SummerHill Secrets, Volume 1 (60 page)

After class, I gave the package of photos to Lissa. “They turned out great,” I said as she opened them.

“Wow, you’re right.” She looked at each picture. “Grammy will be so excited to get these. How much do I owe you?”

I gave her the receipt. “Here, you can pay me later.”

“Mom’ll write you a check after church, okay?” Her wavy hair was pulled back in a perky blue hair wrap. And I noticed that as we talked, she glanced at Jon several times.

“Glad you like them.” I turned to go. Jon was waiting in the hallway.

“Like them? They’re the best pictures I’ve ever had taken,” Lissa said, following me out to the hall. “You’re such a good photographer, Mer.”

“Thanks,” I said.

Lissa stood beside me while I hung out with Jon and our pastor’s daughter, Ashley Horton, who just so happened to like the Alliteration Wizard, too.

“Well, who’s coming to the potluck next weekend?” Ashley asked, looking around.

“Merry and I are,” Jon stated, grinning at me.

Lissa acted cool, not showing her surprise. But Ashley stood there and yakked about how much fun the potluck would be. I wondered when she would stop talking.

That’s when Mom came down the hall, Charity and diaper bag in tow. Apparently, she was headed for the nursery.

“Oh, Mom, let me show off my new sister,” I said, taking Charity from her. “We can’t put her in the nursery on her very first Sunday with us. I can hold her in church, and if she gets fussy, I’ll come out and walk around with her.”

Mom agreed and headed off to save a seat for me upstairs in the sanctuary.

Lissa looked shocked as she and Ashley crowded in, touching Charity’s little hands and soft, chubby cheeks. “This is your
sister
?” Lissa asked.

“Well…she will be soon. We hope.”

Lissa looked confused.

“It’s what I couldn’t talk about the other night on the phone. Remember?” Quickly I tried to explain. “Evidently, the stranger we saw in the pickup was looking for a place to hide a baby.”

“How cruel,” Ashley said. “She’s so tiny. How could someone do that?”

“It’s awful, that’s what it is,” Lissa whispered. “She’s so precious.”

They had lots of questions, but the music was starting and it was time for church. Jon waited around as though he wanted to sit with me. “Would it be all right with your parents?” he asked as we headed for the stairs.

“If you don’t mind sitting in a pew with a two-month-old.”

He smiled. “Do babies bite?”

I laughed, delighting in Jon’s attention.

Surprisingly, Charity slept through most of the pastor’s sermon. “Love wasn’t put in your heart to stay,” he quoted. “Love isn’t love till you give it away.” Then he read his Scripture text. “First Corinthians chapter thirteen, verses four and five. ‘Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.’ Today, I want to focus on the passage, ‘love is not selfseeking.’ Love that is freely given is Godlike love.”

I listened intently, thinking off and on of Levi, who had declared his love for me weeks ago but who refused to cling to it—releasing me for now. He’d exhibited the selfless kind of love the pastor was talking about.

After the service, Jon asked more questions about the baby. “Where did you find her?”

“It was wild, really. I thought at first I heard my kitten crying, but when I searched, I discovered this baby in our gazebo!”

He was as surprised as everyone else. My parents’ friends gathered around oohing and ahhing over Charity. I gave her to Mom, who held her up for her friends to see. People just couldn’t seem to get enough of our pudgy darling.

“You picked the perfect name for a pretty petite person,” Jon said, beginning his irresistible word game. He smiled, egging me on. “Your turn.”

“Charity? Chalk it up as a chapter in a changed heart.”

Jon was clapping. “Exceptionally excellent example!”

“Thank you…I think.” We were in glossary glory.

After dinner, Mom, Dad, and I, along with Charity, took the short ride down SummerHill to the small cemetery where gravestones lay scattered in rows across a tree-lined meadow. Levi’s car was parked nearby, and Dad mentioned how thoughtful it was that he had come.

“It was Levi’s idea,” I said.

“What a really terrific kid,” Mom said, handing Charity to Dad. “Too bad he has to go off to school so soon.”

I wondered about her statement. Just last night she seemed to be opposed to my spending time with Levi.

“Hullo, Dr. Hanson,” Levi said, catching up with Dad. He spied the baby, and a shadow of surprise crept across his handsome face.

“It’s good of you to come,” Dad said.

Levi stared at the baby.

“Baby Charity’s going to be staying with us,” I explained quietly as we fell into step together. “It’s a long story.”

“Ach, jah,” he said, and I knew I’d have to level with him about Miss Spindler sooner or later.

Love is kind.

Solemnly, we approached Faithie’s white gravestone. The rolling hills around us were ablaze with color. Yellow daisies bloomed everywhere. Levi went with me to gather some for Faithie’s grave. It was part of our family tradition. The celebration of her life.

Finally, all of us held hands and sang “Amazing Grace.” Levi’s clear voice rang out, and a lump rose in my throat as I thought of him leaving. Purposely, I stared at the words etched on Faithie’s gravestone.
Faith Hanson, precious daughter and dear sister, in heaven with our Lord.

