Bertha's Resolve: Love's Journey in Sugarcreek, Book 4

by Serena B. Miller

  “You may stay if you wish,” her father finally said. “I will not turn my daughter away from her home. Not when other Englischers come and go beneath my roof who are not so dear to me.”

  She felt her heart leap with gratitude! Not only was she allowed to spend the night, but he had also used loving words!

  “Thank you, Daett,” she said, humbled and grateful. “I will tell my driver it is all right to go.”

  Bertha went to the door to motion her driver to leave. The man acknowledged her with a wave as he drove away.

  Her mother glanced at her father’s face, questioningly. He nodded, giving her permission to rise and greet their daughter. She jumped to her feet, ran around the table, and grabbed Bertha’s hand.

  “Have you eaten?” she asked.

  Bertha shook her head. “No.”

  “Come, come! Sit down. We have plenty. It will be so good to have my daughter’s knees beneath my table again!”

  Her mother grabbed a plate and cutlery from a cupboard.

  “We have a baby sister!” Frank said. “Her name is Anna.”

  “How wonderful!”

  “She’s asleep,” Frank said. “But I’ll go get her!”

  Bertha deliberately pretended to be surprised by the news about the baby. She did not want to have to explain about Lydia coming to her graduation and their conversation there. She wasn’t sure how her father would react, and Lydia was so much more sensitive to criticism than she.

  “I will make up your old bed that you shared with Lydia,” her mother said. “It is where Lydia and her husband stay when they come for overnight visits.”

  Frank returned two-week-old Anna in his arms. He was obviously proud of his baby sister as he gently placed her in Bertha’s arms.

  Anna was tiny and precious, wrapped in a fluffy, white blanket. Her wisp of baby-fine hair was nearly non-existent as Bertha caressed the short strands.

  “We have been wondering…” Her mother hesitated, as though needing to gather her courage before plunging on. “…if she might be one of God’s special children.”

  Bertha had spent enough time in the nursery ward of her teaching hospital to know that Anna had what Dr. John Langdon Down had named Mongolism back in the 1800s. Sweet Anna was indeed what the Amish called one of God’s very special children.

  She opened her eyes now, looked up at Bertha, blinked, and Bertha lost her heart to her new baby sister. This one would need protection from the world as she grew older. Fortunately, little Anna had been born into a culture that would value and protect her. She would be loved and have a good life.

  “Yes,” Bertha said. “I would say that she is one of God’s very special children.”

  Her mother accepted this diagnosis from her medically-trained daughter by merely lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders.

  “Well then,” her mother said. “That is that. God’s will.”

  Frank resumed his seat. His plate was heaped with food, which she knew was part of growing so fast. Young boys had hollow legs, her grandmother had always said.

  Bertha knew that the food had already been blessed, but the gratitude in her heart was so great that she bowed her head in silent prayer as well. She prayed for each member of her family, including her little sister.

  “And where exactly will you go tomorrow when you get on the airplane and leave us again,” her father asked, once she had finished her prayer and raised her head.

  “Two other nurses and I will be landing in Port o’ Prince tomorrow. After that, we will go wherever we are told we are needed.”

  “Haiti is severely impoverished,” her father said. “Your work will not be easy.”

  “I am not afraid of hard work,” she said. “You know that, Daett.”

  “True,” he said, sadly. “I have missed your help.”

  “How long will you be?” Frank asked.

  “I have agreed to stay for two years,” she said. “Then I will be allowed a sabbatical for a month. I will determine then if I’m going back.”

  “I will be out of school by that time,” Frank said.

  “You will be a great help to our father,” Bertha said. “I know he will welcome your full-time help with the farm.”

  She saw a cloud pass over Frank’s face, and she wondered if her rebelliousness against church rules would hurt him. She hoped not. She admired and respected her family’s culture. She would have remained happily Amish for the rest of her life, were it not for the nagging knowledge that she was meant to do what she was doing.

  She and her family talked long into the night about what she knew about the small, beleaguered, Caribbean country. It was as though now that her father had accepted the fact that there was nothing he could say that would keep her from her path, he relaxed his vigil over her soul and simply enjoyed their visit together.

  With Frank sitting next to her on the couch, as though to soak up closeness with his big sister while he could, and while cuddling little Anna on her lap—wanting to absorb as much of her baby-sweetness as possible before leaving—Bertha told her family about her job with Ella, and how good the woman had been to her. They were also interested in the difficulty of some of the classes and about the types of things she had learned.

  They listened raptly, which was the way of her people. They were good at giving one another the space to talk and share one’s story.

  When at last her father declared it time for bed and began to extinguish the lamps, she made her way to the bedroom where she and Lydia had spent so many nights together and fell into the comfort and cocoon of that old bed. The fresh linens on it smelled of the sunshine and fresh air in which they had been dried. That was, and always had been, the scent of home.

  It was so good to be with her family again! It would be hard to leave tomorrow, but go she must. The country of Haiti beckoned to her.

  .

  Chapter 20

  “It’s going to be tough finding someone to replace you,” Ed said. “Cops who speak Pennsylvania Deutsch are pretty much non-existent. You know that. We’ve had much better relationships with the local Amish population ever since you came on the force.”

