan said with a laugh as they entered the small apartment.

  “I brought you some things,” Susan said, setting the bags on the table.

  “Really? You didn’t have to. You’ve already done so much. I was going to visit the bakery shop this week, but my legs are giving out on me,” Teresa said. “It comes from carrying this big boy around,” she said with a smile.

  “I hear everything went well with the doctor,” Susan said. “And that it is a boy!” She took the blue jumper out of the bag and handed it to Teresa. “Do you think he’ll like this?”

  “A blue sleeper! Oh, Susan, it’s perfect!” Teresa looked away and wiped her eyes. She ran her fingers over the soft cloth. “I’m sorry about the tears. I’ve never had anything like this before. Baby clothing—and soon a baby! And then someone who can really take care of him. If Charlie would only be the father he should be, we could make a go of it. But he refuses.”

  “Are you thinking of keeping the child?” Susan asked. “I think you’d love that.”

  “I’d love to,” Teresa said amid more tears. “The closer I get to my due date, the harder it is to not be thinking about keeping him. I find myself thinking of what he’s going to look like and how his little cheeks and hands will feel. I think about what it would be like if I nursed him. But that won’t happen if I let him go. And I do have to let him go. That’s the best thing for him. I can’t raise him in this place.”

  Susan left the diapers on the table, and the two women moved to the couch.

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” Teresa said again.

  “And I wish there were more I could do.”

  “Have you written to your parents?”

  Susan nodded.

  “That’s more than enough. I just know it will work out. Someone in the Amish community will say yes. I just know it!”

  “Teresa, don’t get your hopes too high. Adoption isn’t something Amish people commonly do. I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

  Teresa laughed but it sounded hollow. “I’m afraid I’ve got myself painted in a corner on that one. I guess it goes to show what happens when a person shoots for the stars. Mom always told me, don’t shoot for the best, you’ll be shooting too high, and you’ll end up with nothing. But me? I went ahead and shot anyway.”

  “You could always put the child up for adoption with a local couple. Surely the clinic knows of nice Christian people who would love to give your boy a good home.”
r />   “No. I’m praying real hard, Susan. I’m praying like I’ve never prayed before.”

  Susan decided to mention something that had been on her mind the past couple of days. “Teresa, you know you could come to live with me at the apartment until the baby is born. That way your mother couldn’t pressure you with the adoption.”

  “I don’t think so,” Teresa said. “Despite our differences on this, Mom has stood by me for so long. I can’t just walk out on her. The only reason Mom is agreeing to me pursuing the Amish adoption is because she wants something nice for me. I haven’t had a lot of nice things. Life hasn’t always been easy for us. And because I want this so badly, she’s allowing it. But if this Amish thing doesn’t work out, that will likely be the end of it. She knows I would want to keep him, and she’s not going to allow that.”

  Susan got up to pace the floor, stopping to look out the window at the debris-strewn sidewalks. “Well then, what about coming home to the community with me? That would get you away from here. I’ve been thinking of visiting home anyway.” There, she said it. Susan was grasping for straws now, and she knew it. But Teresa’s face spoke volumes of hope. Susan just couldn’t see her let down.

  “Go home…with you?” Teresa asked, almost laughing at the idea.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it wouldn’t do any good if the Amish don’t take my child. And if the Amish do take my child, then I shouldn’t be there.”

  Susan sighed. “I just wish there was more I could do for you.”

  “You’ve done plenty.” Teresa patted Susan on the arm. “Look at the presents you brought. Mom will be really surprised. I think she’s surprised almost every day by what keeps happening. At least she’s not laughing at me anymore.”

  “I’ve also brought you a pie.” Susan slid the pan out of the bag. “A peach pie. I know it’s not much with all that you have to face, but I hope you’ll like it.”

  “Oh dear.” Teresa wrapped her arms around Susan. “It’s a home-baked pie, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Susan confirmed.

  “It is an Amish pie.” Teresa leaned over the table, taking in a long breath. “That must be what the air of heaven smells like.”

  “I doubt that.” Susan laughed. “It’s just a peach pie.”

  “To you it might be only a peach pie, but to me it’s the smell of home. Oh, I so want God to allow my son to grow up in a place where they make things like this!”

  “I know, Teresa,” Susan said, hugging her friend with both arms.

  “And I think He will!” Teresa said. “I really think He will because He’s a good God. He might not do it for me, but he’ll do it for my baby, who has never done anything wrong.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Susan hurried down the sidewalk, her purse strap wrapped around her arm. She waited for long moments at the traffic signal, pushing herself to walk faster when the light turned green. The time at Teresa’s place had gone longer than planned, and now she was late. Still, the visit with Teresa had been wonderful. Susan marveled at the young woman’s bravery. How Teresa kept her faith up under the pressure was amazing. Would God answer her prayers with a yes or would a no send Teresa crashing into despair?

  What would it be like to have so many fears and doubts about the world you lived in that you didn’t want your own child to live there? In comparison, being raised Amish was like the green pastures of heaven. Which was exactly how Teresa saw Amish life. But the Amish aren’t saints, Susan reminded herself. Teresa has never met Thomas.

  Susan sighed, jiggling on her feet as another light took its good time turning green. There were more people out now, mostly couples, a few with baby carriages. The women were window shopping while the men followed along. Susan smiled at the thought. What would Thomas do out on a city sidewalk on a Sunday afternoon? It was impossible to imagine. He would be like a duck without water or a cow without pasture. He would feel like a barn with no horses. No, Thomas definitely didn’t fit in here.

