SummerHill Secrets, Volume 1 (61 page)

“Oh, Rachel…I’m so sorry.” I put my arm around her, sharing her pain. Her light brown hair was wrapped up in a thick bun at the back of her head and covered by the white netting she always wore. Her shoulders shook as she wept. I’d never seen her cry so hard. Not even at her grandfather’s funeral.

We sat there together under the towering leafy maples, and I comforted Rachel as best I could. At last, she dried her eyes. “Ya know, you’re my best friend, Cousin Merry.”

“I am?” I was startled by her words.

Her eyes widened. “Ain’t I yours?”

I’d never thought of Rachel that way—only Faithie. But now that she mentioned it, I guessed she was right.

“Oh, Rachel…” I hugged her hard. “You’re the best friend I could ever have.”

She smiled through her tears, standing up suddenly. “I hafta go help Mam out with choppin’ carrots and celery—we’re makin’ chow chow.”

I sat there clinging to my cats as she dashed across the side yard and headed for SummerHill Lane. She’d called me her best friend. I shouldn’t have been so surprised. Rachel and I had shared everything. Always had. And now this—the loss of her brother’s baby.

In spite of the sadness, I felt consoled and heartened. It was truly amazing—even without Faithie, I’d had a best friend all these years!

Later, Shadrach and Meshach followed me as I went into the house to put away my camera equipment. I went back to the gazebo to retrieve the cradle. There on the wooden floor, I spotted the safety pin—the one that had pinned the note to Charity’s pink blanket. I stopped to pick it up, turning it over in my hand.

A startling realization hit me. The note had pleaded for my help.
Please take care of me and love me as your own.
And Merry Hanson, the problem solver, had decided to do just that. That was me—Miss Fix-It.

Dad had recognized the trait in me early on, and Skip constantly teased me about taking in strays. Cats, people…I’d even risked my life to save Lily White—a mouse catcher, of all things. And now, my latest attempt at saving the world was a two-month-old baby!

Things were becoming clear, making sense. I understood why Mom and Dad had asked me to pray about the decision. They were absolutely right. A decision to make Charity my baby sister was far too important to simply make out of emotion.

I scooped up Lily White and held her close. “C’mon, you. We’re going for a walk. Just the two of us.” And down the lane I went.

Nearly four days had passed since Mom and I sat together in the willow grove talking about life and love and God’s will. I wanted to go there now. To be alone. So much had happened since Thursday, and the events were beginning to overwhelm me.

Lily White must’ve sensed my tension. She kept meowing and trying to wrestle away. “No, no. You sit tight, little girl,” I said, holding her gently yet firmly.

She fought me, trying to break free.

Frustrated, I shouted, “You’re staying right here!”

The poor little fluff of white recoiled.
Mew,
she replied.

“Oh, baby, I’m sorry,” I said, kneeling down on the worn, narrow path, stroking her head. “I do love you. Honest. I just want you to stay where it’s safe, where I can take care of you. Don’t you see?”

When I took my hands away, Lily White ran off. I hurried after her, calling for her to return. “Come back, Lily! Please! I’m sorry.”

But Lily had other ideas. She skittered through the willows and down toward the meadow where the cows were grazing. Had she seen a mouse?

“Lily!” She ignored me, obviously wanting her freedom. I’d clung too tightly to her.

Crouching on the soft ground under the biggest willow in the grove, I felt as though the world was sitting on my shoulders. The secret place was nearly enclosed with green branches and tendrils, forming a canopy over my head. “Come back, Lily,” I cried. “I love you too much to let you wander away. I want you with
me
.”

When I stopped crying, I realized how selfish my words were. How selfish I was in other ways, too. I’d clung selfishly to Faithie’s memory, blocking out close friendships and letting the obsession with it come between Mom and me. And I’d thought
she
had a problem!

Love keeps no record of wrongs.

And there was Charity. I didn’t have to think twice to know the truth. I was being selfish about her, too.

A young Amish couple had heard sorrowful words yesterday upon the loss of their first baby: no birth children for them—ever!

What was it Rachel had said last week? That it would be a terrible heartache for an Amish wife to be without children.

Love is not self-seeking.