  “I know. I’m sorry,” Rachel said.

  The language issue was one of the many reasons Rachel hated leaving. She knew how hard it was going to be to find someone to replace her.

  It wasn’t that the Amish needed someone who spoke their language to communicate. They were, as a culture, essentially tri-lingual. Pennsylvania Deutsch was the language they spoke among themselves and to their small children. When the children entered school at age six, they were taught English as their second language, and usually quickly became proficient in it.

  The third language—formal German—was as different from Pennsylvania Deutsch as Old English from modern-day English. It was the language into which Martin Luther had translated the Bible that many Amish still used. It was also the language spoken by the martyrs five hundred years earlier, who wrote the songs in the Ausbund, the hymnal from which their people still sang. Many of the sermons were preached in this third language, so it was taught to school children, as well.

  The Amish were, as a whole, suspicious of the police and avoided any contact with them. Instead, they preferred to deal with issues privately within the church. They were usually quite reticent when it came to answering questions or giving information. That is—except with Rachel. The minute she began to speak to them in their mother tongue, she could see them visibly relax. Discovering that she spoke their language created an almost immediate trust.

  Regrettably, there had been the few times that Amish children needed to be taken out of a home. Speaking no English, they were bewildered and terrified—until Rachel began to comfort and reassure them in their own, familiar language.

  “If a situation comes up where I am truly needed,” Rachel said. “You know I’ll come. It’s just the day-to-day police work that I have to pull away from.”

  “You could hire a babysitter,” Ed said, hopef
ully. “My kids had babysitters, and they turned out okay. That baby of yours probably doesn’t even care who is giving her a bottle or changing her diapers.”

  Ed, who had known and worked with her father, was an excellent chief of police. Fair, hardworking, genuinely compassionate, but his lack of understanding in this case rankled, and the mama bear in her came to the surface.

  “Holly might not care, but I care,” Rachel said, sharply. “Unless you’ve forgotten, you were on a fishing trip when my Bobby was kidnapped. I went after him despite my pregnancy. I saved my son, but I lost that baby. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to carry a child full-term, Ed. This might be my last chance to experience caring for a baby, and I don’t want to miss a second of it. I want to snuggle with her and help her take her first steps. I want to be there if she gets an earache and not be waving bye-bye while someone else comforts her.”

  When she stopped her tirade, she realized that she was standing, hands-on Ed’s desk, leaning toward him and trembling with emotion. Until this moment, even she had not realized how passionately she felt about taking over the care of her daughter, whom she had only had for a couple of weeks.

  “I’m sorry,” Ed said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “We’ve been through a lot together, Ed.” Rachel dropped back into her seat. “I won’t leave you in the lurch, but you need to understand that I’m giving notice as of today.”

  “A month?” Ed asked. “Two months?”

  “Two weeks.” The memory of the fatigue she saw in Bertha’s face last night came to mind. “And I won’t be working the night shift again. I need mornings so Joe can care for Holly.”

  “That’s asking a lot.” He sounded frustrated.

  “I’ve never asked you for any special treatment over the years, Ed, and you know it.”

  “I know,” Ed said. “I’ll take the night shift rotation until we find someone.”

  Chapter 21

  After she met with Ed, Rachel drove over to the entrance of Garraway Elementary School and waited for Bobby to come out. She didn’t always pick him up. Sometimes he rode the bus to her aunts if neither she nor Joe was going to be home. But when she could, she liked to give him the treat of having her parked outside—especially if she was in her squad car. He thought having a mom who drove a police car was cool. As a stepmother, Rachel was especially happy when Bobby thought something she did was cool.

  She stood beside the car while she waited. She loved watching for the moment he caught sight of her and came running. He was still young enough that he wasn’t embarrassed when she knelt to hug him. That first hug from him after a day of being apart was sweet indeed. Especially since she knew that hugs in public probably wouldn’t last much longer.

  And then there he was. Her son. The most beautiful and precious boy in the world.

  “Mommy!” he screeched and sprinted toward her.

  She crouched to catch him, but just as she hugged him, she glanced over his shoulder and recognized a red-headed boy a few years older than her son. He was wearing the same coat she’d seen in the pie shop. He scuffled along with his head down, wearing the same ragged tennis shoes. His red hair was no longer covered with a sock hat.

  Keeping her eyes on the boy, she told Bobby, “Wait here by the car. Don’t move. I need to talk to that child.”

  She strode over to where he was getting ready to cross the street and laid a hand on his shoulder. He jerked in surprise, glanced up, saw her, tried to run, and found himself held in a firm grip.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” she said. “What is your name?”

  “Johnny?” he said.

  The question mark at the end of his answer led her to believe he had given her the first name that came into his head.

  “Tell me your real name, please.”

  “His name is Calvin,” Bobby said, materializing beside her.

  “Thank you, Bobby,” she said. “Now, go stand beside the squad car like I asked you to.”

  “Calvin is new,” Bobby offered, before obeying her. “He doesn’t have any friends yet ‘cept me.”

  She waiting for Bobby to be out of earshot before saying, “Is that true?”

