SummerHill Secrets, Volume 1 (57 page)

“My dad’s waiting to talk to me. Can I call you later?”

“Sure. But—”

“Okay, then,” I said and hung up.

Dad and Mom looked like Siamese twins as they stood together in the kitchen hovering over Charity, who was obviously soaking up their attention.

“What did Lissa’s dad say about the baby?” I asked. I had to walk over and stand in front of them, waving my arms. “Yoo-hoo! Remember me?”

At last, Dad tore his gaze away from Charity’s face. “Oh, I’m sorry, Merry. What is it?”

I asked him again about the arrangement. “Did Officer Vyner say we could keep Charity overnight?”

He nodded. “We’ve got her for the night—” and here he turned and kissed Mom—“possibly several days.”

“Really?” I squealed with delight. “That long?”

“Until the in-state tracking is done,” he said. “By the way, Merry, hang on to that note from the mother. A handwriting analyst may be called in on the case.”

My heart sank. “I don’t want to help them find Charity’s mother,”

I wailed. “She doesn’t deserve our baby!”

Dad’s eyes clouded a bit. “According to the law, she must be punished for this act of desertion.”

“But what if they don’t find her or the guy she was with?”

“One step at a time,” Dad said gently, glancing at Mom, who looked smitten with baby love. “Try to be patient. Remember what the proverb says: ‘Be patient and you will finally win…. ’ ”

I backed away from the three of them and glanced out the window at Miss Spindler’s house. “Someone
else
is anxious for Charity to stay around here, too.”

Mom heard me. “Miss Spindler, right?”

“And she’s not the only one.” I told them about the Amishwomen next door, particularly Esther Zook.

“Well, we don’t have to worry about the Amish community causing us trouble,” Dad said. “They don’t get caught up in legal hassles.”

“Must be nice,” I said, contemplating the time involved in locating an abandoned baby’s parents, especially if they didn’t want to be found. I turned toward Mom and the baby in her arms. “It seems like everyone around here wants to claim her.”

There was no arguing that point. Even Dad nodded his head in agreement. “She’s a dumpling,” he said. “But we have to do the right thing by her, whether she stays with us or not.” Dad usually didn’t speak out strongly about his beliefs, so it surprised me to hear him talk this way. But one thing was certain, he wanted Charity as much as I did. So did Mom!

My first hurdle was history. Now, if I could just get past the next few days of waiting. Would the police be able to catch up with the rattletrap pickup and its occupants? And what about Miss Spindler? Had she lost her heart to Charity, too? I felt sorry for her—and for putting her in the middle of this.

I felt even worse the next morning when Miss Spindler came over with the promised car seat and a handful of crocheted baby booties. I met her at the back door, noting that she’d done her hair up in its usual gray-blue puff. Her cheeks had a splash of color in them, and I couldn’t tell if it was rouge or if she was simply excited to see the baby again.

“Hello, dear,” she said. “I stayed up late making these booties for Charity.”

I looked at them—four or five adorable pairs of pink, pink-and-white, and variegated colors. “These are darling!”

“Why, thank you, Merry.” She looked around, and I knew I had to invite her in. “Is the little sweetie up?”

“Come with me.” I led her upstairs to the project room across from my parents’ bedroom. Typically it was Mom’s spot for sewing or repairing neglected antiques. “We fixed up a room for her—at least for now.”

Mom was diapering the baby on a makeshift changing table, actually an antique cherry dresser. She’d made it comfortable for Charity with some waterproof pads and a soft, thick towel.

“Aw, there’s a love,” Miss Spindler sputtered as we stood in the doorway.

“Look what Miss Spindler made.” I showed Mom the booties.

“Why, Ruby,” Mom said, turning toward Old Hawk Eyes, “what a thoughtful thing.”

Miss Spindler bent over and kissed Charity’s head. “How’s every little thing with our dapple dumplin’ today?” Charity kicked her feet and tried to grab Miss Spindler’s long nose.

“I think she recognizes her auntie Ruby,” I said, hoping to ease the awkward situation. It was clear how much the old lady adored the baby.