Me, me—that’s all I could think about these days.
My
sister,
my
baby…

Leaping up, I parted some of the heavy branches, letting the hot sun beat down on my face. “Forgive me, Lord,” I said simply. “Help me put the pastor’s sermon into practice. Give me the kind of love that doesn’t cling for dear life, because love isn’t love till
I
give it away.”

Though I was hot and beginning to perspire, the sun’s rays encompassed me. They were like the light of God’s love pouring into my soul. Shining the Father’s torch of truth.

I let go of the branches and slipped into the shadowy coolness of the willow grove. A rustling came from behind, and startled, I turned to look.

“Merry, don’t be frightened.”

“Mom, what are you doing here?” I ran to her, careful not to awaken Charity, who was sleeping in her wicker basket. She smiled, glancing at the baby. “I thought it was time for our little one to be formally introduced to your secret place.”

I nodded. “Doesn’t look like she cares too much about it right now.” I looked around, enjoying the moment and feeling freer than I had in years. “We have to talk,” I said. “With Dad.”

Mom’s eyes grew serious. “Oh?”

I breathed in a deep breath, my heart pounding. “It’s about keeping Charity.”

We didn’t stay long in the willow grove. The sparse clouds of morning had thickened and were beginning to grow dark. A clap of thunder crackled in our ears as we hurried in the back door.

“We made it just in time,” Mom said, uncovering Charity, who was wide awake now and moving her little arms excitedly.

“When will Dad be home?” I asked, gazing at the baby.

“Probably late.”

I was disappointed. “After supper?”

“I’m afraid so.” Mom took Charity out of the basket and handed her to me. “Will you change her, please? I have some calls to make.”

I wondered what Mom was up to but didn’t ask. She seemed rather preoccupied. Maybe she was thinking about what I’d said in the willows. I was tempted to tiptoe down the hall and eavesdrop. One brief snatch of conversation might give me a clue.

Slowly, I inched toward the main staircase. The door to the study was partly open, and I stood there listening.

“Before you come home,” Mom was saying, “can you touch base with your contacts at the Department of Social Services?”

Silence on her end. Was she talking to Dad?

Then—“I’m not sure. But check and see what must be done.” It sounded as though she was about to hang up, so I scooted away from the door and carried Charity upstairs.

I wondered how Mom and Dad would feel about giving up Charity for Curly John and Sarah Zook. Of course, it was a bit premature to be thinking that way, especially since Sarah was still in the hospital and had no knowledge of our little Charity.

Torn between wanting to keep Charity and wanting to help soothe the pain for Sarah and Curly John, I played with the darling baby who’d brought us so much delight—singing and saying the nursery rhymes Faithie and I had learned. I’d grown so attached to this baby. Just thinking about taking her to live with someone else made me half sick.

And what about Mom? She loved Charity, too. How would
she
feel? And Dad? Anyone could see how charmed he was by the baby.

I changed Charity’s diaper and carried her back downstairs. Mom was busily stirring something in the kitchen. She didn’t even glance up as I strolled into the family room with Charity. Sometimes Mom worked out her stress in her cooking. This afternoon was one of those times, I was sure. If I was correct, it was best to steer clear.

I found the remote and scanned the TV channels while sitting in Dad’s easy chair. The news was on all the major networks. A ballet was on public television. I switched it back to the local news. One of the leading stories was about couples and infertility drugs. I hoped Sarah and Curly John weren’t watching. Then I remembered they didn’t believe in having a television or anything else electrical in their house—probably had it turned off in the hospital, too.

I held Charity up in my arms, gazing into her eyes. “How would you like to grow up Amish? You’d never have to worry about eating junk food. Nope. You’d have fresh fruits and vegetables and lots of rich milk to drink.”

She cooed a little.

“I really wish your first mama and daddy had loved you more,” I surprised myself by saying. “But don’t worry. You have a heavenly Father who cared enough to send you here so we could find you a terrific home.”

Mom peeked her head around the corner. “Is that you talking, Mer?”

I smiled. “Charity and I are having a sisterly chat.”

“Just checking,” she said and left.

“Now, where were we?” I touched her soft cheek. “Oh yes. I think I might’ve already found some parents for you. They don’t know about it, though. When Dad comes home tonight, we’ll discuss it.”