  Calvin squirmed. “I got friends.”

  “Of course you do,” she said. “I mean the fact that you’re new. How long have you been living here?”

  He shrugged.

  “You’re cold,” she said, noticing his chapped hands. “Would you like me to take you home?”

  She saw a spark of fear, and he tried to run again.

  “Honestly, Calvin.” She grabbed him by his coat collar before he could get away. “I just want to help you.”

  “Are you going to put me in jail?”

  “No,” she said. “I would never put a child in jail. I just want to take you home.”

  “Alex told me never to ride with strangers.” There was a sort of longing in his voice that made her think maybe he had been dreading the long, cold walk home.

  “And who is Alex?”

  “My cousin.”

  A cousin? No parents? This did not sound good.

  “He’s my guardian.”

  That made a little more sense.

  “Alex is absolutely right. You should never accept a ride from a stranger.” She loosened her grip on his coat. “My name is Rachel Troyer Matthias. I’ve been a cop here for a long time. My son’s name is Bobby—you already know him. I have a new little daughter named Holly. You’ve met her too. My husband runs a restaurant in town called Joe’s Home Plate. He used to be a famous baseball player, but he mainly flips hamburgers these days. Now, there. I’m not a stranger anymore. May I drive you home?”

  “I am really cold,” Calvin said, longingly.

  “I know,” she said. “My car is warm.”

  “Is Bobby really your son?”

  “He’s my stepson. His mother died when he was little, and I married his dad.”

  “My Grandma died.”

  “When did your Grandma die?” Rachel offered him her hand. He stared at it for a moment, and then he took it. His hand was freezing.

  “Before Christmas. I live with Alex now.”

  “I want to meet this Alex,” Rachel said.

  “Are you going to tell on me?” His small face was pinched with worry.

  “That depends,” Rachel said.

  “On what?”

  “On what I think of Alex,” she said.

  “Oh.” He thought this over as they walked. “Alex is a good guy.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  She dug a second booster seat out of the trunk. Calvin was at the upper limit of needing one, but she didn’t want to take a chance. She always kept a sturdy baby carrier and a couple of booster seats in her trunk for emergencies. In this town, she never knew when she might need them. The local Amish population, so used to carrying their children on their laps in their buggies, often could not provide one.

  “You’ll have to tell me how to get to your house,” she said after everyone had been belted and buckled in.

  There was only a slight hesitation from the back of the squad car before Calvin pointed left out of the school parking lot and said, “Go that way.”

  Chapter 22

  The house where Calvin lived wasn’t far. Less than a quarter-mile down the road from her aunts’ place.

  “That’s it,” Calvin said, as soon as it came into view.

  Rachel knew the house well. An old Amish man had lived there when Rachel was a girl. Sometimes her aunts sent her up the road to deliver food to him.

  A non-Amish distant relative had inherited the house and ignored it. For years it had stood empty, but apparently, it had been sold, and the new owner was renting it out. She hoped the owner had put in electricity and a bathroom. The home had neither when she was a child.

  In an area that boasted pristine houses and yards, the place stood out as looking run-down and uncared-for. It looked like what it was—a cheap rental for someone without a
lot of money.

  She and Calvin got out of the car and walked to the front door. A sodden grocery circular lay on the top step, looking like it had been there awhile. She knocked, intending this to feel like nothing more than a friendly visit. If she got a bad vibe from the man, she would check up on him in more depth later. Calvin was beside her, fidgeting from one foot to another.

  “You know,” she said, while they waited. “You really could have just asked Lydia for some pie. She’s a very kind person, and she loves children. You should stop in and get to know her.”

  Calvin glanced up at her. There was something like hope that flared in his eyes, but then it extinguished itself.

  “She won’t like me now,” he said. “Not after what I did.”

  “You are wrong about that,” Rachel said. “If you stop by and apologize, I guarantee the two of you could become great friends.”

  Footsteps sounded inside the house.

  “Hello?” A man she assumed was Alex answered the door. “Can I help you?”

  He looked to be in his mid-thirties. Maybe five feet ten inches. Barefoot. Brown hair that looked like he had just gotten out of bed, and hadn’t been inside a barbershop for a couple of months. A good bit of beard stubble. Gray flannel pajama bottoms. A faded black t-shirt that was stained and torn.

  Not a bad-looking fellow. No tattoos or piercings, but he looked rough around the edges. Of course, so did Joe when he first climbed out of bed. The big difference was that Joe got up around five a.m.

  Alex didn’t act startled when he saw her uniform, but Rachel did catch a quick, quizzical glance at Calvin.

  “Are you Alex?” she asked.

  “I am,” he said. “Has Calvin done something wrong?”

  “No.” She weighed her words carefully. A parent, guardian, or foster parent could sometimes take things out on a kid if they thought they had brought police to their door.

  “My name is Rachel Matthias. I was picking my son up at school and found out his new friend, Calvin, lived close by my aunts. They own the Sugar Haus Inn down the road.” She gestured in the general direction. “We were on our way to visit them, and I offered to bring Calvin home. I’m afraid my aunts and I didn’t realize you had moved in. We are usually better neighbors than that.”