Mom snapped the baby outfit and held Charity up, goo-gooing close to her face. “She’s really a very placid baby,” Mom mentioned. “Hardly fussed all night.”

“Well, I declare,” Miss Spindler said. “She fits right in here, doesn’t she?”

Mom handed the baby to our neighbor. “Here, she likes you, too, Ruby.” That brought a broad smile to the wrinkled face.

I let the two of them chitchat alone. Quietly, I slipped out of the room and headed down the long upstairs hall to my room, where I grabbed my digital camera. As much as I liked shooting with film, I wanted to be sure to get a good photo, and babies were tricky. I spotted the roll of film with Lissa’s photos on it while loading some fresh batteries. Because of all the excitement, I’d forgotten my promise to call Lissa back. Well, not really forgotten—just couldn’t pull myself away from Charity and the remarkable way my parents were responding to her.

Last night, Dad had gone to the attic and lugged down two matching pine cradles—one was mine, the other Faithie’s. “We’ll need one upstairs and one down,” he’d explained as Mom watched incredulously from the attic steps.

“While you’re up there,” I’d said, “could you bring down some of my old baby dresses? Charity needs a dress to wear on Sunday.”

Dad was more than willing to pile up a bunch of my baby clothes and carry them down. In fact, he was so taken with Charity, he was nearly late for work this morning. And for a summer Saturday, I was up earlier than usual, too. There was only one reason, of course.

While Mom and Miss Spindler talked and cooed at the baby, I took unposed shots of the three of them and several close-ups of Charity. Miss Spindler made me promise to give her some copies when I got them printed.

“I’d be happy to,” I told her. And it was true. With my parents in the picture, Miss Spindler no longer seemed like a threat.

Later, while Mom and I were fixing lunch, I experienced a twinge of sadness for my brother, Skip, away at camp. He was missing out on the new addition to the Hanson household.

“What do you think Skip would say about having Charity here?” I asked Mom.

“Oh, you know Skip. He takes things in stride.”

Mom was probably right. After all, he’d survived his breakup with Nikki Klein, one of Jonathan’s two older sisters, a few weeks ago. I didn’t feel too badly about it, though, probably because I didn’t think Nikki and Skip were right for each other. Besides, Skip had decided on a future in medicine, and he had years of schooling ahead of him.

“Do you think Skip’ll miss us when he goes off to college?” I probed.

Mom sighed, as though she wasn’t ready to think about losing her only son just yet. “Well, Skip has always been a very independent person, as you know.”

Obnoxious too,
I thought.

Mom continued. “I think he will do just fine. Now, why don’t you run and check on Charity before we sit down for lunch?” I knew it was my cue to back off about Skip. Mom was super-sensitive about her kids. It had only been the day before yesterday that she and I had been able to talk openly about Faithie’s death. After nine years!

I took her lead and kept quiet. Tiptoeing into the dining room, I peeked at our baby. She was snoozing peacefully in Faithie’s cradle, a heavy pine piece with a honey stain that looked antique—exactly the way Mom had requested it be made. Since antiques were one of her ongoing obsessions, the cradle was ideal.

I touched it, rocking it gently as I looked into her sweet face. “Please don’t ever leave us,” I whispered. “I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

Hesitantly, I thought about tomorrow—July 31—the anniversary I’d been somewhat dreading. Would we take Charity to visit Faithie’s graveside? How would my twin sister
really
feel if she knew about Charity?

“Merry?” Mom was calling.

I hurried back into the kitchen, my mind beginning to fill with troubling thoughts. My worry escalated even more when Dad called midafternoon. Mom’s face turned ashen as she held the phone, listening.

“What is it?” I whispered.

Her eyes grew wide, and she shushed me. “Where?” she was saying. “In Maryland?”

I put my hand on my heart, hoping this wasn’t about finding Charity’s parents.

Finally, Mom got off the phone. She hurried into the dining room, staring down at Charity in the cradle. “Oh, Merry,” she whispered, hugging me. “The police have located the blue pickup.”