Levi had been fond of Faithie, too. Not in the same way as he loved me, but he
had
loved her. The Zook kids were Faithie’s and my favorite playmates in a predominantly Amish area. Faithie and I loved spending time with our Plain friends—skating on the pond in winter, riding in the pony cart in the springtime, playing barefoot in summer…and then there was the hayloft. That wonderful, almost magical place high in their two-story bank barn. All this and much more, Faithie and I had shared with Levi and his brothers and sisters. We’d played nearly every day beyond the willow grove—on the Zook farm.

I choked back the tears as Dad prayed that our hearts would be tender to the love each of us shared, neighbor and family member alike. “And may we always remember that our days on this earth are numbered,” he prayed. “That we ought to treasure every minute we have as a family until you call us home. Amen.”

I wiped the tears from my eyes as we turned to head down the hill to the car. Dad was right. I knew in my heart that if I could do it all again—relive those seven short years with Faithie—I would be more careful to cherish every minute.

Love never fails.

When we arrived home, Rachel was waiting on the front porch. She looked pale, and as I got out of the car and ran toward her, I noticed her eyes were red and swollen.

“Rachel, what’s wrong?”

“It’s Sarah’s baby.” She put her hands to her face, covering her eyes. “Sarah’s gone to the hospital.”

“Why? What happened?” Fear gripped me.

Rachel shook her head, unable to speak.

Dad stopped to talk with her while Mom took Charity into the house for her nap. “Is your sister-in-law having premature labor?” he asked.

Rachel shook her head. “It can’t be—it’s only her fifth month.”

Dad’s eyes showed concern. “I’ll leave for the hospital right away.” He touched Rachel’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Dad,” I said as he hurried into the house.

Love is patient.

The wait was terribly long. Rachel stayed at our house until it was time for the afternoon milking. Before she left, I hugged her. “We’ll be praying,” I said. “And if we don’t hear something soon, I’ll ask Mom to page Dad.”

She nodded. “
Da Herr sei mit du.
The Lord be with you.” Off she ran down the lane toward the shortcut to the farm, through the willows.

“And with
you
, Rachel!” I called after my friend.

The phone did not ring until almost seven. When I picked it up, I detected the sadness in Dad’s voice. “Sarah lost her baby.”

My heart sank. “I’ll run and tell Rachel. She’s waiting to know…her parents, too.”

“Tell them Sarah’s resting now,” Dad said. “She’s being sedated.”

I could not imagine what poor Sarah and Curly John were experiencing. They were young—newlyweds—barely two years older than Skip. And this was their first little one. Now Baby Zook was gone. Gone to heaven too soon.

I ran upstairs and sat on the floor beside the cradle that had been mine. Sadly, I looked down at Charity, now sound asleep. “Nothing must ever happen to you,” I said out of sheer determination. “I won’t let it. I won’t! You’re ours forever.”

Love always protects.

Charity stirred sweetly in her sleep, unaware of the turmoil in my heart.

On Monday morning, Mom and Dad went to town with Charity to do the paper work for temporary custody. I stayed home and took pictures outside. The gazebo was the setting this time. With the news of Sarah’s miscarriage fresh in my mind, I created several scenes using Faithie’s pine cradle. I didn’t mean it to be morbid, but maybe it was.

Anyway, I had my own unique way of working through my sorrow over Sarah and Curly John’s loss. By combining the gazebo with the empty cradle, I was bringing three factors together: my own pain at losing Faithie, Sarah’s recent loss, and the discovery of Charity—the love I was clinging to. What great joy she’d brought to me! And now to my family.

Mom had made things quite clear, however. By this time Friday, we were to make a final decision about Charity. Mom had said to pray about it. I had. There was nothing left to say. I wanted Charity—wanted her forever.

As I ran around the gazebo, taking this shot and that from various angles, I remembered Dad’s words.
True love is patient and slow to act or react.

I must admit, I’d gotten caught up in the emotion of the moment, letting baby fever run away with me. But when it came right down to it—to the everyday, day-in-day-out schedule of having a baby to care for, well…I could see Mom’s point. I was
not
the one most involved. She was.

Was I being selfish, wanting this baby?

Love is not self-seeking.

I stopped to adjust the aperture, the lens opening, for correct lighting. Then I heard someone walking toward me and turned to see who it was. “Rachel, hi!”

“Whatcha doin’?” she asked.

I knew she’d spotted the cradle. It was the focal point of the gazebo picture—how could she miss it?

“Oh, just taking some pictures.”

She was quiet for a moment, her eyes downcast. We sat on the gazebo steps while the cats came and rubbed up against our bare ankles.

Carefully, I put my camera back into its case and snapped it shut. Looking up, I saw that Rachel’s eyes were bright with tears.

“You’re crying!”

She brushed her cheek with the back of her hand. “I’m sad for Sarah. She’s brokenhearted, Merry. And there’s been some very bad news.”

My throat turned to cotton. “What is it?”

“The doctor says, like as not, Sarah will never be able to have children.” A sad little sigh burst from her lips.