I stopped talking and listened to her sweet gurgling sounds.

“Merry, if the doorbell rings, will you let Miss Spindler in?”

Mom called from the kitchen.

“Miss Spindler’s coming over?”

“She wants to see the baby again,” she answered.

“Okay.”

Soon I heard Mom going upstairs. Had she called Old Hawk Eyes? I certainly hadn’t heard the phone ring.

Feeling a bit gloomy, I thought back to the first night Charity and I had spent together. “You’re mighty little to have already experienced your first sleepover. And outside, too…” I remembered Faithie’s insistence on sleeping outside with me in the gazebo so long ago.

The doorbell rang, putting an end to my reverie. I peeked out through the curtains. It was Miss Spindler, all right. Dressed to the hilt.

“Come in,” I said, opening the screen door. “Mom was expecting you.”

“I’ve made some more outfits for Charity.” Her voice was softer than I’d ever heard it. She looked down at the baby in my arms as though she’d just seen an angel. “My, oh my, if she hasn’t grown in just two days.”

I smiled, leading her into the family room, where she sat in the rocker nearest the window. I knew she was eager to hold the baby, so I relinquished Charity and went to get some iced tea for our guest. While I was in the kitchen, I poked my head into the stairwell leading upstairs. “Mom, Miss Spindler’s here.”

“I’ll be right down,” she said. “Make her some iced tea, will you?”

I congratulated myself on thinking ahead. Mom’s hostess mentality was beginning to rub off, it seemed.

“Here we are,” I said to Miss Spindler, the way Mom always did.

“Why, thank you, dear.” She placed the glass on the windowsill, gently rocking. “I heard tell that young Sarah and Curly John had an unfortunate event happen just yesterday.”

“It’s very sad,” I replied, pulling up a chair.

“Seems to me, they’d be needing some cheering up.”

I nodded. “I’d like to visit Sarah when she gets home from the hospital.”

“Well, I was thinking the very same thing. And while we’re at it”—and here she lowered her voice—“why don’t we take Charity along for an outing? You know, she absolutely loved riding in that little car seat I bought.”

I wondered about Miss Spindler’s comment. Was she thinking of the baby—getting her out for a ride—or was she thinking of Sarah? Then I wondered right out loud. “What do you think about Sarah holding a baby—you know, Charity? Do you think it would comfort her, or would it make her feel worse?”

A surprising thing happened as I looked into Ruby Spindler’s face. Her eyes filled with tears, and her face…her face began to shine with sheer joy. “Oh, Merry, you have no idea what holding this baby would do for the poor girl. Why, let me tell you something, dear.”

Mom had crept in as Miss Spindler was talking, but she held her finger to her lips as the old woman continued.

“For as long as I remember, I’ve longed for a child. Of course, not being a married lady made it quite impossible, from my way of thinking. But when I first set eyes on this here youngster,” she glanced lovingly at Charity, now wide awake, “I knew that I would be made whole if I could just hold her in my arms. I felt as Simeon of old, who longed to see the Christ child. He knew that he would not die until he held the baby Jesus in his arms and blessed Him.”

I listened, truly amazed.

“Yes, my dear, this baby, abandoned and alone in the world, has brought great comfort to my heart.” She sighed, touching Charity’s hand. “And I do believe she’ll do the same for poor, hurting Sarah.”

Mom’s eyes filled with tears, and when I looked up she didn’t try to hide them as they spilled down her cheeks. Mom agreed with Miss Spindler. I knew it by the tender look on her face. It wouldn’t be long before we’d be taking baby Charity on a very special outing—to visit Sarah Zook.

I was sound asleep when Dad arrived home from his late shift at the hospital. He was dressed and gone before dawn the next morning, so I knew our talk would have to wait several more days.

In the meantime, Mom gave her consent for Miss Spindler to take Charity and me to visit Sarah Zook. Rachel wanted to come along, too, so the four of us squeezed into the jazzy red sports car bright and early Friday morning. Rachel sat up in the bucket seat next to Old Hawk Eyes, while I sat in the back next to Charity in her infant seat.

“How’s Sarah doing?” I asked Rachel.

She turned around and looked through the wide opening between the seats. “Sarah’s a strong, healthy girl. She was out helping Curly John yesterday in the field.”