“Oh, please…no.” I could say no more. My hands gripped into fists, and I wanted to fly away with Charity. Far, far away, where no one could take her from us!

I felt mighty droopy as I sat out front on the porch waiting for Dad. Mom had taken Charity into town for her required visit to Social Services. Since Dad had arranged temporary foster care with us, I wasn’t worried about losing her to the system. It was that horrible APB and the police investigation that made me frantic.

Evidently, the blue pickup had been deserted somewhere near Baltimore, Maryland. Mom had filled me in on everything Dad told her on the phone. The driver and young woman had left no trace as to their whereabouts, but they were definitely being hunted. The pickup had been registered but not insured. I shuddered to think of Charity having to grow up with irresponsible parents.

I remembered last night. Troubled, I had stayed up late praying, then insisted on holding Charity till she fell asleep. Mom seemed to understand my need to be near her. She and Dad were showing signs of the same. When I’d finally relinquished Charity to the room across the hall from them, I noticed Miss Spindler’s light was on, too. I wondered if she was thinking about Charity and the new things she’d bought her. My foster sister needed much more than clothes at the moment. She needed a miracle—we all did!

Now, as I sat on the front porch stroking my cats and waiting for Dad, I talked out loud to God. “Please take care of this situation, Lord. You know how much we love Charity…how much we want her to stay with us.”

Soon, I heard a car coming down SummerHill. I leaned forward, straining to see if it was Dad. It wasn’t. I sighed, leaning back, wishing he’d hurry. But the car pulled into the driveway. Out hopped Levi Zook!

“Hi,” I said, getting up and going to meet him. “Is this your new car?”

“Jah,” he said. “Do ya like it?”

“It’s great.” I stepped back and surveyed the shimmering white Mustang, washed and waxed—very classy. “Where do you hide it?”

“I don’t hafta anymore,” he said. “But don’t worry, I wouldn’t think of flauntin’ it in my father’s face.”

“Oh,” I said, thinking about another father out there somewhere in Maryland or beyond. Charity’s father.

“Merry, are ya all right?” Levi looked concerned.

I wasn’t prepared for an in-depth explanation of the past two days of my life. Not now.

“It’s Faithie’s home-going anniversary tomorrow, jah?”

I nodded. “I’m okay with it.”

He reached for my hand. “I’d be happy to go along if it’s okay with your family.”

“To the cemetery?” This was a first. No one but immediate family had ever joined us. When I found my voice again, I said, “Skip’s off at camp, so maybe you could take his place.”

He nodded. “There’s somethin’ I hafta tell ya, Merry. I’m gonna be leavin’ sooner than I planned.” His voice was firm, resolute. “Before I go, there are some things we hafta discuss.”

“When are you leaving?”

“In two weeks. August thirteenth.”

“You’re right,” I said. “We
do
need to talk.” I’d been putting this off long enough. Unfortunately, I’d been so involved with Charity and her future, I’d ignored my own.

“Can ya go for a ride with me?” he asked.

“Not now. Dad’ll be home any minute.”

“Will ya ask if I can take ya for a hamburger when he comes?” Levi looked so boyish and cute. I hated to think of him going off to Bible school, leaving SummerHill behind.

“I’ll ask, but I probably shouldn’t tonight.” I didn’t want to miss out on any new developments with Charity’s birth parents. It would be truly horrible to go off and have a good time with Levi only to come home and find Charity was gone.

“I could give ya a call later,” he said. “I’ll be down at the Yoders’ place for a bit. They have a phone in their woodshop, ya know.”

“Okay.” I could see Levi was getting a kick out of saying he’d call me. The Old Order Amish didn’t believe in having telephones in the houses they owned, so Levi had grown up without one all these years. His connections with Mennonite friends had pulled him away from the old Amish ways and dress of his youth. He was a changed person now. And he was determined to win the world for Christ—another strong Mennonite influence—one that Jesus himself taught His disciples. It was the command Levi was hanging his hat on. And his future as a minister.

“I’ll call ya after supper, then,” he said, his eyes shining with hope.