  So why am I here, drifting so far from my people? Is it just a whim? No, she told herself, God has a purpose, even in my bumbling foolishness. And she’d had a reason: She’d needed to get away. Well, I’ve done that! There’s no question about that.

  Finally, here was the last light. She would soon be at her apartment, plunging elbow deep into preparing supper for Duane. That ought to take her mind off troubling thoughts. She was not going to be a boppli, mourning for what could never be. Yet somewhere deep inside she had to admit that it would be nice to be back home tonight, preparing supper for Mamm and Daett instead of an Englisha man.

  This street was not as crowded as the one she had just left. In fact, she found it eerily quiet. There were no shops here—and thus no strolling shoppers. Susan quickened her pace. Seconds later she felt a wrench of pain on her arm, spinning her around, burning. Her purse was being pulled off her arm! Susan struggled to keep her balance, her fingers still grasping the strap. With a great upward jerk of his hands, a young man threw her off balance. She went crashing to the sidewalk, sliding on both hands. Her purse had been stolen! And in broad daylight on Main Street!

  Struggling to stand and eyeing her bleeding hands, she turned toward the running thief. “Stop! Give me back my purse!”

  She couldn’t afford to lose the purse. There was the little money she had in it, and her learner’s permit, and, more importantly, the key to her apartment.

  The man was already half a block away, glancing over his shoulder and even laughing at her. Where had the strolling couples gone now that she needed them? Likely an empty street was what the rascal had waited for to inflict this indignity on her.

  Now what am I supposed to do? She couldn’t go running after him like an Englisha girl might. But wasn’t she now trying to be an Englisha girl? Her Amish ways must be left behind. Surely Englisha girls didn’t allow their purses to be stolen without protest.

  Well, she would see then. He was still running, just turning a corner. She made the decision. Yah. She hadn’t grown up running across hay fields for nothing. She took off after him at a fast clip. Once she turned the corner, he turned to look back at her, and she almost laughed at the startled look on his face. Perhaps Englisha girls don’t pursue their muggers after all, she thought.

  He dashed across an intersection, defying the red light, maneuvering around moving cars. Susan did likewise. Even as a car squealed its brakes, she kept going. And gut, it looked like the man was panting hard.

  Up ahead there were a few scattered pedestrians. Again Susan hollered, “Stop him! He stole my purse!”

  Two nearby men reached for the thief as he passed their way, but he dodged them at the last moment. Susan ran on, hollering, “Drop it!”

  The man met her eyes, and she saw fear in them. He quickly swerved down an alley. The rascal, she thought. Well, he still wasn’t going to get away with this. She followed him into the alley and out onto the next street. By now she had gained on him. She was only yards away. What do I do when I catch him? She wasn’t about to tackle him. Even Amish girls had their limits.

  The thief slowed down and so did she. She wanted her purse, but how close could she get to the man and not be in danger? He was now panting so hard he could hardly breathe. This time there was no alley at hand.

  “Give me the purse!” she yelled again.

  “Give the lady her purse,” a voice behind her said.

  Susan turned, surprised. She hadn’t heard someone walk up.

  “I said give the purse back.” The man glared over Susan’s shoulder. “You heard me.”

  His voice was deep and gruff. He was tall, sturdy, and obviously knew how to handle this situation. It was gut to have him here.

  The young thief glanced both ways, unable to make up his mind. Mr. Gruff walked around her and grabbed the thief by his shirt collar. He retrieved Susan’s purse.

  “Now, young lady, do you want me to haul him into the police station for you? Or can I beat him up right here?” Mr. Gruff a
sked.

  “No, I can’t let you do that,” Susan said draping the purse over her shoulder. “Maybe he’s learned his lesson. Just let him go.”

  “You sure, ma’am?”

  “Yes,” Susan said.

  Mr. Gruff released the thief, who took off running again.

  “He might steal from someone else,” Mr. Gruff said. “You’re not afraid to testify against him are you? Or do you know him perhaps?”

  “No, I don’t know him,” Susan said. “I don’t want him to go to jail though.”

  How did she explain something like this to a stranger? She wasn’t supposed to chase the thief, let alone send him to prison. That was the Amish way, and though she was no longer Amish, old beliefs die hard.

  “Bennett,” the gruff voice said, offering his hand.

  She shook it. “I’m Susan. Thanks so much for your help. I couldn’t have gotten my purse back without you.”

  “Someone would have helped you, Susan.” He motioned toward two men just approaching. “Most people are nice around here. Sorry you had to experience this.”

  “I’m still thankful,” she said. “It was nice of you.”

  “You live around here?” he asked.

  “I live over on Main Street. I have to head back or I’m going to be very late. Thanks again.”

  “You were putting on quite a sprint there,” he said with a smile. “Are you a long-distance runner?”

  “No,” she said with a laugh. “I just wanted my purse back.”

  “You got it back. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening, Susan,” Bennett said, turning to leave.

  “I will. I hope you do too. God bless you!” Susan said as she too turned to leave.

  Susan turned the key to the apartment door and rushed up the steps. Now she really was late, but at least she had her purse back. Running water into the sink, she washed the blood off her hands. Thankfully, there were only small scratches. She checked the time. Supper would be late, but that couldn’t be helped. Opening the oven, she jabbed a fork into the roast. Just right. She turned the dial to off, removed the roast, and set it on the counter. She continued with the rest of the preparations.